Your Turn
Now, scroll to the comment section below to write your own poem. (This is a public space, so you may use only your first name or initials depending on your privacy preferences.) Not ready? That’s okay. Read the poems already posted for more inspiration. Ponder your own throughout the day. Return later. And, if the prompt does not work for you, that is fine. All writing is welcome. Just write something. Also, please be sure to respond to at least three writers. Oh, and a note about drafting: Since we are writing in short bursts, we all understand (and even welcome) the typos and partial poems that remind us we are human and that writing is always becoming. If you’d like to invite other teachers to write with us, tell them to subscribe.
Our Host
Tracie McCormick holds master’s degrees in English and school leadership and teaches ELA and social studies in Oak Forest, IL. Her one word this year is ATTEMPT, so she is enjoying new methods of personal and professional growth, which is what led her to ethicalela.com. Follow her on Twitter at @TracieMcTeacher.
The Inspiration
Villanelle. This form stopped me in my tracks. Does it take its root from the word villain? I had to investigate. I was intrigued! Writer’s Digest told me, “The villanelle consists of five tercets and a quatrain with line lengths of 8-10 syllables. The first and third lines of the first stanza become refrains that repeat throughout the poem.” Eh…not too exciting. But then I fell into a rabbit hole investigating other uses of the word itself. Names of perfumes, assassins, obsessions… Which is when I determined that, of course, a villanelle would be our next poem form!
Dylan Thomas modeled this form in this well known poem.
Process
The idea of writing about a topic over which we obsess grabbed me. I obsess over exactly how to reach middle schoolers, how to make them discover the love of reading. I mostly followed the traditional villanelle format, but I had too much to say. I could not be confined by repeating entire lines. Rather, just their last words. What began as expressing my ideas in a pattern of 9 or 10 syllables, turned into a pull-my-hair-out challenge., which I LOVED!!
What is your obsessive thought? You perseverate over it. You seek its solutions. It causes you unrest. Face it. Address it in the villanelle format. Tackle it in its traditional form or make it your own. Maybe you will, like me, find yourself obsessing over choosing just the right way to word your feelings about your obsession. How beautifully maddening!
If you are pressed for time and/or stamina, try a couple stanzas or just one if that is all that is in you today. Just write.
And here are a few more examples..
Tracie’s Poem
The CCSS experts agree (9)
all the middle school students I call mine (10)
read at or above grade level, see?(9)
Reading for information is key (9)
in standard successful student design, (10)
But how? We cannot seem to agree! (9)
Enticing teens to read ain’t easy (9)
when their attention is stolen by thine (10)
apps Among Us, Snap, and Insta, see? (9)
The author, genre, theme repartee…(9)
debate rages over texts to assign.(10)
Each has merits, on that we agree. (9)
Reading logs is not a guarantee. (9)
Classic lit, summer reads…are they benign?(10)
Wait for the test results then we’ll see.(9)
These days I’m on a read aloud spree. (9)
For the old days of SSR, I pine.(10)
But how? We cannot seem to agree! (9)
Read at or above grade level, see? (9)
Your Turn
Now, scroll to the comment section below to write your own poem. (This is a public space, so you may use only your first name or initials depending on your privacy preferences.) Not ready? That’s okay. Read the poems already posted for more inspiration. Ponder your own throughout the day. Return later. And, if the prompt does not work for you, that is fine. All writing is welcome. Just write something. Also, please be sure to respond to at least three writers. Oh, and a note about drafting: Since we are writing in short bursts, we all understand (and even welcome) the typos and partial poems that remind us we are human and that writing is always becoming. If you’d like to invite other teachers to write with us, tell them to subscribe.
Who am I to teach them how to compose?
To grow an idea and bring it to light;
lay their souls to bare and natures exposed,
assume the challenge of poem and prose,
to describe the stars revealed by the night.
Who am I to teach them how to compose?
To bade them from their creative repose,
to divulge their thoughts and pen black to white;
lay their souls to bare and natures exposed.
I’ll teach them language that portrays and shows,
absolutes, action verbs, adjectives bright.
Who am I to teach them how to compose?
A teacher, a writer, and one who knows
the satisfaction they’ll find when they write,
lay their souls to bare and natures exposed.
I will nurture them and dare to suppose
an inspiration eager to ignite.
I am who, to teach them how to compose,
lay their souls to bare and natures exposed.
This is wonderful, Steve! And I’m pretty sure you’ve answered your question with this poem. Thank you so much for sharing it with us.
Tracie, I love the villanelle. Thank you for this challenge!
Books are only human, you see.
So, why don’t you give them a try?
Books exist for you and for me.
Seems the best things in life are free,
Flitting in like the butterfly.
Books are only human, you see.
Their pages yield such mystery
For the naked gaze of your eye.
Books exist for you and for me.
Now you can always disagree
And like day old bread set them by.
Books are only human, you see.
When from their words you cannot flee,
Tears blotting them out as you cry,
Books exist for you and for me.
Their pull you might not long defy,
So, why don’t you give them a try?
Books are only human, you see.
Books exist for you and for me.
Katrina, your poem would be perfect in a classroom library, school library, bookstore, anywhere that people get books! I love it.
This is perfect!
I can’t resist a poem about books! Well done. This would be a great way to start the school year.
I penned this poem yesterday while driving through a national forest, but I forgot to type it up and post it. Yesterday I celebrated a streak of 300 days of writing in a row, so that is what prompted this less-than-perfect villanelle 🙂
“Inspiration”
“Not a day without a line”
Pliny the Elder once did write.
Pen to paper–you’ll be just fine.
Even on days the sun doesn’t shine
Or you’ve been up all through the night
“Not a day without a line.”
Somedays time doesn’t align,
but don’t go down without a fight!
Pen to paper–you’ll be just fine.
You don’t have to pen Frankenstein
(although, who knows, you just might!)
“Not a day without a line.”
Imagine each word like a grape on a vine
and you’re salivating for a bite.
Pen to paper–you’ll be just fine.
Now if you were looking for a sign,
this is your chance; go on and write!
“Not a day without a line”;
Pen to paper–you’ll be just fine.
Rachelle, I’m so glad I visited this page again and found your poem! I’m in awe of your 300-day writing streak, and this was a perfect way to celebrate. I loved the grape on a vine/ salivating for a bite!
Rachelle,
This is such a wonderful ode to your writing dedication! I have tried, in vain, to start a journaling habit, but I type SO much faster than I handwrite, so it hasn’t “taken.” I love how writing this poem also fulfills your goal. Nicely done!
This is great! I particularly like “each word like a grape on a vine,” and “some days the time doesn’t align/but don’t go down without a fight!”
But really, 300 days in a row? Wow! That’s something I’m going to have to think about!
I love the villanelle form, especially Elizabeth Bishop’s “One Art,” but these closed forms are killing me this month as I travel. I am exhausted but want to write poetry almost as much as I want to travel.
Carpe Wanderlust
A world of wanderlust awaits
our arrival on distant shores
beyond boundaries of man made states,
and a walk through rainforests abates
daily stresses, and the grind of chores
where a world of wanderlust awaits.
Eschew temporal material tastes:
McMansions, fads, time-sensitive “moores,”
those boundaries of man made states.
Technologies’ latest updates
Tempt and entice with algorithmic scores
while a world of wanderlust awaits
those destined to master their fates,
trekking outside the lines; they’re explorers
beyond boundaries of man made states.
A life in stasis creates dire straits,
so why hesitate? Earth opens her doors
on a world where wanderlust awaits
beyond boundaries of man made states.
Glenda – This is such a fitting poem from your trekking! I’ve imagined you in that rainforest and felt your love of learning there. And the beauty of engaging in the vast world of nature butting up against the tech that can suck the life out of us… and yet we both love recording these wanderlust moments. I feel in your repeated lines that push against boundaries… so fitting. I love the title, as it sets me up for that familiar Glenda voice. Hugs to you on your trail! Susie
Interesting to see the use of “states” here – which has multiple meanings. That adds depth and complexity to this already complex subject. Ironic that all these “things” we have created [McMansions, fads, time-sensitive “moores,”] to make us feel better are exactly what are also causes us “daily stresses.” Why hesitate, indeed! (Irony that here we all are at our computers on beautiful summer days! But wait – this is GOOD state stuff!)
This is a fitting poem for your travels. The last stanza worked especially well for me. And sorry about all the crazy forms, but we knew you could do it!
Tracie,
THANK you for this challenge! I love how you invited us to write about an obsession. That made me think about how so many (too many) times I’ve beleaguered anyone who’ll listen with my school’s tradition of charging teachers a fee to wear jeans on Fridays. I actually enjoyed how pushing against the villanelle pattern gave me time to resent this (ridiculous!) “policy” even more! 🙂
The teachers at our school are charged a fee
to wear a pair of jeans one day each week.
Two dollars pays for denim liberty.
I used to pay the charge and let it be
but slowly ooze of my resentment leaked:
The teachers at our school can pay a FEE?
Collected cash then goes to charity.
And somehow this affronts me week by week.
Two dollars pays for denim liberty?
So on I stew and grumble angrily
beneath my breath; refuse to play. I seek
out colleagues who resent the charge like me.
Yet no one seems to hear my righteous plea!
“It’s just two bucks,” they say, their glance oblique.
Two dollars pays for denim liberty.
I struggle to find equanimity
while fretting on an issue small and week.
Yet teachers at our school are charged a fee:
Two dollars is the price of liberty.
Oh, Allison, the union rep in me is shouting, “Put an end to this!” It sounds like extortion for charity. I’ll contribute to the charities I want when I want. I sure hope you don’t have a dress code in your contract. What would happen if you wore jeans on a Monday? I have so many questions!
Allison, I can totally understand your frustration and resentment for being charged to wear jeans. It continually amazes me how teachers are treated. Ugh! Our state eliminated teachers right to bargain which Keokuk teachers fought for back in 1969. Feeling affronted is the perfect word to project this asinine fee. I feel a rant coming on! Your poem is a window into a culture that needs to be remedied.
Allison, I love that you chose this subject to write about. Those pet peeves are funny in our lives, and I think a poem about one is a fine diversion. I can see that you are thinking of something bigger in these lines:
and your final refrain where “denim” is removed.
Allison,
I share your righteous indignation. Coerced charity isn’t charity or charitable. I love your poem and the argument inherent in it. I tell you, that policy would cause mutiny in my school.
Oh my gosh, Allison! Your poem just sent me through the roof! A doggone FEE to wear a pair of $90 denims?!?!?!?! A fee to pull on comfortable, durable pants?!?!?! Charity, my foot! That’s a crock! Not to mention demeaning regard for teachers as hard working professional adults who are hired to open minds. And the lemmings who blindly say “It’s just two bucks” … a bloomin’ denim TAX! Smearing the line between charity and coercion is a sorry rub. In solidarity, my friend, I raise my fist and drop my denim drawers! I love that the villanelle reinforces so rousingly the plaint of your voice here. I LOVE this poem! Love your voice! Susie
Ohhhhhh helllllll no!!! I can’t even get through this without panting in frustration and anger. I don’t want to believe this is real. I just can’t.
Wear the damn jeans every damn day and write a check to the charity of your choice, photocopy it, and place it in the teachers’ boxes who don’t support you.
Furious! The things some people do in our schools baffle me. Our dress code is no code. This is both good and bad. Some wear basketball shorts while others where professional clothes. I have to say, I’m in the middle. I wear denim (all colors) 4 days a week. In my first 10 years of teaching I wore dresses more than pants. Honestly, it should be a choice. Everyone is not able to fit into these little boxes.
Well, thanks for this vent. LOL!
They need to stop!
What You Don’t Know
By: Emily Yamasaki
It’s true, you don’t know what you don’t know
Muscles tensed, anticipate the impact
A gradual squeeze, clean, hold. Release.
Each physiological fiber
strung taut each hour, unbeknownst to you
It’s true, you don’t know what you don’t know
The dull sensation barely whispers
it takes a while to recognize Pain
A gradual squeeze, clean, hold. Release.
The mind is diligent, life triage
Prioritize – a worker bee – Doing
It’s true, you don’t know what you don’t know
Despite the resilient mind’s eye
The body will always overpower
A gradual squeeze, clean, hold. Release.
So you must honor the body first
Respecting its limits, noticing Pain
It’s true, you don’t know what you don’t know
A gradual squeeze, clean, hold. Release.
Emily, I’m totally enraptured by your poem. The action makes me think of pain, but a deeper emotional turmoil resonates throughout this. Very thought-provoking!
Honor the body first. Such simple advise, yet so many of us don’t do that. I wonder why.
Emily, wow. Pain would be an obsessive thought. Thank you for sharing your pain here. I like that final refrain, which gives hope and how to handle it.
There is something about the refrain “A gradual squeeze, clean, hold. Release.” which actually lends itself to respond in an almost negating way to the subject matter of pain. The word choices are not combative against the pain, but almost more like a kind of meditative mantra, with actions similar to how we focus on muscles in yogic practice (stretch, hold, release) as well as in muscle-building exercises (which is also a squeeze, hold, release). Amazing how centralized our whole existence can become – focusing on such a miniscule element in the scope of the external universe, but how it can truly overtake an entire internal universe. A topic I never would have imagined seeing, but works so well in this form.
Emily, I needed this poem even though I’m a little late reading. I’ve been dealing with pain that I attribute to 2020-2021 and not being up all day and on my feet. It’s a struggle. I love how you included the mind/body connection:
As much as my mind says I can do something, my body revolts. I guess I need to see a chiropractor at some point and hopefully this school year will bring me back to my less pained self.
Happy belated birthday! I hope you did something special for yourself.
???
A Teacher-Writer Villanelle
Teachers who write tend to be best
at teaching young writers to compose.
It is never about a test.
From experience, she can attest
to the struggles be it verse or prose.
Authentically she can suggest.
On the page, her students express
themselves according to words they chose.
It is never about a test.
Teachers who write don’t have to guess
how to help writers because she knows
ways to extract ideas – repressed.
By her skill, students are impressed.
When she shares the words she has composed,
she’s able to relieve their stress.
Teachers who write may be obsessed
with creating writers, I suppose.
Her writing Scholars are most blessed.
It is never about a test.
Donnetta, FACTS! What a great poem about teacher writers. This has changed me and my teaching.
Donnetta, with your writing skills I am impressed! Your first line is perfect. I am always shocked at how many teachers don’t write with their students. Your refrain could be repeated at least a dozen more times, I think!
Donnetta,
I agree with your opening line. “Teachers who write tend to be best at teaching young writers to compose.” Being a part of Open Write has had that impact on my teaching. It feels so much better when “teachers who write don’t have to guess” the experience their students are having. You put it so perfectly in this poem!
Yes! I wish I could bottle up this poem and share it with my team. How creatively crafted!
Donnetta, You are singing my song! “It is never about the test.” I want to add that line to my email signature! So much truth and heart here. Thank you!
Donetta, your poem is spot on! Developing writers is a life long skill. A skill students treasure, and isn’t it wonderfully fun to be with them during the process! This poem needs to be shared with beginning educators.
Donnetta,
This is a masterful villanelle and absolutely true. “It is never about the test.”
Donnetta – You nailed this mantra for sure… “it’s never about a test”… we writers know that. I want this as a classroom poster, a bumper stick, an NCTE motto… scream it from the rooftops. Thank you! Susie
MIC DROP kind of poem!!!! ?BOOM! ?
The Villanelle was definitely a challenge! I didn’t pick an obsession but more a topic of concern.
A World That Burns
I see a world that burns and burns
mired in toxic fumes and toxic words
when stewardship and love of life are spurned
selfishness and waste we must unlearn
the crying children must be heard
I see a world that burns and burns
smoldering ashes fill Earth’s urn
and leaves no generation deferred
when stewardship and love of life are spurned
floods and hell fire will perpetually return
leaving a world broken, scarred, and blurred
` I see a world that burns and burns
when stewardship and love of life are spurned
Tammi,
I feel this one in my bones. My oldest, after 4 days R&R, is back off to fight fires. This time on the Idaho/Montana border. Lightning strikes from endless thunderstorms started four fires close together in remote mountains. I completely feel, “I see a world that burns and burns / when stewardship and love of life are spurned” as I attempt to balance my anxiety for my son with pride for his commitment to his work.
Stewardship and love of life- those are so important! I’ve been reflecting on stewardship lately, so your poem really spoke to me. Really well done.
I love your word choice “blurred”. For me, it is everything.
I saw so many colors as I read your poem. Shades of red, black, and gray. Beautiful lines –
leaving a world broken, scarred, and blurred
Tammi, I feel the fire in your poem. So well said! Powerful poem!
Villanelles are tough. However, your prompt to pursue an obsessive thought brought me to a comment my husband made on our walk right before I sat down to write. I am not sleeping well, and he says that my mind is preoccupied. I worked on the rhyme scheme but felt the syllables would have taken too long, so I may come back to that at a later date.
My husband says my mind is preoccupied,
for she is leaving home in 37 days.
But who’s counting? Not I.
In another time zone, she will decide
the classes and activities – her pathways.
My husband says my mind is preoccupied.
1,110 miles will be the divide
between home and this new phase.
But who’s counting? Not I.
There are many nights I’ve cried
hoping this will not be where she stays.
My husband says my mind is preoccupied.
6 states through which we will ride,
and 85 days will be the soonest gaze.
But who’s counting? Not I.
My youngest child is ready to fly
leaving behind 2,040 hours of haze.
My husband says my mind is preoccupied.
But who’s counting? Not I.
Oh, Heather, this is precious. You have beautifully, poetically captured the parental sadness of the firstborn leaving home. I really like all the numbers you included. Yes, clearly, you aren’t counting at all!!
Heather — I feel this poem. You’ve have really captured the worry and sadness that comes with this milestone in life. As a mother of 2 recently out of the nest, I can totally relate and understand fully why your “mind is preoccupied.”
Heather my poem from yesterday was about my daughter moving out on her own and making decisions that she no longer need our permission to make. I totally understand how you feel. Sending (((HUGS)))
I am right there with you, Heather. My oldest moved out just a month ago to his college town only 45 minutes away, but has been off fighting wildfires ever since. I have to keep reminding myself that the goal of parenting is to raise capable, independent people, but dang, I miss him. I completely empathize with your preoccupation. Virtual hugs!
Heather…let’s talk! I am having this exact experience! It is so painful! Your husband is correct! “In another time zone, she will decide” really showcases your daughter’s new independence. SHE will decide. Sigh…
Heather.
This is beautiful. And it so perfectly captures how you feel and all the little details. What a perfect keepsake.
This is a beautiful poem. Thank you for sharing this with us and capturing your emotions through these heart-tugging lines. I love your repeating line “But who’s counting? Not I. Sending hugs!
SYMBOLS MATTER
Symbols matter; orchestrated words —
poets get symbols – they carry the weight
of our thinking, our vision, our hope.
More than a symbol, that icon veils
the people behind it, branding
their attitude, thinking, promise, hope.
Confederate Battle Flags fly
up and down Hwy 63
mid-Missouri to Arkansas,
planted in highway-facing front yards,
like canines marking the landscape,
foul thinking, foul promise, foul hope —
blue X on red, crossed stars of secession,
a symbol that matters —
in threat, in promise, in hope
of dragooning any black face
driving the winding 63;
symbols matter, stamp a license
to storm, defend white power,
its deluded promise, its duped hope
through the fog of imagined freedom.
The underbelly of this country —
a mongrel rolled over in the dust,
oozing fear, oozing threat, oozing promise
through bared teeth against those who know
threat in promise, terror in hope,
twisted camouflage, symbols mutated.
This land is not free, never was;
it extracts responsibility
to think, to promise, to hope,
from every single one of us,
in shared community and promise
that bounder us in guiding laws
that protect the common good of all,
rights the equations of inequity
when power, skin color, and symbols
shred the nation.
[The confederate flag, its dubious history, continues to stand as a symbol of hate and power in the devolution of those who wave it. Susie Morice]
by Susie Morice, July 20, 2021©
Wow, Susie, this poem shows so well the rife hatred those who choose to fly a confederate flag represent. I am continually overwhelmed with emotions, feeling distraught by the hate so many people feel entitled to spread. I agree that we are not a land of free and that we do need to take responsibility. The loss of common good is terrifying to me. I also love how you opened this poem with how poets use symbols and carried that idea into the hatred shared by flying the confederate flag on Highway 63. I thought the following tercet was particularly keen:
The underbelly of this country —
a mongrel rolled over in the dust,
oozing fear, oozing threat, oozing promise
Thank you, Susie, for sharing your powerful poem and highlighting this troubling and destructive behavior. Your closing note is the glaring truth. You rock!
This is beautiful:
Susie,
Truth! Symbols really do matter. These lines were really
powerful: “through bared teeth against those who know/ threat in promise, terror in hope,
twisted camouflage, symbols mutated.”
Your poem is chilling in its honesty and in the portrait of a symbol that truly does “shred the nation”.
Susie, Poets are empathy for sure. They see things. They feel things. Your poem explores a topic my family and social studies students discuss often. I will be sharing it during these talks. I appreciate how many words you chose to include that imply a collective responsibility. Quite an impact!
Susie, this is so true! Symbols matter so much (and can be so destructive). I found your poem very powerful — especially after reading Clint Smith’s How the Word Is Passed this summer. Thank you for writing this!
Susie, I am so glad I found your poem tonight. This stanza grabbed me:
“planted in highway-facing front yards,
like canines marking the landscape,
foul thinking, foul promise, foul hope”
You and I both live in sections of the country where our neighbors (!) feel compelled/privileged/free(??) to display racism openly.
Sending love and support,
Allison
Oh, Susie, what power in your words. Thank God for people like you and Margaret living in the south, speaking truth through verse. Thank you for this. I got shivers reading your poem. That ending…wow. There is a bit of hope I feel in that word shred. That people, all of us, could instead shred our own symbols of power-hunger, white supremacy and hatred. May that be true before its too late.
Susie,
This is so powerful, and dang it, it makes me angry to think of all those pissy racists flying that awful flag. They are ignorant. grrrrrr.
Right on time, Susie!! I’m late reading but doggone it, I’m clapping over here! You nailed it!
Hoping that in our lifetime, we will see “the common good of all” come to fruition.
?
Tracie, thanks for today’s challenge. My poem is an attempt to show my anxious, unsettled feelings. Too many wrongs; not enough rights.
Do not seek solace in a fiery reign
where guns explode in a chaotic wind
Communication failures, violence; pain
Injustice, bullies, hatred unrestrained
Rape, molest, hoard ‘til resources are thinned
Do not seek solace in a fiery reign
Hear the broken-hearted solemn refrain
lost and shattered from unspeakable sin
Communication failures, violence; pain
Feel the rife sting of lies spewed and retained;
powerful privilege cast a bloody tinge
Do not seek solace in a fiery reign
Taste brutality, rank poisonous chains;
savage addictions’ insidious grin
Communication failures, violence; pain
Witness evil’s vice grip wreaking to gain
the last hopeful dream—murderous schemes win
Do not seek solace in a fiery reign
Communication failures, violence; pain
Barb Edler
20 July 2021
Barb — I certainly felt the woe in these lines. So many parts of our lives are in disarray… “fiery reign” fits that so well. In some ways we were on the same page tonight. Some of the evil, that “vice grip” just gets a hold on us. Rat race. I admire that you were able to wordsmith a sense of rhythm and rhyme into your poem… I just did not have it this time and am wishing I’d taken time to do more wordsmithing. You’ve inspired me to make time for that. Not sure I’ll get to it tomorrow…so much going on. Favorite image: “rife sting of lies spewed and retained” (especially that “retained”… so wrong!) Maybe tomorrow we can write about daisies…LOL! Hugs, Susie
Susie, I just read your poem, and I saw we were on the same page today. Your poem definitely reflected the types of behavior I alluded to today. Thanks for being such an understanding soul! Daisies sound really nice! Sending hugs your way, too! Barb
I love being privy to this wordsmithing conversation. Love to you both.
Barb, there is so much weight and fear in the admonition,
“Do not seek solace in a fiery reign”
and the way that the villanelle structure echoes that one line really kept me anxious and unsettled! Fantastic rhyming. So many fearful thoughts.
Barb,
The way you personified the struggles of today’s society really hit me hard! “Taste brutality”, “insidious grin”. Yes! Enough is enough!
Barb, what a heavy topic with so many powerful words and images of evil, each one brings up a picture or story of someone who has suffered first-hand.
Praying for redemption.
Tracie, you’ve captured the problem so well in these lines,
The author, genre, theme repartee…(9)
debate rages over texts to assign.(10)
Each has merits, on that we agree. (9)
We often can agree on WHAT TO TEACH, but not why and how.
One thing is for sure! Most of us will invite our students to use verse to explore their thinking about what they are writing. I may even recommend students write a group villanelle! As they discuss what to include, they’ll be reflecting deeply on the book because the members have to concede what lines the poems need.
Thanks for challenging us to give this format a try today!
Anna….I love this idea!
I used a poem generator online.
The Villanelle, though, proved simply too tough.
The output it gave was far from sublime.
I wasn’t hoping for perfect — just fine,
but what it gave was simply just too rough.
I used a poem generator online.
The words I entered hinted at lupine,
a wolfish theme that was met with rebuff.
The output it gave was far from sublime.
I was staring at a creature bovine
and this cowlike nature it could not slough.
I used a poem generator online.
A creature of marvel so Frankenstein,
I stayed my thoughts, did not leave in a huff.
The output it gave was far from sublime.
Unlike the doctor, I’ll use it some time
in an ode which’ll need to be enough.
I used a poem generator online.
The output it gave was far too sublime.
Love that tension between generator and the poem format …
Wonderful! The output it gave was far from sublime… and what you produce is always sublime!!
LOLOLOL! Scott, what a dandy. I had never even thought to use a poem generator…didn’t even realize there was such a thing…. so, perhaps I’m due for “sublime” output from online assistance. LOL! I love the witty voice here that actually made those repeated lines work. While my head understood the power of villanelle repetitions, I could not get a handle on it today to save my soul. Here you are rhyming, repeating, and having an all out heyday with this. Well done! Susie
This is wonderful, Scott. Who knew there was a poem generator online?! I like these two lines especially:
“A creature of marvel so Frankenstein” had me laughing so hard. What a delightful way to word the insecurities poets can feel about their work.
Alright, another chance to practice rhyming! Mo, I did take your suggestion about generating a list of possibly rhyming words in the margin – it did help a bit, so thanks! The obsession this is poem refers to is researching genealogy. I feel a bit sheepish to admit that I sure can obsess over trying to uncover hidden details about the lives of those who came before me. This poem refers specifically to one specific ancestor 4 generations back who I’ve really had to work hard to fetter out details about his life.
John Simpson
A mystery man from out of the blue
I dig and question and scrutinize
For your name is my name too
These documents, letters, records I review
In Indiana Territory a seeming orphan you arise
Would I have found my likeness in you?
A life of woodcutting and farming was what you knew
And your hand, perhaps your gun, against the Sauk I’ll not disguise
Yes, I confess your name is my name too
Things I ponder: you wife left, land seized due to taxes over due
The “many books” noted among your possessions I analyze
Would I have found my likeness in you?
These questions and quandaries I delight to pursue
The mysteries of your birth, your life, and demise
Because your name is my name too
Would I have found my own likeness in you?
I love this! The refrain what’s follows each bit of info becomes more and more poignant…
Emily,
So appreciate where you took today’s inspiration — inquiry!
These wonderings make me wonder, too.
Sarah
Emily, your poem sounds like the opening lines to a mystery novel! You make me want to keep reading to learn if, indeed, this person is related…and so what? It’s the “so what” that makes writing fun to read. Think you’ll write an I SEARCH book about your geneoglogy search?
What a neat idea! And all the lines and rhymes flow so well, Emily. I haven’t written mine yet, but it makes me want to research my ancestors more in depth! (One of which was killed for being a witch during the witch trials ?)
Emily,
I love that you know so much about your ancestors. I haven’t tried to research mine and only know general stuff, but this makes me curious. I like the variations you did with the refrains, they really make it flow and enhance the message. Nice job!!
Genealogy is such a great obsession! Your poem is so clever, and you drew me in – now I want to know more about this mystery man, too. Such a cool puzzle to solve! The rhymes here are fabulous.
Emily,
Now I am obsessing over this thought. Will future generations be able to know more or less about us? Technology. Will it leave a clearer trail to answers? But actual artifacts in hard copy form? Not many of those remain.
The more interesting question is what is the psychology behind why we care so much to know “would I have found my likeness in you”.
Fascinating!
Thanks for this prompt today, Tracie—a real challenge. I asked myself, “What do I think about every day?” Sadly, I realized I am an addict!
Confessions of Love to the Blessed Bean
By Nancy White
What is this seductive burnt bean that I smell?
O dark drug of dependence, I fear
I am Pavlov’s dog hearing the bell
Without you my life would be living hell
You’re more than a friend, you’re “my precious”, my dear
What is this seductive burnt bean that I smell?
I feel that I’ve known you so long and so well
You’re the spring in my step each day, each year
I am Pavlov’s dog hearing the bell
The darker, the better—there’s no parallel
to your goodness, I stop in my tracks and must veer—
What is this seductive burnt bean that I smell?
I go up and down ‘round your carousel
I think you’re much better than wine or beer
I am Pavlov’s dog hearing the bell
You reel me in, I’m in your spell
Green Goddess’s grinders, all I can hear
What is this seductive burnt bean that I smell?
I am Pavlov’s dog hearing the bell
I’m sitting here laughing so hard at myself because I’m thinking, “What burnt bean is she talking about?” It took me a minute to get it because I am a tea drinker! Nonetheless, it’s a living tribute to your addiction. I love “the dark drug of dependence.”
Mo—thank you!!!! I was so confused. Maybe because I’m simultaneously planning for a tutoring session and paging through poems…
This is so funny! And so true to many. Thanks for this well crafted poem.
Love this, Nancy! The reference to Pavlov’s dog had me laughing. I’m a coffee addict, too! So I’m right there with you.
Once Mo explained that it was coffee, I burst out laughing.the darker the better. Love those burnt beans!
Nancy,
Love what enjambment does in these lines:
The darker the better…and then ” to your goodness” . That contrast is brilliant.
Sarah
“You reel me in, I’m in your spell” I love the seduction of this poem! I am not a coffee drinker, but I do love the smell.
Nancy, I really enjoyed your praise of “this seductive burnt bean”! I’m with you on this (although I do prefer both cream and sugar in my morning cup of Joe). Thanks!
Thanks, Scott! I won’t say no to a little cream and sugar, but dark roast is a must.
Nancy, wow, I am so impressed with how well your poem flows. Love “seductive burnt bean” and “Pavlov’s dog hearing the bell”…both work so well to show your addiction. Wonderful!
Oh my gosh, Nancy, this is a riot. It has the lilt of darned good song. Love the coffee idea…mmmmm. And you and Pavlov’s doggy…ahaha!
This line just made me guffaw…I could see and hear you rubbing your hands together like a fiend poring over a wicked potion:
Fun poem! Susie
Nancy, I cannot copy and paste my favorite lines for this poem here in this response because the entire poem is my favorite. Coffee is my reason for getting up. I love the ritual which you captured so vividly!
I was reading this like Mo! I was so dense. I thought of French Burnt Peanuts, refried beans, yikes! I knew I wasn’t understanding it. I too am a tea drinker. So when I saw what it was I read the first stanza to my husband. He said, “That’s brilliant.” I asked if he knew what it was about. He had a duh look and said, “Coffee.’ Then I read the rest to him. He loved it, and it made total sense to me the second time! A great way to read a poem.
A favorite line of both of us is:
What a villainous challenge, today, Tracie!
My obsession is hiding in plain sight
My love for books I do concede
Reading and recommending with delight
To some I may come off as erudite,
Because I read books at light speed
My obsession is hiding in plain sight
If you say you hate reading, that’s alright
I don’t let a poor attitude impede
Reading and recommending with delight
If apathy is your unlucky plight
My titles entice until you are freed
My obsession is hiding in plain sight
I’m praised for my knowledge and foresight
And I am oh, so happy, to succeed
Reading and recommending with delight
So please, if I approach with an invite
Do me a favor, take the book and read!
My obsession is hiding in plain sight
Reading and recommending with delight
What a wonderful obsession. I envy the speed you have for reading at light speed.
An awesome, obsession to have! Love the image of you hiding in plain sight reading. Just perfect!
Mo,
Such an anthem for readers!
Love your dedication!
Sarah
Love this obsession! I’m amused by “My titles entice until you are freed” – I suspect your students become great readers.
I want to be this person! I love it, Mo! My obsession with books is all about possession then I have the delays to begin reading that kill the fun! LOL.
You rock, you reader! ?
Mo,
Book worms unite! I relate to your reading books at “light speed” very much–it’s a valuable skill, especially for English teachers! I love this ode to bibliophiles!
Mo, your poem is perfect. I am such a book lover and I enjoyed how you dealt with those who seem not to feel the same about books. This poem is a perfect reflection of you! “Reading and recommending with delight”. FYI, on a side note, have you ever read Conviction by Joy Lee Gilbert. It’s a great young adult book with lots of issues and an excellent main male character.
Aah, Mo — the quintessential reader! The reading teacher! You rock! I will keep this in mind for sure the next time I’m looking for a recommendation! You could put this on a poster for the classroom or the library! Susie
I love your poem, and I share your obsession. I love your refrain.
“So please, if I approach with an invite Do me a favor, take the book and read!” is my favorite line because it reveals how much you truly value books. If your invitees accept, it is doing YOU a favor.
Those who know me know that I am very determined to be independent. This is hard won after some years of deferring too much, so I guess I’m obsessed with independence.
Villanelles are hard! But I tried to lean into the challenge.
Independence is a hard-earned skill,
From the beginning we are in need
Of assistance to overcome each hill.
Despite forays in search of a thrill
We don’t always listen and take heed
Independence is a hard-earned skill.
Whatever we may hope to instill,
With our own determination we speed
Without assistance to overcome each hill.
Attempt and attain on a quest to fulfill
What began as a small and hopeful seed.
Independence is a hard-earned skill.
There will always be those with ill will
Striving, scheming and spurring to impede
Any assistance to overcome each hill.
Only when we find inner strength to fulfill
Will we truly be able to get what we need.
Independence is a hard-earned skill.
Accept the assistance to overcome each hill.
I agree, Cara. Independence is a hard-earned skill. Your poem makes me think about how I felt upon graduating from college. I remember not feeling like an adult even though I suddenly had all these responsibilities of adulthood. I don’t think I actually felt like an adult until I had children and then realized. Oh, crap. I have to get my s… together!
Cara, I really like the way you tweak your two repeating lines at times to give greater depth of meaning, especially the last line – accept the assistance to overcome each hill. Also, I just like the idea of thinking about independence as a SKILL – I think I tend to think of it as a default position, but considering it as something to be worked on, to be practiced and crafted – that gives me something to think about!
An excellent obsession! We want to be able, to do for ourselves. These lines captivated me:
I am thinking of my young granddaughters, how each day they work at being more and more independent…and the role of adults in nurturing this.
Cara, I adore your poem and its message! I am all for INDEPENDENT WOMEN! ??????
Cara, I know you’re independent, you can’t say no to a challenge, and I know you like to bend rules here and there ? This poem is so YOU through and through. Thanks for writing this today and making me think differently about independence.
Cara, your poem flows effortlessly. I love the message here. I agree with your poem and especially enjoyed: “Only when we find inner strength to fulfill
Will we truly be able to get what we need.”
Your poem speaks to me as I send my youngest off to college. Between work and parenting, I feel that I have lost myself. Now, I feel your quatrain deeply.
The alliteration in “striving, scheming and spurring to impede” evokes a snake trying to steal your independence.
“Accept the assistance to overcome each hill” is such a relief to me! I wanted to shout throughout each line that you can’t do it alone. I have had to learn this the hard way. I was so glad to realize you have learned this as well,
Tracie,
Thank you for the challenge today. I tend to write in free verse most of the time. The villanelle really forces one to choose their lines and their rhymes wisely.
Your villanelle really gets at the essence of many teachers’ thoughts about reading.
Sending me on a mission about what I obsess over . . . that’s in my wheelhouse. My life tends to be one big rumination.
No Drugs on This Trip
A Now that I have a phone in hand
B I tend to descend down the rabbit hole
A Like Alice, wondering when I will land
A Digging for info, whether small or grand
B Has so often been my primary goal
A Now that I have a phone in hand
A Trying to figure out where I might stand
B Curiouser and curiouser my role
A Like Alice, wondering when I will land
A Back in the day, we didn’t understand
B How to dig around in search like a mole
A But now I have a phone in hand
A Minutes, hours, days . . . more time than I planned
B Out the window goes all self-control
A Like Alice, wondering when I will land
A On a mission, my brain to expand
B And always trying to fill my tired soul
A Now that I have a phone in hand
A Like Alice, wondering when I will land
~Susan Ahlbrand
20 July 2021
Susan, I love how the repetition of “phone in hand” stresses our reliance on the phone. Somehow I survived more than half my life without instant knowledge at my fingertips, but I can hardly imagine those days anymore. There were endless trips to the library, encyclopedias, atlases, maps you had trouble folding, and always dimes in your wallet in case you needed to use the pay phone. I feel ancient.
Phone in hand…. Remember when we just…left the house? I feel like my left arm is left behind. Alice would agree!
Susan — I love your allusion to Alice falling into the rabbit hole. I often feel that way too with technology, wondering where has the time gone. It really is so easy to get lost with a phone in hand. You’ve captured that feeling of being out of control really well.
You have captured a classic obsession here, Susan. Where does the time go, with a phone in hand?
Susan,
Oh the pit of technology! You beautifully capture the abyss (with literary allusion!) that so many of us fall into. The world just keeps making it easier and easier to lose time–smart phones, tablets, smart watches, etc., self-control has never been more necessary. Thank you for capturing this so well.
Susan, your poem is so relatable and I loved the connection with Alice going down the rabbit hole! “Out the window goes all self-control” LOL! Love it!
Susan– You sure as heck are not alone in this “trip.” I want to share this with several of my phone-obsessed friends…we’ll get a chuckle. Loved Alice’s “Curiouser and curiouser.” Susie
“No drugs on this trip” could not be a more perfect title!
Thank you, Tracie, for this challenge today. I started writing about my cat but then I decided to be honest and turned into my sad heart today. My cousin has just lost a daughter to COVID and I know of other writers in this group that have gone through such a terrible loss.
Loss of a Child
The truth is during last week or so
I’ve been dwelling on the loss of a child.
How can it be death won’t let one grow?
Hurt more painful than cuts from a knife.
A wound that won’t heal, deep, seeping for years.
Dreams, joy, and laughter gone with this life.
I’ve never suffered in such a way
but I watch friends, a cousin in torment.
Anguish beyond what I feel with dismay.
A wound that won’t heal, time helps to cope
but it never heals, that hole in the heart.
Age makes one tougher. We learn how to hope.
Those that have lost one taken so young
always something missing from deep inside.
The seed that gave birth to another, unsung
now gone, a being that blossomed and died.
Oof. I’ve been helping a friend through this. Not much help to give, really. These words…
Hurt more painful than cuts from a knife.
A wound that won’t heal, deep, seeping for years.
Dreams, joy, and laughter gone with this life.
this is it. The truth.
Susie, this makes my heart break to think of your dear cousin and what she’s going through right now. These lines are so true:
but it never heals, that hole in the heart.
My prayers and condolences for you all, especially your cousin.
Now looking at others poems I realize that I didn’t’t quite get the form correct. I worked on it bit more. Here’s the latest version.
Loss of a Child (version 2)
The truth is during last week or so
I’ve been dwelling on the loss of a child.
How can it be death won’t let one grow?
Hurt more painful than cuts from a knife.
Dreams, joy, and laughter gone with this life.
How can it be death won’t let one grow?
A wound that won’t heal, time helps to cope
Age makes one tougher. We learn how to hope.
How can it be death won’t let one grow?
Those that have lost one taken so young
The seed that gave birth to another, unsung
How can it be death won’t let one grow?
Aways something missing from deep inside.
Now gone, a being that blossomed and died.
How can it be death won’t let one grow?
Succumbed during the last week or so.
Susan, this poem is also awesome, but the first one is so powerful. I like the focus on death not letting one grow in this version.
Thank you, Barb, I am learning from all of you.
Susan — so sorry for your loss. These lines broke my heart:
“always something missing from deep inside.
The seed that gave birth to another, unsung
now gone, a being that blossomed and died.”
Sending prayers for you and your family.
There is no greater pain, is there? This is so sad; your poem so beautiful. How to go on, without a child? Your words convey the pain and complexity of such grief. This line resonates especially –
Susan, your poem shares such a beautiful image of a child lost and is incredibly poignant. I absolutely adore your final stanza and especially
“The seed that gave birth to another, unsung
now gone, a being that blossomed and died.”
Tears! My deepest sympathies for you and your family’s incredible loss.
I’m so sorry for your family, Susie.
I respect that you tried to steer away from your instinct to write about your cat to use this chance to work through your emotions.
”Always something missing from deep inside” is exactly right.
Tracie, thank you for teaching me to push through when writing is hard! I am so grateful for this challenge. Yesterday, I watched Dave Burgess talk about why we should reframe “assignments” as “challenges” because it changes our mindset about pushing through. Today’s prompt was a fantastic challenge! So glad I didn’t give up.
I used the Villanelle Village link that Denise shared because I needed that extra scaffolding. Your poem needs to be shared with the education community. I wish we could return to the days of enjoying reading for reading, not for CCSS or any other standardized assessments that marginalize so many of our scholars. Thank you!
My poem is about an obsession but it’s more like a pet peeve. People who talk to much seem to be obsessed with talking to ME!! My sister says I don’t know how to say okay great and walk away. She says I let them hold me hostage?. So this poem is for the people who have held me hostage! I wanted to title it with a curse word but my heart said, “Words have power.” LOL!
Shhhhhhh!
Do people realize when they talk too much?
Yipping and yapping without taking a break
Please, shut their mouths in a metal clutch!
Rambling on about blah blah and such
My eyes glaze over and head begins to ache
Do people realize when they talk too much?
How can they be so out of touch
Make them stop for my sanity’s sake
Please, shut their mouths in a metal clutch!
Maybe babbling nonsense is a crutch
Words pouring out as soon as they’re awake
Do people realize when they talk too much?
They may as well be speaking in Latin or Dutch
I smile and nod but I won’t partake
Please, shut their mouths in a metal clutch!
There is no meaning to such and such
I vomit sighs from the pauses they won’t take
Do people realize when they talk too much?
Please, shut their mouths in a metal clutch!
©Stacey L. Joy, July 20, 2021
“I vomit sighs from the pauses they won’t take”. Have you been talking with my sister? You have brought my feelings down to the essential point! I will be reciting this during my next endless convo with her!
Funny!!! My sister is an introvert and when she decides to share something with me, it’s endless. Nothing is worse than when she wants to tell me about her dreams. She gives EVERY SINGLE DETAIL! I’m tuned out before she gets halfway through. LOL, but this poem is more for the others who hold me hostage. My sister doesn’t do it often enough to be included here. ?
Stacey, I love this! I’m chuckling to myself. I can relate to you so much in that I seem to be a magnet to people who just want to talk incessantly. I find myself interrupting them to say, “Ooops! Gotta go to the bathroom!” (Inside I’m thinking, “Shut the fuck up!” There are people who are oblivious to the fact that they can’t stand to NOT hear their own voice. I am a quiet type and I think they must sense that. Ugh!!
You made me laugh out loud on what you think but don’t say! Exactly!
Stacey,
There is so much to love about this poem! You are too funny. Sometimes I find myself checked out like you, “I smile and nod but I won’t partake.” Inside I’m saying to myself while staring at the person’s mouth, “Isn’t that amazing? They can just take a breath and out of the blue come up with a totally different topic. Wow. That is extraordinary.” As an introvert, I can’t even fathom how they can keep doing it without getting responses and crosstalk.
As others have said, this line is golden: “I vomit sighs from the pauses they won’t take”
Oh, I have had this feeling lately. “Do people realize when they talk too much?” or talk too fast? Yes, my eyes start to glaze over and I don’t hear. Such a problem with communication. Glad to know others feel the same. Thanks.
I’m laughing out loud! I have a daughter who is more introverted than I am and she said the thing she hates most is people who talk too much. Your poem is perfect. I love “blah, blah, blah” and “such and such.” Rhyme and rhythm are spot on, too.
Stacey — thank you for your fun poem! I’ve known quiet a few of the people you describe. Laughed out loud to “I vomit sighs from the pauses they won’t take.” I always wonder how these fast and furious talkers who generally disclose TMI even have time to breathe.
I don’t think people do realize they talk so much – but, they most certainly should be interrupted and reminded to “pass the mic”!!! Loved this. Sorry for your pain! I, too, often find myself cornered…in this respect, COVID has been great for me, because there’s been far less opportunities to get stuck like this. (Isn’t the mute button on Zoom a wonderful feature? hahaha)
LOL my friends and I were just saying how will we manage the voices all at once in class? Terrifying. Maybe I will wear headphones and act like I can’t hear them. So funny. The pandemic definitely shielded me and that was a silver lining for sure!
Stacey,
Ah, an ode that every introvert can relate to! As someone who really appreciates silence and yet seems to have a neon sign on my forehead declaring “talk to ME,” I so dearly relate. I love it!
Stacey, I love how you share this annoying behavior! So true, but funny, too! I appreciate your sister’s insight because I do think some people do take others as hostage, and why are they so oblivious…ugh! I absolutely loved “I vomit sighs from the pauses they won’t take”. Great poem 🙂
Oh man, Stacey, this is hilarious! I mean REALLY hilarious…because it rings so true. I’m a culprit myself way too often (good lesson for me) and I also have a friend who literally does not take a breath and we have to say, “Hey! Hey! Take a breath!” To which this friend smiles and winds right up again jabbering 1000 mpg. LOL! I love the image of the “metal clutch” latching on the lips…HAHAHA! Your rhyming and general rhythm makes this totally fun to real out loud. Well done! Susie
This poem is awesome. This is my sister-in-law. I do think she realizes she talks too much, for she is told over and over again. She just can’t help it. She needs that metal clutch.
Stacey, oh my gosh, I’m rolling! This is so on point! We all have those hostage takers who need the metal clutches. “I vomit sighs from the pauses they won’t take” reminds me of how I feel about my number one incessant talker! Hilarious! Thanks for the laugh!
Stacey,
You. Are So. Funny.
I am amazed when people cannot read social cues and wrap it up already! “Yipping and yapping without taking a break” spoke to me. I have been in situations with people where I have NEVER even gotten in a single word.
Regarding the state of reading and its place in education…will reading ever make its way back into the lives of our students as a fun activity?
Love Dave Burgess! Great way to approach assignments…challenges! Good tip! Thank you!
Tracie, this was something else indeed – a real challenge! Wow. Thank you. Love the idea of thinking about our obsessions, what are we always thinking about. I loved your focus on middle school reading, and your advocacy for your students comes through so clearly.
I noticed that Dylan Thomas begins with two rhymes that are opposites: night and day. I ended up going down a rabbit hole … which two antonyms could guide my writing? what am I obsessed with? I ended up with fear and hope.
Beware the Subtle Art of Fear
beware the subtle art of fear
revelation suffocating hope
eliminating all that is dear
worry twisted into sneer
counter arguments as dope
beware the subtle art of fear
wisdom and love hard to hear
angst broadens its corrosive scope
eliminating all that is dear
the boogeyman is always near
the path forward a tightrope
beware the subtle art of fear
so quickly, trust will disappear
freedom lost on slippery slope
eliminating all that is dear
shared values now unclear
each of us unable to cope
beware the subtle art of fear
eliminating all that is dear
Maureen, your poem is POWERFUL! You chose the right words (hope and fear) and the poem flows beautifully. I wasn’t able to get the rhythm and flow. How did you do that? I’m in awe!
This really hits me and makes me think about why my son has a hard time when he’s facing his fears:
Thank you, I needed this!
Maureen, you nailed the villanelle, it seems to me. I really came to appreciate the rhyme pattern of the villanelle with the words you chose. Like fear and hope opposites in meaning, so too it seems the rhymes in alternating lines are opposite-like–such different sounds /eer/ and /ope/.
So many powerful thoughts like:
Maureen, I feel this poem through and through. The fear that ends our best intentions is something that I truly struggle with. Your final stanza speaks such a solid truth….”eliminating all that is dear”. Amazing poem! Thank you!
Maureen — This examination of “the subtle art of fear” is really provocative for me. I am rereading this, mining it for insights…I too often let fear get hold of me (fear of heights/drop-offs; fear of my dog (who’s gone now) getting hit by a car–a recurring nightmare…geez; and other little fears that don’t seem like much…but it is the subtlety of it…it does, in fact, sneak up on you..”slippery slope.” Well done poem! Thank you. Susie
Maureeeeeeen! Since January, I have worked with a group on concept based inquiry and one of the questions that we have repeatedly discussed – (we keep revisiting it) is whether hope can exist in the absence of fear – and how fear changes in the absence of hope. We’ve also discussed how they are opposites and the perceptions of others who don’t see them as such. Oh, how I love your first three lines and can’t wait to share with my team! Yes – I love the deep thinking and ways of thinking of the attributes of hope and fear!
“Beware the subtle art of fear eliminating all that is dear” speaks volumes!
I fear sooooo much, but letting it rule my life comes at such a cost!
My 7th grade students and I examine social issues in a unit featuring dystopian text. We learn that ignorance begets fear, fear begets hate, hate begets violence, and violence is “eliminating all that is dear”. I would like to add your poem to my text list, if I may.
Wow, Tracie. Thanks for helping us grow this week as poets. I have a really busy week helping to lead a storytelling workshop, but I can’t be absent! I always want to come and play and read everyone’s poems. Your poem about middle school literacy is great. I think the questions see? and agree? lines at the end of each stanza reinforce that it is a topic to discuss and work to find all the best practices. I agree about SSR being an important missing piece!
I read an opinion piece by Kate Cohen today: “The two numbers that could get people to take the vaccine” at The Washington Post. My villanelle is mostly a found poem from her words.
I wrote my villanelle draft using this handy-dandy Villanelle Village. It gives all the lines in the right places and helps with the pattern of rhymes. Even a list of rhymes to consult right there. I’d recommend it: http://henrycrawfordpoetry.com/Tools/Villanelle I created a new form, though, with crazy syllable totals in each line.
Numbers Tell the Truth: Deaths of Vaxxed vs. Unvaxxed
Life-saving vaccine effective and free
Urging us to avoid it is a powerful campaign
Opposing it against all reason and morality
“Politicizing [this] is an act of outrage and frankly
Moronic,” said Mitt Romney, his repute retained
Life-saving vaccine, effective and free
A running tally of who is dying would decree
the truth of the disinformation as inhumane,
Opposing it against all reason and morality
Right wing politicians and T.V. hosts on a spree
to lie about microchips that will put us in chains
Life-saving vaccine effective and free.
Succeeding to a spectacular degree
is the lethal propaganda created to entertain
Opposing it against all reason and morality
History-making, world-saving efficacy
Look at the facts; truth will remain
Life-saving vaccine effective and free
Opposing it against all reason and morality
Denise, I admire how you wove in so many words from your reading, and found great rhymes within! Love this:
You and I are both obsessing on the same damn thing that will not go away. Your repeated lines, “Life-saving vaccine effective and free
Opposing it against all reason and morality” say it all. The vaccine is free, people, and it saves lives. My mother-in-law, who just turned 90, is alive today because of the vaccine. I feel that gratitude more than ever now that she has Covid and only has a mere annoying cough. Last summer she would have died. If poetry could save the world, you and I are fighting the good fight.
Amen, Margaret! Susie
Denise, thank you for sharing the link to the villanelle tool. Ohhhh, how I needed it! Your poem is right on time. I was just shaking my head at the numbers of hospitalizations and cases rising in the unvaxxed group. My heart breaks because I worry that many of my elementary-aged children coming in August may be coming from unvaxxed families. Frightening. Your refrains, yes!!!!!
Thanks, friend!! ?
Huzzah! Look t the fact a—the truth will remain. I love found poetry, and you have mastered the art here!
This is heavy on my mind, too, Denise. Thanks for this poem and for the link.
I love your repetition of these lines:
Opposing it against all reason and morality
Denise, wow, you speak such an important truth! I absolutely loved:
“Succeeding to a spectacular degree
is the lethal propaganda created to entertain
Opposing it against all reason and morality”
It continually blows my mind how people want to make the vaccine a political ploy to control people…..ugghhhhhghhghg! Incredible poem! Thank you!
Oh wow, Denise — You hit on a topic that really resonates with me. I am bonkers about the vax deniers. Total insanity. Each stanza had me fist pumping! And the doggone politicians who just make it all worse. Great poem! Amen for VAX! I vex for my community. I vex for you. You van for me. And we’ll dance in the streets of a better tomorrow! Susie
Denise, you could launch an entire vaccine reconsideration movement with this poem – it’s so true and could save lives, yet people are so skeptical about what’s in the syringe. For that matter, what’s in the milk we drink? What’s in the chicken we eat? The logic of fearing a vaccine over all the other things that could go sideways is just not solid. I love your refrains!
Respect for making your own poetry form!
With the school year drawing near, I too am feeling a bit obsessive about this topic.
What more is there really to say than, “life-saving vaccine effective and free”?
Choose or Lose
Talking about what matters the most
How do we help folks understand?
It’s important to vote from coast to coast!
Voting is a right, one for which we fought
No taxation without representation
Freedom to vote was costly but bought
With lives before we were a nation.
Talking about what matters the most
How do we help folks understand?
It’s important to vote from coast to coast!
He who pays taxes never relaxes
Because he wants to bang for the buck.
Revolution arose over taxes.
Let’s not relegate voting luck.
Let’s not lose. We must choose.
To do what is right. Show your might.
Write a poem while sipping your booze.
Send a letter and help spread the light.
Written in honor of Crispus Attucks, who in 1770 is said to be the first casualty of the American Revolution. He was a man of African descent, one of many races, all color faces who fought for the right to vote and more! https://www.google.com/search?q=first+black+man+killed+in+revolutionary+war&ie=UTF-8&oe=UTF-8&hl=en-us&client=safari
Anna, thank you so much for this link and historical insight. I’d love to use your poem to share as a discussion tool about voting. Seriously, I cannot understand people who will say out loud that they chose not to vote. Loved your line “To do what is right. Show your might.” Thank you!
Anna, the repetition of lines here mimics the urgency in getting people to vote. It feels as if we are on play, repeat, play, repeat. This important message (right) cannot be lost. These lines resonate: “Freedom to vote was costly but bought with lives before we were a nation.” Truth.
Anna, you have cleverly captured the urgency of voting; the repetition of these three lines:
really underscores the importance of voting.
Anna — I’m with you 100%! Thanks. Susie
Cheers for the right to vote – and keeping that right! I love “write a poem
while sipping your booze…send a letter and help spread the light!” Two perfect ways to show our might.
The villanelle has been on my try-this plate because it’s the Poetry Sisters challenge for this month. I wrote one, but since I had the time to dig in this morning, I wrote another. These are such good puzzles to solve. Our family has been invaded by Covid. No one is terribly sick because we’ve all been vaccinated, but I am struggling with anger. I used Rita Dove’s Testimony, 1968 as a jumping off place.
Who comforts me now that the virus has broken?
Numbers mean nothing now that you’re ill.
Anger is constant now, hope lost or stolen.
We thought our lives safe to reopen,
but Delta arrived with its own stubborn will.
Who comforts me now? The virus has broken
through the vaccine’s promised protection.
Trust has been shattered on CDC’s sill.
Anger is constant now, hope lost or stolen.
Safe, unsafe rules are misspoken
as droplets of viral air aim to kill.
Who comforts me now that the virus has broken?
Our lines of defense should be woken
to what we now know is out there still.
Who comforts me now that the virus has broken?
Anger is constant; hope lost or stolen.
(Stay safe! Stay masked!)
Wow
The Villanelle form is powerful companion here to the message, Margaret, as the repeating phrasing and rhythm give increasing power to the poem.
Kevin
Margaret, your frustration, anger, hopelessness, all come through in your words. These feelings build throughout. I’m sorry you are fighting Covid now, especially after vaccination. Thankfully, you have been vaccinated and can survive the “droplets of viral air.”
Margaret, I am so sorry to hear that COVID has invaded your family – what a powerful word, invaded. There is such heartbreak throughout, and especially in these lines:
There is much comfort – I hope – that no one is terribly sick, because you are vaccinated. Your poem offers insight to those who have not dared get the vaccine – spread the word!
What emotion in this. I’m so glad this is the topic of your villanelle this morning. Of course you’re angry…I’m angry too. I appreciate that we won’t get severely ill or die or take up a hospital bed. But, we don’t even know if/what the long term impact of having had covid/delta variant is yet. Good poem.
Margaret, I’m sad, angry, and frustrated! I am happy you aren’t very ill but that’s not okay either way. Praying you and your family recover soon.
Your poem is another one that needs to be shared widely. When I’m out and see all these people unmasked, sitting around close together in restaurants, at parties, it’s maddening. I have a wedding reception to attend at the end of the month and I will probably be the only one wearing a mask. OH WELL, TOO DAMN BAD!
Get rest and stay hydrated. ??
Stacy,
Thanks for your empathy. I’m not sick but my 90 year old mother-in-law is. She’s tough and doing better every day. The vaccine saved her life!
Who comforts me now that the virus has broken? That refrain is heartbreaking and angering and I understand why your hope is stolen. I am angry for you! Hope the recovery is swift…
Margaret, we were just talking about the Delta variant at lunch today. Your lines:
The virus has broken
through the vaccine’s promised protection.
Trust has been shattered on CDC’s sill
are heartfelt and scary. That trust that has been shattered – – makes it hard to know what is safe anymore. I’m so sorry that your family is going through this. Your repeating lines are both haunting and kinship-connecting for all of us.
Stay safe, and feel better, my friend.
Yes, fight on, Margaret! I’m so glad that your family’s cases are mild. Especially your mother-in-law. Do take care!
Thanks for writing this.
Oh boy, I feel your anger and worry. This must be especially hard now that school will soon start. No one really knows how safe we are. I am angry and saddened over those that refuse to vaccinate. We have been effected in our family. Has the virus really been broken? Yes, who comforts me now?
Margaret, incredibly powerful poem, and such an amazing reminder that the virus is not diminished. I’m sorry if you have a loved one afflicted now. I can feel your anger throughout this poem. Hugs!
Tracie, my obsession today became writing this villanelle! Thank you for hinting at its roots, which allowed me to dig in – a hole I love to fall into. So I had fun, learned some things, and feel accomplished for completing the challenge.
Poetry Dwelling
Lyrical, pastoral, the villanelle
Calls to mind days fallen by, long gone
Within its past, I felt the need to dwell
Form and rhyme contained in poetry’s shell
Like house, farm, village, which all share its root
Lyrical, pastoral, the villanelle
From its start (low born), a need to retell
And raise up villain, which expressed contempt
Within its past, I felt the need to dwell
Elevating the word – the French tell
Its beauty in ballad, a rural song
Lyrical, pastoral, the villanelle
Yet shrouded, hidden – a poetry kell
A torturous form, a true villain
Within its past, I felt the need to dwell
Wading fodder etymological
Both fascinated and pushed me through
Lyrical, pastoral, the villanelle
Within its past, I would rather dwell
nice
I love that you dove deep into what is a villanelle! And shared this knowledge with us all, here. It made for lovely rhymes throughout.
And I am today years old with all the newfound information! You gave a lesson and a perfectly crafted example all in one!
A torturous form, a true villain…within its past, I felt the need to dwell
Oh, that description of the soul abiding in the ruins of that hole you love to fall into! Your rhyme and rhythm are felt pulsing with passionate heartbeat, and I love that you used etymological in the poem! That’s high-brow writing right there – and so on point!
Wow, Jennifer. What a beautiful poem.I love that it is a villanelle about villanelles. It is making me think of a series of Poetry Dwelling collection. Sonnet, decima, golden shovel, etc. A history of the form in the form. You have done so here with such grace and beauty…
Gosh, this is incredible! I love the choices you made with your refrains and rhymes.Your poem is a lesson on the villanelle and also flows like a song! Wow.
Jennifer — This would be a dandy classroom exam… to explain the form via the form. Love this. You get an A+. Susie
Tracie—I feel your pain! Your obsession was mine, and your angst is real. That darned grade level. What happened to pleasure. Anyway, I had to choose an obsession, so here you go. (I am not usually a rhyming poet—tend to love free verse—you are exercising my brain!)
Mess
Confess, she said— about what you obsess.
The fairy looked at me sternly, “Truth
Is best. I’m here to help.” I blurted, “The mess”
“Damn,” she said. She shook her lovely head.
So mundane. A waste of a wish. Not youth?
I have a GREAT deal on youth this week, she pled.
But I stuck by my guns (or they stuck to me)—
I don’t recall specifically—youth
Is wasted on those challenged domestically.
(We would just make younger messes…)
So, to continue this tawdry tale,
I begged the slagging fairy, Forsooth—
Just help me, here. Look around, a trail.
(Who names their fairy child Forsooth, anyway?)
All the things I’ve taken out remain,
evidence of bad character, no sleuth
required, Miss Fairy. But I WILL explain…
She looked around, the dust-motes swizzled.
Her curls uncurled, her high hopes fizzled.
My hapless fairy shook her head,
her magnum opus was, sadly, dead.
My mess was its own sad success.
Even the good-wish fairy has her limits.
7/20/21
Gayle, I’m amazed at you – concocting this delightful piece so early in the morning and with what appears to be such ease. I love how you took a potentially forced rhyme (forsooth) and made it a part of this narrative so naturally (who names their fairy child, Forsooth, anyway?). And the attitude of the swearing fairy (damn!). My favorite lines: “She looked around, the dust-motes swizzled. Her curls uncurled, her high hopes fizzled.” Love, love, love!
Oh, I love this! Whimsical and honest. Clutter makes me nuts!! This had me chuckling so,
Gayle, this is genius! It could be a picture book – – I can see it, and the lilting rhythm and rhyme in this whimsical imaginary fairy land is magical and humorous with the Forsooth name! This is my favorite line
“Damn,” she said. She shook her lovely head.
The sweetness of the lovely head saying that word is just simply so adult! It made me chuckle as I saw my own version of the Good Witch of the East sweetly cursing. 🙂 Rock on!
Love this! Ha, ha!
I can so relate to this:
That is a perfect line to describe my house and desk and workspaces. Bad character? No, a creative full mind!
So fun! I love this good-wish fairy but sorry that she is overwhelmed by this mess. If she saw my studio, her curls would become uncurled again.
Tracie, thank you for investing in us as writers! You’ve given us a tough challenge today – and we love those! I like your selection of a villanelle today – yours is fun ans I think my favorite lines are
“classic lit, summer reads- are they benign?
wait fir the test results then we’ll see”
yes, that payoff is the answer! No learning is lost. Thank you for inspiring us!
The Freeloading Leech
hypothyroidism thinks she’s my boss
she’s parked all crooked in a long black hearse
but she ain’t nothin’ but an albatross
if I could evict her, I’d see weight loss she’s living rent-free while I’m unreimbursed
hypothyroidism thinks she’s my boss
if she’d signed a lease, her ass OUT I’d toss
she’s a freeloading leech: a needy curse
yeah, she ain’t nothin’ but an albatross
she struts around me like she’s awesome sauce
she thinks that I think things couldn’t be worse
hypothyroidism thinks she’s my boss
like toxic beggar lice, she comes across
she sticks far too close, her attitude terse
but she ain’t nothin’ but an albatross
unlike her, I feel joyful – seldom cross –
‘cause I’ve got friends who’ll gang up in verse
hypothyroidism thinks she’s my boss
but she ain’t nothin’ but an albatross
Kim, way to take on that albatross! This approach reminds me of another writer who’s battling cancer right now – she’s made it a true battle, something to be defeated. Your repetition of “hypothyroidism thinks she’s my boss” tells us you’ve got this – my bet’s on you!
This line beckons to be spoken out loud:
I love your language here, even if it written out of frustration
Kevin
I hear a poet’s twist on Elvis Presley, “she ain’t nothin’ but an albatross!” Your rhymes throughout are fantastic – the very choice of two such similar sounds (boss and hearse) makes this a very lyrical, musical piece to my ear. I had to read it aloud – really great. So sorry about your hypothyroidism, but, wow, I think you’ve got her beat!!
Take that! Stupid old dumb hypothyroidism. Wonderful subject for a villanelle.
Kim, I love this! I’ve got hypothyroidism and fibromyalgia and I’m kicking their butts by doing karate! This poem made me feel the power of overcoming, of perseverance in the face of obstacles. I love the rhyme of boss and albatross…just perfect.
Kim—this is great. Love the way you personify this slug of a syndrome…. Kick her ass out! (My angry fairy will help)
Kim, your voice is so powerful here! I love your honest and direct voice, and how your attitude and tone here reflects your inner strength and fortitude. Loved the phrase “like toxic beggar lice”. Obviously, you are your own boss! Bravo!
Kim! 🙁 Wow! You gave that albatross a 1-2 punch today in verse. Thank you for trusting us with your frustration about this “free-loading leech.”
So glad you are able to rise above what this seeming-boss tries to tell you to be. Love this line:
Amen, sister!
Hoo boy….this one’s a toughie. I’m going to stick with two stanzas. Similar to Kevin, I think my obsession is poetry. At least that’s one I’m willing to share.
I’m always chasin’ — time’s a wastin’
Counting syllables, clapping out the beats
Writing poetry can be frustrating.
At dark o’clock, sunrise key tapping
at the kitchen table in my seat
I’m always chasin’ — time’s a wastin’
I know “dark o’clock” quite well …
🙂
Linda, I embrace that always chasin’ and time’s a wastin’ feeling today. And dark o’clock captures that frustration until we complete the piece (and sunrise appears with angelic song celebrating the relief).
“I’m always chasin’ – time’s a wastin'” I love this!
Linda, I can hear the key tapping in the dark of the early morning before the sun rises, when the house is quiet…..the tap, tap, tap in the backdrop of the count, count, count of the beats/syllables gives me the feeling of such productivity and thought while the rest of the world is just awakening! The dedication and commitment to your writing is strong here, and the chasin….time’s a wastin’ on the last line gives the feeling that the day is off to a caffeinated start!
Gaw — I am so much more comfortable with free-stylin’ it
🙂
Thanks for the challenge.
Kevin
Yes, I’m obsessed with morning poems
with cracking words like combination lock
before the day’s ideas scatter, blown
by odd winds of origins, unknown,
as detectives, writers scour the block –
Yes, I’m obsessed with morning poems
Not all rhymes we find ring out like phones
some sing false, and others, falter like stock
before the day’s ideas scatter, blown
through corners where wonder’s what we own
and our quiet voices, just talk – talk – talk
Yes, I’m obsessed with morning poems
perched with pen in quiet morning home
I scribble, erase, often have to walk
before the day’s ideas scatter, blown
Each verse, a kite, high in sky, alone
not able to remain stable, aloft,
for I’m obsessed with morning poems
before these ideas get scattered and blown
Wonderful! I chose the same topic…I couldn’t think of anything else I’m obsessed with that I’d be willing to share. Ha!
I do love this stanza…
“perched with pen in quiet morning home
I scribble, erase, often have to walk
before the day’s ideas scatter, blown”
I can relate!
🙂
“Cracking words like combination lock” was the theme of the villanelle – love the phrasing here, and also “before the day’s ideas scatter, blown.” Once my day fully begins, my brain moves on to other things.
What a beautiful ode to morning writing, the gift of the dawn –
It’s so important to grab this time and write, (before these ideas get scattered and blown) because, truly, those ideas and insights leave us all too quickly. This is lovely.
Kevin, you and I have this in common:
Yes, I’m obsessed with morning poems
……
before the day’s ideas scatter, blown
I am right there with you, in the quiet early morning of the house – – before I get on the carousel of the day.
Wow, what a great image of capturing the day’s ideas, before they are scattered and blown. I like the idea of getting them scribbled down because they won’t be able to stay aloft with the day’s busyness. I’m really enjoying this image today.
This—
with cracking words like combination lock
before the day’s ideas scatter, blown
by odd winds of origins, unknown,—is poetry!
Kevin – Yes, I’m surprised to find you here tonight! And you remain every bit as sharp a wordsmith as you are at 5 am. The metrics of this poem are beautiful, rhyming in just the right spots. Musical. It feels a bit like peeking into your windows to see you writing and ruminating. These lines are faves:
Keep scattering those ideas! Susie