Ann and Abigail are juniors at Oklahoma State University studying secondary English education. Ann’s goal is to teach high school English and possibly history. She loves to write, both academically and creatively, and is the secretary for the OSU Writing Club. Ann lives in Stillwater, Oklahoma with her three housemates and her beta fish, Pearl. In her spare time, she likes to paint, write poetry, and watch Steven Universe. Abigail is minoring in English, Creative Writing. She will be receiving her first publication in the latter half of this year in the Red Dirt Anthology. She lives in Stillwater, Oklahoma. Abigail spends her free time playing fetch with her dog, McGee, tending to her freshly-planted spring garden, and writing poetry.
Inspiration
The beauty of a poem like Richard Siken’s “Detail Of The Woods” is the sheer amount of interpretations you can take from the text. Richard Siken’s work oozes with the contemporary movement — it is brief, it is full of heavy imagery, and it lacks form. The freedom allows for Siken to achieve writing about the unknown. Our interpretations of this poem vary greatly; in fact, every time I read this piece I come away with something new. Unfailingly though, I always leave the piece with the line “Everyone needs a place. It shouldn’t be inside of someone else.” floating in my head. I don’t think you need to anaylze the poem to feel it — an aspect of poetry that is common in the contemporary movement. The value in the unknown is plentiful for the reader, and the inspiration for using this piece comes from that. We ask you to write about your known — your everyday, your secrets, your interpretations. Be brief. Be unconstrained to form or style. Be omniscient.
Process
In ten lines, describe a (preferably natural) setting of your choice and its significance in a surreal and detailed manner. Try to describe the importance of this place or what is happening there from an inside perspective, without explicitly stating it. Include punctuation after each line. Try to limit each stanza to one or two lines. Feel free to use anaphora to create some repetition. Title the poem “Detail of” your setting.
Annie’s Poem
Detail of the Lake Shore by Annie McClellan
I gaze across the glassy surface of the water
My toes spread over a cool stone ledge.
A blue-green tablecloth, draped over a city of fish.
They live in houses made of tires and tackle boxes,
They die in houses made of tires and tackle boxes.
Taxis made of hooks take them away,
Up, up, and away.
No peace shall the bottom half possess.
No peace shall the top half grant.
A city turned graveyard and landfill.
Abigail’s Poem
Detail Of The Mountain by Abigail M. Woods
The moss is it’s own being here, wrapping around the rocks.
We do not know confinement here.
How did this happen? Living is only relative here.
The mountain deserves a congregation. It gets dynamite.
West Virginia I worship you. Your valleys and flattened peaks.
From the Appalachians: How do we continue?
From the Greenbrier: Why do we continue?
I do not leave you for long. Remember my name.
The way I spoke of you.
I carry your grass stains between my toes and dirt beneath my nails.
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.
Memory of Southside Park
You’ve been there for as long as I can remember
Remember your yellow. blue, and green equipment
Equipment now faded after more than 21 years standing
Standing and helping others escape their realities
Realities so harsh it could swallow them whole
Whole is the feeling I used to get when I went to visit you
You followed me throughout my childhood
Childhood was better with you there
There is where you will be for my children
Children will enjoy you for eternity
Naydeen– I appreciate the comfort in knowing that something so simple as a safe place to play is to be part of your children’s lives someday. They, indeed, are “helping other escape their realities” and “followed…throughout…childhood.” A very dreamlike kind of imagining that comforts. Thank you for posting late last night! Susie
Detail of Memory From Childhood
Tippy toes push me
back and forth on the porch swing looking east.
It’s July and I’m mesmerized by
parallel green corn rows,
stretching to greet the smokey Iowa sky.
Seasons are the only things that change out here.
Summer growth. Fall harvest. Winter rest. Spring plant.
Years bring a familiar back and forth-
cyclical comfort.
Sometimes, predictability goes up in flames.
Rachelle,
your memory from your childhood in Iowa is beautiful. My favorite part is “Seasons are the only thing that change out here.”
Rachelle – Your images truly moved me this morning. I absolutely love the images of Iowa farm from a “porch swing looking east.” I drive to and through Iowa (and have bicycled RAGBRAI six summers) a lot, and it is, indeed, mesmerizing. One of my favorite drives is up the Avenue of the Saints, cutting west from Mt. Pleasant, and cattywampusing across to Des Moines. I fell in love with the line “seasons are the only things that change out here.” I feel great comfort in that…. despite the “up in flames” that won’t see me going there now in this mess. The comfort and ease gets dumped out of that lulling cradle in that last line…and jarring it should be… this is not a part of the cycle that we expected. Yet, I am held by the “cyclical comfort” you rendered here. Thank you for posting last night! Susie
PS… I’d love to see the images of Corvallis… my niece in Portland takes me to Oregon routinely now, and I biked in Corvallis a couple years ago… I love that town… so much nicer than Portland in its sense of comfort. I hope one of the poems upcoming still takes me to Corvallis.
Thanks for the awesome response! You have connections everywhere 🙂
Arctic Glacier
I look upon a vast white expansive desert.
Only the most prepared animals live with me.
High winds spread the white upon me
My surface continues to lose itself.
New animals are being born everyday on my surface
Though some leave to find new shelter as well.
Waters freezing not for feint of heart
The blue surrounding hiding most of my body
I hope that everyone can see my beauty
So that they will work hard to protect me.
Ryan,
I loved your poem about the arctic glaciers, you bring great awareness to the fact that we have to take care of our environment. Thank you for sharing.
Ryan — Painted like a true glacier, trying to remind “everyone” to pay attention! Sweet personification. If a glacier could speak, here’s what she’d say (or he 😉 ) I loved the idea of “continues to lose itself” and that “blue” that hides “most of my body.” Yes, those beautiful treasures below surface… it reminds me of when I flew years ago over Greenland and Iceland and saw that incredible blue… it was an amazing depth of color — lucky to have seen it as it’s so often a night flight and cloudy… that one time it was in clear daylight skies. Your poem is an important reminder of our earthly responsibilities. Thanks! Susie
Climbing Tree
In the meadow behind me
There once stood a climbing tree
Round and low-hanging branches sat there
Telling me, “come here! climb there!”
Running and jumping and playing
You can see all the neighborhood children playing
Through many generations has a small hand learned to stand
At the top of the world and learn to take a stand
Oh, dearest climbing tree, through all the bumps and scrapes and love
You will be my first true love
Hi Elizabeth,
Nothing is better than a perfect tree for climbing! You’ve captured the essence of it in your poem. I love the tree telling you “come here! climb there!” because they most assuredly beckon us to climb them.
While I take my daily walks, I often think about trees that I would’ve climbed as a child. So much fun!
Thanks for sharing this treasure in my memory! Glad I didn’t miss it tonight.
My Road
The gravel crumbled beneath me.
Swallowed by morning’s maw.
Mauled by the songs of swallows.
My heart and throat knotted as one.
I kept my mind on the scritch scritch. I am old.
From the air: a tang.
From the sky: a shroud.
What else is there?
Motion and stillness happen here.
Living and dying happen here.
Whoa, Allison, this took me in from the start! The gravel crumbled beneath me… clear description of my evening. My mom’s only sibling, my aunt, our family matriarch, is in a rehab for a fractured leg. Her roomie recently tested positive for COVID19. Of course, my strong-willed aunt is proclaiming she is fine and isn’t worried, but I know her. The sound of her voice was different. “The gravel crumbled beneath me, My heart and throat knotted as one.” I gave her the encouraging words she needs and wants, and tonight I pray for her healing and her peace.
“Living and dying happen here.”
So deep. I appreciate your poem. I needed it.
The sounds and images are so ominous and yet comforting. I love the “scritch scritch” and then “from the air: a tang. / From the sky: a shroud.” So many layers to all of these sounds and meanings! I know this road, but I don’t know if I can handle it!
Ooooo, Allison, you took to me Cormac McCarthy1 The sense that you are slipping away into an eerie unknown –“crumbled beneath me” and “swallowed” and “heart and throat knotted” (love that knotted word) …the is very sensory … those “scritch” sounds (creepy) and tasting the air that has “a tang” leaves us with those undefined movements and then “stillness” that jangles our senses that reach for “living” but hand us “dying.” Quite a dandy poem. McCarthy and I love it! 😉 Glad I came back this morning to gobble this up. Thank you for posting last night! Susie
Details of The Beach
The sandy shores exist for miles.
Graduals of earth cover the landscape.
My toes sink ever so deep.
All of me blanketing by its dust.
Tidal waves ebb and flow.
Tidal waves give and take.
The mountain ranges are its backdrop.
The horizon is for ever.
My heart is swept up in the wind.
My soul never wants to leave.
Donnetta, blanketing, backdrop, “swept up in the wind” were some of my favorite words and phrases. I feel a sense of loving and longing in this poem.
Donnetta,
My favorite place on earth! You’ve crafted a beautiful poem that clearly shows me where I wish I were at this moment in time.
“My soul never wants to leave.” That’s it.
Love it.
Detail of a Hot Pool
In this open meadow,
every star, every galaxy illuminates almost everything.
Sinking deeper into earth’s blood,
pulsing and flowing through every pore,
I feel the cycles inside and outside.
Uncertain eyes glow just over there.
Who are you? Are you waiting for me?
Sulfur and wild flowers send beacons,
waypoints for weary travelers,
soak and relax, the sun will rise soon.
Shaun, your poem captures those brief moments when we are able to see the “flow” of the universe, when we feel tapped into the “earth’s blood” and can feel the “cycles.” Even with the “uncertain eyes” and their unknown purpose, your poem presents a lot of hope: “illuminates,” “beacons,” “waypoints,” “sun…rise.” The piece is grounded in a specific time and place (and personal memory), yet it connects with the reader and the “weary traveler” in all of us. Thank you for sharing your poem with us!
I like what you did with this, Shaun. “Earth’s blood” is a delicious way to think of hot pools. Cycles, flowing, pulsing all worked together to give the experience motion. “Who are you? Are you waiting for me?” added wonder/searching to the experience.
Ferrying Sleep Over Elliot Bay
From the window and my bed,
mesmerizing, tracking west
through sleepy eyes, hypnotized,
like a jeweled necklace catching summer moon,
the ferry slides silently over the black Sound
hour after hour, night after night;
east to west, west to east, an unheard cadence
of time ticking through the night hours;
diamond dreams of murres and scoters,
storm petrels out there in the dark.
by Susie Morice©
so pretty! “diamond dreams of murres and scoters,
storm petrels out there in the dark.”
Susie, your poem mesmerized and hypnotized me! The “jeweled necklace” simile and “diamond dreams” metaphor are my favorite parts, a beautifully balanced conceit. Thank you for introducing me to new fowl: murres, scoters, petrels…I said their names aloud like an incantation.
Oh this is lovely! I am not used to writing in a surrealist mode, but when I read your poem, I thought: THAT’S what I wanted to do! I’m watching the ferry, but you take me into a dreamlike place for the experience. In your final stanza, I do not know what murres, scoters, or petrels are (I’ll go look them up after I leave this comment), but they could be pure nonsense for all I care: their sounds and rhythms (and unusualness) lifted me further into the dreamy experience. Thank you.
(BIRDS!)
Hi, Allison- Thank you. Yes, they are birds that love water. When I used to walk with my aunt along Alki Pt in West Seattle, I’d watch murres and scoters bob along in Elliot Bay and Puget Sound. And little storm petrels live their entire lives in flight just above the ocean water. Visiting my aunt and staring out the window as I fell asleep each night was a slow lulling of watching the ferries move like jewels across the Sound. Thinking of birds is sleep medicine. Hugs, Susie
Well, Susie, you know the suggestions are just that, and I LOVE, LOVE subversion! That line “diamond dreams of murres and scoters” even more beautiful after I looked up those words — though I didn’t need to see the images as you painted me a picture. The color of the scoter fits symbolically with the darkness in the end.
Murres: a white-breasted North American auk (seabird).
Scoters: The scoters are stocky seaducks in the genus Melanitta. The drakes are mostly black and have swollen bills. Females are brown.
Petrels: a seabird related to the shearwaters, typically flying far from land.
Detail of the shore line
From the moment I step into the sand,
my eye holds the horizon.
The flat expanse of water,
sweeps out from the sand.
To the line where it meets the sky.
Multiple flat surfaces.
The sandy shore hot on the
soles of my feet.
Swallowed up by the waves as
they spread out on to the sand,
flat against the shore line.
Out beyond the waves the dark
bluish green water
stretches to reach the sky.
Oooo, Jamie — You and I were on similar paths tonight. I like that we were water bound writing these. I love that “swallowed up by the waves” feeling when you are barefoot in the sand. Very soothing! Thanks, Susie
I love the line, “To the line where it meets the sky.” I wrote about the beach, and could see that line in my mind. Your words take me back to Hawaii.
This has a beautiful painterly quality. I see lines, colors, and space. Can’t wait to go to another beach with you…some day!
Detail of 10-Month Old Brylinn Holding a Daisy
by Donna Russ, 4-20-2020
Little hands grasping gingerly
The white blob of delicate matter
Eyes lovingly following the wave
Of movement of each fluttering Feathery limb
Shooting from the bright gold circled center
The fuzzy golden center
Wonder and amazement that
This little blob does not get crushed
Within the confines of these
Uncontrollable little fingers
Yet, completely in control
Such a beautiful image to share with us today. I love the little hands grasping gingerly and the delicacy of the daisy with its fuzzy golden center. These encounters are certainly a time of wonder and amazement. And you captured the control and lack of control in the moment. Thank you!
You wrote this so beautifully. “Little hands…Uncontrollable little fingers…Yet, completely in control….I absolutely love how you describe this little one.
Anza Borrego
Enveloped in a glorious sunrise canvas,
That devolves, as we approach, into ribbons dancing among the rocks.
Shadowed under swaths of deepest grey,
Sharing a last time, when time will not last.
Walking with eyes downcast, the way of this land,
Respecting its most subtle signs.
The man in the flannel shirt and fishing hat taught me to walk,
and to look while I walked.
My fellow shadow walked with him, also.
The last time has passed for both.
Only the rocks remain.
I am pulled in immediately with your beautiful opening lines “enveloped in a glorious sunrise canvas,
that devours, as we approach, into ribbons dancing among the rocks” — just gorgeous!
Anne,
the line “Sharing a last time, when time will not last” is my absolute favorite line! I also love how you describe the shadow throughtout the poem.
Detail of the Golf Course
Tall reeds and heather dance the waltz.
We find peace and solace here.
The sounds of the city fade away.
A blanket of green covers man-made hills.
Patches of sand, problematic ponds, and hidden slopes unite.
A wide open alley waits patiently.
A wide open alley for the dimpled orb to pursue.
It has been too long since I’ve spent time here.
I miss the melody-the swoosh of the swing.
I’ll be back soon to dance with you.
-Jenny Sykes
I’m not a golfer but I see the beauty in this experience. You’ve painted this moment so vividly! Love these lines “Tall reeds and heather dance the waltz” , ” A wide open alley for the dimpled orb to pursue” & “the swoosh of the swing.” Thank you for sharing!
Your word picture evoked the vision of a golf course. “Patches of sand, problematic ponds,and hidden slopes unite” was key, but the “dimpled orb” brought it home for me. Thanks for a vivid picture.
The personification in the first line is a nice entry into the piece, giving the action to the reeds and heather. Your return to the dance at the end brings this full circle. I love the sound in the swoosh of the swing – swoosh works so well here and is a word I want to keep saying. I bet you miss it even more right now!
Detail of the PNW
The clouds rolled in
Pouring big blue drops of rain on my face.
The dew on the bright green grass
Washed away with more moisture.
Everything here is so vibrant
No lack of color, scent, or feeling.
The blush and bashful petals awaken
Under cold droplets of water.
Vines grow from here or there
Extending into a vast infinity
Air feels clean and free from grey smog
It feels like a fresh start.
This is so full of vibrant descriptions! “No lack of color, scent or feeling.” I love the way you describe embracing nature – feeling the drops of rain on your face, taking it in. And the last line is perfect. I love going outside and breathing in the air after a rainstorm, feels just like a new start 🙂
Lauryl,
This is a beautiful description of the before, during, and after of a rain storm. I miss watching those middle-America storms roll in and gazing at the grass glistening and pregnant w/ drops of rain. My favorite image is “blush and bashful petals.” As a kid I spent lots of time in the woods swinging from those vines hanging from trees. Love that last line and the biblical promise of “a fresh start.” I’ve spent most of my adult life, sans two year in Iowa, in the desert, first in Arizona, and now in Idaho, and I still long for a good downpour. Occasionally one comes out way but not as often as I’d like. Thank you.
—Glenda
Lauryl, Your poem brings me back to Oregon! You use color to capture your reader’s imagination right at the beginning. I like how you weave water throughout–it IS everywhere! Finally, you capture what I always think of as how the horizon in the PNW opens forever.
It had just rained when I read your poem. It was a perfect accompaniment with “blush and bashful petals” all “clean and free” – it did feel like a fresh start.
Details of Sonoma County, 2014
The verdant hills rise up to meet the cerulean sky.
Puffy storybook clouds, a buffer.
Shrub and short oaks congregate in the folds and valleys,
dot the horizon of each hilly spine.
The Pacific roars. The waves: cold, primal, relentless.
Rain puddles on the pebbly shore.
Soft redwood bark, nests of ferns, pine needles muffle the sounds.
Only ghostly echoes remain.
My heart, full again: at home in this landscape.
My heart, broken: half-empty without you.
I love the stark mix of emotions in this poem – especially in the beautiful last couplet: heart full, but also broken. The way you describe nature mirrors that – so colorful and full of life, but the clouds “a buffer,” the waves “relentless.” I was drawn into the scene you paint and the incomplete story that goes with it. Thanks for sharing.
Betsy,
Beautiful descriptions of landscape that land/end with emotion. Love it!
I loved the way you used artistic terms for colors at the very beginning, “verdant and cerulean”. It sets a tone that is carried out throughout the piece. The ending was a tearjerker, but so fitting for the peaceful picture you have painted. Thanks for sharing.
Ahhh, I miss Sonoma so much. Thank you for writing a beautiful poem that helps me feel emotional about how I love it and miss it. Last two lines, perfect.
“Detail of a transient camp”
I look around and see a space that
belongs to the one who is present.
A cradle made of wobbly mismatched furniture.
How can no one but us know?
This is our place. It shouldn’t require permission.
From the road: you can’t see a thing.
From the inside, looking out: you can’t see a thing.
I cast a spell on the ancient rusty artifacts and chunky glass bottles.
A sense of wonderment found in a space that would,
with age and knowing, grow a mossy coat of unease.
Laura,
Such a powerful imagery of a space belonging to “no one who is present,” I begin to wonder about this absence and the cause, and then you move into “cradle,” and then i wonder about the “us” and why no one knows. The line “cast a spell on the ancient rusty artifacts” is so magical, the glass bottles feel like a crystal ball/bottle. And that final line “mossy coat of unease” offers uncertainty for me about the tone of what is to come. Very moving.
Sarah
Laura,
You’ve tapped into our collective, National shame and written a heart-wrenching poem. The repetition of “you can’t see a thing” strikes me as both intentional and prophetic. I love everything about your poem, especially how it forces me to confront homelessness and privilege. Thank you.
—Glenda
Annie and Abigail, please add my thanks to those pouring in for the writing prompt today. It was so much fun thinking of the wonderful places we’ve traveled before settling on one to write about to day. As the old folks used to say, “Thanks for the memories” you inspired in this prompt.
Wishing you both the best as you continue your studies and enter the most rewarding profession in the world!!!! Unfortunately, the first five to ten years are primarily seed planting. Students will not appreciate what they are learning nearly as much as they will once they, too, are “out in the world.” So, stay the course, through the wonky weather of the first few years as classroom teachers. The harvest of your labors will come.
Attempts to master you are in vain
You remain indomitable
Except in the depths of winter
Then you are vulnerable and exposed take that
Spring brings you a simple Easter dress of green
And soon we are at it laying down newspapers
Applying mulch and spraying homemade compounds
Your crape myrtles scream fuchsia red white at summer’s height
But you want so badly to remain rough around your kidney-shaped edge.
By fall we let you win and welcome your whispy weeds
Katrina, I love your friendly battle with the yard…one I can certainly relate to, especially right now with the weeds (and bamboo…) duplicating at an unimaginable rate. I am drawn to the line “But you want so badly to remain rough around your kidney-shaped edge.” Good luck with your adventures!
Succumbing to the forces of nature. The challenge of all home owners. I like how you barely dip your brush into the images – Easter dress of green, crape myrtles scream fuchsia
Detail of a Creek
The light flickers from the canopy
Wind and leaves and trickling water in 3-part harmony.
Salamanders lie lazily under muddy stones
Hunting the humans hunting them.
That sky, hiding behind the music
Licking its gray teeth clean.
You are under the maple table
Stump of oak seat, slipping through the ancient toes of root.
A boulder, awakened from a timeless nap like some grandpappy,
Unsure of the time or why golf balls seem to appear out of thin air.
Alex, this was such a transportive poem. I was taken to a serene creekside, so that final line delivers a funny punch which is delightful! I love your imagery of “the ancient toes of root.”
Alex,
This is chock full of beautiful, melodic descriptions!
five beautiful images paint the picture of the creek causing me to find it familiar – the boulder, my creek has sycamores not maples, the light flickers from the canopy
Alex, I like how you paint this seren scene with animals ready to strike on the banks and describing the water trickling as a 3- part harmony and adding in parts of the modern world to this ancient landscape.
Detail of the Ocean
Every morning as I wake up, I see you.
I gaze at your waves and blue water.
A vast space filled with white sailboats.
What else does the ocean show me? An
immense refuge, an escape. And so much more.
The ocean is my place.
My place to breathe and my place
to gather strength.
I keep my eyes on the horizon
the distant and majestic horizon, the serene and endless horizon
From the water: Why do you fear me?
From the horizon: Come and join me.
I turn my head to the sky. A sense of possibilities.
Sun rays cascade over the water.
Your calm waves bring me peace- make me love you.
Your mighty waves remind me of your power – bring me fear.
Monica,
I love how you adapt the mentor poem to your place and use the form to uncover questions and discoveries. This is beautiful: “distant and majestic horizon, the serene and endless horizon” — lovely repetition.
Sarah
Yes, the repetition is beautiful! I love the questions you pose in this poem, and the ways you answer them. I think my favorite part is the third stanza: ‘The ocean is my place. / My place to breathe and my place / to gather strength.” I think we all have a “place” that fills this role for us, and it’s interesting how it’s different for different people.
Monica, I love “the ocean is my place.” Your poem really paints a picture in my head, and I can imagine the beautiful sky the speaker is describing. The repetition is so wonderful! Thanks for sharing!
Detail of an Indigo Lover
Plunging backwards, curving my body
to avoid the slap back.
Palm tree and slide dancing in kaleidoscoped ripples.
My sacred silent view surrounded in bubbles,
where spurts of exhales escape pinched lips.
Mediterranean blue skies, halcyon heaven.
Azure cocoon with my indigo lover.
Holding my breath. One moment more.
Holding my breath. Before floating into the world.
Every child should swim underwater in summer.
By Stacey L. Joy, ©April 20, 2020
Stacey, I love the lyricism of your poem! The line that inspires your title is full of color…I love that I can picture it all, yet it can inspire something new on subsequent readings. The lines, “ Holding my breath. One moment more.” carry such a strong feeling of wanting to stay somewhere with disregard for the passage of time.
Stacey, your imagery is so striking. I immediately thought of Florida then the Caribbean. You make me want to be there. Yes, every child should swim underwater in summer.
Stacey,
Your words are mesmerizing. I am particularly drawn to: “My sacred silent view surrounded in bubbles.” While I’ve never visited the Mediterranean, your final line evokes those magical childhood memories.
Thank you Laura , believe it or not I was in a swimming pool in my backyard where I grew up, in Los Angeles. My Mediterranean imagination. ?
Wow! I love everything here. The action (plunging, spurts of exhales), the imagery Mediterranean blue skies, halcyon heaven, azure cocoon!!), the language (sacred silent view surrounded in bubbles). That last line is just perfect.
Thank you Jennifer! Ohhh to be back there again!
Stacey,
All the shades of blue here add incredible dimension and movement even in the lines of “holding my breath” I feel the movement , the immediate experience.
I want to be underwater right now…gliding.
Sarah
Stacey,
I love your love of the ocean and the erotic, sexual phrases with which you construct this love affair. It’s brilliant, my friend. “Palm tree and slide dancing in kaleidoscoped ripples” pose as the perfect backdrop. Wonderful /s/ alliteration throughout. You were born for the beach, the pool, these watery worlds. Thank you.
—Glenda
Owwwweeeeee, love when unintended eroticism shows up. Thank you Glenda!
Stacey — I like taking this dive with you…the bubbles…holding breath…floating into the world…the poem feels like a child’s wonder at being underwater…The sense of water movement is there. Neat idea! Thank you, Susie
That last line is the bees knees. You are so right. That is the truth!
Annie and Abigail, thank you for today’s encouraging prompt and mentor poems.
Annie, this caught my eyes and my heart:
No peace shall the bottom half possess.
No peace shall the top half grant.
Such a scary thought that sometimes peace isn’t possessed or granted.
Abigail, I enjoyed the genuine connection I felt between you and the mountain. The ending was brilliant.
I carry your grass stains between my toes and dirt beneath my nails.
Excited to write today! Thank you both so much.
Detail of Mount Timpanogos
The world stretched out beneath me
the sun my equal
looking out over all, above all, a part of all.
Is this how God feels?
Does He also feel the pain?
From the wind: a constant chill.
From the climb: a smarting ache.
These are the results of my effort
as is the view: the throb and the calm.
I sign my name to stake my claim.
Rachel, I really don’t have the words. This poem is gorgeous and thought-provoking. I wish I knew what else to say, but it just took my breath away.
Rachel, I really love the physical appeal to your poem: “a constant chill” and “a smarting ache”. The opening lines pulled me right into the scene. The questions are absolutely thought-provoking and ones I think all can relate. The ending is pure magic!
Rachel, you’ve definitely captured the feeling of an accomplished mountain hike. Your questions of God’s pain are introspective and unique…I love the questions that come from nowhere that you can’t explain (nor can you answer them). And signing your name – what a nice metaphorical gesture!
Rachel — I feel like you’ve taken me on this hike…the panoramic view, the aches, the wind. Something sweet about “stake[ing your] claim.” I need to get outside! I’ve been soooo cooped up. You’ve inspired me. Thank you! Susie
Rachel, I love this! It draws me in so much! “Is this how God feels?” I can imagine looking down from the peak Mount Timpanogos, and how powerful it must feel to complete such a task! Thanks for sharing!
Rachel. I love how you make this mountain something mystical like mount olympous in greek myth. Then furhter add to it by asking if this is how god feel the personification that you demonstrate is amazing.
Thank you for this puzzle of an inspiration! I delighted in both your poems, especially the repetition in Annie’s, “no peace shall,” and in Abigail’s, “do we continue?” I stretched myself well outside my comfort zone and landed here:
Detail of the Creek
In the quiet, there is only the gurgling of water
as it ripples over the rocks and around the bend, downstream.
You are a treasure.
Even mourning is a celebration,
raising a toast to the beauty of the world.
Words to page offers sweet peace,
sweet peace within walls.
This is a cracking open, a breaking apart, a widening of the void
between what we have always believed and what is real.
The gentle breeze moves me somewhere altogether new.
Maureen, what an outstanding, beautiful poem! I am especially moved by the line “You are a treasure”. I like how you set this apart from the rest of the poem. Mourning, I agree, is an act of celebration. The actions near the end are striking: “cracking open, “breaking apart,” ” a widening of the void” …all create a sense of the here and the hereafter for me. I especially appreciate the communion with nature and the sense of peace that is shared. I absolutely love the end. I am deeply touched by your thought-provoking poem. Kudos!
Maureen,
Your words transport us to the creek and its bubbling loveliness. I love the lines,
“Words to page offers sweet peace,
sweet peace within walls.
Your poem is a menagerie of images celebrating nature and writing. I love it. Thank you.
—Glenda
Maureen, I also chose a creek as my central focus for this prompt. My parents have a creek that runs behind their house and it has always been the destination for walks, for contemplation, for conversation, for fun. These lines of yours were my favorite: “ Even mourning is a celebration, / raising a toast to the beauty of the world.” I can relate to this, staring at a natural marvel at times when life felt overwhelming, and feeling calmed by the connection to something so pure and beautiful. Thank you!
Detail of Lake Louise
I looked at that water and didn’t know such a color.
A hue made of glacial silt.
And what else? Something magical.
Everyone needs a place.
Mine was in that yellow canoe.
From the landscape: a sense of the unknown
From my soul: a sense of knowing
I’m not one for adventure. But that water –
it called. And I went.
I wasn’t afraid of anything.
Emily, I am so impressed with the emotion and images shared through your poem. I have seen water and glaciers that were so beautiful and stunning, I understand the difficulty of trying to capture the beauty in words, and I love how you open with that idea. “Everyone needs a place…” that line really called to me, and the “yellow canoe” is so visually striking. The closing message is awesome! This poem was a joy to read. Thank you for sharing!
Emily,
I love this journey to Lake Louise and encourage anyone who hasn’t seen it or the other glacial lakes in Banff to google it and then plan a visit. It’s such a magical place, and I thrilled reading the image of a yellow canoe on the water. Spectacular. Thank you.
—Glenda
My favorite lines are the From the landscape: a sense of the unknown/From my soul: a sense of knowing. These are just beautiful. And the lines that follow- so much packed into those. (I know this glacial silt color. I have also been in that yellow canoe, paddling across Lake Louise. One of the most spectacular places on earth. Thank you for taking me back there today. We very nearly went there last summer so our kids could experience it as well. Now I know, it must return to the top of our vacation list.)
Love the conversion and overcoming in your poem! In the beginning I could sense your fear in the “hue made of glacial silt”, yet it was “magical”. Then you find that this space, this unknown becomes home, peace, solitude. Beautiful.
everyone needs a place – I wasn’t afraid of anything -seems to answer the need for a place
Emily — Oh, yes, Lake Louise — you’ve taken me right along in that canoe. I like the strength that you feel with this kind of beauty…that just seems so right. Thank you! Susie
Emily I liked the imagery that you used to describe this location it was as if Iwas experincing the scenery myself as I was reading it. I like the first line when you said that you didn’t know water could be such a color it added a layer of mystery to the piece.
My Home
I sit atop the silo
The world seems to never end.
Field after field of wheat fills my eyes
Like a golden sea waiting for me to swim.
I see the yellow grass that surrounds my house
Torn up from the hours of football my brother and I played.
I look to my left and see our horses running in their pin
A storm must be brewing.
My second home was where I truly felt at peace
I climbed down the silo and ran across the gravel to my dad.
The smell of fresh air filled my nose as I ran to him
This is where I belonged.
Kole, I cannot even imagine sitting on top of a silo. Right away this opening line pulled me into the scene. I love the visual details of the wheat fields, yellow grass, the horses, and the sense of a storm brewing. I know the wonderful smell of hay, and I love how you closed with this…joyfully running to your dad. What a beautiful close to this poem.!
Kole,
As a Midwesterner in origin, I so appreciate the view of golden wheat, the field of horses, the silo image, and all those memories we experience through these lines celebrating a part of the continent often forgotten. Thank you.
—Glenda
Kole,
This is a really great poem that details what growing up in your town was like. It’s very sentimental and I love all of the specific memories you pull out. Thanks for sharing!
Thank you, Abigail and Anne, for this writing idea today. I was brought into Richard Siken’s piece, and then came out of it with this…
For show and tell, I shared my horse
in a photo album of majestic chestnut manes,
on every page a collage, landscapes
of stables nestled in mountains,
scenic trails lined with foliage fences.
For months I surreptitiously tore
photos from library magazines,
smoothing edges, framing the story
one print at a time.
I was a rider.
And one day I would ride
West away from empty cupboards
tiled beds, short pants, & bathroom lines
West away from unpaid bills, forgotten
pick-ups, neglected hearts, & empty tanks.
Everyone needs a fantasy.
But I believed it was true.
What else could I do?
I was not in those cupboards.
I would not be forgotten.
I could not fill their empty tanks.
I refused to turn my back
on the story. It had to come true.
And you let me
let me share my photo album that day
even though you knew it was all a lie.
Sarah, I am moved by the emotion of your poem. I am particularly moved by the desire to run away from all of the reality. To create this fantasy, by carefully putting this album of images together. The end is absolutely incredible and really adds a punch…”even though you knew it was all a lie”…I really sense some futility and sadness here. Thank you for sharing!
Sarah,
I love the way your memory and this album celebrate having a vision. Children need that. We all need it. I often think about the Bible verse in Isaiah that says, “a people without a vision are dead.” This forward momentum and way of seeing ourselves is how we create a life, a future. On a personal note: My husband Ken was a jockey in his teen years. His father raised cutter horses, and Ken raced them, but he also tells me stories about the horses as a drain on family finances and his childhood home w/ no inside toilet. One sister was sent to live with a relative because of family money problems. Ken loves horses, but they occupy a much different place in his life now than they did as a child. Yes, “Everyone needs a fantasy.” Thank you for transporting us to yours.
—Glenda
Thanks, Glenda. That was in third grade. I had never even seen a live horse at that point and only rode my first horse in my thirties. I pretended/lied about owning a horse the entire school year.
I named my pretend horse Pepsi, but I never made him a scrapbook 🙂
Sarah — There is a delightful, impish, childlike glee in this poem. “Surreptitiously” snatching pages from the library magazines — Ha! Building a whole fantasy of escape….marvelous. I like the strength of this little girl… “I was not in those cupboards/I would not be forgotten! And the ending with the sharing of the “album that day” — full circle… Totally lovely! Thank you, Susie
What a wonderful and complete story in this poem…..but, I want to know more!
Oh, wow, Sarah. This is such a beautiful story (with overtones of “Alone Together”!). I appreciate how you share your longing heart with us. “I was not in those cupboards” hit me hard, followed by the layers of meaning in “I could not fill their empty tanks.” Love to you, your family, and the teacher who let you share your dreams.
Well, this was funny. I felt very omniscient and surreal writing this. Though it’s weird how it somehow means something to me, but I am concerned for my reader. I tried to follow the suggestions in the Process, but this is a cityscape setting, rather than a natural one. Thank you, Annie and Abigail!
Detail of Manama
Where have you been? I’ve been searching.
The turquoise, peacock, and lapis are mirrors of grace.
The tan, latte, and honey are granite ready to be born again.
The sand and sea are melting in this heat.
The sand and sea skyscrapers are melting in this heat.
Sculpture, the art of the intelligence.
Pablo, what did you know?
In the following is grace again.
In the following is hope again.
The beast longs to escape the sculptor’s knife.
Denise,
These lines are so vivid, and while there is nature in the colors and texture and material, you offer a glimpse of the industrial:
The turquoise, peacock, and lapis are mirrors of grace.
The tan, latte, and honey are granite ready to be born again.
I also love that there is some mystery, some needed interpretation as to the subject of the poem that belongs to the reader. Thank you for trusting us,
Sarah
There are many interpretations to this poem…I love how the word grace appears twice, “mirrors of grace” and “In the following is grace again,” weaving a thread of spirituality through the poem.
Denise, this is incredible! It felt more like I was looking at a painting than simply reading lines (a testament to the lines themselves). I really enjoyed the colors you included and how you described them.
Denise,
I love the way your poem transports us to Bahrein and taps into exotic imagery: turquoise peacock, “tan, latte, and honey are granite.” Love the skyscraper imagery against the sand and sea, all soaking in the heat and melting. This adds a touch of the surreal to the poem. Beautiful. Thank you.
—Glenda
Abigail and Annie,
Thank you so much for the inspiration this morning. Since I always have trouble with economy, this pushed me. I had many more than 10 lines so I combined lines to make it happen. I have to admit, I don’t like the longer lines. I typically don’t write that way.
Your mentor poems are each outstanding! You are both impressive writers and by the way you constructed this task, you will surely be fantastic teachers.
Annie, I especially love this line: “Taxis made of hooks take them away,”
Abigail, I especially love this line: “the mountain deserves a congregation. It gets dynamite.”
Now, for my attempt. I appreciated being “pushed” into a memory specific to nature rather than all about emotion. Of course, I land there anyway.
remote refuge
morning coffee on the porch, mist rising off the pond.
backdrop of pine trees, planted in the infancy of ownership.
swarming flies and buzzing bees set the soundtrack.
peace when there alone
soon the rest awake and spoil the moment.
the gator roars to life, exploring to do
the grill fires up, bacon and eggs sizzling.
solitude has ended.
the scene a place I inhabit
rather than a painting I observe.
~Susan Ahlbrand
20 April 2020
Susan,
This line sings to me, literally —
swarming flies and buzzing bees set the soundtrack.
It is so lovely to read your poem this morning!
Sarah
I love the peaceful tone you created with the beginning of this poem. These lines really spoke to me and made me feel a sense of calm as I read them:
morning coffee on the porch, mist rising off the pond.
backdrop of pine trees, planted in the infancy of ownership.
Thank you so much for the kind words! I loved the imagery in your poem! My favorite line would have to be “backdrop of pine trees, planted in the infancy of ownership.” It has a certain rhythm to it that I really enjoy.
I enjoyed the contrast between the meditative and peaceful elements of your refuge, and what it is like when everyone is up and moving. I love the phrase “soon the rest awake.”
Susan,
You have given us an auditory feast. My favorite line is “swarming flies and buzzing bees set the soundtrack.” I can hear it! Superb job w/ concision. I know this is something you work on. Love this poem. Thank you.
—Glenda
Oh, the gator at a pond. Know the sound and love the sound well. It takes a lot of work and noise to keep a little slice of heaven…heavenly. Great images here…especially sound.
Susan, I stopped at this line: “backdrop of pine trees, planted in the infancy of ownership.” I just liked rereading it again and again and imagining the plantings in the infancy of ownership. My, that is lovely. In an abstract way, you gave such a real image of your morning. Another favorite–“the gator roars to life” What a great image for your morning solitude being extinguished.
Details of Bubbles in Summer 2001
I observe my budding scientist dip the wand into glistening soap film.
Curiosity and wonder infuse his puckered kiss.
Curiosity and wonder infuse his long, long exhalation.
Curiosity and wonder flush his face with crimson color & toddler joy.
A smile shines in his hazel eyes, sunlight at his back, the world is a breath away.
A bubble expands, silken skin stretching, wobbling, wobbling…
The baseball size bubble detaches from the wand and drifts and drifts …
A summer breeze nudging, nudging, summer sparkle into cerulean sky.
Before bursting into spray.
Curiosity and wonder infused into a young mind through a bubble.
Tammi,
What a fabulous way to begin the day with this adorable poem of your little one and his bubbles! Pure joy! The sensory descriptions are vivid but this stands out nicely:
Curiosity and wonder flush his face with crimson color & toddler joy…
I love thinking about how much fun he had with his bubbles and for you watching it all.
This reminds me of a watercolor painting:
A summer breeze nudging, nudging, summer sparkle into cerulean sky.
Thank you Tammi!
Oh my! These lines were incredible:
The baseball size bubble detaches from the wand and drifts and drifts …
A summer breeze nudging, nudging, summer sparkle into cerulean sky.
Before bursting into spray.
I am transfixed as I read your poem. You’ve created a poem that magnifies the wonder of this tiny, but mighty indelible moment.
This is my favorite line, “A bubble expands, silken skin stretching, wobbling, wobbling…” You can SEE the bubble! Beautiful.
Tammi,
I love every detail of this poem. It’s a masterful tribute to a child’s wonder at something seemingly simple, a floating bubble. WOW! The repetition of “Curiosity and wonder” captures the experience. Thank you.
—Glenda
This brings back memories of watching my kids, grandchildren and great-granddaughter take up the wand for the very first time! The wonder was shown on their faces. You have captured that wonder in the line. “A smile shines in his hazel eyes, sunlight at his back, the world is a breath away” so vividly. May the wonder never cease.
Tammi,
What I love most about this is the anaphora in the Curiosity and wonder lines. This seems to me like a tutorial in writing. I like the repetition of infuse, and then a switch to flush in the third line. It is all just wonderful to read. Sometimes my husband gets to hear my oral readings because some poems just have to be read aloud. Thank you.
THE REDWOODS
Walking through Redwoods Forest with my Honey,
Standing among the majestic giants is worth much more than money.
Who could imagine two hundred years ago
When the seeds that first fell down to the ground,
The two hundred feet up these trees would grow.
The awesome breadth, thirty feet around!
The crinkly quiet as we walk around, listening for, but hearing no sound.
The twin trees leaning against each other remind us that we need each other
To stand tall, so we won’t fall.
Like the Redwoods, we must stand fast to the last.
Oh God, we give You glory for it all.
If you’ve never been to the Redwood Forest, take a vicarious stroll at this link:
http://salttrails.com/redwoods-humboldt-california/
Anna,
You’ve captured much that I love about the giant redwoods. It’s a place I’ve longed to visit again. Lovely juxtaposition of the two trees leaning against one another the way you and your husband support one another. Thank you.
—Glenda
When you have a moment, view the trees at the link.
My husband and I were so impressed by the experience that we contracted a stained glass designer (a parent of two of my students) to create a piece of window art depicting the pair of redwood trees he and I saw on our first visit to that forest. Later, we had her design a piece of quilt art of the same scene. It now hangs in our master bedroom. Clearly, this experience in the redwoods made a lasting impression on us!
Good morning Anna,
What a breathtaking stroll in the link and in your poem. It’s lucious and rich like the trees! I think the opening is magnificent and refreshing, hearing it made my heart fill with love! I almost can hear it as a song!
Walking through Redwoods Forest with my Honey,
Standing among the majestic giants is worth much more than money.
Thank you for the beauty of your loving poem, rich, majestic, and lush!
Anna,
I so appreciate how you are teaching us in this moment without it being didactic. The numbers offer scale and demand respect for the “awesome”ness, and yet you capture that the Redwoods defy such measurement-based ways of knowing:
Who could imagine two hundred years ago
When the seeds that first fell down to the ground,
The two hundred feet up these trees would grow.
The awesome breadth, thirty feet around!
Poetry!
Sarah
I love your ‘crinkly quiet,” the image it imparts, and the impact of the sound of the words.
So beautifully rendered is the comparison of your relationship with the relationship of the trees. Each needs to lean on the other for support. That why they stand so long. Thanks for sharing.
Anna — Thank you — I’ve never seen the redwoods… you’ve taken me along. I particularly like “The twin trees leaning against each other remind us that we need each other.” I love that idea. It reminds me of the novel The Overstory… cool story. Thank you! Susie
Details of Grand Haven State Park:
Roaring Red lighthouse shining across the lake,
The crash of freshwater waves onto the shore,
Tiny fish swim past your feet, and pebbles blister your feet,
Seagulls fly overhead and frighten unsuspecting beach goers,
Children drag their pails of sands up and down the beach until a villainous wave destroys their masterpieces,
Dogs run without leashes chasing frisbees, Moms read their trashy romance novels, sitting in old wicker chairs,
Dads throw their kids into the ice-cold Michigan water, Sisters run off to get their cones of Superman and Bluemoon ice-cream from the concession stand, Brothers splash and wrestle each other in the Lake Michigan Water.
The sun goes down, the hotdogs and hamburgers have been cooked, and the chilly, summer breeze has set in.
The wicker chairs are put away, the towels are shaken off for sand, and the cooler is repacked and carried off.
The kids go on the deck and wash their feet off with the hose and look up at the clear, translucent stars before they head off to bed for the night and dream of the magics of being at Lake Michigan.
Kaitlin,
You’ve given us so many lovely details of an idyllic day at the lake. I giggled when I read the line about moms reading trashy romance novels. They’re not awaiting the night to dream. Lovely imagery throughout. Makes me long for summer lake time. Thank you.
—Glenda
Kaitlin,
I love this line: Tiny fish swim past your feet, and pebbles blister your feet,
In the early lines of your poem, I wonder who the “your” is. Are you speaking to someone familiar? I feel like you are inviting each of us into this place to imagine children, dogs, dads, brothers and our place in those wicker chairs before they were put away.
Love this!
Sarah
Kaitlin, your personification of the waves makes the images in your poem so strong!
Children drag their pails of sands up and down the beach until a villainous wave destroys their masterpieces,
Metaphorically, your poem alludes to Robert Burns’ lines about the “best laid plans”. However, the kids in your poem just keep going, eager for the next challenge. Another “teaching” to us readers…. to keep going even when the villainous waves of COVID 19 destroy our masterpieces of wonderful plans for the closing weeks of the school year!
Thanks.
Kaitlin,
What beautiful descriptions of Grand Haven. Some of my favorite phrases: “Roaring Red lighthouse” “crash of freshwater waves” (Who knew?) and “the magics of being at Lake Michigan”.
This place holds great memories for me. I have New Year’s Day memories of walking in Grand Haven with my future husband. It was my first time being in the Midwest in winter, so you might imagine my surprise at seeing the ragged frozen waves of Lake Michigan–I really did never know that Lake Michigan had waves. My winter memories are a far cry from the summer masterpiece you have painted here. Thanks for the memory of a special place.
Annie and Abigail, this assignment is fascinating. It will take some thinking time as I go for a walk. Annie, I loved this line: “A blue-green tablecloth, draped over a city of fish.”
And Abigail, these are an amazing images.
“The mountain deserves a congregation. It gets dynamite.
West Virginia I worship you. Your valleys and flattened peaks.”
Thank you. I will try to be contemporary and abstract!
Details of a Driveway Visit
The blue painter’s tape
running down the middle of the driveway
separates us.
So completely-
like mountains sprouted from seeds
like oceans born from salty tears
like walls fought for with hateful hearts.
But how can a child understand borders?
Mo,
This is a powerful juxtaposition of concrete barriers and nature. I love the last line and it’s questioning if man’s inhumanity to man. I also love that I didn’t expect the line preceding it give the two before it. Love this poem. Thank you.
—Glenda
Mo — you capture the loneliness of our shared isolation so well. It is especially challenging for parents of children and teens. “But how can a child understand borders?” speaks volumes!
Ohhhh man oh man, this hurts! Truth hurts. Our world is hurting.
“like mountains sprouted from seeds/like oceans born from salty tears…”
The vastness and sadness of this difficult but necessary separation.
Hugs.
Mo, the blue tape symbolizes so much in our world today! What a powerful sign of our times – – tape in driveways, tape on floors in checkout lines. The heart of a child wants to love all people – in spite of health, in spite of differences. This is powerful.
This brings “Mending Wall” to mind, but the 2020 version of those barriers and borders that are hard to understand – especially to children. I love the third stanza and the parallels created that move from natural to man-made – very poignant.
Annie and Abigail,
Thank you for hosting. I love today’s prompt, love the inspiration poem, love both your poems. Annie, my favorite part of your poem is the turn of phrase in the lines “they live…they die…” Abigail, I love the ecological ethic in your poem, the way it challenges corporate power w/out calling it out.” Both of you have written exceptional poems. Thank you.
When you live near a national park, you visit often. A couple years ago I watched a crowd disperse during Old Faithful’s eruption when a bear appeared in that area of Yellowstone. The crowd chased the bear, and the ranger perusing the bear.
“Detail of the Geyser“
We watchers of the steam await the rising.
A watery mountain forces its way skyward.
What seismic miracle birthed this wonder?
Nature’s fountain bursts skyward. Recedes.
From earth’s crust: bubbling caldron.
From nature’s plan: uncanny mystery.
A bear crosses our path.
Superior diversion distracts watchers.
Have faith in this watery wizard.
Return. Resee. Watch again.
—Glenda Funk
So glad you liked the prompt! I really love the “uncanny mystery” of your geyser — the unknown of nature is so vast, and I love that this reminds us that we have so much to learn about our environments. The geyser in your prom seems so god-like, maybe in part because of that last couplet. Wonderful job! Thank you for participating!
You are so fortunate to live where you do, Glenda. You’ve put me right there with the tourists. I’m sitting at my kitchen island wondering how I would react to such beauty and such excitement all at once. Your final stanza is wonderful. Thanks for sharing your view.
I have never been to see “Old Faithful” but the picture you paint of the “earth’s crust as a bubbling caldron” creates a feeling of awe and wonder in me. Thank you.
Glenda, I love how you describe this scene. “From earth’s crust: bubbling caldron” and “uncanny mystery” both are such exquisite descriptors. The “watery-wizard” adds to the magic of “Old Faithful.” I’ve longed to visit Yellowstone; I hope to within the next year or two. Your poem whets that desire. Honestly, I can’t imagine chasing the bear though. Crazy!
Glenda, the magnificence of nature pulls me in both directions here – I want to see the geyser, but I want to see the bear, too. Your lines From earth’s crust: bubbling cauldron and From nature’s plan: uncanny mystery certainly shape your poem into a full-spectrum nature extravaganza. I wouldn’t know how to contain myself during a double feature like this!
I love all the w’s – We watchers, watery wizard, wonder, await, way, skyward, watch…they make the poem such a fun read aloud, for my ear. I love the movement described here, “Nature’s fountain bursts skyward. Recedes.” – such a great way to describe this mysterious process. There’s mystery in that last line as well, I think, with the word “resee” – as in, you can’t possibly understand it all yet, dare to resee, see it differently. Love the word!
Love this, “Have faith in this watery wizard.” You don’t have to name what we know. That bear is perfect…nothing to see here, I can imagine it thinking. Beautiful and precise words make this shine: sesmic, caldron, uncanny. A fun poem. I read it again for fun.
Detail Of The Midwest Prairie
My fingers brush across grasses
Shafts to blades to seed-heads, prairie painted.
An inflorescence on the verge.
Not yet the golds of harvest.
Not still the greens of springtime.
Confined in summer squares quilted by tractors.
A menagerie planted by farmers
And consumed by the masses.
A reaping of the earth.
I feel many lines in your poem but probably the feeling of fingers brushing across grasses. I love the golds and greens and “confined in summer squares quilted by tractors”. Your description in this poem is wonderful.
Jennifer, your poem is so picturesque! I loved the lines, “An inflorescense on the verge,” and, “Confined in summer squares quilted by tractors.” Those images are perfect to me.
Jennifer,
I love the Midwest prairie, especially as Willa Cather paints it w/ words in “My Antonia.” I love the i between seasons prairie you celebrate in your poem. Standout words for me: inflorescence, menagerie, reaping. Lovely poem.
—Glenda
I love the beautiful imagery you use in your poem especially the lines, “Not yet the golds of harvest. Not still the greens of springtime.”
Thank you for sharing!
As a city animal, your poem paints the details of some sort of magical place I’ve never experienced. I was lost in this prairie and could feel the brush against my fingertips as I read your poem. These lines entranced me:
Not yet the golds of harvest.
Not still the greens of springtime.
Jennifer, your poem takes me away today! It is SO reminiscent in tone and topic of one of my favorite writers – Aldo Leopold, in A Sand County Almanac. Prairie Birthday is one of my favorite essays by him, and this statement in his writing is what reminds me so much of your poem: What a thousand acres of Silphiums looked like when they tickled the bellies of the buffalo is a question never again to be answered, and perhaps not even asked. Your last line and your first line sweep me into a deep love of conservational writing and the ways we are one with the earth. Thank you so much for this!
My senses were all over when reading your poem. I could feel the grass, my eyes started to itch knowing if I were there my allergies would be getting the best of me. I especially love the image of “confined in summer squares quilted by tractors.” Thanks for sharing such a beautiful image with us today!
Jennifer — I really LOVE this. The prairie is such a rich, sensory experience. The sense that i’m running my hands along the grasses…”shafts to clads to seed-heads, prairie painted.” MMM-mmm — yummy. And the colors that are sort of inbetween…I like that “not yet” business! “Quilted by tractors” — yes, you’re tapping my farm days! Lovely! Thank you! Susie
oooooh. prairie painted is lovely…along with quilted by tractors. And, that last line. Wow. This poem is very tight. Not a single wasted word…each one is needed for the reaping. Bravo.
Ann and Abigail, thank you for your prompt and good luck with following your English education. I pray that you next year will be fruitful and end much better than this semester.
The Quiet House
Early morning sun sires
A shy bride waiting
blushing at the river’s edge
Gazing at golden hearts
I feel your heavy weight
In my arms
The cat is crazed
Skittering across the floor
I sense you’re here
Shadows flit
Gold, blue, pink
The house is still
Just remember whispers
You and me
Together forever
Barb Edler
April 20, 2020
Barb, I love the quiet opening to your poem, the shy bride blushing at river’s edge. And you continue to give us that serenity – shadows flit, the house is still, just remember whispers. These are such beautiful lines.
Barb, I think the short lines and soft sounds in your poem really help to create a mood of serenity and calm. Your last line makes me think of quarantining and being together forever!
Barb,
This is a lovely visual of a house and its occupants. I love this “shy bride” and “heavy weight” images. They remind me of youthful days. I love the quiet, steadfast tone. Lovely. Thank you.
—Glenda
Barb, there is a spiritual feeling in this poem – one of presence, perhaps one gone but coming back for a visit and the cat senses this. I love it! This is the kind of literature – the questions, the mysteries – that simply wrap me up!
Wow. I have so many feelings about this prompt. First of all, Annie and Abigail, thank you for introducing me to a new poet and I’ve been lost in reading some of his other stuff. I like the many rules you put in place while simultaneously telling us to be unconstrained. I’ve always liked rules but I do my own thing too so I like it. I don’t know if I like having too much to write or not enough. It was interesting trying to decide on what lines I wanted to keep after brainstorming!!! Annie, I like the anaphora and antithesis you include in your “no peace lines”. Abigail, I like your questions of “how” and “why” and the statements you have written in your fifth stanza. “Remember my name. How I spoke of you.” Powerful.
Detail of Ratargul Swamp Forest
Roots and branches crawling from water to sky,
like hundreds of hands raised to heaven.
When does your existence end?
A silent, shadowed maze tucked away.
Baptism in a cha milk tea river,
Everything works together here.
Follow the leader into the water,
Follow the leader out of the water.
You are meant to be exactly where you are,
Connected in wonder. Don’t close your eyes.
Your words immerse me directly into the swamp forest with “roots and branches crawling from water to sky like hundreds of hands raised.” I love the baptism in the cha milk tea river – so beautifully worded. The anaphora builds both pushes and pulls the direction of the reader and the poem.
Angie,
I love the way you’ve juxtaposed the swamp w/ a religious ceremony. You’ve masterfully entwined the imagery of both that I needed to reread to untangle which belongs to which. I see the “branches crawling to sky, / like hundreds of hands raised to heaven.” It creates a vision on the congregation watching the baptism in my mind. Lovely poem.
—Glenda
I’m so glad you enjoyed the prompt! Siken is one of my favorite poets, but he’s somewhat unknown. “You are meant to be exactly where you are, / Connected in wonder. Don’t close your eyes.” — I LOVE THIS! One of my hopes with this prompt is that we would be reminded just how much we are a part of nature, and how much it is a part of us! This last couplet does that so well and I really loved that ending. It felt so fitting. Thank you for sharing!
Angie, this image of the swamp forest personifies the trees and casts just the right light of a heavenward glance and reach:
Roots and branches crawling from water to sky,
like hundreds of hands raised to heaven.
That’s absolutely an image of praise!
We all have heard the expression “miss the forest for the trees.” I think it is possible to miss the trees for the forest. Here you bring the forest to life by helping us see the trees -roots, branches, and all.
This poem brings a holiness to the forest. It bears many rereadings.
Thank you.
Annie and Abigail,
This prompt is inspirational. I love your description of Siken’s piece. Both of you have captured the feeling of your chosen place. Annie, a blue-green tablecloth, draped over a city of fish stopped me cold. I had to re-read it. It’s such a beautiful image. Abigail, the mountain deserves a congregation. It gets dynamite did the same for me. There’s such impact with those words. Thank you both! (Edited to add, I went back to read Siken’s after reading yours and I like both of yours much better!)
Oh, thank you! I’m so glad you enjoyed the prompt!
Ann and Abigail,
Thank you for a meaningful prompt today ant invites us to invoke memory in our feelings about special places. Anne, I love the blue-green tablecloth metaphor in your poem, and Abigail, the dirt and grass stains you carry reinforce the way the mountains are a part of you! Your collaboration and writing are beautiful expressions today!
Thank you so much! I’m glad we’re getting people thinking about nature and/or their places — this quarantine has reminded me to cherish it and spend more time in the daylight.
Annie and Abigail, thanks for the wonderful prompt and mentor poems. They make me think of Salvador Dali and how I don’t really understand modern paintings except I sometimes feel them. Annie, I adore this line: “A blue-green tablecloth, draped over a city of fish.” Abigail, this line should be painted on signs in the mountains, “The mountain deserves a congregation. It gets dynamite.” Thank you both for your plans to teach. I’m truly energized by the energy and dedication new teachers bring into the field. We need you both!
Now for my poem — inspired by “Detail of the Woods”
Detail of the Creek Bed in August
I looked at all the rocks and stones and dust
and sniffed for hint of rain.
Surely Ezekiel’s valley of bones might offer solace.
Everyone needs sunshine. But not so alkaline yellow
as to sterilize life from limb. Cottonwoods, green leafy light.
From the silt: a mandala for scorpions.
From heat waves: a mandala for scorpions.
I looked up and down the creek bed. A sense of authorship.
There are stories waiting to spring here.
Insects in amber have always known the taste of gold.
Even though you don’t describe the smell of rain, I can still smell it right here through the action line you’ve written. I really love “everyone needs sunshine”.
Love “a mandala for scorpions” Wow! And your last line “taste of gold” is golden. Wonderful word choices in your poem today.
Just that hint of possible rain (sniffed for hint) within the dust and valley of bones is enough to offer hope. You return to that hope in “there are stories waiting to spring here.” A beautiful connection.
Linda, what lovely images! A mandala for scorpions – insects in amber have always known the taste of gold. That creek bed is Rick with treasures waiting to be discovered.
Love the internal
Rhyme – sniffed/hint, bones/solace. Beautiful!
Linda,
My favorite parts of your poem are the allusion to Ezekiel and the way you notice the creek bed as an author, a source of stories. The way a creek Ed transforms w/ the seasons is a miracle offering something new w/ each visit. Love this. Thank you.
—Glenda
Thank you so much! I am glad to hear you enjoyed the prompt! The line “Surely Ezekiel’s valley of bones might offer solace.” stopped me in my tracks. It’s so full of imagery for me. You achieved that omniscience that we asked for so well, and it’s such a chilling and surreal image. Thank you for participating!
Linda, I loved the image of story in Siken’s poem, and you have taken the image and added some richness to your poem. I love the stories “springing” from the creek. This whole stanza is beautiful–
I like the allusion to the dry bones of Ezekiel’s valley.
You have really written an effective poem according to Annie and Abigail’s prompt and honoring the voice of Siken, as well. Thanks for this.
Detail of Sapelo River
your marsh and river at dawn and dusk
ever-changing palette of brilliant hues,
a back I scratched on novice skis,
arm I tickled casting lines, nets, shells;
you picked up the dinner check:
deviled crab, steamed shrimp, fried fish,
and lulled me in a dock hammock as I listened
for playful dinnertime blowholes,
an empty mollusk shell now –
priced far less than all you’ve given.
What a wonderful sense of place! This river teaches, picks up dinner, lulls to sleep….given everything. This river is a parent. Absolutely beautiful.
What moves me in this poem is the food. It moves my stomach. Haha. And also, “priced far less than all you’ve given”. I like your movement to different parts throughout.
Wonderful details and I love “You picked up the dinner check”
With each reading, your words become richer. Your personification of the river is woven throughout (back I scratched, arm I tickled, you picked up the dinner check – my favorite!) The empty mollusk shell – wow!
Wow I’ve been confused by that line this entire time – I didn’t think WATER SKIS! HA! So great.
Kim,
I’m drawn to the way the river sparks various memories for you: watching blowholes, lying in a hammock, eating its bounty of fish. Now I want to know more about the river’s fate implied in the line, “Priced far less than all you’ve given.” Thank you.
—Glenda
That second couplet does so much for the poem, and reaches out to personify the river into something more. I loved the metaphor of the scratching and tickling — it reminds you of the speakers importance and connection to the poem. That final line really solidifies the rest of the piece — “prices far less than all you’ve given” — WOW! Beautiful. It reminds us that a place can be more than a place, and that a place shouldn’t be a poem. I feel like I can see the inspiration of Siken’s poem, but you made this so much your own. Great job! Thanks for participating!
Kim — It makes me want to go to Sapelo River and soak up those beautiful details. There’s an ease in the poem… a sort of slowing down to see sensation… I think it’s the U sounds – dusk…hues…lulled…mollusk…. all so worth it! I looked it up on the map…wow! It’s out there almost in the Atlantic! That must really be something! You’ve offered up a lovely slice of Sapelo Pie! Thanks! Susie