Crag Hill’s research focuses on the production and consumption of various literatures by/for adolescents, in and out of school contexts: young adult literature (The Critical Merits of Young Adult Literature: Coming of Age. Routledge, 2014; Critical Explorations of Canonical Young Adult Literature: Identifying and Critiquing the Canon, co-edited with Victor Malo-Juvera. Routledge, 2020); comics (Teaching Comics Through Multiple Lenses: Critical Perspectives. Routledge, 2016), and the high school canon (Critical Approaches to Teaching the High School Novel: Reinterpreting Canonical Literature, co-edited with Victor Malo-Juvera. Routledge, 2019). His extensive collaboration with scholars, graduate students, and teachers in many different contexts in the US and abroad fosters critical dialogue on the impact of these literatures on the understanding of race, class, sexuality, gender identity, and other perspectives. His editorial work with Study & Scrutiny: Research on Young Adult Literature, the journal he co-founded, endeavors to expand and deepen the critical and empirical study of young adult literature in order to enhance the understanding of this body of literature.
Inspiration
Many students encounter at least once Gwendolyn Brooks “We Real Cool.” Because of its brevity (eight lines) and accessible subject matter (a portrait of seven men playing pool at the Golden Shovel), the poem is taught in elementary language arts classes to high school poetry units. The poet Terrance Hayes invented a new form called The Golden Shovel in which he took the words of “We Real Cool” and, as a variation of an acrostic, ran them down the right margin—we/real/cool/we/left/school, etc. Then he wrote a poem that met up with and included Brooks’ poem (https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/55678/the-golden-shovel). Here are the first three stanzas of “The Golden Shovel” published in Lighthead (2010):
When I am so small Da’s sock covers my arm, we
cruise at twilight until we find the place the real
men lean, bloodshot and translucent with cool.
His smile is a gold-plated incantation as we
drift by women on bar stools, with nothing left
in them but approachlessness. This is a school
Process
Pick a poem you feel a strong connection with and run the words along the right or left margin, then write a poem that incorporates and speaks to this poem. If a longer poem, take the first 12-15 words.
Crag’s Poem
Incorporating “In a Station of the Metro” by Ezra Pound
The rider closes her eyes, an
apparition of all the train rides
of her life running inside her,
these racing and rumblings,
faces of family and friends flashing
in and out of windows,
the memories she holds close in the
crowd. The rider hurries them,
petals of flowers she dropped
on the table when she fled
a nightmare, her hair
wet, raining down her back,
black stream on the floor,
bough broken off a forgotten tree.
Write
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.
* I meant to write this last night, but virtual Happy Hour got in the way 🙂
I love Rupi Kaur’s Milk and Honey. I’ve read it numerous times. I chose one of the poems in the book. It’s on page 27:
you have sadness
living in places
sadness shouldn’t live
You, brave warrior,
have so much
sadness and despair
living and hiding
in so many
places inside you
sadness that a little girl
shouldn’t have ever endured
Monica, this deepens the original poem, “you” now a brave warrior, a girl who has endured sadness while having to live and hide. A brave warrior indeed!
I wanted to complete this poem yesterday, but work got in the way.
Incorporating “We Real Cool” by Gwendolyn Brooks
We are doing hard things that are
Real hared to understand and have us losing our
Cool. Enhancing our skills sets so
We can deliver what our Scholars need. Having nothing
Left sometimes, but try as we might to keep
School as normal as possible.
We push online learning despite the fears that
Lurk beneath the surface of it all. Fearing it’s too
Late to meet all their diverse needs.
We try to extend grace to ourselves and others as we
Strike against the status quo
Straight toward the unknown.
We are the champions of doing more with less. So, we
Sing our own praises for our valiant efforts. There is no
Sin in being unsure and pressing on when
We are ALL learning on the fly, because there’s a
Thin line between…No! It’s wide as hell. Trying to score like in
Gin Rummy and not lose this game.
We dig deep and search long and hard to
Jazz up our current circumstance. Praying we make it to
June. Uncertain of how long
We will work under these conditions…do or
Die, right or wrong. Longing for an end to this
Soon.
Wow, Donnetta. As a teacher and a teacher educator, thank you for this poem. This is a poem teachers will want to read–and parents and administrators and critics of schools should read. I hope you have other social media outlets where you can get this out there and read.
I don’t know if I understood this challenge, but, this is what I did.
The Biggest Little Word: If
By Donna Russ, 4-9-2020
Inspired by, If, by Rudyard Kipling
If is the biggest little word in the English language
you can use. Contemplating the past and looking towards the future you
can ponder what you should have done and what to do.
Keep wondering what might have been, if, you had done this or that.
Your hopes for the future, your regrets for the past can make you ponder, “What, if?”
Head to head, back to back, round and round always wondering, If, only.
When things don’t go as planned, and you don’t know what you lack to get it right;
all you can say is “What, if” I had done this or that? But there is nothing you can do
about how things will play out.
You, simply, must forget the past and look towards the future where you
are in control, if, you learn from the mistakes of the past. Don’t fuss over
Losing out. Others have gone through the same thing and when
theirs don’t pan as planned they don’t scream and shout! They, pick themselves up
and start over again. You can, if, you don’t play the self-
blaming game. The why? The when? The what might have been, if,
it had gone the other way. Playing it over and over in your head, you can’t move
on. But, “if you can keep your head when all about you are losing theirs”
you will be the master of your fortune, not fearing why, but, or if.
Donna — You’ve turned phrases here that roll right off the tongue and has me skipping along the lines…this is so good. I love the lesson you deliver. We can all use it these days especially. The phrasings that really worked for me, making me smile were these: “losing out….don’t pan as planned…don’t scream and shout” ; “the why, the when, what might have been” ; “not fearing why, but, or if.” I’m so glad I came back late tonight to catch your poem. Thank you! Susie
So true, how little words can carry so much meaning.
Yow, you more than got it, Donna! Throughout your poem merges with the Kipling poem. Then your last four lines really takes off from it:
blaming game. The why? The when? The what might have been, if,
it had gone the other way. Playing it over and over in your head, you can’t move
on. But, “if you can keep your head when all about you are losing theirs”
you will be the master of your fortune, not fearing why, but, or if.
Thank you!
The Laughing Heart- Charles Bukowski
Your life is your life
Do not let it be clubbed into dank submission
Be on the watch
There’s are ways out
There is light somewhere
It may not be much light, but it beats the darkness
Be on the watch
The gods will offer you chances
Know them, take them
You can’t beat death
But you can beat death in life sometimes
And the more often you learn to do it
The more light there will be
Your life is your life
Know it while you have it
You are marvelous
The gods wait to delight in you
My response
Do not let life beat you
There are times where you will want to
You are stronger than that
You can fight back
There is always a way out
Do not fill with doubt
Be resilient and proud
Do not let it get too loud
And if somehow you feel it start to win
Find the perseverance within
You are beautiful and unique
Crafted details by detail, even your cheeks
You were put here to shine
And shine is what we’ll see
You affect the world
So marvelously
I love Bukowski! And your last line is great, “You affect the world So marvelously”, a message everyone needs.
I agree! Those last two lines shall become our mantra!
Line “Let us go then, you and I”
from T. S. Elliot “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock”
Let’s breathe together in the Van Gogh night, our virgin hearts unlocked,
us, you and I, we will wash naked in soft rains, and dry in the sun’s kisses
go dance into life, with abandon, sip from Dionysus’s cup,
then we linger upon one another, as our days eclipse into twilight upon twilight
you curl beside me, trace the future on my hands,
and whisper tomorrow’s promises
I memorize the taste of your lips, and we embark on this life …
–This is all I got tonight. It’s been a long week.
Oh, wow, Tammi. What you “got tonight” was stunning. I loved “Van Gogh’s night” and sipping from Dionysus’s cup. Your lines are rich with imagery, allusion, and sensuality. I call that a win.
I like the unfolding of an adventurous night out and the promise of more. Very nice!
You got a lot. I love the imagery…at least what I imagined in my mind. Great poem.
Breath, soft rains, dance, sips, lingering, curling and tracing, tasting…These are the five senses we will have leisure to experience as lazily as we want to!
Colonization in Reverse (Louise Bennett Coverley)
WHAT an exciting time for us
A new country to call home
JOYFUL hearts blends with thousands of our kind
NEWS of our safe arrival reached back home
MISS MATTIE this English accent will be a challenge
Wow! You just sent me down an internet rabbit hole discovering Louise Bennett Coverley! THANK you!
Me too. I’m sure you found this gem, but if not here’s a link to Louise Bennett Coverley live: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JF1FmpDrLWU
COVID poem to Robert Burns and Annie Dillard
How are you, wee tim’rous mousie?
We have broken Nature’s social union, now shall
Spend weeks–months? With panic in
Our breastie!
Days blurblurblurrr
Is it ThursFriSaturday?
Of mice and men: our plans, of
Course, have gang agley.
How will
We backward cast the e’e? or
Spend
Our best laid
Lives looking forward tho’ we canna see?
Whoa, Allison, you really stepped up the challenge. I learned so much from your links and your poem. My favorite is just too real today–“Days blurblurblurrr / Is it ThursFriSaturday?” Amazing.
Allison — Oh wow, how did you do that? This is so fascinating … you blended seamlessly … the voice of Burns and the urgent message that so fits Dillard’s admonition to consider “how we spend our days” boldly with an eye for now that gets us to tomorrow. I love that. You acknowledge the struggle against the “blurblurblurrr” (that mashup works!) of this Covid mess that has shattered “our plans” and has challenged us to look back or look forward into the uncertain…. so elegantly you’ve done this! I’m blown away how you did so much in such a few words…and used a golden shovel to ice the poetry cake here. Wowza! You have to really love a poet to channel his voice the way you’ve done with Burns… he’d be sitting here on a bench nodding through the fog of Covid with you, knowing that you could see through to the words that would ask the right questions? I loved that despite breaking “Nature’s social union” (super phrase), you take us to “our best laid lives looking forward.” Thank you for this spectacular poem. It deserves readers, it deserves rereaders, it deserves savoring. Susie
Susie, thank you so much for your thoughtful reading of my poem! I do love both Burns’s poem and Dillard’s admonition. It was fun to write! Thanks to Crag Hill!
Wow, Allison, I’ve read and reread this poem many times–it keeps giving, sound and sense, three poets intertwined, synergy, energy!
The Rose that Grew from Concrete (Tupac): The inspiration for my poem came from the closing lines “Long live the rose that grew from concrete when no one else ever cared.” I used words on the left margin of the poem.
Long before I learned to
live my true purpose
the future was hazy. I never
rose to the occasion
that was begging me to accept it
grew up with little direction
from “not good enoughs” and faces like
Concrete slabs- hard and unforgiving
when all I needed was recognition.
no one wanted to listen, or
else they were too busy to, what-
ever the case, I never felt like anyone
cared about my dreams and wishes.
-Jenny Sykes
I love that you turned the noun “rose” into the verb! And faces like “concrete slabs” – such an impactful image. Your contrast of the you before living your true purpose and your dismissal of those who didn’t listen (whatever the case) at the end strengthens this.
Yes! I’m so glad you did this one. I teach “The Rose that Grew from Concrete” and am totally going to add this poem type to my unit. With your permission, may I use your poem? It’s written beautifully and I think your additions fit pretty perfectly with the theme of the original. I will have fun seeing who sees the poem in the poem.
Angie, I’m honored that you would like to use my poem. You may share away! I’m using this poem with my 7th graders next week so it has been fresh in my mind. I think I’ll explore this format with them as well.
Thank you. I do it with 7th grade too, earlier in the year 🙂 have fun!!
Jenny, let us know how it goes!
This poem resonates with me for so many reasons….namely, “Long before I learned to live my true purpose the future was hazy.”
Jennifer, I may be “a day late and a dollar short”, but, I’m, so, glad I came back and saw your poem. It flows so effortlessly and resonates with me on a deep level. it’s short and to the point. I love the way you used the words from the poem along the side, as I did (not knowing what the heck I was doing). The frustration is felt throughout the poem is clear. Bravo!
Jenny, you seized this form. It’s turns like this–
“no one wanted to listen, or
else they were too busy to, what-
ever the case”
that show how supple the double shovel form can be.
Like others in this comment streak, I’d love to use your poem in class in the future!
Crag — I absolutely loved your mentor poem. The images of being on a train …that “running beside her…flashing in and out of windows” — you created such movement in that — so TRAIN-ly! And a “hurrie[d] rider… ” dropping flower petals on the table…. strategic image making! My favorite sensory image is the wet hair “raining down her back/black stream on the floor…” Oooo. And taking us to a prayer at the end… bough broken. Gee whiz… marvelous. PLUS…a Golden Shovel… oh my. I needed your poem today and loved just digging into favorite poems (even if I totally bombed on the shovel stuff). Thank you, Susie
[My apologies… just didn’t have a shovel in my tool shed today; though, I did dig into a favorite, Billy Collins. His “The Blues” and several of his zillions of poems moved me to write today… ]
Finding My Voice
When agitation grinds —
like a transmission, half-way to a gear
screaming for a destination —
and finally lands on total all-out
cotton-mouthed fury,
that’s when I find my voice.
I can fire with an intensity of melting steel
in Granite City’s roaring furnaces,
a no-hold’s-barred “I want you to die long and hard and mean” kind of burn.
I’m not proud of that,
but
that same fuel stokes
a heart that loves and defends a nameless child
in Camden County,
yanked from a pickup on the Wal-mart parking lot,
crack-slapped with a drunken hand;
the same heart that sewed your shirts;
same heart that saves your birthday notes, and
chokes on sad songs
till the chords become the strings in my throat
and the words on my page.
Carefully, I look out Billy Collins’ “window”
noticing, as poets do,
that the blues in our words and our chords
are sisters
with something to say.
by Susie Morice©
Hi Susie,
Another phenomenal poem that I hope you are saving to include in that book you MUST be writing. ☺️
Your cotton-mouthed fury is familiar to me. Just as:
“that same fuel stokes
a heart that loves and defends a nameless child…”
is familiar. What I love most about this powerful poem is the shift from the fury to the acceptance of the “blues in our words and chords” being sisters. That’s self-love in the highest. We are mixed up crazy sweet awesomeness!
?
Susie,
You are firing on all cylinders! I can hear those grinding gears (I learned on a standard transmission), not literal and metaphorical. I often pray “god help me” when that guy’s words and deeds fire the furnace in my heart, and I must find compassion. This ending is everything: “the blues in our words and our chords / are sisters / with something to say.” I believe we can have and celebrate both sides of our hearts. Thank you.
—Glenda
So Much Depends On Covid-19
My son called today, so
Sad that his honeymoon was cancelled, much
Suffering lately; lives lost, special plans aborted, depends
On one’s ability to love from a distance, upon
Lysol, gloves, protecting ourselves, each other, a
Cacophony of grief reverberates, red
As this ruined wheelbarrow
Barb Edler
April 10, 2020
Williams Carlos Williams
The Red Wheelbarrow
Barb — I sure to feel that noise of this Covid horror. The sad comes through so clearly…in that list (suffering…lives lost…plans aborted). “Reverberates” really is the word! And the “red/as this ruined wheelbarrow.” So much depends… you bet. Hang in there! Susie
I really love the direction you took with this poem. So much really does depend on Covid -19. Our lives are really hostage to it right now. Williams Carlos Williams was a perfect choice for the tone you were conveying. It works really well!
I’m able to enter unnoticed.
Nobody will know I was here.
Who needs all the air in the room.
Are not peace and quiet enough?
You will understand this, if you
Are at peace too.
You can’t get enough of being
Nobody. You can’t go
Too unnoticed.
From an old favorite by Emily Dickinson.
Katrina—you expanded the poem with such skill—“expanding” the theme with words that flow beautifully. I love this.
Thank you. My husband and I have been studying the enneagram. I wanted to bring that in somehow, but it just didn’t work.
One of my favorites as well. Although at this point in my life I have mixed feelings about it, so I appreciate that the last line you wrote can be interpreted two different ways. Thank you.
This is one of my favorite Emily Dickinson poems too. I love the line: “Who needs all the air in the room.” I feel like I’ve been in that room. LOL!
I love how you continued the theme of the poem in yours. Maybe we are all really just Nobodies.
Across the moments we share with those WHO
love us, we are invited to be AMONG
the multitude of stories shaping our being US
body sway, lash flicker, smirk, smile — all CAN
move corporeal, spiritual, ethereal forms to IMAGINE
ways of being, always becoming OURSELVES
never to be UNIMAGINED?
“Here Yet Be Dragons” Lucille Clifton
Sarah,
Yes, we are “among the multitude of stories shaping our being.” And “ethereal” is one of my favorite, evocative words. The idea “never to be unimagined” makes us all important, which we do need. Your poem makes me feel connected at a time I feel so disconnected and isolated. Thank you. And I love Lucille Clifton.
—Glenda
I love the precision of “lash flicker” and “smirk.” You capture the spirit of the original poem.
Oh, Sarah — You handled Lucille C’s poem with such grace. All those stories that help us be who we are. I love the imagining “ways of being….”becoming ourselves” — all that making us real…SWEET! You are really good at this. Neat! Thank you, Susie
Sarah, I do love Lucille Clifton and considered one of her poems, too. Your choice of words in this poem are amazing! I especially enjoy how they create an edgy and powerful scene. I liked how you also took the words from the poem and had these set off with all caps. The ending question is gripping!
I loved your response here, Barb. One of the things I love about this forum is seeing how others respond to poems.
adapting Axe Handles by Gary Snyder
One day in April, late in the
afternoon while dogs barked at me on
the porch, I sat struggling to craft a poem, while the
last word was stuck in my throat, the
week ended with a notebook before me
in the midst of much planning
April a month of rebirth was
showing its splendor in the landscape
Kai walked out encumbered by a tool asking
how to craft an arrowhead
to which I responded
throw me the one in your hand
Love those last few lines…this reminds me of the “GI Joe Fallacy” (coined by the Yale professor who teachers The Science of Well-Being course): we know what it takes to be happy, we just don’t always engage–knowing is a much smaller portion of the battle.
Jamie, I like the realism of your poem. I can imagine it happening today right here.
Jamie, this is such an intriguing poem. The specific details bring the scene to life, and the ending is outstanding. I really enjoyed the line “stuck in my throat” because it creates a sense of tension, and is an interesting contrast to “rebirth” and “splendor”. I felt completely pulled into this moment.
I really love the imagery of this poem and the voice. I felt weary with you. Loved the way the end of the day and the struggle with a poem is juxtaposed with rebirth. Laughed out loud at your response to Kai. So, perfect!
“Wallflower” by Lang Leav
In a room full of people,
Stand tall.
Don’t let them
See you fall.
Wear the mask they give you;
perfection is the key.
Walk, talk, & stride flawlessly
Only if you knew, that isn’t really me.
Slowly I am tumbling
like China falling off the shelf.
Clumsily, awkwardly, the opposite of delicate;
finally, I’m myself.
Jordy, thank you for sharing your poem. I love the imagery of the last stanza. China falling off the shelf. I could hear it shattering. Thank you for your writing today!
Jordy — I loved the rhythm in this poem. Quite a dandy poem. I like the “mask”… “isn’t really me.” And the ding-ding-ding for me was “I am tumbling/like chine falling off the shelf…opposite of delicate…finally…myself.” Just really well crafted and an intimate sharing. Thank you! Susie
Jordy,
This is such a beautiful poem. I love the last stanza. This is where the transformation happens and that is so great to see. I especially love the simile, “tumbling like China falling off the shelf”. Such great imagery in those lines. Especially with the string of adverbs that follow. Awesome. Thanks for sharing.
Love this! Great rhythm. Your lines –“slowly I am tumbling/like China falling off the shelf” — love how the narrator’s reveals herself.
Jordy,
I absolutely loved this poem! The title Wallflower, amazing! You ever seen The Perks of Being a Wallflower? You should! Also I loved the ending lines “ Clumsily, awkwardly, the opposite of delicate;
finally, I’m myself” great work!!
Inspiration line: You may write me down in history with your bitter twisted lies (Maya Angelou)
I thought I knew you
in that first glance, what may
come to pass (I write
of it now), but the me
of then could not know the down-
fall of us. The stretching years in
between. Our history
written on upright stones with-
in the family plot, your
words, the taste of them, bitter
and honey-twisted
in lies.
Oh, Jennifer,
I was just reading Angelou’s words today. I love how this form encourage us to break sentences across lines, to move our eyes across and down: “between. Our history/written on upright stones with/in the family plot.” I love this imagery.
Sarah
“you words, the taste of them, bitter and honey-twisted in lies”
Jennifer, your poem gave me chills and I wanted to shout out loud at the end of it. Thank you sharing it with us today. The “downfall of us” – what a great way to describe this.
Ooooh, Jennifer — I am really impressed that you packed such a provocative poem into the form. Wow! “the me/of then could not know the down-;fall of us.” Ooo! “…history/written on upright stones with-/in the family plot” is a powerhouse line! The betrayal words…”bitter” and “honey-twisted/in lies.” Dang! Ka-BOOM! This really packs a punch. And so intimate and tough a tale. Thank you for sharing. Susie
Oh…Maya Angelou…my all time favorite! I just love how this speaks of history and what we knew vs. what we know. My favorite part is “written on upright stones with-/in the family plot..” The visual along with the message of “the down fall of us” is remarkable and a tad eerie.
“The me of then could not know the downfall of us…” What an amazing line. And honey-twisted lies. Wow. Both Maya and you beautifully express your sentiments.
Inspiration line: “And then it was over, this world we had grown to love.” from “When the World as We Knew It Ended” by Joy Harjo, our current Poet Laureate, and the first Native American one.
“Visiting Nature’s Cathedral”
Congregants sing nature’s hosanna, and
Praise the geese squawks. Then
A ring-necked dove ambles past. It
Fancies itself God’s sentinel and was
Intent on moving local fowl over.
Blackbird perches on driftwood. This
beady-eyed watcher of the river world,
the Portneuf River bank his pew. We
Slip along the shore and had
Joined the service of ducks grown
thick with wild fowl used to
Nature’s cathedral choir we love.
—Glenda Funk
*Ring-necked doves are an invasive species.
**The Portneuf River is in eastern Idaho and was at one time a concrete canal-like thing, thanks to the Army Corps of Engineers flood control, but much of the river has been returned to nature.
There is so much extraordinary thought and beauty in this poem! I know Joy Harjo, but not the words to your golden shovel, so now I will go look this up. I appreciate your focus on our natural world, and the varied ways that our environment is hurt – the invasive species, the concrete work that needs years to return to nature. Yet, this is so hopeful, I think, with references to God, hosana, pew, choir…this – nature, protecting nature – is where we must put our faith and our love. I particularly like “Fancies itself God’s sentinel and was/intent on moving local fowl over” – I feel hopeful that the ring-necked doves are losing this battle? Dare I hope? Now I must go and find the original poem and see how the two poems connect…this poetry challenge today has been so enlightening, with individual poems deepening my understanding of the original. So cool!
Glenda,
I just love the nature in your writing. Always a sense of place anchors your verse:
Blackbird perches on driftwood. This
beady-eyed watcher of the river world,
The musicality of these lines with the assonance in “i” moves me into this river world.
Love it, need it!
Sarah
Glenda, thank you for this picturesque metaphor. I want to join this worshipping community. Love Joy Harjo too.
Glenda — I really like the church of the birds here. These word choices are fun… “praise the geese…sentinel…service…cathedral choir.” Dandy! I appreciated the note as well…didn’t know about “ring-necked doves” being invasive. You sure do have beautiful country there to fill your sensory grocery bag! Keep it up! Thanks, Susie
“This Is Just To Say” (adapted from WCW)
I wake up, login, sip coffee before I
have
eaten breakfast.
the season calls for citrus–no
plums yet–
that have been sent from California, and
were deemed “imperfect,” but,
in fact, are
the juiciest fruits in our
icebox.
and now: I check, at minimum, seven platforms
which allow for students, parents, admin to communicate.
you, the mother of my 17-year old student, scathed: “For future reference…” You
were unaware that I’m currently mandated to contact every student daily. You
probably didn’t think about your son being one of one hundred eighteen. I’m
saving my frustration
for another time because, now, I’m ready for
breakfast.
Forgiveness is a practice. I know that, for
me, it is a choice I make: when
they show me a piece of their worst selves, if I
were to retort with a piece of my worst self–no matter how
delicious–I may end up wracked with guilt.
so, this is just to say, while the
sweet victory of navigating
and putting to bed yet another parental dispute can be
so satisfying, my blood will still run
cold each time I see your number or name in the “Sender” box.
Oh Laura, this speaks volumes to our current climate in education and the grace you are providing your students and their parents. How long is your district mandating this daily contact and is it individual or can they be grouped? Thank you for sharing your frustrations with us and good luck!
I’m sure (and I hope!), like many of our current mandates, that this will evolve with time, but with this first week of virtual learning, we’ve been asked to make contact everyday with every student. This can mean an email to all students or groups, however, I don’t always have whole-group announcements and they don’t need their inboxes filling up needlessly. I, of course, understand that we should maintain contact with our students (and want to!) , but as we teachers are learning a new platform along with our students, seemingly arbitrary parameters feel especially frustrating right now. Thanks for reading and sharing!
Your last stanza is spot on. Forgiveness is a practice, especially for those who cause cold to run blood. Placing the readiness to eat breakfast smack in the middle of this is relatable to so many teachers. Eating feels like a side step, an aside, in a full work day.
Laura,
I am struck by how this form has really invited us to use link breaks within sentences to make us pay attention to the way last words matter and how to read the phrases with punctuation. It is so cool. Today, I am looking at form and for lines that most resonate. Here is the one for me:
Forgiveness is a practice. I know that, for
me, it is a choice I make: when
they show me a piece of their worst selves, if I
I find myself asking for forgiveness a lot these days — asking for and giving it both take practice!
Hugs,
Sarah
Laura, your use of WCW’s poem (one of my favorites and one I considered for this assignment), achieves a similar purpose of providing us with a snapshot of a moment, a morning, what could be considered a mundane event. Your stanza breaks transition us into a deeper, more personal event, one many of us have experienced before…the dreaded nasty parent email. And you elevate this moment through your discussion of forgiveness and patience. So much of your poem–like it’s origin–depends upon the word “delicious”…that desire to exact poetic justice and earn a “sweet victory.” Your restraint is masterful.
(For what it’s worth, I used to write the most cold and calculating and condescending reply emails to nasty parents. Luckily, I had the foresight as a new teacher to run them by my department head who always edited and redacted most of words and snark. It was an important lesson to learn, but it also felt great to craft those lengthy–original, unedited–responses.)
Craig, thank you for introducing many of us to yet one more way to blend poems we know with what we observe or experience. While I did not “follow” the plan today, I do plan to share this prompt. It would be interesting to see how a group of students using the same lines or stanza would write. Love it!
“On the Fading Memory of Dandelions”
Inspired by “Kaddish” by Allen Ginsberg
Do you find the repetition Strange
Even when you try to find words that define this paradoxical now
Zeitgeists are dandelion petals floating hither and thither to
Some oblivion that allows the restless to think
And gentle strums give them something to think of
I doubt that it’s the same for me and you,
Seeing as the “shared experience” is fundamentally gone
Like a billionaire son going without
Caviar and corsets
What will it mean to exchange handshakes &
War stories with narrow sun-shy eyes,
What right do I have to be a part of this world while
There are those that suffer more than I
I can’t keep pace with their blues-soaked topsy-turvy swerving midnight walk
And yet we all walk on and on
And yet…
Alex, we’ll only know what it’s like on the “other side” if we continue to walk on…around the yard, up and down the stairs, and keep in touch with family, until then.
With poems like yours to fuel us, we’ll manage to “walk on”.
Thank you.
Beautiful words. One thing I love about this prompt is that it requires exploring new and old poems, so thank you for encouraging me to revisit Ginsberg. Like Ginsberg, your diction has my mind ping-ponging from one world to another almost having the effect of putting my mind in a tizzy, but then–hold on–it makes sense, it clicks! The layers of meaning in your words and the layers of now converge so beautifully. I can’t stop reading your second last line: “I can’t keep pace with their blues-soaked topsy-turvy swerving midnight walk.” As soon as I read it, I have to reread it much like making sense of our current situation.
Alex,
I have so enjoyed “meeting” you in this space. I am getting to know you a bit more each day — isn’t it cool how poetry can do that?
I love these lines:
And gentle strums give them something to think of
I doubt that it’s the same for me and you,
Gentle strums — that is just so visual, textual. An offering.
Sarah
Inspired by “Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird”
BY WALLACE STEVENS
Thirteen Ways of Looking at the Rain
I
Washing away it all
Cleansing Clarity
II
Tease of a sprinkle
Each drip a
Drop of temptation
III
A droplet so tiny
But together
Overwhelms even the deepest waters
IV
Nourishment, life
Greens follow blues
V
Pouring down
But slips through fingers
VI
Makes rivers out of valleys
Morphs mountains
VII
Clinging onto the cliff
Of a leaf
Not afraid to drop down
VIII
Like diamonds on fields
Sun picking them up
One by one
IX
Cooling down
Hot foreheads
X
Always expected
But comes unexpectedly
XI
It has a smell
No one can describe it
But everyone knows it
XII
Streets look shiny and new
Rain does that for people too
XIII
Waves of sound
Light, heavy, deafening
Pitter patter
Pitter pat
Wow, so many uses for rain! Your poem also made me think about how it rains differently in different places. It rained but seasonally, yet steadily during my years in the Bay Area, rained anytime of the year and sometimes for weeks it seemed in the Northwest, and now, in Oklahoma, when it rains it crashes down! Stanza VI calls that kind of rain to mind.
Hi Emily,
Such a sensory indulging poem! I grabbed this and loved it:
Each drip a
Drop of temptation
This is luscious!
Nourishment, life
Greens follow blues
I could copy and paste every example. It’s the kind of poem that I would post on a wall, a reminder of beautiful.
?
Emily, your ways of experiencing rain are invigorating! I love the way you used the Roman numerals to signal shifts in the way of looking. I love 11 – it has a smell, but no none can describe it but everyone knows it. And with that, I smelled rain! Lovely flow of your poem today.
Emily, I really enjoyed your poem and I can see the time you took to write this. Each word fits perfectly where it is. The description of rain makes it seem life-altering and the tiniest drop has the largest impact. Thank you for sharing!
Emily,
The so many ways you described rain, wow! “ Always expected/But comes unexpectedly“, I love it. I also liked how you described it as cleansing!
Thank you Crag for sharing a new form, mentor poems, and a new inspiration!
In the mystical moist night-air, and from time to time,
Look’d up in perfect silence at the stars.
–“When I Heard the Learn’d Astronomer,” Walt Whitman (1867)
In the cloudless dusk
the International Space Station appears. A
mystical and perspicuous event. Eyes
moist with anticipation and allergies and awe. A deep inhale of
night-air, cells fill with oxygen, the act of respiration both a magical act
and a biological fact.
From a back porch in Nowhere, Georgia
time expands, and I occupy the same space as astronauts in orbit, connecting
to thousands of eyes that trace the same arch from southwest to northeast.
Time contracts as the twinkling dot moves swiftly and smoothly over my roof line. As I
look’d up through the perfect space between the oaks and the pines,
up beyond the bats that pirouette and swoop, I follow the satellite until it disappears
in the east, behind the Berhl’s tennis court. I hold my breath, trying to hold this
perfect moment for a few more seconds. The
silence broken by the shouts and yelps from the Pickleball game. A final glance
at the yard as the darkness descends,
the blue gone from the sky. The evening’s first
stars appear, the sentinels of explorers, sailors, and poets alike.
Wow, methinks many of us would like to look up from the sky on that back porch. The poem gets huge from “time expands” to “until it disappears.” So huge I had been holding my breath as I read it!
I love to read student work aloud, and sometimes just excerpts, telling them, “Dang, I wish I wrote this!” I wish I wrote these lines:
“time expands, and I occupy the same space as astronauts in orbit, connecting
to thousands of eyes that trace the same arch from southwest to northeast.
Time contracts as the twinkling dot moves swiftly and smoothly over my roof line. As I
look’d up through the perfect space between the oaks and the pines,
up beyond the bats that pirouette and swoop, I follow the satellite until it disappears”
Betsy, I, too, live in Nowhere, Georgia. Zebulon – Williamson, on a pine tree farm – – and so I understand all too well the “eyes moist with anticipation and allergies and awe.” I saw the space station pass about 6 months or so ago, and what a treat! This poem shows the excitement and anticipation and even the sounds (Pickleball is all the rage, isnt’ it?) This is a treat reading this today from my Georgia neighbor.
I like how you begin with a modern twist, but then come back to the feel and style of Whitman with detail and his lack of judgement.
“I am not I” by Juan Ramon Jimenez, using the words from these two lines:
I am this one,
walking beside me whom I do not see
Isolated, together, Mom, Dad, four boys, and I
So long ago, yet all that I am,
Mental illness, oh no, don’t talk about this
Shame on you, these are our secrets, every one
Don’t like it here? Then get out, get walking.
Even in distance, they stayed right beside.
Through so many years, memories choked me.
I was able to share with my husband, whom
I love so deeply, but still crumbled from the pain that I
had not dealt with, didn’t know what to do,
finally, exasperated with the silence that I loved not
I have tried to remember and see.
Maureen—this is a powerful and painful sharing. The people you do not see are with you always, aren’t they—whether or not you choose to acknowledge them. “ finally, exasperated with the silence that I loved no/I have tried to remember and see. “ That takes courage…
Maureen,
The ubiquitous “Shame on you”, whether spoken or silently understood. Too many have had that message. It can be dibilitating.
Healing and power are in these lines…
Through so many years, memories choked me…
I love so deeply, but still crumbled from the pain that
I had not dealt with, didn’t know what to do,…
I have tried to remember and see.
Maureen, I appreciate the honesty in this poem coming out of an amazing two lines of a poem I will seek out shortly.
As Denise points out in an earlier comment, the poem has some powerful healing lines!
Maureen,
I love your inspiration line. I don’t know the poem but will be hunting for it soon. There is such rawness in your poem. I know the feeling in “Through so many years, memories choked me.” I struggle to reveal the vulnerable parts of myself to others. I did that yesterday and almost immediately regretted it. I suppose at our age we realize time to heal childhood wounds is running out. I hope the writing brings catharsis. Thank you for trusting us w/ your truths.
—Glenda
Maureen, this was a powerful story you told in a few short lines. The pain and emotions are shown through your word choice, I particularly can feel, “shame on you, these are our secrets, every one/ Don’t like it here? Then get out, get walking.”
Good morning! My Golden Shovel poem came from Reyna Biddy’s poem in her book A Psalm For Us
Isolated and Free
By Stacey L. Joy, ©April 10, 2020
What was life like BEFORE
This pandemic thought PUTTING
Us in isolation might bring FORTH
Kindness? Are we to BLAME
Can we ACKNOWLEGE
Or consider THAT
Our collective hatred and ABUSE
Would have consequences? God DOESN’T
Like ugly, people ALWAYS
Say. But what may COME
FROM
Our solitude and shelter is AN
Embracing and gratitude of the beauty OUTSIDE
An unquenchable desire to discover our SOURCE
For peace and love. SOMETIMES
We need silence and stillness. WE
ABUSE
Others beyond repair but we abuse OURSELVES
To God’s despair. Go inward and examine yourself MENTALLY
Give your mind and soul an EMOTIONALLY
Uplifting message. Sing, dance and find a PHYSICALLY
Healing and strengthening practice. Rest assured, SPIRITUALLY
You are covered in God’s grace and mercy. Use your isolation to FREE
YOURSELF
(Really hoping the formatting works, fingers crossed??) Oh well, it didn’t.
I am not familiar with your golden shovel poem, but I am struck by how yours intertwines with the lines from the original, how you dig further, dig deeper into the personal meaning of the poem…I do hope that this is a time of ‘healing and strengthening practice” – I agree that “Our collective hatred and ABUSE
Would have consequences?” Your poem is a prayer for our world at this time. Thank you for this!
This is beautiful. I feel this. And, thank you for introducing me to a poet I didn’t know.
“But what may COME
FROM
Our solitude and shelter is AN
Embracing and gratitude of the beauty OUTSIDE
An unquenchable desire to discover our SOURCE
For peace and love. “
Thank you Stacey for introducing me to a new poem and poet. I’m not sure how you intended to format this poem, but for me you have innovated the double shovel form by allowing one word from the source to stand on its own as in “ABUSE” and “YOURSELF.” Sometimes when writing in the form I struggle to find the words to lead up and into a word from the source poem, so why force it?
Thank you kindly! I wanted it to be left aligned. It’s a visual thing that I appreciated on my original draft. Wonderful to know I used a double shovel form, I had no idea! Yay! Thank you again.
Stacey,
I am going right now to find the poem yours is modeled after! I love the end words that come from it and I love the way you tie it into the now.
Reyna Biddy is a wonderful poet. She wrote Psalm For Us and most recently May God Help Us Find Our Way.
Susan, my end lines are her entire poem.
Stacey,
I sure hope “But what may COME / FROM / Our solitude and shelter is AN / Embracing and / gratitude of the beauty” becomes a fulfilled prophecy. Love your inspiration line and take in it. Peace and love to you.
—Glenda
Stacey, what healing words you offer us today. My favorite line:
God DOESN’T
Like ugly, people ALWAYS
Say.
I love that because I have a close friend who was a geriatric nurse, and she would calm her patients down in a nice way by saying, “God don’t like ugly.” She said that got their attention every time and helped them settle down. Your messages here are so needed in these hours as the shelter-in-place nerves are beginning to wear thin with so many. Blessings!
WHOO, Stacey! I love this poem. I am also wondering about how or if our society will change after this pandemic. Thinking about it makes me believe the best and worst in people – all at the same time. Thank you for sharing this wonderful poem. Your writing makes me want to grab a pencil and write again.
Incorporating “Mooses” by Ted Hughes
The beast’s temperament is an enigma,
goofy howling while driving home on the first day.
Moose sound the same, only a few octaves lower.
The jig was up when he screamed and hollered for a couch rescue.
Walking down the hallway, I raced to see what’s the matter.
House alive with worry and concern. Then his limber
frame leaped into the air and onto the floor like an Olympic gymnast, manipulative monster.
Is this how it’s going to be?
Lost forever in those mud-brown eyes,
In the bushy white eyebrows that furrow and judge,
the tilt of the head and slight flick of a too small pink tongue,
forest of cotton snout tangles comically horizontal after a nap?
I went from fearful concern to humored and adoring…thank you for “too small pink tongue,” I feared you had an irascible grandfather to take care of! This was great…I need to find your golden shovel poem by Ted Hughes.
As I say in another comment, I read my students’ work aloud frequently, sometimes just a few lines, those that I say I wish I wrote. I wish I had written these lines (but am very glad you did!):
In the bushy white eyebrows that furrow and judge,
the tilt of the head and slight flick of a too small pink tongue,
forest of cotton snout tangles comically horizontal after a nap?
And I’ll go seek out the Hughes poem!
Shaun, I’m a sucker for animals – – goofy howling ones, rescues that scream and holler and have mud brown eyes that I can get lost in forever. The bushy white eyebrows are sweet – – I can see them moving, questioning. Yep, he’s playing you. That’s how they work us and make us fall in love. This melts my heart.
I asked my 9 year-old daughter to join me with this prompt today. We were inspired by “Reflection” and “Backward Bill” in Shel Silverstein’s A LIGHT IN THE ATTIC (1981). My daughter’s idea is presented in the first version and we “translated” it for you to read at the bottom.
noiɈɔɘlʇɘɿ γm ʜɈiw ϱniɔnɒb ɘvol I ,ИAM
ϱniviɘɔɘb ɘd nɒɔ Ɉi ɈɒʜɈ ƨi ɘbiƨИWOႧ
ɘʜɈ ,ʜϱυɒl ʇlɘƨγm ɘʞɒm nɒɔ I ɈɒʜɈ ƨi ƎႧIƧԳU
ɘʜɈ ,lɘɘʇ I woʜ woʜƨ Ɉ’nƨɘob noiɈɔɘlʇɘɿ ƎHT
⸮nɒɘm I Ɉɒʜw ƎƎƧ
γɔɘɿɔɘƨ ʇo ƨɘɈon bɘqqilʇ ɘɈiɿw nɒɔ I
ʞool γɿɘvɘ ʜɈiw bɘɿυƨɒɘm ƨi ƎMIT
ƨɘiɈilidiƨƨoq ƨƨɘlɈimil ƨbloʜ ɿoɿɿim HƆAƎ
—————————————————
EACH mirror holds limitless possibilities
TIME is measured with every look
I can write flipped notes of secrecy
SEE what I mean?
THE reflection doesn’t show how I feel, the
UPSIDE is that I can make myself laugh, the
DOWNside is that it can be deceiving
MAN, I love dancing with my reflection
That’s some serious creativity going on there!! I love the ideas! “Flipped notes of secrecy” lovely. Well done Stefani and daughter. Clap clap. This would be so fun to do with older primary or middle school definitely.
Stefani, great job. That would be two limitless possibility mirrors you’ve got going on with that poem. I wonder how you did that!? There is always an upside and a downside, isn’t there. You captured it well here:
“UPSIDE is that I can make myself laugh, the
DOWNside is that it can be deceiving”
Great job to you and your daughter.
I love the line “time is measured with every look” – so true of mirrors. So playful at the end – the great image of the speaker dancing in the mirror!
I love this golden shovel poem and I adore what you did with it, especially working with your daughter! I particularly like “downside is that it can be deceiving,” I think because you used the key word in a compound – so clever!
Stefani, this is as clever as it gets! I love your daughter’s creativity. The line is classic, and the limitless possibilities is deep. I hope she will share this with her teacher to show that she is mastering word art at home with you!
Kudos to you and your daughter taking the golden shovel poem inside out!
I appreciate the last three lines, taken together a pretty upbeat portrait of Upside Down Man (someone many of us can relate to right now).
How did you do the first part?
Craig, There are a few websites that do this. If you Google flipped text or inverted text you will find an easy way to “translate” your text. Thank you for this prompt today.
I loved this!! When I first began reading I immediately noticed that the first word was capitalized, and I liked looking at it in the upside-down version, but then I stopped and read the words straight down and fell in love with the poem. It reads, “each time I see the upside-down man.” I don’t know if it was on purpose, but for me, it changed the meaning of the poem. I love it!
Stefani,
This is so wonderful! Such an interesting and playful look into who we are, who we can be, and who we see in our mirrors.
Incorporating “If” by Rudyard Kipling
What would have happened if
the agony had been too hard for you
to bear; if your “I can”
had been “I can’t,”— if you had used your godly force
to stop the pain from severing your
body and spirit, avoided a broken heart;
if you’d selfishly forgotten us and
instead of holding strong, you’d lost your nerve
when you were mocked and spit upon and
nails pounded through bone and sinew,
thorns drawing blood that dropped to
the ground, symbolic of those you’d failed to serve.
Any other man would have packed their
bags, split and run; because common sense says turn
away from pain. But no, you walked the long
road, the high road, even after
your friends had forsaken you; they
praise you now and remember that you are
never gone.
Rachel, what a powerful Good Friday message today. Well done. and I have always appreciated the “If” poem too, so this is extra good for me today. My favorite message:
“you walked the long
road, the high road, even after
your friends had forsaken you; they
praise you now and remember that you are
never gone.”
I really appreciate the cadence, the rhythm, of the poem, especially lines 5-10.
And I agree with Denise’s comment below–a very timely poem.
Primer Lesson
Look out how you use proud words.
When you let proud words go, it is not easy to call them back.
They wear long boots, hard boots; they walk off proud; they can’t hear you calling –
Look out how you use proud words.”
WORDS They are powerful now in ways they were not before.
They carry our lives within them.
BACK, before the virus, we communicated in ways we were not even aware…
CALLING out with our touch, reaching with our eyes, soothing with our movement.
WORDS. They are all we have now. They are precious. Be careful with your words.
Good morning Gayle,
What a treat! I didn’t know where you would go with it in the first stanza, I was pulled right in. Then you made an amazing connection to our lives in quarantine. Wow, this hits home:
WORDS. They are all we have now. They are precious. Be careful with your words.
Now more than ever, we must take your advice and be careful with our words. Imagine how long-lasting these quarantine words will be.
Thank you and have a wonderful day!
Gayle,
Thank you for this poem. I like thinking about how your line “Calling…movement” is interpreted in live, virtual communication now. How we yearn to reach through the screen and soothe with our movements and what does that hold for the future of “touch.”
Gayle, thank you for this poem. Poetry matters; poetry should always matter in our schools and communities. Poetry is where we learn that words are precious, that we need to be careful with them, now more than ever!
THIS DAY
Pride
Tried
Lied
Cried
Died
Night
Sight
Fright
Light
Bad
Mad
Sad
Glad
Price
Sacrifice
Dice
Nice
Paid
Laid
Afraid
Paid
Enough
Love
Above
Anna,
I appreciate the brevity of this and enjoyed your last stanza and the overall power of limiting word usage in a poem. Thank you for this.
There are lots of Good Friday poems today. Interesting format that says so much with such a few words. I like the first and last stanzas. Together, they tell a condensed, though complete, story.
Pride
Tried
Lied
Cried
Died
Enough
Love
Above
Good work, Anna.
Anna< I can't wait to get back with students and use this poem (if I may) not only for his straight-to-the-heart content but it's sound/s. I can see having groups rehearse readings of this poem (with accompaniment if they choose), then hearing them all out!
Oh, Crag. You’ve brought tears to my eyes! Imagine students performing this poem and possibly with accompaniment. I double pray that we get back to school safely soon, and that you video the students if they choose to perform this. I’d love to be there or see it online.
Oh, yes you may share this poem. I dreamed it, and got up and wrote what I heard in my sleep, so, I can’t take credit doing anything but taking dictation.
Also must thank you and the rest of the community for inviting and encouraging this kind of writing.
This is a cool poem idea. Thanks, Crag.
*Incorporating “Dreams” by Langston Hughes*
Remember to hold
All your hopes fast
Don’t forget to
make those dreams
Come true For
when and if
you do, dreams
live instead of die
Your life
everyday is
and always will be a(n)
un-broken-winged
fully feathered bird
one that
can instead of cannot
and always will fly.
Remember to hold
All your hopes fast
Don’t forget to
make those dreams
come true For
if and when
you do, dreams
stay instead of go
Your life
everyday is
and always will be a
fertile not barren
flower-blooming field
unknown to Frozen
complete with
highlights of the sun minus snow.
Angie,
While this is definitely a fresh slant on Hughes’ original, it sounds beautiful enough and sticks to the theme enough to have been written by him.
I really love this. You maintained the message with fresh words. My favorite—the flower-blooming field…complete with highlights of the sun minus snow.
I love this golden shovel poem by Langston Hughes, and I am in awe of what you did with it. I like how you repetitively show the wisdom to- “hold all your dreams fast” — “live instead of die,” “always will fly,” “stay instead of go,” “fertile not barren/flower-blooming field.” Lovely.
Angie, These lines are so encouraging,
Your life
everyday is
and always will be a
fertile not barren
flower-blooming field
Wow, I really appreciate how your poem is inextricably bound with Hughes’ poem, an impressive synergy.
I appreciate the rhythm of these lines:
For
if and when
you do, dreams
stay instead of go
Crag, this is one of my favorite forms – I love that you chose a Golden Shovel today! Your poem is like a flash of images – I can see it like a movie, like a fast forward bullet train of time that encapsulates the passengers through time. Hauntingly beautiful!
Yes, Crag. I love the images you describe in your poem, especially in the last four lines. Metaphor-tastic!
Thank you! I had no idea the poem would go there when I started.
Crag, thank you for this prompt…the purposeful selection of a poem that is meaningful is a wonderful exercise in and of itself. I love the image of the flashes of family and friend faces in the windows of the metro. Sometimes, life feels that fast and about as sturdy.
I’m a fan of poem anthologies by Vardell & Wong. The poem I selected a strike line from for my golden shovel is ‘Look for the Helpers’ by Michelle Heidenrich Barnes. from GREAT Morning! Poems for School Leaders to Read Aloud (2015 Pomelo Books)
Inspired by Look for the Helpersby Michelle Heidenrich Barnes
It’s poetry month in a pandemic. I LOOK
for poems of comfort, and poems of escape, FOR
exquisite word pictures that remove me from THE
inhuman logic of social distancing instead joining HELPERS
that bring a vegetarian casserole to the pot luck for THE
folks trying to leave smaller energy foot prints. Our HEALERS
are getting sick and they are dying. THE
bandanna I fold into a mask seems a weak weapon to us GIVERS
© Linda Mitchell#Verselove 4/10/20
Linda,
“Look for the helpers” is lively advice these days, and certainly poems are among the best helpers offering comfort and escape. I love that your poem honors first responders. Thank you.
—Glenda
It’s cool how there is always a way to add in what’s happening at the current moment to these poetry ideas. I like your simple, matter of fact first line and “exquisite word pictures”. I love the amazing description I’m reading on the daily too. I need to start compiling my favorites so I don’t forget them! Well done.
Linda,
You weave those words beautifully into a current situation.
I especially appreciate these lines:
“exquisite word pictures that remove me from THE
inhuman logic of social distancing instead joining HELPERS
“The bandana I fold into a mask seems a weak weapon to us GIVERS.” It does seem that way, doesn’t it. There is so little we can do these days…
Linda, your last line is a real heartbreaker. I love the quote that you chose to write from. I also love that the phrase “Look for the helpers” expands from those who have their boots on the ground to those who help us get through trying times: the poets, the musicians, the writers, the dancers, the makers, etc.
Linda, I love these words – “Look for the helpers.” That reminds me of Mr. Rogers, and I can still hear him saying this in his video. It’s a beautiful tribute to all of our helpers right now – teachers, first responders, grocery store workers, anyone who is on those front lines. What a lovely way to say thank you today.
Crag,
Thank you for hosting. You’ve selected one of my favorite poetry forms to teach, the golden shovel. Terrance Hayes is one of my favorite poets. I love “Sonnets for My Past and Future Assassin.” Gwendolyn Brooks has been a favorite since I first read “Livers of the Poor” in high school. “In a Station of the Metro” is one of my go-to poems. I’ve rewritten it many times. It’s certainly the most timely poem in terms of social isolation. Your poem offers a clear image of the anonymous girl watching images in the train window. Her aloneness is palatable. The anonymity is both singular and collective in its suggestion this girl could be any and all adolescents. Thank you.
—Glenda
I too love American Sonnets for My Past and Future Assassin.” I appreciate Hayes’ inventiveness. We’ll be learning from him for decades.
Crag,
Thank you for introducing a poem form that I had never heard of. The Golden Shovel is a challenge for sure, but offers a lot of opportunity. Mine feels very forced, but it is a form I will continue to challenge myself with.
Walling in or Walling Out?
Incorporating “Mending Wall” by Robert Frost
Something I have never understood is why
There are fences in neighborhoods.
Is there something to hide
That you don’t want others to see?
Doesn’t having unfettered access to all yards inspire
Love and community?
A fence is really just a
Wall that creates a barrier
That arouses suspicion and
Sends those approaching in the opposite direction.
The unfriendliness of a fence is cold and damaging like the
Frozen-Ground-Swell that wrecks structures and kills vegetation
Under the surface.
And, a fence may keep a dog in but then neighbors don’t
Spill into your yard for a chat or a drink . . .
The mission to feel community and closeness.
Upper segments of society with
Boulders of aristocracy knocked off their shoulders
In fancy mansions with fancy pools invite
The neighbors into their yard to enjoy the
Sun and socialization when there are no fences.
~Susan Ahlbrand
10 April 2020
Susan, what a wonderful incorporation and contrast to Frost’s original. You make me wish I had selected that poem. I love the idea of neighbors wandering in for a chat or a drink.
Susan,
Your poem poses an important question about fences. Now I’m fascinated about the history of fences in neighborhoods. Maybe one reason we have fences is because we don’t have alleys. I live in a place where most homes have narrow entryways. Few have porches. I think it’s an intentional form of rhetoric to encourage separation. Most of my neighbors are LDS, so they all know one another and attend the same ward in this neighborhood. That is to keep outsiders separate. I love your poem and the argument it articulated. I miss having a front porch. Thank you.
—Glenda
Susan, this is a great conversation starter. A few lines really speak to me… “And, a fence may keep a dog in but then neighbors don’t / Spill into your yard for a chat or a drink . . .
and this: “Boulders of aristocracy knocked off their shoulders” — awesome. I love thinking about yards without fences. I have experienced some of that living in a small town in Iowa. I do like it, and you are speaking some truths here.
Susan, I love: a fence is really just a wall that creates a barrier. Oh, my! What a line that needs to be seen today! Your golden line is a great choice, and it works wonderfully to convey the message you are sending.
I too find the form challenging but love when I can achieve the kind of flow you do here:
A fence is really just a
Wall that creates a barrier
That arouses suspicion and
Sends those approaching in the opposite direction.
That flow can be kind of addicting.
“Boulders of aristocracy knocked off their shoulders” is just the kind of line I’d ask my students to use as the first line of a new poem. May I?
My Golden Shovel poem is taken from Mary Oliver’s poem The Poet Thinks About the Donkey, appearing in books Thirst (2006) and Devotions (2017)
Line: On the outskirts of Jerusalem, the donkey waited.
Trailblazer
and after the Last Supper, they went on
to the Garden of Gethsemane, the
agonizing prayer of one man on the outskirts
of Earth, Heaven-bound, the saltiness of
His tears, sacrificial love for all of Jerusalem
-all of the world- the cross gazing vertically, its arms the
horizontal hug of grace preserved on the back of a trailblazing donkey,
the blessed first leg of a transformational journey as sinners waited
Kim,
Beginning mid-sentence w/ “and” is a stroke of genius. I marvel at this and its implication the story does not begin or end in this one space. I gave “Devotions” on my nightstand. I’m revisiting your inspiration poem. Favorite line: “the cross gazing vertically, its arms the
horizontal hug of grace preserved on the back of a trailblazing donkey,”
This is such beautiful personification. Such a beautiful, inspired poem for Good Friday. Thank you.
—Glenda
Kim, this is beautiful. What an incredible way to blend Oliver’s original poem with today, Good Friday. I hope you share this with your congregation. “agonizing prayer of one man on the outskirts,” and, “horizontal hug of grace” are especially meaningful. Well done.
Kim,
Thank you for bringing us to the significance of today.
This “its arms the
horizontal hug of grace”
is beautiful.
This is true about the cross “its arms the horizontal hug of grace” and Palm Sunday as “the blessed first leg of a transformational journey as sinners waited.” “One man on the outskirts of Earth, Heaven-bound.” Wow. Thank you for sharing this Good Friday poem.
The “the” at the end of six line was the perfect hesitation, set up, for “the horizontal hug of grace.”
Thank you for that movement on this day, in this time.
Crag,
Thank you so much for this challenge. It was so clearly laid out with great examples. I continue to learn about new poems every single day in this challenge, and even learning from so many great mentors, like you and all those who write in this space.
The woman in your poem has a secret, and I want to get to know her and her nightmare. There are some images that grab me. “these racing and rumblings, / faces of family and friends flashing” and one I really love: “her hair wet, raining down her back, / black stream on the floor” Thank you for the inspiration today.
The poem I chose was 28 words. Sorry, but I couldn’t stop at 15, so I kept going.
It’s A Good Friday Just to Say
Incorporating William Carlos Williams’ “This is Just to Say”
This week started with a parade I
Witnessed. Shouting and waving my palm branches have
Given me hope. Too often I’ve eaten
Of this desire, dreams for the
Future, broken again. Grapes and plums
Crushed into sour wine that
Is poured out and wasted. Were
You informed of this in
Heaven before you agreed to the
Plan? Heaven must have been an icebox
The moment the plan was devised and
Executed. Which
Brings us back to you
Here now getting lead-studded lashes. Were
You tempted to split the earth and let them fall in? Probably.
Crown of thorns, ‘My-God’-groaning, but saving
Some bit of hope after the forsaking for
A fish-laden breakfast
On the beach. All to forgive
Us, the world, villains, sinners, trespassers, me.
Sour sponge dripping vinegar they
Gave to relieve your pounded nails, pounding head? Were
You aware that your godforsaken cries would become delicious
Victory over the grave, so
We would be able to say, ‘It’s Friday, but sweet
Sunday’s coming,’ and
Our scarlet sins could become so
Clean like fire and snowy cold
Denise,
This is an impassioned, prayerful tribute to Christ’s death and resurrection. It reminds me of one of my favorite books from my undergrad days, “The Singer” by Calvin Miller. Do you know it? My favorite line is “Too often / I’ve eaten /Of this desire, dreams for the / Future, broken again.” This feels so relevant right now. Thank you.
—Glenda
Thank you, Glenda, for your always thoughtful comments. Yes, I do remember enjoy the trilogy by Calvin Miller. I was in college too. It’s been a long time since I’ve thought of them.
Denise,
This is incredible. I’m not sure how you brilliantly took the lines of a poem about plums and fridges and laced it into a poem about Christ, but you pulled it off so well. Such a powerful poem for today.
Susan, thank you so much for your kind words.
I am not familiar with the golden shovel poem, but my reading of the last words made me think it might be light-hearted yet poignant; from this, a Good Friday poem! Wow! It reads so beautifully, full of deep faith…I love how you wove the key words into these “Were/You aware that your godforsaken cries would become delicious/Victory over the grave. Thank you, Denise
Thank you, Maureen. Yes, it’s weird how ideas come unplanned. I’ve always liked the poem “This is Just to Say” and when I saw forgive, and it being good Friday, I thought I’d try this.
Denise, these lines reflect the power of the sacrifice when you suggest in His human form, He, too may have been tempted to give it all up
You tempted to split the earth and let them fall in? Probably.
Whatever may have gone through His mind at the time, we believe He went through with the plan for salvation and for that the give HIm thanks.
I also give you thanks for the poem honoring this GOD-MAN.
Thank you, Anna. I’ve been very thankful today that he stayed on the cross when he was tempted to not go through with it. “Take this cup from me.”
Denise, your choice of the line is simply classic, and what you did with it here is so stunning. I love this question: Were you tempted to split the earth and let them fall in? Probably. The conversation and wonderings that are happening, the golden line, the alliteration in places like scarlet sins and the oxymoron of clean like fire and snowy cold……there are techniques threaded throughout that make this one that I can come back to again and again and think some more about all that is here. Beautiful!
Kim, thank you so much for your words. It really helps to hear what people think when they read our work, doesn’t it? I really appreciate it. Can you tell me more about the golden line? I was searching about it, but I can’t figure out what you meant? Thank you so much!
Oh, that golden line was the one you chose for the Golden Shovel – the William Carlos Williams line that is used to form the ending words of each line : I have eaten all the plums…..I’m sorry – I meant to say Golden shovel line and I just said golden line and I was confusing .
Thank you for clarifying, Kim. I’m learning so much.
Denise,
William Carlos Williams is one of my favorite poets and I think I might have to go read “This is Just to Say”. My favorite lines were “ You tempted to split the earth and let them fall in? Probably.” I absolutely loved it. Thank you for sharing!
Your poem and Williams’ poem really come together in two places, rhythm and tone:
Some bit of hope after the forsaking for
A fish-laden breakfast
On the beach. All to forgive
and here:
We would be able to say, ‘It’s Friday, but sweet
Sunday’s coming,’ and
Our scarlet sins could become so
Clean like fire and snowy cold