Inspiration
Poems from images. How do images evoke strong reactions? How can we turn those reactions into poems? I love to start writing from images. Pictures, especially ones with deep stories, compel my writing, both in my notebook and with my students.
Poem Process
Choose an image–a photograph, an image from history, a gorgeous landscape–and let your thinking land on the page. Let the words pool and then, once the collection grows, start arranging them. Let the poem sit for a moment, then return to it. You’ll be amazed at the thinking you want to add. Here a link to The New York Times’ “A Year of Picture Prompts.”
This image from World War I is one that evokes a strong emotional reaction within me. Words that came to mind were mist, death, loyalty, Dulce et Decorum Est (Wilfred Owen), destruction, fear, and so on. Once these words were collected, I began arranging them, adding additional thinking, and just letting the poem grow. I returned to this poem several times to continue adding words and lines until it reached a noticeable stopping point.
Travis’s Poem
Mists of war invade the open field.
Trees licked with fire, leafless and black,
Cast shadows on the frozen ground.
Smoke rubs its back against the bodies,
While crimson seeps into the ground
And sparkle with horrifying beauty.
As bullets evacuate with fiery zest,
A mosaic of fear lingers in the air,
Each face stitched into the fabric of conflict,
Twisting,
Turning,
Moving,
Yearning,
And choking out prayers for the end,
As they watch helpless comrades writhe with seeming ecstasy,
The bullets forcing them into a remarkable dance
Before they plunge toward nothingness,
A shell of a warrior,
A memory of a human,
But finally free.
Did it have to come to this, you say?
If you could witness the horror of war,
The coldness that lingers in hearts,
And the appetite for war
That ravages those desperate for glory,
You would not believe hollow lies
And leprous tongues
Promising greatness without honor,
Without love,
Without dignity.
**Wilfred Owen’s poem Dulce et Decorum Est was one that I returned to because of my interest in the image and WWI. If there is a poem, either one you’ve already written or one related to the image you’ve selected, return to it, borrow lines, and allow your poem to grow from those additions.
You can post a link to your picture at the end of your poem in the comments sections, but your words will be enough. As always, the inspirations here are merely suggestions. Write what in your heart or on your mind, and we will welcome your verse.
Travis Crowder, M.Ed., is a middle school English/Language Arts teacher at
East Alexander Middle School in Hiddenite, NC. He has taught for ten years and has experience in both middle and high school levels. He currently teaches 7th grade ELA and social studies, and works with the gifted and talented students in his school. He and Todd Nesloney co-authored Sparks in the Dark: Lessons, Ideas, and Strategies to Illuminate the Reading and Writing Lives in All of Us.
Bright blue door
Ornate entry
Red flowers
Where does this door lead?
To a mosque where people go to worship and restore
To a castle where wealth kings and queens once roamed
To a garden where people can find beauty
Red flowers in bloom
Gives a sign of spring or summer
The sun shines brightly making the door shimmer like ocean water
The sand brick archway is inviting
But a long shadow casts a slight cloud over the door
Is it a tree or a building nearby?
Where does this blue door lead?
Left to your own devices,
you camouflage yourself:
a wallflower amongst flowers,
a relic framed in slate.
And for a time, I conceded.
At each encounter, I’d
saunter by, feigning nonchalance
waiting for you to bloom.
Finally, golden days returned.
Fresh air beckoned you forth,
time to tend your defacements.
Together, we’ll recover your glory.
Thank you for sharing! The last line “together we’ll recover your glory” stuck out to me because it made me feel that the speaker and the reader could work together.
Technological Era
connected
close, available
searching, communicating, updating
smart phone, tablet, laptop, Apple watch
isolating, pacifying, separating
lonely, absent
distracted
The contrast at the beginning and end is powerful. Seems most of us are connected and distracted.
You have wonderful contrasts in the promises of tech and its reality from beginning to end.
The contrasts are striking. The use of “available” and “absent” reminds me of the Prince EA piece “Can We Auto-Correct Humanity?”
I love the change from connected to distracted because I often feel my technology is keeping me apart from people actually in the same space. Thank you for sharing!
IMAGES
Yesterday I looked in the mirror and saw Aunt Hilda
Who’s dead
And never had any children.
Last week a sideways glance revealed my dad.
Dead too.
I’m disappearing into the past,
Afraid to take a selfie.
Time marches on. You are the legacy of those who went before you, and I like that you still catch a glimpse of them on occasion.
Gail, thanks for a more positive point of view. It creeps me out to lose my features (my Identity) the older I get.
Jackie – You we’re haunted today! Those mirror images are always so alarming. I’m thinking you’re not fading anywhere! 😉 “Afraid to take a selfie,” while part of that haunting, did make me smile.
Your lines “I’m disappearing into the past/Afraid to take a selfie” spoke to my soul. Thank you.
“I’m disappearing into the past” so aptly captures time’s imprint on our lives.
I try to paint the bluebonnets
that line the highways every spring–
But my blues won’t blend
and the white tips on these lupines
keep soaking up the green.
I am impatient.
Unlike the wildflowers who wait a year
to stand like tiny sentinels
across the Lone Star State.
Depth
Stability
Trust
Wisdom
all take time.
image inspiration:
?w=724&h=500&auto=format&q=60&fit=clip
Depth
Stability
Trust
Wisdom
all take time.
Nature has so much to teach us if we only take the time to listen!
“To stand like tiny sentinels across the Lone Star State” are two of my favorite lines. Such a beautiful picture too!
“I am impatient unlike the wildflowers who wait a year”.
I really felt this line as someone who is also very impatient. Beautiful poem, thanks for sharing!
Arms across shoulders
Heads thrown back in laughter
Water drops glistening
On tanned skin.
Peace signs
casually thrown
Sunlight diamonds
sparkle on a lake
Forever
young
Forever
hopeful
Forever
loving
life
(Photo of “Senior Skip Day,” 1978)
Melinda — I was right there with you…that sense of carefree. I wrote one awhile back called “Playin’ Hooky” and we share some of the same sense of being on the loose. “Forever young…hopeful…loving life.” So wonderful. Thanks for bringing back a moment for me! Susie
Love the nostalgic tone and the images. Reminds me of my teen years in the 70s.
have to agree with glenda’s feeling of nostalgia. i may not have been in this picture, but i’m sure i was in one just like it. as much as like the sunlight diamonds, the Forever young Forever hopeful Forever loving life really touched me.
I truly enjoyed this poem and could picture a pair of 18 year olds flashing their peace signs. Forever young! Thanks for sharing!
Pie-eyed
I think about pie
a lot —
gooey chocolate cream with that whisper of espresso
and bourbon — slow, smooth 1792 —
dolloped with cold cream lathered into a vanilla cloud;
thumb-sized blackberries with a suspicion of Chambord oozing through lattice;
yellow velvet, creamy lemon pie roofed with wisps of bronzed meringue;
still in the oven, that low country pecan bubbling in brown sugar with an amalgam of corn an’ maple syrup
and bourbon —
never leave out the bourbon;
and August Missouri peach, hemorrhaging sweet, chin-dripping juice,
sugar redundant,
and bourbon just for the perfume;
but one pie, one transcendent ambrosia, progenitor of all pies:
cherry
that stand-alone, stupefyin’, red of the red-white-n-blue –
cherry pie.
None of that canned gelatinous goo
smeared into a frozen Pillsbury crust
(I’m terribly judgmental – a JJJJ on the Myers Briggs pie test);
it must be those Door County Montmorency fat, tart, orgasmic
cherries
and a drizzle of bourbon, dab of butter, lemon zest,
a fist-full of their red flesh squashed to render a heft to the six cups of
just-picked perfect cherry orbs
filling my vodka, fat-flaking crust,
rimmed with Fleur de Sel and Demerara sugar.
I’ll cut two pieces,
one for me,
one for you.
by Susie Morice
I tried to upload my pie pictures, but I wasn’t successful. Rats.
I’m having pie in the sky dreams, and my stomach is growling. Of course, a shot of bourbon is required. Pecan is my favorite, w/ those pregnant cherries a close second. The only pie I don’t like is mincemeat. If you’re in Missouri you know what that grossness is about. I love the sexual imagery and diction, the lustfulness of this poem. And I want two pieces—of every kind.
I wish my comment feed permitted images, Susie, but your poem paints a pretty delicious picture. I counted “bourbon” six times, and I have to say that my favorite thing is a the same as Glenda’s; pecan pie with 2 forks (no plates) and shared glass of bourbon. Your poem also brought me back to that John Travolta movie — he was an angel. There is a scene where they order dozens of pie slices. Decadent.
Sarah — HA! Yes, MICHAEL…such a fun movie…that pie scene where Andie McDowell sings about pie, pie, I like pie… I love that movie. And “Waitress” is such a pie movie… Keri Russell bakes “I hate Earl pie” and “I don’t want no damn baby pie” … or something like that. I have to say, pie does just bring out the decadence in me. Tomorrow maybe I need to write about diets! LOL! Susie
I knew I liked you! A fellow pie aficionado-PIE is only made with a homemade crust! And canned filling is a horror!
whisper of espresso/a suspicion of Chambord. so creative, so descriptive. i love your word choices seeking the deeper alternative and figurative meanings
“Cat Scratch Poem”
for Hero
Kitty jumps upon my hide
Plants her paws right in my side
Digs her claws beneath my skin
I push her off but cannot win
This war with cat
Will soon resume
When furry feline enters room.
*You can probably guess this poem is based on a photo of my cat, Hero.
Animal poems are the best! I can see that Hero is your war cat — the imagery of planting paws and digging claws shows that the struggle is real. I like the seemingly docile ending – – the furry feline. I get a feeling this furry little sweet thing is hiding on the other side of the door frame getting ready to pounce.
Jumps, digs, war. Hero vs. Glenda. Love the battle of words in the first half that ends in “furry feline.”
Glenda — You made me laugh out loud. Those critters are the “winners” indeed! Fun! Susie
And you probably can neither type nor read when the furry feline enters the roon!
Thank you for your poem. I can definitely relate. I wage a constant battle against my kitty, Nathaniel Pawthorne.
OMG, I love the name. I named all my animals after characters from Shakespeare’s plays: Hero, the cat; Puck and Snug, the dogs.
Travis, thanks for confirming the power of images to elicit words. The poems shared here demonstrate that evocative power and reminds those who teach to add this kind of writing in whatever content we teach.
Can you imagine how much more memorable a concept in science or an event in history will be for students who view a photo or painting inspired by that concept or taken or composed during that era, and write about it the way you suggested here, Travis, and that Andy Schoenborn demonstrated with his powerful poem about the recent school shootings.
From an image in the aftermath of the Marjory Stoneman Douglas shooting. Mother with Ash Wednesday ashes on her forehead embracing her daughter as they wept:
“Metanoia”
Fifteen
children killed at
Columbine.
Twenty
children killed at
Sandy Hook.
Seventeen
children killed at
Marjory Stoneman Douglas.
Forty-Five
days into
2018.
Eighteen
school shootings and
counting.
For the first time since 1949
Valentine’s Day and
Ash Wednesday
conicided.
Ashes to ashes, right?
History remembers
the St. Valentine’s Day massacre.
Those were criminals.
Will history remember the 2018
St. Valentine’s Day massacre?
Doubtful.
I predict
not a
single
mention
of this
day.
Who is writing
the narrative
of our lives?
We are.
Nineteen
Years after Columbine
and what have we become?
Just another school shooting.
Glad it didn’t happen here.
Thoughts & prayers.
We have our rights!
No more shock.
No more surprise.
No more campaigns.
No
more
We keep looking down at our screens
for fear of what we will see
if
we
look
Up.
Andy — This is so powerful. I first have to respond to the idea of a student writing from and through an image (alongside some research) to write a poem as a response. I am imagining a day of iconic images to first write what they see and then thread, weave research. Now, the numbers you include here work to illuminate the scale while at the same time emphasizing how the numbers defy measurement, resist knowing. Concrete dates and fatalities still make this unimaginable, inconceivable. Maddening while your verse is beautiful.
I saw this, too, Sarah: “…a day of iconic images to first write what they see and then thread, weave research.” It’s an interesting way to blend poetry and research. My students and I did it when we wrote arguments as spoken word poems. Powerful!
I love your structure, the spacing, the short staccato lines. I think it creates the unease we all fear. All the time.
Ooooh….love the question, “Who is writing the narrative of our lives?” The ending is haunting – – we keep looking down for fear of what we will see if we look up. You give a powerful reminder of the age in which we live.
Andy — You just nailed this. The lack of action (“thoughts & prayers”) and how this country has become almost numb to the slaughter is so gut-wrenching and even moreso, sometimes I think, for teachers who walk through the slaughterhouse doors every damned day. My heart breaks for what has not happened to stop these nightmare images. Your poem is really effective…the short, rapid report of each line…I can almost hear the gunfire. You have shared such a meaningful and important piece here. Thank you… really, really thank you. Susie
Pray
Pray
Pray without ceasing
1 Thessalonians 5:17
Adialeiptos in Greek
Not nonstop
Constantly recurring
Like wash, rinse, repeat
Throughout the day
Embedded in every fiber of every activity
Be relentless
Thank and ask
Don’t stop
Upon waking
In the shower
Brushing teeth
At the traffic light
In the meeting
While running
Over dinner
During Jeopardy
At the ballgame
While reading
At bedtime
In dreams
Pray
-Kim Johnson
Thank you for revealing how within our actions can be a way of being.
Kim – I enjoyed the use of the word “pray” as a frame for this poem. It indicates all of the things one can choose to do not only between prayer, but also with prayer. Thank you for sharing.
I love the idea of praying in dreams. I suppose that’s when I’ll know I have mastered the art of praying without ceasing. Thank you for this reminder to be more vigilant.
I think about the command to “pray without ceasing” often when certain segments of society attempt to legislate faith. I like your “wash, rinse, repeat” simile. The prepositional phrases add an additional layer of meaning by emphasizing the frequency w/which we should pray. Always and forever. Amen
from a picture i took this past winter on a clear night while walking my dog
Luna
phase 1
phosphorous beacon
patently poised
in the heavens
crisp,
blazon,
bold
inducer of revelry
creator of chaos
serenity’s bane
portent
of mischief
in the night
phase II
waning appetite from
devoured feast
with crescent of darkness
disgorged from the east
phase III
middle terminator
equal divide
at midnight awakens
and beckons the tide
phase 4
lustrous cradle
obliquely hung in
the heavens
blurred,
soft,
serene
inducer of reverie
composer of shadow
mystery’s muse
whisper
of clarity
in the night
Composer of shadow…..wow! I feel the dark with your imagery. And I hear the quiet with the whisper. I wish I could step into that photograph right now…..it’s not quiet enough here.
I so enjoy your poetry steve z. What I am noticing today is that I appreciate LOOKING at your verse as much as I appreciate processing the meaning. The words you choose are pretty “lustrous cradle” “phosphorous beacon.” Thank you, sir.
Travis, I’m always moved by the words of Wilfred Owen and Siegfried Sassoon. And find it ironic that a First Lady of recent memory, who espoused Literacy as her cause, couldn’t get her husband to read either poet as he knee-jerked us into war. Your poem is a real tribute to the original work. Thank you.
An invisible veil falls from the sky
wrapping itself around me–
an embrace
quieting street sounds
dissipating auto exhausts
blurring eyes and brows.
I am in another world.
The embrace turns to a squeeze
can
not
breath
too tight,
losing light,
fading
fast.
Battery empty.
*https://www.nytimes.com/2017/11/02/learning/texting-while-walking-social-life-and-haunted-houses-our-favorite-student-comments-of-the-week.html
Sarah — I love these lines, “An invisible veil falls from the sky;” “an embrace;” and “I am in another world” because of how they lead into an unexpected tone shift before the second stanza.
Sarah, I read your poem a few times before I looked at the image. I felt the light fading, the squeeze of being out of breath, the draining battery — and I thought: this is my life. And I’m not talking about texting while walking!
Not with the cell phone but with the gas gauge in my car — I always feel like my car is a metaphor for my mental health. “Out of gas, again.” “Running on empty.”
I remember reading the NYT article a couple years ago and discussing this “I’m in another world” idea w/ students. Seeing the story adds a layer of meaning to the image of an “invisible veil.”