It has been 7 days, friends! Thank you for being here. Please share a highlight from your first 7 days of #VerseLove!
Our Host
Kim Johnson, EdD, is the District Literacy Specialist at Pike County Schools in Zebulon, Georgia. She enjoys blogging, reading, and camping with her husband and dogs. She is the author of Father, Forgive Me: Confessions of a Southern Baptist Preacher’s Kid and an avid fan of the Open Write at www.ethicalela.com. Follow her on Twitter at @kimjohnson66, and her blog at http://drjohnsonscommonthreads.blogspot.com.
Inspiration
As writers, we find inspiration in many places, but some of the most powerful inspiration comes from other writers. As I was reading Fran Haley’s blog post in March, I found the inspiration for a mirror poem with some borrowed words of my own and a repeating word. Here is Fran’s thought-provoking poem:
Listen by Fran Haley
We know that silence is for the soul,
replenishing what’s extracted
in the grind of daily living
that meditation calms the body
as well as the mind
but
do we realize silence
is a form of listening
a sacred gift, an offering
of ourselves to others, yes,
and also to ourselves
For I find myself
slipping into hidden cracks
of my existence
over and over
just to listen
Rooster crowing while it is yet dark
and all the day long
tinged with urgent longing
not altogether of this earth
Wind in the chimes, unseen fingers at play,
the invisible howling creature under the eaves
out of pain now, and at rest
Listen
birds
Children reading, hesitant, halting
a pump handle scraping until
—there now, there now, there’s the flow
The muted beat of drums, upstairs
my boy recording a song
both melody and harmony,
the rhythms of his heart
translated to keys and strings
same as I translate rhythms
of words to page
Listen
The timbre of voices long-loved
each like a blanket
for wrapping around
and resting within
Listen
Deep in angry torrents
born from undercurrents
surging over
razor-edged
ice-hot stones
of fear and pain
—there, the slashed heart cries
unassuaged
unabated
just love me
while in the sky
geese
House popping and cracking
yawning, stretching
settling back to sap-drenched dreams
of branches and green
much like me, holding a shell to my ear,
seeking the ocean
not necessarily one of this earth
but the sea-response
of my own brain,
echoing
resounding
reverberating
against my soul
Listen
may well be
the holiest of words.
Fran Haley is a K-12 Reading/English Language Arts educator, literacy coach, professional development facilitator, writer in Zebulon, NC. Fran blogs at www.litbitsandpieces.com.
Process
Find a poet whose work inspires you and write a mirror poem of your own by taking a root from a poet’s work and allowing it to breathe life into your own inspired creation. This may be in the form of a borrowed line, a repeating line, a section or stanza, or an entire poem. It may include multiple works as well, but please reference the original writer to let readers know where you drew your inspiration – and you may want to provide a link to the original poet’s work.
Kim’s Verse
I started and ended with three of Fran’s words (in italics) and used her repeating word throughout to mirror one section of her original poem.
Just To Listen
…just to listen
thud of dogs diving, bed to floor
collar tags tingling, jingling
to greet the wee hour
awakening alarmless
listen
ticking toenails on wood floor,
traipsing to the water bowl
lapping, drinking beard-dripping droplets
returning to scratch the sheet by my cheek….take us outside!
listen
clicking of leashes (because…the coyotes)
crunch of frozen ground underfoot, trickling rush of fresh mountain springs
(not really – it’s Schnoodle pee pelting leaves of grass, but I can dream!)
listen
birds chirping start-of-day songs
delightful ditties
joy for the soul: Live! Breathe! Sing!
listen
heat clicking on, hot breath of house whispering warmth, clocking out soon as sun streams in for the day shift
listen
clatter of silverware clinking
kitchen kisses
love of my life swirling sugary creamer
to keep all bitterness at bay
silence, golden
dogs bedded back down
snuggled next to me on the sofa
snoozing, snoring securely after snacks
as I sit and write, thinking
how comforting it is
…..just to listen
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.
Kim! Thank you for such an inspiring poem. I’d like also like to inspire others hopes of also creating a poem with such efforts
Breathe…
The air flows relentlessly through my nose down to my lungs
The sensation of something so fresh, crisp, and golden
makes me feel as if I can fly and touch the sky
Breathe…
Take in one large breathe and realize it slowly
for the sense of fresh air flows through me springing with glee
in and out
Breathe…
I feel each heartbeat as if it were a rhythm
only to suddenly feel that beat progressively speed up…
three quick gasps for air and I realize that no one is there
Breathe…
I’m panicking all because I am alone with my thoughts
I’m listening but I can’t hear what I am trying to feel, what has this breathing taught me?
to listen to my fear and embrace being alone
Breathe…
You are strong and you are bold!
you are made of gold…
Just breathe and you can listen!
Maggie Smith’s line from Good Bones, “I am trying to sell them the world,” this form was modeled after her poem as well.
Truth or Dare?
Secrets, from realtors and that guy from that date
Secrets, that’s what she keeps telling herself
as she finds new places to hide needles in pillows,
she found new needles in pillows,
this may be another lie. What if we made
bags of chips smaller so our bag looked fuller?
What if we noticed smiles more often? This may be another lie.
For every dirtbag there is someone willing to hold the door.
For every abused dog there is someone waiting, or searching,
to share their love. What if instead of giving crownage
to the raiders of happiness, instead of giving name
to the dishonorable, we rejoice in
the secret savers, to the secret saviors? This may be
another lie. I am trying to sell them the world. Someone
once told me the secret to never-dying butterflies,
it’s like someone painted a rock just for you, it’s
light whines of playful affection, the secret is trying.
Kim (and Fran), thank you so much for the beauty shared here today. I love Fran’s listening poem that helped mirror your own poem, Kim. Breathtaking. And Kim’s response poem has set my mind thinking about your sounds, and paying better attention to the sounds around me today. I love the kitchen scene, and these sweet lines:
Gorgeous!
Thanks so much, Denise, for “listening” and for your always-gracious words! That kitchen scene of Kim’s is so powerful, so intimate, even in the clinking of silverware – and that line you highlighted IS gorgeous.
Bryan, thank you for sharing Ruth Stone with me today, as well as The Other Side of It All. It’s been a hard week for dog writing as so many have lost their own recently. This line struck me, “My heart became a matter of fact, discreet.” There comes a time when the heart needs to be matter of fact. Not that it’s any easier.
Dear Kim: Thank you so much for sharing “Listen” here along with your own beautiful poem of listening…with all that warmth and love on a cold morning, in the sounds and in the silences, in the acts of love given and received. The dog-sounds are especially vivid to me and I still adore the imagining of the mountain spring instead of – well, yeah! Your creative writer’s mind at work, even in the most mundane of tasks!
So there are a couple of lines I adore at the end of Billy Collins’ poem, “Tuesday, June 4th, 1991” – he is writing about dawn coming and “offering a handful of birdsong and a small cup of light” (sigh…!).
Here’s my mirror, in the form of a pantoum, using “a small cup of light”:
To My Granddaughter, Age 5
(with love from Franna)
a small cup of light
scooped from ocean waves
my sparkling little love
dancing through my days
scooped from ocean waves
my giggling water sprite
dancing though my days
now such a sleepy sight
my giggling water sprite
goodnight, goodnight
now such a sleepy sight
to me you are, you are
goodnight, goodnight
my sparkling little love
to me you are, you are
a small cup of light
A young granddaughter is “a small cup of light” (sigh, from me too) This is so sweet and beautiful, Fran. So many sigh-worthy lines, like:
Mirror Poem
I began with Gary Snyder’s poem,
How Poetry Comes to Me
It comes blundering over the
Boulders at night, it stays
Frightened outside the
Range of my campfire
I go to meet it at the
Edge of the light
Now my version of
How Poetry Comes to Me
It breathes a fragrant breeze into
the porch in early day, it sends
Shafts of light across the
Page spread on my lap
I wait with my pen, refreshed
by morning’s gaze
Both poems are enchanting, Jamie! I can just see the poetry breathing up your porch. Lovely imagery.
Jamie, how beautifully poetry comes to you, on that fragrant breeze, with shafts of light! Such a sensory poem; I sense the porch and the lovely new day…I almost sense cotton sheets hanging on a line and flapping in the breeze – don’t know why but I do. Sort of a rippling motion – there’s clean energy in your lines.
Jamie, I love the poem that inspired you, how the simple title shared can bring a whole new experience. Poetry comes to you at a different time of day, and with beautiful fragrance, shafts of light, a fresh day and a ready pen. Such a wonderful, hopeful, and expectant image you have painted here with your words.
Thank you Kim for the prompt and inspiration poems today. For my mirror poem today, I chose to revisit a poem I wrote back in October for our Open Write (October 20 “Tritina”)…I kept the title and original reference poem the same, but I borrowed a different line from that poem (Ada Limón’s “Instructions on Not Giving Up”…a piece I return to again and again, especially this time of year). I decided to continue with the Tritina form; the title and first line are borrowed from Limón’s poem.
The Strange Idea of Continuous Living (part 2)
Whatever winter did to us,
we brave another season
with traditions and routines and hope.
We plant flowers, change flags, dye eggs in the hope
that we honor the best of us,
that our learned lessons and retooled rituals propel us through another season.
We pack lunches, backpacks, luggage preparing for the new season
ahead—the longer days, the brighter nights, the warmer months. We hope
we can share the meals and projects and dreams that now sustain us.
We rejoice that this season welcomes new life and renewed hope, a less isolated us.
Link to my October Tritina poem:
https://docs.google.com/document/d/1RJGJSVi4VJYmbkpAAxfHzI__h_uCqgikCoem3MwBd2M/edit
Link to Ada Limón’s poem:
https://poets.org/poem/instructions-not-giving
I like the continuation of life, hope. Followed by actions that mark next steps, and hope.
Betsy, there’s so much truth in this poem – and what a zinger of a beginning “Whatever winter did to us”. The threads of hope and courage are woven all the way through. I especially love “we dye eggs in the hope/that we honor the best of us” and linking it to lessons learned; for we must believe in the best of all of us…as we strive to carry on. Yes – here’s to the season of renewal!
Betsy,
As Fran says, there’s much truth in your poem. I find the idea that
to be somewhat paradoxical as I observe those who seem not to have learned much.
Wonderful and fun prompt, Kim. Thank you. I love reading through new poetry, and I’m enjoying all the posts today!
My poem is The Guest House by Rumi. Sometimes I’ll have students personify an emotion they are feeling that day–using this poem as a springboard. I think I bolded all of Rumi’s words.
This being human is a guest house,
every morning a new arrival.
Welcome and entertain them all.
Set out the fine china and
serve breakfast to Fear
before allowing him to speak his truth.
You may discover something that
will move you to tears.
Pull up a chair with Overwhelmed
for she is certainly not well.
Give her a crayon and practice
drawing boundaries.
Before she leaves, give her a
gentle goodbye kiss.
Give a toast to Resilience
for they have stuck around
through the tough times,
like right now.
Despite that, Resilience
clinks their glass with all
of ours with beautiful optimism.
Be grateful for whoever comes
For each has been sent as a guide
From beyond.
Oh Rachelle, this is just lovely. I needed this today. Saying goodbye to kids I won’t even get to see due to distancing at graduation, your poem reminded me that though I am feeling Overwhelmed, my Resilience will see me through to Optimism.
Rachelle, I love the Rumi poem inspiration and the new creation you brought to life. I love the idea of treating our emotions and different states of being as guests…we might treat them (and ourselves) with more grace. Thank you for sharing!
Rachelle, this is so great. It could be a mentor poem for personification. You are giving me Inside Out vibes here. Nicely done!
Wow, Rachelle! I am so intrigued by the formal and dignified treatment of Fear and the idea of “learning something that moves you to tears” – this is true, with fear – and also makes me think of looking fear in the face to see it for what it is, thus loosening its hold. Brilliant treatment of Overwhelmed, needing to practice her crayon boundaries-! Resilience, indeed – perfect imagery there also. In a word – magnificent!
Rachelle,
Beautiful poem. I loved the feelings in evokes, Resilience is a wonderful thing to hold onto. Thank you for sharing this with me. I’ll miss “our” creative writing class time together. I plan to wave hi as I walk by your room next week.
I used a poem generator for the first time and used a line from Robert Frost’s The Road Not Taken to create this simple poem. It makes me think of my daily walks, never knowing where I’ll go, thinking of the road I’m on and where I’ll end up. I know I’m in good hands if I follow this road!
The Untraveled And Obscure Road
By Nancy White
Whose road is that? I think I know.
Its owner is quite happy though.
Full of joy like a vivid rainbow,
I watch him laugh. I cry hello.
He gives his road a shake,
And laughs until her belly aches.
The only other sound’s the break,
Of distant waves and birds awake.
The road is untraveled, obscure and deep,
But he has promises to keep,
After cake and lots of sleep.
Sweet dreams come to him cheap.
He rises from his gentle bed,
With thoughts of kittens in his head,
He eats his jam with lots of bread.
Ready for the day ahead.
Nancy, your poem is filled with beautiful images. I want to be this person enjoying cakes, jams and dreaming of kittens. I have never heard of a poem generator, I’ll have to check it out. Thanks for your delightful poem!
Nancy,
What an interesting process, Nancy. I’d like to learn more about the poem generator. Enjoy these playful and always changing walks! I can picture that belly laugh, and in then in the background the sweet sounds captured here:
I’m here at the end of a day of traveling. I took out a pair of scissors, printed the poem of the day from Poets. org, cut it up and arranged it into a new order, new poem. https://poets.org/poem/rock-paper-scissors
Scissors Snips Paper
how this game embodies
swirls in the courtyard–
like trudging footprints.
how paper wraps rock,
you wake the ribbon of desire
the rhythm in your hands.
how you look for the downy woodpecker
a heart in a box–
scissors cutting the steal grey light of dawn.
you can’t see your fingerprints
when you pull a blade against ribbon,
release
a spiraling curl
your smudging of bacteria and antibiotic.
how you go
wrapping
an invisible thread through them all.
Margaret, your found poem is fascinating. I love
“how paper wraps rock,
you wake the ribbon of desire
the rhythm in your hands.”
You’ve captured so many shape visuals and color in this very rich and thought-provoking poem. Thank you!
Beautiful poem; I love the title and the last 6 lines. Wonderful use of imagery.
What a spectacular poetry form. I guess this is my first time hearing about this process. What a perfect poem to accomplish this with scissors and snips of paper. I like your rearranged version of Sze’s poem.
Oh my, this was truly a challenge. I found it very difficult to choose a poem! I finally went with a favorite by Lucille Clifton, which I basically hollowed out – I used her opening two lines and her closing stanza as my own, and I have tried to bold these lines here below. I went a whole other weird direction with the in-between!
when i stand around among poets,
i am embarrassed mostly
when i stand around
among friends, sometimes
i see myself
standing apart
watching
laughing
loving
when i stand around
among trees, sometimes
i feel both
weighty and
weightless
at once soaring with birds
tunneling with worms
when i stand around
among children, sometimes
i smell sweet joy
of curiosity cooking and
no limits on what else
might be added
to the stew
when i stand around
among family, sometimes
I taste my tears
my heart breaking in pieces
wondering how i might
ever one day
bear their loss
when i stand around
among poets, sometimes
i hear a single music
in us, one note
dancing us through the
singular moving world
Maureen,
Your poem evokes so many experiences and emotions. I don’t think I’ll be able to stand around anywhere again w/out thinking about both your words and Clifton’s. The last stanza is particularly painful in its deep love that prompts the speaker to “bear their loss.” But upon reading again, I see the duality in your words: The speaker bears losing loved family members.
Oh, Maureen . . . this is good. I love how you sandwich your own ideas inside of Clifton’s. Each stanza moving to another part of the speaker’s life is genius. “Around among” is such a deep phrase, isn’t it?
Maureen, what a gorgeous poem. I feel the powerful emotions radiating from your family stanza. Sometimes we are overwhelmed by imagining a life without someone we love so deeply, and you’ve captured that experience so perfectly. I so enjoy Lucille Clifton’s poetry, and yours is a wonderful nod to her wonderful talent. Thank you!
I love the comparisons you draw. The are filled with emotion. I also like that as you come to an end you feel joined with the poets. Transition.
Oh, Maureen, I love where you went in the in-between. All the places we stand around, and I am getting to know you enough to know these places are central in your life–among poets, friends, nature, children, family. This is beautiful. I especially like the stanza about trees–
Weighty and weightless, I’m thinking, is a good place to feel.
Wow, Bryan, both Stone’s poem and yours were heartwrenching. (And my favorite way to have my heart wrenched is with a poem.) Thank you for sharing poetry widely.
One of my favorite lines in a favorite poem is from Leigh Hunt’s “Jenny Kiss’d Me.”
Time, you thief, who love to get
Sweets into your list, put that in!
When I read this poem with my students, I ask “How is time a thief?” and “What ‘sweets’ are in his list?'”
For my mirror poem, I answered that question for myself:
Time, you thief,
You stole my sweets:
elastic skin
and perky chest,
vigor, vim,
a good night’s rest,
my once deep squat,
and word recall,
my eyes are shot–
you stole it all.
HELL YES!!! Every word of this validates me! Wooohooo! So happy you wrote this. Eye doc yesterday told me my prescription hadn’t changed much which was good but she couldn’t help with the eyelid twitch or sags. LOL. I love you, Allison! Badass all the way!
??????
I’ve been visiting my parents. The time stealing all (recall) is evident in my mother’s eyes. Thanks for your poem.
Allison,
I’ve been reciting Jenny Kissed Me to myself most of the day, and now here you are w/ this fun mirror poem that lifts my spirits and makes me smile. Time is a thief, and I’m shouting “yes” as you give that kleptomaniac a lashing.
Allison, I couldn’t pass this by. My grandmother recited this to me when I was little (I memorized it because of her), and she often greeted me with the words, “Jenny kissed me when we met.” I love what you’ve done with this. Stacey is right – this is badass!
Allison, I am still laughing. You’ve definitely captured the frustration of aging. From perky to forgetful, I’ve experienced this all! Delightfully fun poem!
I picked Tony Hoagland’s poem “I Have News for You.” Not an easy poem because of its amazing complexity and insight. This is going to take a while, but I’ve made a start…
I Have News for You
There are people who don’t see the melting ice cubes in the highball glass
as an indication of a failed life.
And there are people who don’t consider an unfinished test message
a statement of inadequacy.
There are those who don’t realize the incessant barking of neighborhood dogs
Has everything to do with their wondering what’s for dinner.
What is the half-life of loneliness and how do we compute it?
When our dreams are more exciting than our waking hours…
Oh David, I love this and I don’t know anything about Tony Hoagland’s poem but yours is fantastic. I love…
I am intrigued and wanting more.
Poignant question here. I like the form of “There are people who…”
I love mirror poems! Thank you for the opportunity to try another one. As today is the last day with many of my seniors (graduating early due to changes from semesters to quarters), this is what happened in my mind.
Inspired by “I Go Back to May 1937” by Sharon Olds
I Go Back to September 1996
I see the students in my classes,
smiling, laughing, arguing, learning, taking on a role,
and each year they are replaced by others who
cajole, read, write, giggle, whine, and bide their time.
I see my colleagues come and go, while I stay,
determined, stubborn, loving every class despite
being sure that the last bunch was the best, unsure
if I should even continue on this path, until a stampede of
juniors and seniors again fills my room on an new autumn day and
shows me why I love my job–it is them, it’s always been them.
The crux of this profession is the loss mixed in with
the joy, the endless triumphs and catastrophic lows
that come with real people making choices on the fly.
The now seems overwhelming, so they run, this is too much,
so they choose to let school be what is left behind.
I see, too, the ones who seemingly learn something
in my class I didn’t realize was being taught–the kids who come
back to visit years later, so quiet they had been in
class that their name escapes me, but they remember.
Those are the ones that surprise me, who remind me
to look deeper, but I love the outwardly attached kids, too.
The ones who linger after school, looking for attachment,
approval, acceptance and acknowledgement. I
love the literature, the opportunities to debate, stretch,
and see the world through a new lens and through the eyes
of nearly adults. I want to hold them all in my heart
and never let them go, but I must, so I say
Do what you are going to do, and I will tell about it.
Cara, what a sweet homage to your students. These lines really stood out to me: “ The crux of this profession is the loss mixed in with/the joy, the endless triumphs and catastrophic lows/that come with real people making choices on the fly.” Those real people making decisions is so exhilarating and incredibly heartbreaking.
Cara,
This poem is so you!! I’m privileged to see these connections in person. The joy on your students face when they learn you TRULY care. I know you even connected to my rap loving son, who “hate” English, but continued to show up to your class.
As I read this, I kept thinking “how did she perfectly capture this feeling?” I remember the feeling I had the first time a student moved away without telling me. They were just suddenly off my roster, and I couldn’t ever say a proper goodbye to them. The feeling was devastating, and as the years continue, I realize that is not uncommon. Thanks for this poem today, I needed it.
Cara,
I feel like you have read my mind and shaped my jumbled thoughts and emotions into beautiful verse. This could hang on so many teachers’ walls as a testament to how the profession shapes us.
I especially love
“loving every class despite
being sure that the last bunch was the best.”
I keep wondering if the last class was the “worst” or the new norm, the shape of what’s to come? 🙂
A mirror of Frederick Smock’s “Platonic”
A circle of sunlight
strikes the bedroom ceiling,
the suggestion of a skylight,
and in such a buttery yellow
I try to scrape it onto my toast.
After submitting, I realized I forgot to title my poem which led me to see that I’d missed an opportunity. So, this is my mirror of my mirror:
“Socratic”
Is that a circle of sunlight?
Why does it strike the bedroom ceiling?
Does it suggest a skylight?
How is it such a buttery yellow?
Shall I scrape it on my toast?
My goodness, I need to sit in on a mirror poem lesson with you teaching. How amazing is this! The sunlight, skylight, buttery yellow and toast are delicious images in my mind!
?
Laura, I love how you’ve mirrored your poem. The circle of light is so compelling. Love the questions in the second poem and how you connected butter and bread in this poem, too. Your poem makes me think of a portal sharing the opportunity to transcend the universal mysteries of life.
Laura, I love your play on the two forms…the mirror of the mirror is an ingenious accident. I’m curious where this poem will take you if you continue the lineage. What will the Aristotelian version reveal?!?
Boy, Kim, did your inspiration ever send me down a rabbit hole! I got up at 5:00 this morning so I could give some time to writing a poem before I left for school. But, my wheels spun and spun. All day here and there my wheels would spin through all kinds of poems I love and poets whose work I love. I have stared at this computer for the past hour, copying and pasting mentor texts and trying to let them inspire me. I keep failing. It’s such a wonderful inspiration and I feel like I have to hit the home run. That ain’t happening. I have to quit spinning.
After all the debate, I landed on the genius of Elizabeth Acevedo. A stanza from some extra content from her incredible book The Poet X is embedded (in tweaked form) into this attempt. Those lines are in bold.
https://docs.google.com/document/d/15Q3pkBfKegX746bsHHfROPRqd4DACTilUQSmf_0yMMg/view“>
Blacken the Blessings
With age
comes wisdom
but also regrettable experiences.
I look back and
often fondly recall who I was,
what I did,
the countless blessings
that I pray in gratitude to my Lord for daily.
But the regrettable moments–
the choices made that mar my life–
blacken those blessings,
leading me to penance
as much as thanksgiving.
If I could rewind
and change those things,
would I?
You can’t change some things
and keep the others . . .
it doesn’t work that way.
If I could talk to the younger me,
the less wise me,
would I steer her on a different course?
When I look at the girl I was once
and think, “If only she knew what I know now,”
[I am] so thankful that she doesn’t.
She needs to stay on course
rather than letting the sins
blacken the blessings yet to come.
~Susan Ahlbrand
7 April 2021
Susan, my seniors and I just finished The Poet X! I love the line that you’ve incorporated into your poem. And the poem overall reflects a struggle that I (and I suppose all of us!) struggle with regularly. What a fitting title!
Susan,
I have heard many say they have no regrets. This is something I don’t understand, but regrets don’t have to mean we flagellate ourselves. I like to think about them as lessons that can help me move forward and think about pitfalls that can get in the way of my future self. Asking whether you’d change the past if you could is an important question. I suspect few would. “Stay the course” and know you are not alone in these thoughts.
I am not familiar with your mentor poem, but I absolutely love your mirror poem! The idea of ‘blacken the blessings’ is gorgeous to my ears, such a great expression. This question is profound:
Susan, I love Elizabeth Acevedo too and really enjoyed Poet X. I’m reading Clap When You Land, but haven’t given it my undivided attention.
Love it!
Kim, thank you for your prompt and your time today. I love the wonderful feeling of contentment in your poem; especially the line “to keep all bitterness at bay”.
My Mirror Poem is based off Nikki Giovanni’s poem “Sky Diving”. A google search will lead you to this poem, but I did not feel comfortable sharing any of the links I found as some did not have her poem formatted correctly. You can also find it on page 332 in The Collected Poetry of Nikki Giovanni: 1968-1998.
I hang on the edge
of trees forming
a natural canopy
across deep chasms
hushing myself
to hear bees buzzing
I free fall
into a river
rising furiously across a
bank of honeysuckle vines
drowning dusty back roads
It is not shameful
I will flutter
past restraint and judgement
naked limbs brazen
heart open
annihilating
silent passionate lips
Landing
into a heavenly world
where my loving arms
embrace you
as
I savor your kiss
Barb Edler
7 April 2021
Barb,
This is a lovely mirroring of “Sky Diving.” I love the opening tree image and buzzing bees, but there are lines here I really needed to read this evening:
Thank you. I’m having a hard time fluttering and need this reminder. Gorgeous poem.
I only recently discovered Nikki Giovanni’s work – what a delicious poem you’ve created here. I love the idea of FLUTTERING past such strongholds like restraint and judgement. Thank you for sharing this powerful poem.
Barb,
There are so many good lines in this (noted by the others)! But I also liked
because I have been thinking of bees lately (I’m reading The Murmur of Bees). I really enjoyed your imagery and tone. Beautiful.
I adore Nikki Giovanni’s poetry; your mirror poem is so strong and powerful – the idea of ‘across deep chasms/hushing myself,” daring to free fall, and “I will flutter/past restraint and judgement” – wow! Ending with that passionate “I savor your kiss” – amazing, Barb! Fabulous poem.
Barb — What a beautiful poem…images so luscious. I love the movement of the diving…”free fall[ing]” and “fluttering” and “annihilating” (very sensual lips) and the “embrace” and “kiss”….aaaahhh. What a journey that flight is! Marvelous. Thank you! Susie
This poem is based on a quote from a poem posted on this website a few days ago by Britt in her poem, “Speech to Myself: Speech to the perfectionist mom.” She writes, “Live in the now. The mess. The chaos.”
*Time to Live*
“Live in the now. The mess. The chaos.”
Now.
No more one-day-living,
Waiting-for-some-day-living,
I-can’t-do-it-today-living.
No more barely-breathing,
Missing-it-seeming,
Am-I-drowning-or-swimming,
Visions-of-my-life-past-me-zooming.
Mess.
Yes, it’s a mess.
Yes, I could obsess.
Believe me…oh, how I stress.
Living-like-I’m-not-blessed.
If i must, i suppose i shall confess,
Living like this has me in soul-deep arrest,
As I desperately cry out for soul deep rest.
Chaos.
Who even is the boss?
Running again, I try to gloss
Over the failures as I look across
To the other side of loss
Where pain and heartache and hurry toss
Themselves into the fire hidden by the cross.
Schedule, society, self – filled with chaos
Now.
It’s time to let go now.
Come, unfurrow your brow.
Hurry is America’s how.
But you are free from that plough.
Look at the sunset turn to rise *wow*
It is a new day for whatever you’d allow
Things will be different-beginning right now.
Wow, Bailey! The pace of this and the rhythm left me feeling like it just poured out of you and then the line with one word “Now” gives me pause and stops my eyes and heart for a breath before concluding. I unfurrowed my brow in that line and was present. I also love all the hyphenated words. Such power in creating new words with that mark, right? I felt it and think this is something students would love, too. And, and…that internal and end rhyme with the consonants lining up the last word of each line in the stanzas!
Thank you for this poem to live in the now!
Sarah
Bailey,
I love how you took those words and created a stanza to each of them. The rhyme and rhythm you create would make Lin Manuel Miranda take notice!
Bailey,
I felt this in my bones. The hyphenated lines and increasing line length in each stanza just pull you down through the poem. These lines hit hard:
Thank you for a soul-touching read.
I am borrowing a line from Angie Braaten’s poem in this thread, “Memories don’t last forever”
Memories don’t last forever –
Dreams fade and ideas vanish
as the clock innocently ticks by
A once happy memory
silently turns to dust
as the years progress
That quietness can be heartless
if that once happy memory is neglected.
Michelle,
I am struck by the paradox of memories and their impermanence. We are supposed to be able to hold onto them and yet, they do “vanish.” The images that is particularly powerful for me is “turns to dust.” I actually used the word “dust” in my poem yesterday, so I am thinking about how the meaning is different here and yet also impermanent, fragile.
Thank you for your verse,
Sarah
I used Langston Hughes’ poem “Harlem” to mirror my own.
“What happens TO a dream deferred?”
Does it drip
like ice cream
onto your hands,
a sticky reminder
of what you missed?
Does it flutter
through the wind
like falling leaves
only to be collected
and turned into waste?
Does it end up
in a vulture’s mouth
to be devoured
by something
that preys upon others?
“What happens WHEN a dream is deferred?”
A fifty-year-old bird
sits in
an empty nest
searching for and gathering new
twigs, grasses, and leaves
to renovate its life.
Heather, I love this format! The questioning and then the final stanza as a statement. It is incredibly reflective and leaves hopeful possibility. Thank you for sharing this – beautiful.
Wow, Heather, wow. This is incredible! I think I’m especially impressed since we just discussed this poem in class a few weeks ago so it is fresh in my mind. Your metaphors and similes are so clever. This fifty-five-year-old bird absolutely loves the twist at the end. Gosh, ain’t that the truth . . . the empty nest searching.
Heather — these ponderings are really rich… I look at that “old bird… empty nest…” and think this is a very hard question to face. But “deferred” has a sense of hope…though set aside, there’s that implication that it will recur in a form that makes sense when that time finally comes. The tone has a melancholy to it that feels very real. Thank you for such a though-full poem. Susie
I was inspired by Sarah Leger’s poem in the “Say to Them” section, the quote that inspired me was “the numb hoggers” (I went exploring somewhere else, sorry!)
Speech to those with identity and anxiety issues:
by Brittany Rubin
Say to them,
Say to the anxiety-filled
the numb-hoggers
the overthinkers
the people pleasers
“Sometimes it’s better to rock the boat than to live your life pleasing others.
That will never calm the sea in your mind.”
It’s better to heal yourself
Then to please someone else
Do what’s best for you
Things will be alright
Hold tight
Brittany!
I am struck by the sound and message of these lines:
The assonance in the “ee” sound repeats offering a musical quality while packing a punch of a life lesson. This is a challenge for teachers!
Sarah
Brittany, I love this! As one who has battled anxiety, you have included such great advice, but my very favorite part was the “numb-hoggers.” What a perfect description.
My poem is inspired by Linda S’ poem in the comment section here. I am lifting the “I love you as the” at the beginning of each stanza.
“Infinite Light”
I love you as the light fades from your eyes,
Even as we are torn apart by cosmic forces,
I cannot bring myself to part from your soul.
We are linked even in infinity.
I love you as the memories grow more painful,
When I wonder why we couldn’t have more time.
Like a sharp knife piercing my veil,
And the emotions consume me.
I love you as the sunlight touches my skin,
Reminding me that it is the dawn of a new day.
I can never recapture your warmth,
But I’ll never forget our lifetime together.
Jairus, I love the line that you chose to repeat and use as your mirror line. Your poem today conveys the feeling of losing someone but knowing that we never really lose that person when their memories are kept alive. This is so sweet and touching. Thank you so much for sharing with us today!
Jairus,
This is incredibly moving to me as someone who is in love! You capture the ways love feel in the similes you offer “sunlight touches my skin” – -and this line has soft assonance in the repetition of “i”, but I feel the turn in the final lines of the impermanence of it all — which is sort of a paradox because while there is a sense that it has ended “never forget” it endures.
Sarah
Wow! Such perfect images of love that you share in this poem. Thank you.
I’ve borrowed the opening line from Wendy’s fun poem about her corgi, Sprout, as it made me want to write about the sweet stray who appeared this weekend.
A dog came down the road today
A dog with large, black spots
who I’ve chosen to call “Pongo”
Pongo, covered in ticks
and obviously starved,
happily galloped to me
A dog came down the road today
A dog who I hope will stay,
a dog who I already love
Pongo, who would leave you?
Why would you be alone?
A dog came down the road today
A dog I hope will stay.
Betsy, your repeating lines give special emphasis to Pongo and his choice to come and be with you. There isn’t much more exciting and special in this world than when a dog chooses a person and the person accepts. Bless you for having an open heart to welcome him and give him a loving home. Thank you for sharing with us today. Dog poetry is some of my very favorite!
Oh, this brought back memories! I had two cats that “chose” me rather than the other way around. They just showed up and refused to leave. Someone once told me that animals are given addresses of good people when they’re lost. You must be on that list. 🙂
I was inspired by another writer who posted to this page! Her name is Ann and she wrote the poem “I hear a wordless melody”. I hope you enjoy!
A Melody
I hear a wordless melody
So I close my eyes and breathe
I breathe like it’s a remedy
And unleash the stress hiding beneath.
I hear a wordless melody
As my feet glide across the floor
Penelope may look on in jealousy
But it’s not my fault he loved me more.
I hear a wordless melody
One that allows me to be free
It gives me a sense of clarity
In this state, I can only feel glee.
Josie,
You chose a gem of a line with “wordless melody” which feels paradoxical and sets you up for interpretation and exploration. The final lines have so much music and melody, ironically, in the assonance: “me to be free” and “sense of clarity” and “feel glee.” That ee sound is joyous!
Sarah
Josie, your Wordless Melody is beautiful and melodic. To feel glee is a blissful experience especially during these times of pandemic. Thank you so much for coming and sharing your poem with us today!
Josie, I love the unique twist you gave the line! Using remedy as a near rhyme for melody is genius. It feels so smooth! The confident vibe of this poem is definitely going to stick with me 🙂
Sorry, day behind. I started this yesterday and the day got away from me but I didn’t want to abandon what I started. I found the photos so moving. Thank you for the inspiration, Margaret.
Our town was very busy with drive by’s for birthdays and graduation so that was my inspiration.
“This was the first time I had ever seen anything like this — a concept that at first was hard to wrap my head around.”
“This was the first time”
Porch lights for the graduates
“You’ve got this” the beams shouted
“You are strong!”
Drove down city streets, cars
adorned with paper streamers,
cardboard banners bending,
music blaring,
waving, waving farewell to the 2020 Covid
school year
but not farewell to Covid,
not farewell to Covid
Covid would linger, would linger with us, here
a plague that would take and take and take
A succubus draining us spiritually, emotionally, physically,
leaving us disconnected, malcontented
Oh, so lonely, so lonely.
Porch lights on, we emerged
we emerged from our homes in summer,
hopeful to catch a glimpse of
our neighbors,
neighbors strolling with their dogs,
neighbors power walking with coffee,
neighbors having a smoke,
shouting from across the street in greeting
Porch lights on, we pulled out our rockers
listened, listened to the strum of the porch-band down the street
a serenade of hope
with hope we watched the fireworks burst all over the city
leaving the streets clouded
Porch lights on
in the new school year
we kept our masks on, and our distance,
abstained from touch, abstained from touch …
Oh, how we needed the touch
of others, cheek to cheek,
arms linked, hands clasped in a shake
reached, reached across the nebulous
to connect to our students, to connect or not …
prayed for vaccination, reprieve from isolation,
Isolation …
We keep our porch lights on, waiting, still waiting
“This was the first time I had every seen anything like this”
This was inspired by Joy Harjo’s poem “Remember”.
Remember
When you loved me as much as I still love you
The feeling that surrounded you when I stepped into the room
All the times you held me because I felt blue
Remember
The time when we were inseparable
The little town we visited on your 25th birthday
The smile that didn’t leave your face
Remember
The months we spent stuck inside because of quarantine
All the diners I cooked for you
The books I read with you
Remember
When you had good intentions
When I was enough for you
When you said we would last forever
Remember
Because it was the best thing that ever happened to you
And you threw it away
Nothing last forever
Deanna, this poem is filled with so much emotion and I love it! It’s so sad, so heartbreaking, and so intimate, and that intimacy is why I love it. Especially in the lines “The months we spent stuck inside because of quarantine / All the dinners I cooked for you / The books I read with you” It is so intimate and so sad and I love it! Thank you for sharing!
“Remember
When you loved me as much as I still love you”
Deanna, this line hit me in the gut. What a strong opening line. I am sorry you’ve had to experience that sort of despair.
Deanna,
Your words draw the images of happiness and love gone sideways, and it’s painful to relive those memories of brighter days and wonder about the reasons others choose paths we never thought they would take. I love this part:
Because it was the best thing that ever happened to you
And you threw it away
You know the truth of your worth – and that’s what matters most! Chin up and a woman power fist bump!! Thank you for sharing today.
I’ve been wanting a copy of Gwendolyn Brooks’ Annie Allen for a while. Today my amazing husband presented me with a gift of the book. Brooks and my husband are the inspiration for this poem. You can listen to her read this poem 12 minutes into this recording from The Library of Congress.
the parents: people like our marriage
Maxie and Andrew
By Gwendolyn Brooks 1949
Clogged and soft and sloppy eyes
Have lost the light that bites or terrifies.
There are no swans and swallows any more.
The people settled for chicken and shut the door.
But one by one
They got things done:
Watch for porches as you pass
And prim low fencing pinching in the grass.
Pleasant custards sit behind
The white Venetian blind.
the parents: people like our marriage
Mo and Steve
By Mo Daley 4-7-2021
Doughy and lumpy at the waist
With well-developed senses of taste
There are no candies and bouquets anymore.
Our feet up, we watch Netflix and shut the door.
But decade by decade
We’ve enjoyed the escapade:
Watch for patio umbrellas as you pass
Please don’t judge the beer and wine in a glass.
Feel free to pull back the curtain
For in our lives and loves we are certain.
https://www.loc.gov/item/94838388/
Mo, I’m cheering you from my passenger seat in the car, with my doughy and lumpy waist (that’s my favorite line), raising an imaginary glass of Merlot as we are headed home after a quick bite of Chinese food to find all the excitement of a kicking back on the couch party with the dogs. Ain’t life grand? I love that your inspiration was the dazzling Gwendolyn Brooks! No candies and bouquets anymore…..because now he knows what you truly love – poetry and HIM! He’s a keeper! Thanks for the beauty of simple truth today.
I borrowed the opening line from another poem in this thread by Ann M. The line inspired this poem.
I hear a wordless melody
In which I cannot refuse.
My blood races and my heart jumps
Yet my legs cannot be moved.
The rhythm of the drums
And the sound of sneakered feet
Each push me flying through my mind
Finding the endless joy that is waiting there for me.
Noah,
The meter of your poem takes on the rhythm of a run in those “sneakered feet.” I feel like I am trotting along beside you (only not having to pant). That like also has lovely alliteration with “sound of sneakered feet” — love it.
Sarah
Noah,
A line that resonated with me was ” My blood races and my heart jumps” because of the sensory language that you used. I can almost put myself in your shoes and experience the rush or almost anxious feeling that you had.
Noah — I love the way you have captured the joy and hope infused in music. A perfect melody can certainly be an inspiration.
Noah, dang, this is an amazing poem. Very heady! I love the action words you use, but the end is my favorite. Love
Awesome poem!
Hi Noah! I feel honored that you chose my line to mirror! I love the dynamic feeling this poem gives off, especially the line “And the sound of sneakered feet.” It just feels so personal.
In the Midst of a Pandemic
The reappearance of these faces in the hall:
Daffodils from long, hard snows.
Thank you Kim for the prompt. Thank you, EP, for “In a Station of the Metro” which I copycatted here.
Love your beautiful metaphor for your students return. They really are the daffodils.
Katrina, Love this metaphor! Daffodils are my favorite flower!
Love this! Beautiful, vivid simplicity.
I remember reading something where the writer described daffodils as the “bravest” flower because they often bloom first and early…sometimes before the snow and frost is finished. I think of that description every time I see the first yellow and white blossoms. To extend the metaphor to your poem, I think our fellow teachers and school staff and students are brave, too. Thank you for sharing your poem!
Hi Kim,
I am thankful I found time today to write because I loved your prompt and mentor poems. I found inspiration in a poem by Zetta Elliott called “You Too Can Fly” found in the book We Rise, We Resist, We Raise Our Voices. Her lines that inspired me are:
“When our ancestors
had no cheek left to
turn
They walked into
the sea
or stepped into
the sky”
An Etheree Poem for Those Who’ve Lost Hope
Walk
into
the blue sea
Dance on water
Step into the sky
Ride waves & caress clouds
Tsunami of lightning bolts
Ancestral songs beckon your soul
To rise, to ebb, to flow, to shower
Earth and humanity in harmony
©Stacey L. Joy, April 7, 2021
Stacey,
Your verbs are powerful: walk, dance, step, ride. I love the way you’ve added the sign of the infinitive “to” later: “to rise, to ebb, to flow, to shower.” The “to” suggests purpose while its absence embodies a command. “Ancestral songs beckon your soul” gives historic context to purpose. I just love the way you e crafted this poem. It is everything I think matters about knowing and understanding language structures.
Stacey — I love these last lines: To rise, to ebb, to flow, to shower/
Earth and humanity in harmony
We need this harmony now more than ever.
Stacey, I love your mentor poem and your mirror poem. Absolutely brilliant use of language to share the emotion and imagery. Love the image of “Tsunami of lightning bolts”The final three lines are particularly striking:
Kudos!
Stacey, the Etheree form and Zetta Elliott’s inspirational line and your creative word imaging are a grand slam home run here today – I love the feeling of ancestral songs to bring the hope back and right the world again! Thank you so much for always stirring my heart the way you do!
Stacey, thanks for introducing me to such a cool new form! Definitely going to have to try it out. Loved your uplifting words! The “tsunami of lightning bolts,” the “ancestral songs beckon[ing] one’s soul.” Great poem.
https://poets.org/poem/sick
Frist poem that came to mind when I read the prompt first thing this morning was Sick by Shel Silverstein I worried it might be too immature of a piece. But as the day went on, I kept coming back to the line “I cannot go to school today” that opens the poem.
This morning as I thought about using this prompt I was leaning toward writing about not wanting to go back in the build, but that is not the poem that wanted to be written. As a wonderful student so elegantly put it, “The poetry Gods made their call.” It was the right call. I did tear up after I wrote the last line and the words sunk in…
“I Cannot Go to School Today”
“I cannot go to school today”
The doors are locked
The windows are all closed
How did one tiny germ shut school down?
“I cannot go to school today”
The students have all been sent home
The staff have been asked to leave as well
Maintenance has been asked to deep clean
“I cannot go to school today”
In the building anyway
Tutoring support sessions I’m asked to work
One student a week is all I see
“I cannot go to school today”
We’re asked to move are classes to Zoom
Class sessions must saved to the cloud
Assignments are loaded on Canvas
“I cannot go to school today”
Can’t get my Canvas to open
Zoom is asking for a code
Tech issues abound
“I cannot go to school today”
Frozen trees falling down
Power out across the town
Power doesn’t guarantee internet
“I cannot go to school today”
My heart just isn’t in it
Too many black boxes
Instead of faces
“What, what’s that, what’s that you say”
We’ll be in the building next week?
Actual students in the room
I’ll see you, and not over Zoom!!!
What a poetic chronicle of the year! Save it. I’m confident there will be folks collecting reflections on the experiences of teachers and yours captures so well from start to finish…or what we hope will be the finish.
Wishing you well as you return to meeting in person and that you ALL continue to mask, distance, and wash so that you ALL remain healthy.
DeAnna,
My heart is heavy with this one. I was holding my breath all the way through. The “I cannot” is such a feel of defeat — the number of times I thought that I just cannot go on, that I have nothing left to give, that I cannot muster the energy. And then you show how powerful just a little hope can be and remind us that “school” is a building but the students are our community, and that is what we really need to turn the cannot to the can. “I’ll see you, and not over Zoom!!!” If ever there needed to be an exclamation point, that is it!
Sarah
I must say that almost every line of this poem resonated with me. I really enjoyed reading this and found it very accurate as to our current situation. This pandemic has heavily affected teachers and their students in several ways but we can be thankful that the use of technology has risen and helped get us through the year. It is very exciting that students are back in the class, yet scary at the same time!
I love the repetition “I can’t go to school today”…all the reasons are so real. Congratulations on going back next week.
DeAnna,
Your student is right for: “The poetry gods made their call.” You took a poem so familiar and humorous and flipped it on its little poem head to offer a declaration of teaching life during the pandemic. The tone is perfect in its heaviness leafing to that hopeful last line. I understand the tears. They must have been such a release.
DeAnna — You have captured our shared sadness so well. I love the joy evoked in your last lines: ” Actual students in the room/I’ll see you, and not over Zoom!”
I am eager for that day as well.
DeAnna,
So sad to read this as a chronicle of this year. But beautifully done, and love that you used Shel Silverstein to “mirror.” The juxtaposition of the the playful Silverstein’s form with the scenes from this year (“too many black boxes/instead of faces”) was really moving!
DeAnna, good job listening to the poetry gods today because this is awesome. I love how you took a different approach to this poem than you originally intended. Your word choices keep the feeling light while I also sense panic. There have definitely been times I’ve been locked out of Zoom meetings because I didn’t have the right code. Thank you for this today on the last day of our creative writing class together <3
DeAnna,
This is perfect–it expresses so many of the challenges we’ve survived and are still coping with this year in a deceptively light tone that belies the seriousness. Wonderful!
DeAnna, your today is my tomorrow and the week to follow! Juggling my google Meets and my daughters too, I know I can’t wait to get back face-to-face!
Kim, your poem about your dogs totally inspired me to channel my inner Emily Dickinson, pull out the dashes and ballad meter and write about our Corgi, Sprout. (He’s a “blue” Corgi, so he has dark grey fur.)
My little pup’s a miracle
He cometh when I call —
His sleek and shiny Corgi fur
Has charmed us, one and all —
On walks down lanes, our little pup
He doesn’t walk, he trots —
And when we pass the neighbor’s house
He sniffs the same old spots —
A dog came down the road today
And Sprout, he stood his ground —
But let that dog come close to him
And he’ll turn right around —
But, though he may be cowardly
And though he may be small —
Unconventionally colored, he
He holds us four in thrall —
Of all his charming antics
And all his funny moves —
And on a daily basis, he’s
recipient of much love!
Such a fun poem 🙂 I love the meter!! It makes it feel like I’m plodding along on a walk with a dog while I’m reading it! Sprout sounds like an adorable ball of fun.
This is such a cute poem and definitely brings back memories of my own (late) pup! The way you wrote this poem makes it sound bouncy, and the bounce makes it sound like a genuine nursery rhyme! It’s very fun! Thank you for sharing!
Wendy,
The tone of your poem is perfect — formal with the “cometh” and structured with the meter and rhyme but full of whimsy and life all the way through with “charming antics”!
Sarah
I absolutely loved reading this poem! It’s so fun and upbeat that I couldn’t help but smile while reading it. I used to have a corgi and this made me reminisce on the walks we used to share. He was definitely cowardly but he always had us all laughing. Thank you for sharing your Corgi with us!
Wendy, I love the happiness of this poem. It almost read like a Christmas carol with the tone I used in my mind while reading. Thank you for the smiles of picturing short little Sprout on his happy adventure.
This poem about your Corgi is the best. I felt like I was with y’all on the “trot”.
Wendy,
I love the rhythm and rhyme of this fun poem. Your dog sounds adorable.
Wendy, Your Sprout is so charming and uplifting. One can’t help to smile with such adorableness!
Another Sighting
Yes, perhaps some are straight up thugs
And maybe others are
Frail old ladies, fading, shaking
As they fold clean white clothes
With a wobbly kind of grace
Like a withering, sputtering candle,
Or the last peach still hanging
On the tree in late fall.
I met one once when I was a young girl,
Pressed down by self doubt, desires
To dedicate myself to something greater.
I sat and helped her fold
“You are a ruby,” she told me
I believed her—
And though I was never able to find her again,
I still hold what she left behind.
_______________________
“The Angels” by Tracy K. Smith
https://www.theawl.com/2017/05/a-poem-by-tracy-k-smith/
I loved reading this! I could imagine my grandmother the whole time and her sweet, fragile self.
“You are a ruby” really struck me, this is something that I can hear my grandmother telling and keeping it close to my heart.
Rachel,
I am sitting this one trying to parse out what is going on and the connotation. Some of the language of “thugs” and “frail old ladies” stirs discomfort for me because I am not sure who the speaker is or the context, time period of this poem and I am not sure about the structural or power dynamics — I am reading prejudice, classism, racism. Stirring here.
Sarah
Rachel, I really love the push and pull between “pressed down by self doubt” and the desire to be something more. I feel that on a regular basis, and you said it so beautifully! This poem has so many gems in it, so thank you for sharing a bit of inspiration today.
I was so inspired by that line that I wrote a poem of my own ~
A woman sits before her screen,
fingers resting on the keys,
arrested—
where to go from here?
what to say?
A sigh escapes her lips,
as she remains
pressed by self-doubt,
yet yearning to step into
something more,
something meaningful.
Love it!!! Thanks for sharing it 🙂
Wowwww, I am captivated and envious! Angels come in so many forms and ways from thugs to old ladies! Brilliant. I hope I’m not misinterpreting this but I’m envious because of the encounter that left such a lasting impression. Allowing you to never forget…
❣️
Kim, I love this prompt because we get double the poems today! It’s like watching the film a second time with the director’s commentary. We get the cool original poems, and the poems that served as inspiration: a double win!
________________________
This Is Just to Edit
I have fixed
the errors
that were in
your manuscript
of which
you were inexplicably
keeping
for later (?)
Sorry not sorry
they were egregious
so awful
and so rampant
_____________________
“This Is Just to Say” by William Carlos Williams
https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/56159/this-is-just-to-say
Scott,
Ha! Clever poem. I’m going to trust you not to edit my typos, of which there are many. I think of them like my Missouri twang: They add local color to my writing.
You capture the non-apology apology of WCW perfectly! Love it!
Scott,
Love the familiarity that you offer us by threading the meter and structure of Carlos Williams with Scott M. While edits can hurt, the rhythm and humor softens the blow “Sorry not sorry.”
Sarah
Scott, This was a delight! I’ve had students write “Sorry not sorry” poems using this as a model. I FELT the “inexplicably
keeping
for later (?)” line! HAHAHA!
And you totally landed that ending with
“egregious so awful and so rampant”
Scott — You have on familiar shoes with this one. Sometimes I can’t stop myself for editing “egregious” errors…even in the doggone newspaper and then snarking “Really?! Really?!” You did WCW well here! Such a perfect choice! Love it. Susie
My inspiration is by Pablo Neruda, One Hundred Love Sonnets: XVII
I don’t love you as if you were a rose
I don’t love you as if you were a rose,
I love you as stardust flowered throughout my soul,
bottled and capped so as never to let go.
I love you as the unlit candle, calmly waiting,
as the light emerges from the darkness,
to guide my footsteps alongside your own.
I love you as the slap of water against the hull,
the lanyards clanging, sailing,
as the wind blows us through the fjord.
I love you as the blue reflects through your eyes,
presenting clarity to an unknown depth,
which deepens further in each given moment.
I love you as the infinite horizon,
memorizing, imprinting, as my love for you
will continue to grow, after all, there is no end.
Linda,
Your poem is so romantic and comforting. I feel the deep love you have for the “you” in your poem. So many sounds and textures here to deep the poem’s light and our understanding of this abiding, growing love.
Linda, I love all of the different kinds of love and need in here–so beautiful! Also, you had me at, “I love you as stardust flowered throughout my soul.” What a beautiful image!
Linda,
Excellent work, I enjoyed the light and darkness imagery. I also found your word choice to be memorizing; I felt like I was getting lost in the diction.
Linda, your poem is so pure and shows a lot of innocence of love. It reminds me of my younger days with love and how love was so pure.
Thank you all so much for your kind words. My inspiration is my husband, and the poem we both adore by Pablo Neruda which was recited during our wedding ceremony.
Good heavens, Linda, this is beautifully and deeply romantic… oooohhhh to have that depth of love. My favorite might be the “light emerges from the darkness,/to guide my footsteps alongside your own.” That is something that really touches me. Mmmmmm. Thank you. Susie
Psalm 58 – A Prayer for God to Punish the Wicked
Do you rulers ever give a just decision?
Do you judge everyone fairly?
No! You think only of the evil you can do,
and commit crimes of violence in the land.
Evildoers go wrong all their lives;
they tell lies from the day they are born.
They are full of poison like snakes;
they stop up their ears like a deaf cobra,
which does not hear the voice of the snake charmer,
or the chant of the clever magician.
Break the teeth of these fierce lions, O God.
May they disappear like water draining away;
may they be crushed like weeds on a path.
May they be like snails that dissolve into slime;
may they be like a baby born dead that never sees the light.
Before they know it, they are cut down like weeds;
in his fierce anger God will blow them away
while they are still living.
The righteous will be glad when they see sinners punished;
they will wade through the blood of the wicked.
People will say, “The righteous are indeed rewarded;
there is indeed a God who judges the world.”
My 21st Century Mirror of Vengeance
I learned something about God from this poem,
placed in the good book, and read for eons.
God must have invited
people to speak their truth,
not to hide their emotions,
“break their teeth”
“blow them away like weeds”
“dissolve them like salt on a slug”
but
also
there was no need to
take vengeance in
their own hands and do violence.
“Give it to me,” God said. “I’ll take it from here.”
So, I wait and pray:
We’ve got some unjust and evil
people with power
who still need their teeth broken, God.
I rest deeply in this assurance. What a beautiful Psalm response you’ve provided here. You’ve inspired me to do the same – I like discovering ways to interact with Scripture.
Yes, we do have some people who need some broken teeth! This is serious food for thought…
Yes, let’s also remember to give it to God. This spoke to me, as we are sadly in a time with punish, punish, punish is the word. I wonder what would happen if we stopped and were able to redirect more often, turn little misdeeds into teachable moments.
Denise,
I thought about Jonathan Edwards while reading Psalm 58. I’m sure you know how this anger has been channeled and privileged by some fundamentalists. It’s certainly this “angry” God emphasized when I was a kid. Your response is so much better. I f Ss o love these words:
and think that needs to be the response of believers who actually follow Christ’s teachings. It’s empowering to remember we can lay these burdens down before God.
I love the idea of mirroring other poets. What a great way to show admiration while putting a creative spin on things! I decided to go classic with my inspiration for this, so I used Emily Dickinson’s “Hope is the thing with feathers.” Imagining Hope as some sort of physical being is really helpful to me during times that feel hopeless.
Wordless Melody
I hear a wordless melody
I feel its rhythm in my pulse
The beat of little feathered wings
Against the air, against the walls
Against the cavern, deep and dark
That echoes with my own refrain
The melody reverberates
And sets my soul aflame again
I often wonder how the song
So soft and subtle from within
Can grow to be the force that keeps
The cavern walls from caving in.
I read this twice! BEAUTIFUL. A beautiful, hopeful breath of fresh air. My favorite is the ending:
Ann, this was lovely! Love the meter, beautiful rhythm, and love the last stanza especially. Beautiful metaphor.
Ann, you’ve captured the hope from Emily Dickinson (as well as the rhythm) in a beautiful iteration. I believe I love yours even more! “Wordless melody” is sings across the page and the pulse reflected as a “beat of little feathered wings” the imagery there is wonderful! I absolutely love that last stanza!
Ann,
You’ve done a spectacular job replicating the style and cadence of Dickinson’s poem. It’s one of my favorites. My favorite part is this last verse:
Your line “ I hear a wordless melody” is actually the line I chose to mirror. From my perspective, it felt impassioned and impatient. I am constantly running through my thoughts, so I used this line to help compare the running to a “wordless melody.” Truly a beautiful line.
I absolutely loved this poem, and am actually going to steal a line from it for inspiration for my own mirror poem! Thank you so much for creating something that is just absolutely beautiful! <3
This poem has such a nice rhythm to it! It was really fun to read! I love the last stanza
I often wonder how the song
So soft and subtle from within
Can grow to be the force that keeps
The cavern walls from caving in.
This stanza really put me in the scene and made the poem more melodic.
I hear your wordless melody. The ending is powerful – “can grow to be a force that keeps the cavern walls from caving in.”
Gosh, Ann– This is really beautiful. The whole idea of a wordless melody sets my ear and then reading this aloud, I feel the rhythmics of the lines. “The beat of little feathered wings/Against the air, against the walls.” Perfect! This ending lines are totally power lines: “…the force that keeps/The cavern walls from caving in.” I love the idea of Hope at a physical thing. Lovely. Thank you. Susie
We Arrive Carrying Our Words…
into the world
untranslatable,
unspeakable,
misunderstood until
words greet our arrival in
coos and oohs and awes.
We carry our words
our language skin
healing,
bleeding,
accepting,
rejecting,
learning words carry us
from birth through death.
We carry our words
to people and places
scattering words like confetti
among dwellers who carry words too.
We carry our words
like blueprints ready to
guide the builder of new
dwellings where we store words
we carried to this place.
We carry our words
like mulch to feed
growing things
and watch our words
squirm and burrow
into fallow earth
seeking sustenance from
remnants of words
ground deep into earth’s stories.
We arrive here carrying our words
looking for an empty seat
where we scoot in close to
others’ words and
settle in for our
shared #verselove
word journey.
—Glenda Funk
After “Carrying Our Words” by Ofelia Zepeda
https://poets.org/poem/carrying-our-words
Glenda, your poem is a gift to me. In the last stanza, I feel the comfort, almost as if I’m being held tightly by words. I also think of my toddler:
Each day I see him becoming more and more frustrated because we just cannot understand what he wants, yet he tries so hard. If I wasn’t fully aware just how powerful words are before (ha!), I am certainly reminded with every grunt my toddler throws because he is so misunderstood.
Thank you for sharing this.
Glenda, I love how you used repetition to construct this poem around the various ways we “carry our words” and how this really speaks to the human experience. We are all “looking for an empty seat” and the glimmer of human connection… and how grateful I am that we have this space to share our words with each other. Thank you for reminding me to look for those moments of joy and appreciate what I have.
Glenda, I almost wrote about #verselove today and about the power of words. I’m so glad I did not as your poem would have put mine to shame. I adore how you show the many way words are carried in life and how they have power and consequence. Your use of “untranslatable” also reminded me of Walt Whitman’s Song of Myself. The active language and use of similes describing how we carry words are brilliant and resonate with truth and beauty. I so loved the positive end to your poem! Gorgeous, gorgeous, gorgeous! Thank you!
Glenda, I love the figurative language here! So vivid and rich (I’m thinking especially of your fifth stanza). And the ending? Wonderful. We are all part of this “shared #verselove / word journey.”
This is beautiful, Glenda. Thank you for the link to the mentor poem, I wasn’t familiar with it. What a beautiful testament to our poetic words you have shared here! I love the idea of carrying our words like mulch, especially
Glenda — I love all the ways and reasons to “carry our words.” How fitting for this place and in this community. I found it provocative to think of all the ways our words “squirm and burrow.” Terrific! Our “language skin” – yes. “words ground deep into earth’s stories.” This is so inventive, so darned poetic! LOL! Love this! Thank you. Susie
I was inspired and used stanza selections from Ariana Brown’s “Dear White Girls in My Spanish Class”
To the white woman who feigns curiosity
I see you –
stumbling over the accented i carelessly
because mijo’s identity is a roadblock to your comfort
Spanish- not something you actually have to try to understand, not fancy or sophisticated,
not like French—the language you love over-pronouncing
as if compensating for your basic American whiteness.
I see you –
glaring as I speak Spanish to mijo,
eyeing my white husband; here I am-
desperately reaching
for a language I hope will choose me back someday.
I see you –
wondering why ‘Brittany’ and ‘Kyle’
would purposely choose a “barrier”
Don’t you know I had to fight for this?
For every scrap of culture I could get my hands on,
even if its lineage is as European as yours?
I see you –
your language repertoire limited,
your past a choice to embrace
How does it feel—
to take a foreign language, for fun?
To owe your history nothing?
Elías. Elías. Elías.
Tu nombre birthing power
like my body welcoming you earthside.
Que orgullo.
Britt,
Every word here is brilliant. I love the inspiration poem. I thought about taking a similar approach today, but you have crafted a much more brilliant poem than I could have. This is gospel:
I get so sick of the English first, English only BS coming from people who can barely string two words together. When they can pass a test using the subjunctive mood correctly I might consider listening. Brilliant poem.
Britt, this was gorgeous! Love the interspersed commentary in italics and the repetition (“I see you–I see you-). Really beautiful.
Beautiful poem. I feel for my husband who didn’t learn Spanish at home like his older siblings. They were already in school and encouraged their parents to focus on English as he would need that more.
Britt, you address the girls (now women) from the Spanish class. Sadly they never overcame their small-mindedness, xenophobia, and inflexibility. Through your use of “I see you,” their insularity does not go unnoticed.
Kim-I heard each and every comforting sound in your poem. Thank you for the opportunity to go back into my favorite poets and lose myself for a bit in this challenging week ( My husband is improving, but not as quickly as either one of us is contented with…)
Prayer (Mary Oliver) Prayer (Gayle Sands)
May I never not be frisky, May I never not be pithy
May I never not be risque May I always have a ready retort..
May my ashes, when you May my ashes, when you
have them, friend, have them,friend
and give them to the ocean, and give them to the breeze,
leap in a froth of the waves, disperse into the clouds above,
still loving movement, still teasing authority,
still ready, beyond all else still ready, beyond all else
to dance for the world. to laugh with those I love.
this was odd–so here is MY mirror–I am unable to edit the poem that looked right until I published…
Prayer, mirroring Prayer, by Mary Oliver
May I never not be pithy.
May I always have a ready retort.
May my ashes, when you have them, friend,
and give them to the breeze,
disperse into the clouds above,
still teasing authority,
still ready, beyond all else,
to laugh with those I love.
Gayle, this is BEAUTIFUL! (Thank you for reposting – I thought perhaps that the repetition was a style choice, though it’s truly a mirror). This would be a meaningful tribute for the loss of a loved one. I love the dispersal of the ashes ready to “laugh with those I love.” Sending healing to your husband for a quick recovery!
Me too! 🙂
Gayle,
This is a lovely prayer. I particularly like the image of ashes floating skyward and:
This also reminds me of the Irish prayer. Do you know if Mary Oliver modeled her poem on it?
Gayle, you had me at Mary Oliver (oh, she holds my heart!) and the ashes dancing with the world and those you love are truly stunning – imagery is of bliss even in another dimension. This is lovely!
Holding you close in thoughts as you help your husband every step of the way back to full recovery. Many hugs your way!
I am in a poetry therapy workshop today. We read “All Alone Inside My Very Own Skin” from Judith Viorst. Italics are borrowed.
I’m all alone here — I, myself, and me.
That’s just one person, though it sounds like three.
The skin I am in make sense when I am alone.
It is in the gaze of others where I perceive
gaps between the I, myself, and me.
Every line of this is perfect, Sarah. I felt exactly this my whole life. Thank you.
That gap is sometimes greater than others, isn’t it? Truth all the way through…
Sarah, wow! Every word, sparingly used, is necessary here. I gave myself time to just sit with this. To reflect. Become still. This speaks the truth. (And you make wonderful sense within the gaze of others!)
If I have not felt this time and time again… Goodness. Thank you for sharing these words. Stunningly beautiful.
Wow, so many others feel this way.
I can feel the insecurity setting in.
Sarah, in a few words you share such a universal feeling. I cannot think of a day where I have not felt a sense of being gauche. Absolutely loved it!
Sarah,
Oh, how I envy your economy! So much power packed in so few words.
I love the “grammar play” for lack of a better term in “The skin I am in make sense when I am alone.” Putting the plural verb for skin adds to the complexity of the poem.
Sarah, you capture an essence of so many who feel the same way. Thank you for expressing our feelings into words.
Sarah, In so few words you captured the essence of exactly why so many of us love our alone time – more comfortable in our own space than in the breathing space of others. Those perceived gaps are so uncomfortable! I’m so glad I’m not alone in feeling this way!
I was drawn to the beat poets of the 50s when I was in high school. I just thought they were so cool. Here is my homage to Jack Kerouac and his poem “How to Meditate”. Here is a link: https://mypoeticside.com/show-classic-poem-14804
Untitled Mirror Poem
choose a(ny) time
but choose a time
morning day night
any is as good
as any
“healing all my sickness”
sit or recline
or stand if you can…
(comfort is key)
but pay attention now
to the ground beneath
and sounds of lungs
“healing all my sickness”
think “don’t think”
choose the struggle
to let go
but not to wander
and you can always return
to the ground beneath
and sounds of lungs
“healing all my sickness”
I love the unique repetition in this poem: “any is as good as any” and “think ‘don’t think'” – that is a great line about meditation.
Eric,
Thank you for taking us into and through the lines “healing all my sickness” and layered meanings in healing and in sickness. Your words make me think about how and where we carry this meaning, and the final lines offer a way of feeling and hearing it:
‘
And love the consonance of the “s” in the last line.
Sarah
Eric, wow, your poem is incredible. Love the active language you share such as struggle, healing, wander. Your poem shares the power of pulling out of ourselves to gain a new “out of body” experience. Outstanding poem!
Eric, I am in awe of your creative spirit and so in love with this
choose a(ny) time
but choose a time
The parentheses are clever here. I, too, love the beat poets. I’m so glad you summoned their voices today!
Thanks for the prompt today, Kim. I am constantly amazed by all the talent and inspiration in this space. So much vivid, audible description in the poems. I did something similar, focusing on one word from a poem. I recently read Joy Harjo’s “Remember”: https://poets.org/poem/remember-0 and really just used that one word while obsessing over things I can’t remember.
Remember
That scent that filled that one space
That tune you hummed that one way
That line you wrote in that one essay
Remember
That feeling you felt that one day
That story you read in that one grade
That route you took to that one place
Remember
This red setting sun through gray pane
The feeling of confusion the first time
You saw one drawn by a child on a page
Remember
Your whole body jiggling in a dusty CNG
And an unusual fluttering of your heart
like a drummer’s quick, soft cymbal beat
Remember
Because you will want to know
So you can write a better poem
Memories don’t last forever
Angie—each of these moments is poem worthy.. my favorite line—“like a drummer’s quick, soft, cymbal beat.” And the last line-perfect!
Beautiful poem! I love the repetition of “one” in the first two stanzas. And your last stanza explains exactly how I feel – memories slip away so fast, or at least they fade, and lose so much of the raw beauty they originally had. And then how are we supposed to write about them??
Angie,
Right out of the gate you captivate me with
Remember
That scent that filled that one space
That tune you hummed that one way
That line you wrote in that one essay
What a sensory feast in your lines! Things that take me back to my own memories, and the reality at the end that memories will indeed fade. And oh, how important it is that we write them and preserve all that we cannot possibly hold! Fabulous!
[Kim — I loved that you selected Fran’s poem… the whole act of listening was beautiful in both your poems. I was inspired to return to another of our community’s poets, Laura Langley.]
[Late last night our poet friend Laura Langley posted her poem “Lunar Loaves” that so inspired me that today I am dipping into her “thick pads of waning butter,” as they seemed a lovely remedy for a rather sleep-hampered night. While this isn’t really mirroring, I did find the need to borrow some butter. 🙂 My homage to Laura’s poem… thank you. Susie]
Buttering the Body
It might be the butter,
but more it is the slow melting,
the fusion,
that torpid ooze that soothes me,
the quiet weeping of soft butter
making its way in and over
the warm loaves and biscuits
of my body,
protecting it from the crusting assault
of too much oxygen given to worries,
too much everything else,
my shoulders feel the shift
as butter loosens its solid hold
and slides and slathers,
pulled by the gravity
of needing.
by Susie Morice, April 7, 2021©
Susie! I love every moment of this buttering of the body and how tender we can be with ourselves. Your play with words and images makes me smile with this scene (that Susie is so clever, I think) and that last word “needing” is a lovely bread pun. I think about how much of this is the butter and how much of it is the hand that “slathers” — that they need each other. I have overlooked this everyday use. Thank you!
Sarah
“that torpid ooze that soothes me” – assonance for the win! Love all the feeling in this poem, Susie.
Susie—this line-“making its way in and over the warm loaves and biscuits of my body.” So many different meanings here!
Susie, I couldn’t help but think that as we age, we become that slow melting, the torpid ooze, the quiet weeping as we loosen our solid hold (as if we ever had one). Might be me. Might be the day. But I’m in need of kneading. Thanks for giving me something to sigh (and smile) over today.
Susie,
Every fiber of my tight-muscled bod feels
,
so every morning I go through this body buttering ritual while Snug awaits, ready to likely my legs. TMI? Probably not for the dog lovers among us. But I also noticed the “needing” pun Sarah acknowledged in her comment. I love
, mine having proofed too much from a life of butter eating.
Susie, the imagery in this poem is breathtaking. I would never think to include phrases like “torpid ooze” and “crusting assault” but they add so much to it! Absolutely beautiful!
Susie, I absolutely love this poem and the way it oozes with emotion just like something warm and buttery. The metaphor “the warm loaves and biscuits/of my body,’ had me chuckling. I can certainly relate to the sleepless nights, the worry, and waking to the feeling of not being rested but assaulted. Loved the way you used the word butter. It melts, loosens, slathers, and slides…such an effective way to share the emotions of your poem. The “pulled by the gravity/ of needing..” though was particularly priceless. Such a lovely mirror poem and nod to Laura Langley’s poem. Outstanding poem! Thank you! Barb
Susie, I’m laughing in humor and horror of the truth of my own body that I feel in this poem. The gravity is real. It’s a thing. The loaves and biscuits are constantly rising – I feel like a sad loaf of wrinkle and crinkle bread! This is fabulous and sensual and funny and…..real. ?
It’s the birthday month of The Bard, so I choose a line from a familiar play by William Shakespeare.
Will We?
“A rose by any other name would smell as sweet.”
Is a phrase we often hear along the street.
But what does it mean when out of that scene
In Romeo and Juliet?
When we hear stories of crime against Asians,
When we see laws passed against trans,
When folks protest against fair voting laws
Do we speak up or cringe from a cool glance?
Does a rose by any other name smell that sweet?
What happens when diversities meet?
Will we walk to the beat of a different drum?
Or will we glance away and stay mum?
Anna — What a fine set of queries! The middle stanza offers such a strong voice questioning just where this country’s soul lies. May we not “glance away and stay mum.” Thank you. Susie
“What happens when diversities meet?” Love the questions you have added in this poem, Anna. What a way to incorporate today with a line from long, long ago.
Anna, I absolutely loved your poem. The second stanza where you question where the country lies is very impactful which is why you have inspired my mirror poem.
How do we decide whether or not to speak?
Do we remain silent?
Give the oppressor more power to keep opressing?
No, we speak.
Even if speaking is showing up
to a Black Lives Matter protest
to a stop Asian Hate protest
to a No Border Wall protest
holding a sign with your support on it.
Even if speaking is being proactive
by signing a petition that could help out the community
by letting loved ones from that community know
you are listening.
Silence is never the answer.
Not when we have been silent for so long
and nothing has been done.
Araceli you honor me by mirroring my poem, but more so by extending it with what we can DO! We see silence does not make problems go away. We must risk getting into good trouble to rid ourselves of the bad trouble.
Muchas gracias. Am I’m jumping to conclusion that your names represent LatinX ID?
Anna, your questions just rock today! Right on! This part is echoing still –
Does a rose by any other name smell that sweet?
What happens when diversities meet?
I love that you are honoring our friend William today. Layers and layers of universal themes that transcend time and shapeshift to a variety of other aspects of life – the man was a genius, and your questions are brilliant and thought provoking. I always love reading your poems!
Happy Wednesday, Kim! What fun this will be when I find time in this day to write. I love your poem for so many reasons, one being the love between you and your dogs. I can picture every image. One stanza that really brings me joy is this one:
The alliteration with “s” is always a winner in my books! ?
I love your poem and anticipate time to write today. If only I didn’t have to teach today. haha.
Hugs!
Stacey — I’m glad you’re back here. I saw that you were recovering from that shot…whew! So glad that step is behind you now. Hugs, Susie
My inspiration for this poem comes from the poet Lee Maracle – “War”. https://www.poetryinvoice.com/watch/catricia-hiebert-war-lee-maracle
Home?
In my body flows the blood of colonizers
thieves and destroyers.
Politicians spew nationalism stew
which adds to my complicity.
Child of the forest,
Cedar scents, frogs and forts,
grass and sunshine are my home
a birthplace though
my ancestry is not here.
Explosions of life and light
dulled in the forges of
“good girls” and “not too much”
where elixirs coax me into smallness
with promises
proven false
in time.
Can I deny the story of my home?
I am moved by the Indigenous truth tellers,
the Black nation builders,
the Brown and Asian elders
making this place.
“I am moved by my love for human life”
by the stories
of us,
all.
Melanie,
Wow, I can’t stop rereading your first line: “In my body flows the blood of colonizers
thieves and destroyers.” It is so powerful and yet depressing. Thank you for sharing with us today.
Melanie, what an exquisite poem you offer us today. I want to live in that second stanza which offers lift and light between the stewing and spewing and the coaxing into smallness. Thank you, thank you for bringing this forth!
Melanie, acknowledging our history and coming to terms with the ways it shapes our behavior is the first step to change. Your poem challenges each of us to to step back, look in the mirror, and decide “how will be moved.” I pray that our answer will be the same as yours “love for human life.”
Thanks for ONE MORE CHALLENGE today. 🙂
I am moved by your poem – every single word. Thank you for sharing.
So powerful and profound, Melanie. Complicit and complex, and “I am moved by the stories of us all.” What a conglomeration we are.
Melanie, this resonates so powerfully with me – our stories, our histories, our ancestry. This makes me smile:
Child of the forest,
Cedar scents, frogs and forts,
grass and sunshine are my home
I feel a strong sense of being at one with nature, the spirits making themselves known in the earth, on the wind, in the elements. Beautiful!
Kim, I’m always inspired by you and the way you bring words together, injecting humor and explanation into parentheses, every so often shifting punctuation to catch the eye (joy for the soul: Live! Breathe! Sing!) Thank you for sharing Fran’s poem to dig into as our prompt today.
The Beyond
There was a whisper in the air
this hint of what
would be,
feathery as bird wings
in flight,
a breath against an ear.
It tasted of time
and the search
for a singular grain
among the fragments
of coral and
fire-fountain volcanic bits,
the sand of moons,
the mudlarker’s find.
There was a whisper in the air
a pouchful of glass
tumbled along ocean currents
and salty waves,
an impact melt,
from meteor strike,
spicules
in solar atmosphere
eroded to reveal
Internal arrays,
thimbled,
a drowning
in the very center
of the ocean.
There was a whisper in the air
a drift of smoke
evaporated on wind,
a marionette
moved by strings,
a Midsomer theremin,
the dance of fingers
over the apprehension machine
the sound of a sleeper
entering the night,
the pulse stilling
into what would be.
*There was a whisper in the air (found from Ray Bradbury)
Jennifer,
I am amazed that this poured out of you this morning. Wow! The repeated line is so moving, evoking a gentle sound, a nudge to notice. These lines strike me as such imagery, visual movement:
I had to look up the word mudlarker though you offer great context here. I am just thinking of the person, the being scavenging in river mud for treasures.
Thank you,
Sarah
Jennifer, I appreciate the imagery of the marionette mixed in with all of the other elements and words you’ve chosen (especially ” sand of moon” and “thimbled”). Thank you for sharing.
Holy mackerel, Jennifer — this is such a poem! WhoOO! I loved the whispers and the sound images. I had no clue what a theremin was and just watched a guy playing one with a “dance of fingers” on YouTube….OoOOOOO!oooO!OO, that is a unique sound for sure… how amazing! And this
Wowza, the textures and sounds of “spicules” and erosion in the atmosphere … dang, girl, you’re on fire here…well, iced maybe (LOL!) — seriously, these are really intense sensory images.
My fave might be the idea of a sleeper “entering” the night — just that act is really otherworldly…downright “Beyond.” Cool! Susie
Jennifer, you do such a beautiful job at alternating between soft, wholesome images and the darker, more striking ones. I loved the line “It tasted of time.” Its such a compelling idea! Beautiful!
Jennifer, I am hearing there will come soft rains with this whisper in the air – the style and wording are so powerful here in this verse. Your gift of words is always remarkable, but then when you hit a day like today and just pull out pure pearls it’s simply stunning. I love everything about this, especially your closing lines
the sound of a sleeper
entering the night,
the pulse stilling
into what would be.
Today, I wrote beside, The poem where I lie about everything by Rudy Francisco (I’ll Fly Away)
I’m 6’2,
I weight 150lbs. and I’m shredded.
I know what you are thinking.
The answer is yes, I only
eat what’s best for my body.
Yes, my parents still enjoy a love
that transcends time.
yes, I’m on only child, and
they are married.
Yes, my Nan~Nan is alive.
Yes, I’m okay – doing great.
No, I’m not just saying that so
you’ll move along.
Yes, I’m always happy.
I know exactly how to cope.
Nothing is ever wrong.
Yes, I the glass is half full –
full of potential and full of hope.
My eyes? Oh, allergies.
My smile? When all is alright in the world,
what’s there to frown about?
I’m comfortable talking about my feelings.
No, I don’t fear judgement.
Yes, I’m a rebel.
No, I’m not stressed.
No, I’m not exhausted.
No, I’m not overwhelmed.
No.
No.
No.
Yes,
I sleep like a baby every night.
I wake up at the crack of dawn
ready to take on the world.
Donnetta, I love what you’ve done here. The repetition of no, no, no as if in denial, as if to convince yourself as much as others, until that final admission, as if giving up, of yes. And then the returning right back to what is said aloud, the social view. So much truth here.
Donnetta, I kept reading and rereading your poem wondering if I was misreading or missing something and then I read the inspiration for this poem (I’ve never read that one before). I noticed the use of “yes” and “no” which often mean the opposite in conversation. In this poem, I love the complexity hidden beneath the everyday.
Donnetta!
This is one of those poems — well many poems– when we must read the title, though it may be telling to read it once without the title and then with. I am pondering the lies. The lies we tell and know. The lies we tell and kid ourselves into believing until our body or mind remind us of reality, to get real. My goodness, I wish I could sleep like a baby. I wish I were ready to take on the world. Thank you for this!
Sarah
Sarah, Thank you. I wish I could sleep like a baby, too.
Donnetta,
Thank you for introducing me to this poem and sharing out your own “un-truths.” What a great poem to mirror and I love the irony of your line “I’m comfortable talking about my feelings” placed in this poem. Thank you for sharing today.
I love the echoes of yes and no, the battle within yourself to believe in yourself. (Something I can totally relate to.)
Donnetta, I love it! I am a fan of Rudy Francisco and had not read his poem. I read yours first and quite honestly felt good that you were so amazing (even if only in a lie) it felt great! I am deeply moved by
This is the root of many a problems in my life and so many others I love. Thank you for sharing this. I love the idea of writing lies, LOL, but I guess it depends on what the lies are about.
Thank you, this was a treat this morning.
The lies we tell ourselves and the world to keep on. This poem sings with the no, no, nos, and then that slipped in yes. I think so many relate to the daily struggle to “take on the world.”
Donnetta — By the end of this, I was laughing out loud… as the Wonder Woman of it all is so so so far from me that I think I want to invest stock in the “I” in this dandy poem. This is THE Woman! Wowza! Love the strong voice of complexity in how we see ourselves and how a world where “all is right” is such an illusion. Wonderful crafting here! Thank you. Susie
The first time I read his poem, it easily became one of my favorites. This is amazing, Donnetta, and you’ve inspired me to have my students write one of their own. I think it’s important. Thank you!
“Yes, I’m okay – doing great.
No, I’m not just saying that so
you’ll move along.”
Donetta, like others, I had to read and reread to know if I was really “getting” your intention with the poem because it was just that convincing. This particular quote stuck with me today, as it has been hard to have the motivation to go about my day today. So often do we argue with ourselves that everything really is okay when we really just need a break. Great poem, Donetta.
So much truth written in these lies. I had to go back to read the title because I was so envious of the narrator.
Oh the lies we tell ourselves just to get through a day sometimes. I’m fine. Really. Nothing to see here! Coping mechanisms to survive? No, not me, never!
Donetta,
This is exciting and scary all at once. I can see what you have done to show the “perfection” of life. This is fabulous to get us thinking about the strength and growth we find in the challenges. After all, those trenches are the places where our best writing comes – I love what you have done here! Thanks for writing today.
Kim,
Thank you for inviting us to write with this mirror prompt today. I always enjoy when you write about your dogs and your poem here provides a great sensory experience. I decided to take the word “listen” from both of your poems and build it into my poem inspired by the news, instead of mirroring another poem.
River of dis-information
rapids plunging
fake news white caps
Listen
to the ripples
Flipping over boats of ideas
the flow breaches into
the legislative right bank
Listen
to the babbles
Humanize the minor
question assertions
mis-represented at the oxbow
Listen
to the voices
Of nature, those
emerging at the delta
they are calling
Stefani, it very much feels like a continual assault, wave after wave of falsehoods and spins. I love how you played with that idea and the words associated with the metaphor, especially the hit with the “legislative right bank.”
Stefani!
So powerful. The imagery and sounds here are indeed calling. This line, in particular for me, invites me to do some work today:
Sarah
Stefani, your extended metaphor of moving water works especially well here. The strength of the poem is that we cannot just let the water flow by, we must hear what it is saying, answer its call.
The lines, the waves, that pull me in
Listen
to the voices
Of nature, those
emerging at the delta
they are calling
Stefani, ever since the election I gave not had it in me to watch the news. I am so tired of “ River of dis-information
rapids plunging
fake news white caps”
I needed a break. Maybe forever. Enjoying nature and no more talking heads.
Stefani,
Oooooohhhh, I love the way you took listening to the news. This part really sticks with me:
Listen
to the babbles
Humanize the minor
question assertions
You show how the listening spans realms of misinformation, babbles, ripples, voices – I sense the responsibility that we have to listen and the responsibility we have to decipher truth.
You bring light to the truth, and I love your choice of the word listen.
You’ve done a beautiful job blending the structure with the verbs and ideas of disinformation. Geography tied to the ideas of disinformation illuminate them.
Good Morning writers! First, an apology. I never made it back to comment on at least 3 poems yesterday. I got happily cornered by life. I will go back and comment this morning.
Second, Kim this is a wonderful prompt. I am also a fan of Fran’s blog and I love to see the shout-out to her talents by you. She’s a poet that allows me to pause and take in her words with her skilled pacing. I was smiling all through your poem as the dogs got out of bed, roused you and started the day. I love that the heat pump is ready to “clock out.” I so relate to this time of day because my dog can be counted on getting me up for 5 am writer’s club. I feel like I have lived your poem!