Our #OpenWrite Host
Jennifer Guyor-Jowett has taught English and Literature for over 30 years to 7th and 8th graders, contributes to the BlinkYA blog, and writes Educator Guides for MG and YA titles. She has written with fellow teachers at Aquinas College as a Summer Writing facilitator and occasionally co-hosts #MGBookChat. Follow her on Twitter @jenjowett .
Day 2, December Inspiration
Perhaps because travel is currently limited, I have been thinking of journeys and have resorted to traveling the landscape of google. I spent some time travelling with Anna Sherman’s poetic journey along the Silk Road through China. (Read more about Sherman’s journey and find inspiration in photos here: https://www.nytimes.com/2020/05/11/t-magazine/china-desert.html)
Along her journey, Sherman is reminded of these lines by the poet Li Bo, (translated by Rewi Alley):
We who live on the earth
are but travelers;
the dead like those
who have returned home;
all people are as if
living in some inn,
in the end each and every one
going to the same place.”
(https://www.poetryfoundation.org/harriet/2020/05/poetry-as-a-compass-in-one-travelers-journey-through-china)
You might also find inspiration through these visual maps @storycamp_disco:
https://www.instagram.com/p/CGf_jILnYMF/
https://www.instagram.com/p/CGdH98dH2Bk/
https://www.instagram.com/p/CGZzTBYH3yO/
https://www.instagram.com/p/CGZvByMn6M3/
https://www.instagram.com/p/CGXT48GnLtb/
https://www.instagram.com/p/CGS28lsneFY/
Process
Explore the concept of journeys. Travel in your mind. You have the freedom of going anywhere, in any direction you like. I hope my journey allows you an escape, even momentarily.
Jennifer’s Poem
Journeys
First light, soft in morning.
Navigators take warning.
Landscapes of order
border chaos.
We travel in images,
short synaptic bursts
firing us forward
along fairydust roads.
Our steppes mark passage
like plucked pears
as we drop sunbeams
into our shadows.
We follow singing sands
and windless air
guided by bones
posted at intervals,
reminders of what’s to come
and what’s already been.
We salvage stone fragments
along a map
housing honeycombs
and nested twigs and grasses,
colorful yarns and threads
gathered like field flowers
in petals and pollen,
while finding our way home.
Your Turn
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 just started participating in these today, however I was drawn to this topic and wanted to share. Forgive me in advance. I am not an English teacher. I teach Special Education and just enjoy poetry.
December 17, 1976
I heard his boots clip clop down the hall.
I gulped down my last bite of cream of wheat
grabbed my coat.
Shut the front door – he in the drivers seat
Lighted up a Kool.
Smoke escaped through his nose and twirled around dancing
I wrenched myself up
into that burnt sienna Chevy
He called Hoss.
Man of few words
in silence we rode
My thoughts sang out
With each turn and dirt road
Trees of frozen mannequins curtsied
The gray sky applauded stone faced shown
I landed on the wings
of a red tail hawk
Breakfast is served
Beneath prickly prairie grass
My mind escaped passed my imagination
I was jolted and tossed.
He stopped by that little barb-wire gate.
He grabbed the red handled axe
Gave me a nod
my pink payless rubber boots
Toppled out of that truck
He reached down and took my hand
we crossed through the dry creek bed
With a crunch crunch crunch
Up the bank to the pond
Frozen with wonder
lifeless
I heard thundering and snorting
As the horses encircled
like a field full of summer fire flies.
The silence protested at the sound of his voice
“Move back and don’t move”
He raised that axe high
Crashing it down
Ice shattered and splashed
Backed away slowly
He reached for my hand
Counted in silence
They were all here.
They snorted and pawed
The ice bobbed up and down
All out of beat
As breath from their lungs danced in their eyes.
Lowered heads
such power and grace
His boots told the story
As I tagged behind
Holes in his sole
Worn in all seasons
I jumped in the seat of that old sienna Chevy
Traveled and beaten.
Robyn, I am so glad I traveled back here to explore your poem. The visuals burst throughout your lines. My favorites: “trees of frozen mannequins curtsied… I landed on the wings of a red-tailed hawk.” But those holes in the boots stole my heart.
Memory Lane
By: Emily Yamasaki
A mug
A novelty cup
You gifted me during
First period
English
You told me it reminded you of me
17 years and it’s still in the cupboard
An earring
Given then to an ungrateful
Teenager
Now wrapped in red velvet
I peek at the pearls
You once wore and wonder when
I’ll be woman enough
to bear them
Peets by campus
Always the corner table
where we
Swapped glances
secrets
dreams
Nothing
No souvenir
Is needed from our trip
To remind us of
The warmth in the air, the water,
The tub, the bed
A blanket
With red, blue
And green handprints
The first thing
You ever wore
In this world
Emily, what a beautiful take on today’s prompt. A journey down Memory Lane. Such beautiful images of sweet memories. It makes me want to do a similar journey. I’ll be moving residences in 2021, so I’m sure I’ll be considering memories as I prepare. My favorite lines are about the pearls. This speaks volumes how you wonder about being woman enough to bear them. Oh, my goodness! So powerful.
Absolutely stunning. I laughed out loud just at the title! I never thought of taking the journey in that direction. Lovely concept. Each one of these tugged out my own memories – I smiled at the mug (one in my cupboard as well), teared at the earrings (the rosary I keep tucked in a leather box), recalled soooo many days spent at that corner cafe table in grad school, the hot tub getaways – the life cycle beginning anew. Awwww… What a wonderful way to start my Monday. Thank you so very much!
Emily, what a perfect lane to travel down for this prompt. I appreciate the simplicity of each item (mug, blanket, earrings) that understates their very complexity.
Solitary travel
We reside in a confined space called home.
Where time slips by unnoticed until marked by a moment.
Days pass filled with the predictable moments.
Lesson plans completed late at night.
An election celebrated in the hill country one night.
Strangers at picnic tables stare misty eyed at phones.
Connections across two states, a bordering country by phone,
mark evenings filled with chatter, the reason for the call.
Holidays pieced together with vestiges we call
ours. Mini-celebrations of chemo’s last day.
A classroom left vacant with a last day
on the horizon. Packed boxes piled on tables.
Thirteen years here, now I depart with Mother’s table.
We reside in the confined space called home.
Ah, Jamie, you wrote a duplex poem. I remember when we did this form earlier this year.
The solitary travel poem sounds lonely, yet there is an emphasis on the phone calls and connections with others in the middle of the poem. Lots of moments expressed on your solitary journey through this chapter are heartwarming and give me hope.
Jamie, this is lovely. I’d forgotten this form, but Denise says it’s a duplex poem. The repetition creates an echo that works so well with the hallow emptiness of “late at night…strangers…vestiges…vacant…depart.” The overall feel is haunting. One of my favorite lines: “time slips by unnoticed until marked by a moment.”
Thank you.
I’m glad Denise (the other Denise!) mentioned the form. I love how subtle is is – I noticed it and felt the pull of the repetition guiding me through the reading, but it was not distracting at all. Nicely done. As I looked at this prompt, I laughingly said to myself, “But I don’t go anywhere – and I’m quite content to stay right here!” (Mind you, I have traveled…) I couldn’t quite figure out how to express that sense of home being its own journey – and you have absolutely captured that here. These two words are a powerhouse: “Mother’s table.” Wow. Sometimes, that’s all you need to get a complete sense of story.
Had a lot to think about today with this prompt.
Grandmother,
Tonight we sat across the table
from one another, finely
chopping fruit,
I in the middle of life
and you
its end making itself known
in gnarled hands and
unsteady eyesight.
A thin, brittle recipe sits
in the empty place
between us–
A road map for us to follow,
you holding my hand
as you always did so many years ago.
You tell me stories of people
long gone
as we form the cookies and cakes
that have
become heirloom ornaments
for each Christmas season.
I balance a tray of perfectly
rolled spheres of dough with one hand
and you with the other
when you leave your cane
behind.
I rewrite the recipe, copying
your notes and updating
measurements—a dime’s worth of coconut
isn’t going to make many cakes, after all.
Despite its necessity,
it feels sacrilegious
to translate the verses
you penned the better part of
a century ago.
I want this ancient scrap of paper,
the back of a grocery receipt,
with a vicious jealousy
more that I want the sweet delight
its ink offers up.
What else am I to cling to
when your hand no longer guides mine?
In the brief moments of rest,
we sit in silence,
you a million miles from me,
waltzing with memories you left
behind on the path;
I stare ahead,
motionless,
to a road bereft
of your light.
For now,
We walk a road together,
hand-in hand,
you and I.
I no longer know who
guides who when your shuffling steps
stumble
and my eyesight too new to see
the road for what it is.
I know only that one day,
this road will take your hand from mine
and without your hand in mine
how very lost I am going to be.
Andrea, what a treasure. I am so glad I came to read and weep today over your poem. My, you have captured a moment here and a universal truth, undenied and so beautifully presented–“this road will take your hand from mine” Wow!
One of my favorite images is that the cookies and cakes have become the ornaments of the season…
That is an image I am taking away from your poem. That is the value of the old recipes. They dress up our holidays with something so much more than what they really are. Your poem has touched me today. I love the journey you take us on.
Beautiful! This is a subject I know so well. What a memory and treasure for years to come.
Losing Our Way
You and I trek across life’s fickle frontier
which once yielded a landscape of wonder
ribbons of dusty roads and undulating hills,
cascading mists of waterfalls and
cottages nestled in deep green sanctuary
castles holding history, bound behind
thick walls and parapets, like our years together,
entwined, entombed in this history we have,
however, broken is still unyielding,
is still our journey we traverse together
to suffer fresh wounds, to ignore our closed
hearts, we have forgotten the wonder
we alone,
together
grow
old
Tammi, I feel the love but the staleness that has set into a long term relationship. It is so hard to traverse together, suffering and ignoring closed hearts. As we get older it is easy to forget the wonder. This poem makes me commit again to being fresh and finding the wonder of youth.
Your poem is singing so loudly to me. I love the word choices in the poem: cascading, entwined, entombed…
So beautiful!
I—we—journey through this well-worn, unknown
territory. Twenty down, twenty weeks
to go. Invisible change: bone,
organ, tissue, vessel. My low back creaks.
Cells install new plumbing that requires tweaks.
As it’s evolving into its new form
I try to listen as my body speaks.
We prepare as if awaiting a storm;
contemplating the future keeps us warm.
Like packing for a months long trip at sea:
Gather stock, consult pros for the new norm.
Savoring the now while planning is key.
We charge on from one journey to the next
full of joy yet increasingly perplexed.
Thank you, Jennifer, for this prompt today. I’ve been craving a chance to write about my current journey, but hadn’t made the time. And, thanks, Allison—if you see this!—for inspiring me to tackle a sonnet; a new form of the sonnet for me at that!
Laura, I love this because I know you’re navigating new territories within! Wow, you hit the nail on the head. I especially love the contrast at the onset:
You (both) are in good hands and remember to stay “full of joy” no matter what!
Laura — what a beautiful journey you are on. A expectant mother’s body is amazing. Even after all the years, my youngest is 13, I still remember the excitement and the aches and pains which you have captured so vividly.
Oh, I am so tickled!
I’m also intrigued! Tell me more about this “new form” of sonnet!
Let me share the movie of my mind:
“well-worn unknown” was a brilliant oxymoron that immediately felt right to me.
I appreciated the transition into the body in “twenty weeks
to go. Invisible change: bone,
organ, tissue, vessel.”
VESSEL! The word set my mind alight! Body as a vessel? Holding something?
At 60, I recognized the body’s language of aging. You expressed this well.
And then as your sonnet turns and resolves, you move beautifully into the “journey at sea” metaphor: packing for the long haul.
Oh, I feel this!
The closing couplet is resounding: each journey increasingly complex. Beautiful.
Allison, I loved reading my poetry through you, thank you for that! The form I wrote in today is a Spenserian (I found it on the Master Class site after doing a quick search to remember what the guidelines are). I typically write Petrarchan or Shakespearean with students, so I thought I’d challenge myself today. It was time-consuming, but that’s what a cold, rainy Sunday is for!
I love this line – contemplating the future keeps us warm.; savoring the now; so happy you have chosen this journey and that you are embracing it
Love, Mom
My daughter lived in Northern England at one point during a study abroad and she consistently discussed her walks to school.
A Daily Journey to get an Education
Coat on, boots on, backpack on, excitement on
catch the bus, if it comes, and head East
otherwise walk a mile and a half through
the Northern forest to get to class,
Some days you’re passing Rugby players
who gaze at the clouds and imagine victory
Other days passing dozens of sheep
who ignore you yet seem to move closer
with every step you take.
Occasionally its raining so hard, the road
is washed out and you and others
have to practically swim to school in feet of mud.
Once in a while, there is a minibus that takes you
on a meandering journey past the stadium,
past a hospital, and past young children who stare
out of windows, straight to the university.
On the journey home, the minibus wanders past
a lake, pastures, more sheep, and small hills.
Once you’re closer to the school community,
there are shops, places to buy food and
plenty of tea to drink.
Seana, I loved traveling with your daughter on her journey to school. Your selection of details paints such a cozy scene! I spent a college semester in London, which was a different daily experience but this takes me back to my days exploring smaller towns. Thanks for the trip!
These images are spot on. I was in England for a semester when I was in college many, many moons ago and your images of passing dozens of sheep and rain brought back so many memories.
Preface: A joy of mothering my adult children is visiting them in their far-flung locales. The journeys I most long for now are to see them, and especially my 5-month-old grandson, whom I have not yet touched.
Journeys to Visit My Children
On the warm Florida beach
I’d throw Mia’s blue ball into the surf
as we reminisce about Spain
High above frosted Utah ski slopes
I’d wipe the fog from my goggles as
we plan our next descent
At a sungold Denver dog park
I’d meet Seth
while Tina romps with Willet
In the steam of a Des Moines hot tub
I’d listen to the family’s joys and woes as
Marty and S’more watch us through the frosted window.
Under the broad Montana sky
We’d talk about Thoreau and Hemingway
while Nali chases quail
And then I would board the plane
For New Zealand
27 hours later I would
Lift my grandson
From his mama’s arms
I would nuzzle
Into the soft ripples of his warm neck
I would gobble him up
I would trace the dimples
On his knuckles
and the creases Chubby Boy
wears as bracelets
I would squeeze his gorgeous thighs
Kiss his round Budda belly
I would this-little-piggy
And hobbledy-hobbledy-gee
I would peek-a-boo
We’d sing “El Señor Don Gato”
And “Johnny Verbeck”
I would strap him to my chest and walk across
The pasture
Taranaki’s peak on the horizon
I may not come back
Oh Allison, I love the postcards from your fond travel memories to-be. Your imagined trip to NZ brought tears. I know that the snuggles and games will be so sweet whenever they finally come!
Allison — I love the joy in this poem and can’t help but smile at these beautiful images: I would trace the dimples/On his knuckles/and the creases Chubby Boy/wears as bracelets. I hope that you get to see him soon.
Wow! I’ll need to come back to read this poem again sometime this evening when I can really soak it all the tiny and mighty details. Thank you for sharing this!
Today, I struggled to find my flow or my mojo with writing. I decided to go back to Allison’s February prompt using Twenty Questions. Since I was questioning EVERY word and thought, it made the most sense to go with the flow of questions.
What To Ask on My Journey to Self
Are you ready
for your journey into self?
Will you ask
the hard questions?
When it gets rough
will you push through?
Where do you want to begin?
May I start with fear?
What if my journey
leads me nowhere?
What if my seeking
takes me to some place
unknown?
Are you afraid of searching?
Is my truth farther
than lies?
When was my first break?
Where did the crack begin?
Was I broken before birth?
Is this part of a cycle?
How can I disrupt it?
How does the light get in?
Will memory save this journey?
Will I repeat it when I’m 80?
Will I know myself when I’m 90?
Will you remind me who I am?
Who am I searching for?
©Stacey L. Joy, 2020
Stacey, I always write my own poem before I begin reading others. As I hit “post” tonight, I shrugged off my displeasure with my poem’s “flow.” A millisecond later I was reading your expression of frustration with finding flow tonight. I am tickled that you returned to 20 questions! I’m going to remember that: In times of uncertainty, immobility, hesitation, or fear, peeling back the questions may be just the answer.
These were “shiver” lines for me:
“Is my truth farther
than lies?”
“Where did the crack begin?
Was I broken before birth?”
I loved the Cohen allusion! (I made a “minor fall and major lift” allusion myself a few months ago.)
The progression of your final lines, with “Who am I searching for?” at the end makes me want to write my own self-journey poem. I need to ask similar questions.
Thank you. <3
Stacey, you definitely found your flow! I love your take on the journey to self-discovery and your sequence of questions. I could see using your poem for a self-guided therapy session! Your last line lingers with me.
Thanks Laura! I’ve been thinking it’s time to go back to therapy. ?
Stacey — I really felt this one. I often find myself asking these questions to, wondering why everyone seems to be moving forward and I often feel stuck. These words especially spoke to me: “Was I broken before birth? and Will I know myself with I’m 90?/ Will you remind me who I am?/Who I am searching for?”
My Journey When I Sleep
As I am drifting off to sleep
I begin my journey through time
And there I see a lady weep
In prayer waiting for signs
She weeps for her girl, her baby
And the future that will be her fate
She weeps for abused hauteur
She weeps for the sword soon to sate
I approach her with words of sorrow
I tell her my traveling tale
I cannot change her morrow
Against her future she cannot rale
But I can offer her heart some solace
I can help put her mind at ease
Her daughter will drink from a chalice
All her hopes and dreams appeased
Her child will be called The Queen
And will rule o’er all the land
No man will ever stay her mean
She’ll take England to heights so grand
Her mother won’t be forgotten
Showered with pride she shall be
The love of her child begotten
Will change England’s history
Judi, this feels both mystical and real, as that time before sleep and dreaming often does. You offer us yet another kind of journey in your poem today. Thank you for letting us travel here with you.
Judi, it’s so good to see you here! I, too, enjoy pushing my thoughts against rhythm and rhyme patterns (although I didn’t do it tonight). I love how your “in” to the journey is through dream. The fairy-tale feeling comes through. Thank you for this gift of a poem!
Sorry if this sounds harsh, but I’m writing from a place of anger right now after seeing old friends of mine partying without care during this time of shutdown. My heart aches and I realize like in travel, you have to say goodbye as you journey on.
Saying My Goodbyes
By Nancy White
Moving on
Waving goodbye
to friends I must now
leave behind.
They party on while the world is dying
Touting, “My God will protect me!”
And flouting, “Faith over Fear.”
All the while silently spreading disease as
our good friend lies in the hospital with COVID,
maybe dying.
Their parties don’t stop.
Their home worship nights continue
as they breathe the germs in and out,
singing songs about God’s love.
I’m astounded.
Appalled.
Disgusted.
Moving on.
Waving goodbye.
These friends I thought I knew
I now must leave behind.
A poem of heartbreak. I, too, just don’t understand how anyone can be
I’m so sorry that you must ‘move on’; it feels like the right and necessary action at this time.
Nancy,
You have me thinking about break-up poems. Sometimes we have to break up with friends, sometimes even family. I hope writing this poem was cathartic.
Amen.
I respect your anger and your words. Touting and flouting—I know those people, as well. And I have moved away from them. Your honesty is warranted and your words are true.
Hurray for you to let them GO!!! I’m sorry for this kind of loss, one that shouldn’t even have to happen. My heart hurts whenever I see people so careless and cruel. I applaud you for knowing when it’s time to say goodbye. Hugs to you… safe, virtual, loving hugs!
?Stacey
Nancy, you write of a reality many people are facing. There are many good-byes we make as we move through life. This situation forced some to happen that many not otherwise have occurred.
Nancy,
Do not apologize. What you have done here is give voice to the anger and sadness many of us are feeling.
“home worship nights continue
as they breathe the germs in and out,
singing songs about God’s love”
The irony of this stanza is powerful.
I am so sorry for the sorrow you are experiencing as you realize friendships have run their course.
I have felt similar ruptures watching friends’ responses to the pandemic.
Thank you for taking hard feelings and giving them up to poetry. This helps us all.
Nancy,
I understand this anger, feel it too often towards my own family. Covid is breaking us all physically and emotionally, tearing friends and family apart. These lines really struck a chord with me, “Their home worship nights continue as they breathe the germs in and out singing songs about God’s love.”
This journey you write about is heartbreaking. The tone in your lines sound sad and also frustrated. This break up is one for the books.
I miss traveling so much! I can’t decide where I’d like to go first when it’s okay to travel again, so I used The Cure’s “Friday I’m in Love” as an inspiration.
Somewhere I Have Never Traveled
Monday finds me powering up the computer
Before sunrise, dreaming of the glorious golden
Break of day over Bryce Canyon
Tuesday’s funk begs, Go to Fiji!
A far-flung foray is guaranteed to revive the soul
Don’t forget the SPF 100, though
Wednesday whispers,
Get over the hump in Egypt
You’ve never ridden a camel, have you?
Thursday slides into my DMs
Urging me to rent an RV and cross the country
With my husband of soon-to-be (hopefully!) thirty-five years
Friday, I’m in love with the idea of exploring
The U. K.- England, Scotland, and Ireland
Let’s find our roots, eat pub food, and knock back a pint or two!
Saturday, wait! I have a devilish idea!
The Southern Lights would be and amazing bucket list checkmark!
How about the trip of a lifetime to Tasmania?
Sunday’s grounding, sensible voice shoots straight talk my way
Does it really have to be so far away? Why can’t you stay?
You know you’d rather be with your family anyway!
Oh, good old ee Cummings – somewhere I have never traveled, gladly beyond — YES! Love this travel tour and the sensible call at the end to love the moment you’re in.
I love this day to day dreaming and planning to travel. More than a bucket list, it is a now list put off until we all get the okay to go. When you go to ride a camel can I go too?
What a wonderful week of planning—I will go with you to any of those delightful destinations! Loved the hump day reference!!!
Mo, I so hope you are able to venture to all of these destinations soon. There’s not one on this list that I would miss, though we have roots were you do as well (and were supposed to be there this summer). Sunday is a day for reality and rest, which you bring us back to here.
Hey, Mo — You structured this perfectly. I like the idea of mind-tripping through the week. I’m ready to journey with you to a couple of these. I still want to go to Ireland and Scotland…I’ve spent quite a bit of time in Yorkshire, and I want to walk again in the moors over in Ireland…hear the friendly people’s stories. I giggled when you set your sights on Tasmania — I spent about a month there after I retired from the classroom…seeing the Southern Cross…damn, that was amazing, and the critters… holy cow! And the largest hardwoods in the world and lavender fields as far as the eye can see. It was THE coolest place I’ve ever been…like walking back in time. Just amazing. Fairy penguins at my feet, Tazzie devils that are battling extinction from some godawful disease, wallabies everywhere, saw a platypus lallygagging in a creek, brushy-tailed oppossums in trees in the night, their eyes reflecting in my flashlight. OO-oo-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha with the kookaburras lined up on the rain gutters at dusk. I could go on and on and on. And just think, your poem did that for me — got me all revved up about wondrous possibilities and grand memories. Thank you! Susie
Mo — This poem really made me smile. It if filled with whimsy, and you have made me want to travel to all the places you describe.
I’m heavily distracted this week. The communications from my students are beginning to show the impact of the new wave. The stories they share of losing loved ones is heartbreaking. That they even think to contact me to apologize for missed due dates is incredible. A repeated journey they have taken me on is through the stories of trying to be with loved ones as they die and, all too often, not being able to be there at all. I love reading the more ‘travely’ poems I see here – but this is the one that needs to get out of me at the moment.
I close my eyes
and I am there with you
in the car traveling north
hoping to make it in time
snow squalls beating down
wiper blades rhythmic thumping
red lights glow in bursts ahead
braking braking braking
“Never slam on the brakes in a storm”
you say to no one riding with you
Warm yellow lights of the city
fill the skyline as you coast into town
You won’t make it in time
that story will stay with you for life
Even when you reach the door
they won’t let you enter
But you will have been there
You will have safely brought yourself
To the place they left
You will have arrived
Denise, I’m so glad your students are reaching out to you at such a stressful time. They are lucky to have your compassionate ear. Your poem is lovely. You’ve really articulated that need to be there, even if we can’t really be there. Your words, “that story will stay with you for life” are haunting and true. Your ending line is beautiful and comforting.
The couplets of this poem are so poignant and caring, precious homage to the painful journeys so many are taking during this pandemic. There is heartbreaking reality in these two lines,
Thank you for this poem.
This poem hurts. It is beautiful, spare, and so full of feeling. I am in tears at the loss.
Denise, you are not alone. I, too, feel this shifting of energy, of wanting, of struggling to just BE. Your poem captures all the emotions and then some! I felt the cold, saw the lights, but also recall that feeling oh too well of not making it in time. These lines resonated with me like I was there in the car with you.
Thank you for sharing such a vulnerable experience. Sending virtual hugs.
?Stacey
My heart breaks with you. No words.
The poem that “needs to get out of me at the moment” is always the poem to write. I’m going to share this wording with my students.
I heard myself utter an audible sigh when I read your final stanza.
All the color and strong visual imagery propelled me through the poem, but this did me in:
“You will have safely brought yourself
To the place they left
You will have arrived”
Denise, your words are striking and heartbreaking. Your writing gleams with the care you give your students. They are so lucky to have you through their harrowing journeys.
Denise — This hurts so much. My heart breaks for your students. Your last lines “Even when you reach the door/they won’t let you enter/ but you will have been there/ you will have safely brought yourself/To the place they left/you will have arrived” — just so devastating for those families.
World Travel
World travel I’ve done
Foreign cultures, fun
beckon my inner soul.
So fierce
I can’t look
at a travel book
which will pierce
my heart with a goal.
Longing not met
my dreams, yet
stopped with pandemic prolonging.
Egypt, Beliz, a list to do.
China, Nepal, and Japan
Guatamala and Kzakhstan
and dear Peru.
All stopped for another year.
Hoping to reach places before
my body aches say “no more!”
Fly to exotic places, no fear.
Navigate rivers,
climb mountain trails,
getting no sleep,
bounce in a jeep
that delivers
contentment.
No resentment.
First aid ointment.
Tasting new foods.
Pepto-Bismol rests my tummy
elevating my moods.
People chummy.
New language and smiles
across hundreds of miles.
Human connections bringing
understanding, world peace.
Conflicts cease.
While feeling enlightened
yet weary,
the best part is said.
Coming home cheery
to sleep in my bed.
Susan, your sparse words boil down exactly what is so wonderful about traveling. There are so many wonderful places to visit! I can really relate to your concern about getting to places before your body doesn’t want to cooperate. I’m inspired by my older brother, who hiked Machu Picchu with us two years ago at the age of 72! I want to be like him when I grow up! Nothing beats coming home to your own bed- you are right about that!
Ditto, Susan! Travel is most fun when it becomes a fond memory and we’re back home in our own beds!
Susan, oh, how I wish to go to all of the places I see when looking through travel books (or instagram posts, more often) so I feel you here. And as much as I desire all of the travel, I agree. Getting to sleep in your own bed is the nicest return.
I witnessed what is probably a weekly journey for some during this pandemic, and decided I needed to write about it.
The Food Bank
all
down
the road
cars
backed up
stacked up
paused
one
after
another
traffic
blocked
seemingly
endless
relentless
line
feeling
crushed
stuck
barely
surviving
time
standing
still
nothing’s
fine
hope
depleting
slowly
incrementally
crawling
moving
trying
forward
seeking
needing
praying
desperately
gratefully
hungry
families
waiting
for
food
Thank you for the reminder that there are those in great need. The one word per line style makes me feel the monotony and desperation these folks must endure. ❤️
A skinny poem with lots to say… “stacked up, backed up” just a heartbreaking moment to capture, but important to remember. Thank.
Maureen,
Both the appearance of your poem on the page and the delayed completion reinforces the act of waiting, The long lines, the patience necessary, both are here. Hauntingly beautiful.
—Glenda
Maureen, the decision to format this as one long line allowed me to feel as if I were taking small steps forward, as if I were moving through the line. It slowed the pace as well. Very effective!
Wow. That ending. What a kicker! I was envisioning a traffic jam— your organization and form were perfect. And then —bam! Puts it all in perspective!
Your words are like the cars in lines, ominous how long the line is, I found it interesting that desperately was followed by gratefully and then hungry. Small snapshots in a line of 3 words – moving trying forward. You captured this image with your spare verse.
This is another great prompt. Thank you!
I must have been six or seven
When I first considered Heaven.
I had to love God more than mother,
More than myself, or any other.
This was a hard pill to swallow,
But I must if I would follow.
Heaven, it had streets of gold
And lakes of glass, so I was told.
Life got hard as I grew older,
Faith still flamed, though somewhat colder.
Despite it all, I love this place,
This big blue ball, the human race.
So if Heaven is for real,
I hope it has that hygge feel.
How fabulous to end with “that hygge feel”! What a lovely definition of heaven. I really liked these two lines:
“I had to love God more than mother,
More than myself, or any other.”
How hard heaven is to imagine for a young child, when put in terms like this!
And I was the only child living with a single mom. This was an impossible demand of any child.
Katrina, I can relate to the guilt and fear. I got that instilled in me at at a young age from my parents and church. Even “Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep” caused me anxiety about dying in my sleep. I worried about my parents losing me or me losing them. I still believe in heaven and I like to believe it is a place of great hygge feel! It has to be. Because unlike the stern old man in the sky I used to picture as God, I am certain He and His heaven are full of life, love, beauty, humor, and fun!
Katrina, these lines really spoke to me today: “Life got hard as I grew older, Faith still flamed, though somewhat colder.” You’ve taken us on a living journey here, one so real and natural. I like that contrast between flaming faith, even if it is colder.
Find your compass
There’s a compass in my jewelry box
Small and silver, hanging on a chain.
My mother gave it to me when I left for junior year abroad
Reminding me of a saying from an artist we both loved
“No matter where you go, there you are.”
I spent six months in London, England looking my place in the world.
Twenty-five years later, I’m in Illinois and she is in Pennsylvania;
It’s much closer than England, but it might as well be a world away when travel isn’t an option.
The compass reminds me of my mother and how she pushed me to explore the world but always come home to her.
What a beautiful and precious symbol your compass is. It makes me think of the internal compass our mothers helped to shape within us.
What a precious gift from your mother! I love that quote, “No matter where you go, there you are.”
Alisha, what a special gift, one meaningful for a lifetime. It’s amazing how much further away you can feel when visiting is not possible. But what a beautiful mother you have!
Jennifer, I so love the images of finding our way home in your last stanza. I especially like the we’s and our’s in your poem because it included me. : ) These are such vivid images…
I really had nothing inspiring today for my poem, except I did stop to paint a little book like one of the links you provided. Maybe it will inspire a wilderness wandering poem someday, but for today it didn’t. I just decided to write my slow journey to becoming a Democrat.
Political Journey
Spirit of ’76 Grad and first time voter–
With a month to spare, I was
Eligible to vote in my first presidential election
I registered as an independent
Jimmy Carter earned my vote
That was an easy choice even for
a teen who cared more about getting a date with
Rick than about politics
But I did notice Watergate and a pardon,
Gerald Ford didn’t stand a chance, I thought
I continued through the years as an independent–
always looking at the two candidates
voting at times for Republicans,
other times for Democrats
When Obama was running in 2008, though–
Yes, we can! Hope! I was enthralled.
I went out and changed my 30-year independent
status to Democrat, so I could caucus for
Obama in Iowa.
After the caucus, I went straight back
to being Independent.
I always thought there was strength in
independence,
I was proud to be discerning, diplomatic Denise
I saw both sides. I was a good listener
and autonomous thinker.
Presidential elections are personal,
aren’t they? I didn’t want the party to decide.
I wanted to decide for myself.
When trump came down the garish escalator
in 2015 and spoke of Mexicans the way he did,
I couldn’t believe he didn’t get ostracized and
chased away from the process.
Republicans ate it up
and he ate up their souls
Somewhere during that primary season,
I became a
Democrat for good.
Denise, I think many of us can identify with the journey you describe here. I loved Jimmy Carter, but somehow my first Presidential vote went to Reagan in ’84. My inner Democrat emerged officially with the election of President Obama. Regardless of party affiliation though, I hope no one ever come along again to cause or continue the division we have now in our nation.
What a great journey to describe! This is such a fun line – “I was proud to be discerning, diplomatic Denise” – such a sweet way to describe oneself! Like you, for many years I was a proud ‘Independent’ and now feel there is no choice but Democrat. Honestly, I yearn for that feeling of discernment – when I actually had to think about my choices, consider pros and cons of each, rather than this feeling now where there is absolutely only one possible choice to be made. (In my opinion! Ha!)
Denise, I relate to this journey. These lines struck me, “Republicans ate it up and he ate up their souls.” That just describes it in all its horrifying reality. Thank you for giving us another take on a journey. here. I’m so glad you fit in a painting book as well!
Republicans ate it up and he ate up their souls. What an amazing line, and a summary of this year.
Denise — Me too! Your lines, “Republicans ate it up/and he ate up their souls” says it all. I won’t ever vote Republican again either.
To The Weirds
Once a day we turn to each other and sigh
“Remember places?”
And scroll through videos of rivers rushing,
ice cracking on a faraway pond,
a trickle of lava mixed with the smells of our home.
Sometimes we journey into our past over dinner
How was your prom?
Who was that Uncle Frank you hated?
What did you do in the summers?
But when we have no more energy for a 3,008th date,
we watch the flicker of shadows –
candle or Netlix.
We try to cook our way out of here
Bake those Swedish buns
A smooth saffron dough…
Well, that’s new.
An odd view of my parents on a screen
They look like they are peering down into a well at us
Or like we’re babies on their laps.
Open an envelope and waft the atmosphere of someone else’s house for a moment
New houses, dogs, babies inert on a holiday card without the motion
Of their puppy joy and tantrums, pots stirring, phones dinging,
realness overflowing –
we miss you.
A journey to a colonoscopy
Becomes an exotic escape
Anniversary candles dance in a hotel room
A salad and meatballs I didn’t make
No dishes for him to scrub
Just kicking back like a queen and a king
Thrones of desk chair and luggage bench.
We have travelled to the Weirds
And don’t know when we’ll be back.
Love this, Emily. I was smiling all the way through and yet my heart was aching, too.
first of all, the Weirds. what a perfect analogy! the “journeys” you are taking are those we are all limited to. (loved the exotic colonoscopy!!)
I love this! I want to read it again an again. It perfectly captures our long night’s journey into day.
Emily, what a pleasure this was to read (though I felt your longing to return to normal throughout). I appreciate your humorous take on this (to the Weirds) and felt as though I’ve experienced all of this with you, though your insightful views (seeing your parents on screen from the bottom of the well or as a baby on a lap) made me think of each in a new way.
Emily — This is so spot-on! I just love the sense that I’m a fly on the wall in your home, listening to your conversations, watching you Zoom with your folks (made me laugh…so weirdly true). Your voice in this is very clear, Em. It especially rings in lines like “we try to cook our way out of here.” That honest sense that you’re trying but it just is what it is…second best to the freedoms we knew not that long ago…yet it seems like eons now. Laughed again at the “exotic” colonoscopy “escape.” LOLOLOL! My fave, though, is the sensory burst of opening an envelope and getting a shot of someone else’s home. What a genius idea! I LOVE that! We have, indeed “travelled to the Weirds.” Great poem! Thank you! Susie
What Ifs?
Traveling in body or mind,
Sitting in a business class window
Soaring in a giant jet plane,
Or sitting by the window on a soft silky sofa
Soaring on the wings of words in a really short, succinct poem,
What fearful fantastic flights we can have!
When the airplane ride gets bumpy
Our minds fly to what-ifs.
What if the plane crashes in those mountains?
I won’t get to present at the conference!
What if the plane lands in the ocean?
I know I can’t swim all that far.
When the poems evoke those memories
Experiences we thought we had buried,
Our minds fly to what-ifs.
What if I hadn’t made that decision?
Would my life be much different now?
What if I could write like this poet?
Would I be famous, too?
Travel, travel travel
Flying in a plane and/or reading in a book
In physical and mental journeys,
Our minds take us to the what-ifs.
Anna, thank you for this reflection and permission for “our minds to fly to what-ifs” and acknowledging that many are “fearful fantastic flights.” I want to find some courageous flights to take today, too.
Anna, thank you for taking me with you on this journey even with its what-ifs.
Anna, what-ifs are the very best reason to travel and the perfect way to do it while we are confined. I love this line, ‘Our minds fly to what-ifs.” Imagination allows us to go anywhere – thank you for that reminder.
Anna — I particularly love your poem tonight. It speaks so honestly about the “what ifs” … real imaginings that we have… I’ve shared many of these same questions. Several phrasing soared here…
and
and my favorite
Thanks for sharing your mind-travels! Susie
I love to travel. Those here who know me either in person or via social media know this and might have seen pictures from my past travels. I’m reading Victoria Chang’s collection “Obit,” and found inspiration in her poems.
Travel Died: R.I.P.
Travel died March, 2020 when the
email cancellation arrived, and
wanderlust hit pause. A notice to
rebook, reboot included promises to
upgrade, but the virus interceded, an
apothecary pitching snake oil,
leeching life. No waving from
onboard to those flatlanders content
watching Discovery from their
couches while eating Chinese takeout. Do we travel to see or experience? Filling time we frame memories and stare at anachronistic blue passports.
—Glenda Funk
Glenda, I have seen your beautiful pictures and know you felt the pinch of the brakes! I will add the Chang book to my list – this sounds interesting! I join you in staring at my passport, friend!
You got it, Glenda. Just staring, wishing and hoping, but not daring to leave right now!
But, aren’t’ we blessed. We have this group with whom to share our frustrations, dreams, and aspirations. When this THING is over, we have friends we can travel to visit. Yea!!!!
Glenda! I so appreciate the layered meaning in the word “frame” and see it as an invitation to revisit places in photos but also frame the now and future.
Anachronistic blue passports— so true. i got mine last fall for a trip to India. Welp, that never happened! I envy your travel memories!
Glenda, thank you for making us consider travel and its purpose. I wonder if we travel to feel? I know it is cathartic for me.
I absolutely love this question, “Do we travel to see or experience?” Traveling gets all our senses employed, photos fall so short of the true experience. I am always struck by how my photos don’t do justice to the surrounds I visited. Ah, Glenda, here’s hoping – may good health continue and your suitcases be packed in the near future!
Glenda, you make me ponder my reason for travel here – thanks for provoking with that question. I feel the loss for you, from the title to the stare at the end. Oh, to experience wanderlust again.
Oh I too feel the great pause in travel. I have an adventurous spirit and feel caged during this pandemic. Yes, I do stare at my blue passport and wish. Can’t watch travel or read the travel section in the news because the longing hurts too much. Boy, we will have a lot of miles to catch up too when this is over!
The way you tell this I am reminded of those early days of the pandemic. When we “hit pause” it seemed so temporary. And now that temporary has taken on a life of its own making our passports anachronistic. You’ve captured that point in time.
No Compass Needed
It’s a small, small world these days.
Travel is short-distanced.
Excitement local.
It takes very little now.
Do we need cat food? I’ll go right now!
Walmart, with its bright lights and high shelves
is a wonderland,
Disney World on a budget,
The train departs from Home Depot,
the bus from CVS.
Filling the gas tank is a celebration of freedom.
Running out of milk is cause for a new outfit,
an excuse for mascara and blush.
A uniform has evolved:
Black leggings, loose top.
Forgiving sneakers.
Formal wear is jeans and tall boots.
Glamour is roughly defined.
Getting ready for travel takes no time at all,
as long as I pack my mask.
Backyard trips to watch the dogs run amuck
satisfy my need for adventure— to them,
the fence is the edge of the world.
Perhaps it is for me, as well.
My world is smaller these days.
gayle sands 12/20
Gayle, this is a lot of fun (all the while couching a more somber message)! “Running out of milk is cause for a new outfit / an excuse for mascara and blush” reminds me of the excitement I feel when I need to drive the car around because it’s been “sitting for too long.” It seems like the last time I filled the tank was several months ago. “My world is smaller these days” is such a cool, poignant line! Thanks for writing and sharing this.
Gayle, you make me smile reading this poem as you reference “outfits”. What does it matter? They won’t know us anyway with our faces covered when we leave home.
I find myself flicking through clothes in the closet, wondering when or if I’ll ever get to wear that special top I got on sale, the one that matches that necklace I inherited from my Mother-in-law who had such exquisite taste in jewelry.
How ridiculous would I look on ZOOM decked out in such garb?
An aside, if you went to NCTE 2020 virtual convention last month, check out the ON DEMAND SESSION I did with my daughter, “MOTHER AND DAUGHTER MAKE IT WORK”. I wore one of those tops! So there! 🙂
Gayle, you have brought humor to our situation. You contain us within the small circle between your intro (it’s a small, small world) and your ending (my world is smaller). Walmart as Disney on a budget, trains departing from Home Depot, and makeup for running out of milk all made me smile.
Oh, so true. Favorite line:
Made me laugh. Thanks! The absurdity of it all just hit me.
To the Islands of King Kamehameha
Your rough volcanic garden
Rolls and angles a path to the coast.
Waves of turquoise, cobalt, cyan, and sapphire
Gently lap
The ancient sea turtle’s toes.
Just beyond the verdant valley of Anthurium and Arabica,
Rising behind the Acacia Koa,
Giants
sprinkled with ceruse
Stand guard, watching
Xanthic Helios
Sink over the horizon.
Shaun, your use of special colors, draw me in and make me wonder what these colors I only know on color charts, look like in real life. Now I want to travel there!
Shaun – oh! those beautiful color names lapping the ancient sea turtle’s toes (a phrase I wish I’d thought of!). Thank you for bringing us the beauty of Hawaii today!
Journey
It makes a kind of sense that
passage — a road or a path, to
traverse a length of space —
circa the 13th century — would
come to mean some 300 years
later a “portion of writing.”
I remember the first time my
father tried to explain that Homer’s
Odyssey, this epic adventure
of dactylic hexameter, of one
foot after one foot for 10 long years
could have just been a journey
of the mind. (Years later, of course,
after borrowing his copy of The Hero
with a Thousand Faces, I learned
that he leaned heavily on Joseph
Campbell for this explanation.)
Poetry really is a passageway,
or portal, or hole, rabbit or
otherwise. Poems are windows,
mirrors, or doors, a way of seeing
ourselves and others.
And to (mis)quote Emily D., there
really is no frigate like a poem.
So, take this as an example.
I am not sitting at my kitchen table
scribbling lines in a notebook;
I’m making a log entry into
my battered, dog-eared,
coffee stained, moleskin
Field Guide.
I’m really (some 30 years ago)
standing in a smoky concert
hall with the best friends
of my entire young life
(folks who would later move away,
severe ties, become their own
paper towns — intentional traps,
imaginary places) listening to
“Wheels in the Sky.”
I don’t remember where we were
or when we were (although Wikipedia
tells me it was sometime in Detroit
in the mid 90s and YouTube shows me
that there was So. Much. Hair. involved),
I do remember the friendship,
the kinship that we felt, and, unfortunately,
all of the jean jackets that were worn.
This stroll down memory lane,
traveling down these linguistic
highways and byways,
reminds me that time
is just a human construct
(just a way to keep the trains
moving) and I can go anywhere
or anywhen
as long as I have
my pen
in hand.
Scott, I am so glad I travelled this poem with you! The literary references (Homer at the onset to take us into a mind journey and Emily with the frigate) layer into the piece, foreshadowing the travels you soon make within the lines of the notebook – a wonderful transition. And I love the word “anywhen!”
I did not note the name when I started this poem, but I knew it was yours! You have such a wry approach, and the bringing-in of other literature is so skilled. And that one line—So. Much. Hair. Made me smile broadly! Glad yo have your pen in hand for the trips!
Hello Jennifer, thank you for another beautiful poem, gift, and prompt for me to work with today. I already feel my brain going a million miles an hour with ideas so I will settle down with pen and journal and see where the journey goes.
Your poem flows like a meandering stream of fresh mountain water. So many gorgeous images in singing sands and honeycombs. My favorite lines are:
Something magical happened for me in that stanza. You’re such a gifted writer! Thank you!
?Stacey
Thank you, Stacey! I’m glad some magic happened!
Jennifer!
This poem is just gorgeous. The lines that I am lingering in
This idea of us dropping sunbeams into our shadows — stunning. I am thinking about the last time I saw, met my shadow. It has been days since I have even ventured outside, and now snow covers everything. I am now feeling such a wanting for my shadow. There, I will find my compass.
Okay, I think I just wrote my prose poem here, in my response to you. Look what you did, Jennifer! Thank you!
Sarah
Sarah, I had not thought about missing my shadow, but I now miss it very much. As we enter these winter days and childhood is further behind, so is my companion.
Jennifer, thank you for your prompt today. Those visual story maps have great potential for all ages. I love how your poem ends with “finding our way home”–an event that has such power.
Privileged wanderer
Meditating with Sophia and Dervish
Holding hands with Saint Sava
Familial ties guide us across
Fortress walls, contemplating death
With Pashupatinath
Processing life with an explorer
Foraging languages, art, smells
Storytelling with Utica
Addressing the pinpoint of existence
Expanding when living with
Other cultures, knowing the
Moment will never sustain
Wandering with privilege
Stefani,
Oh that first line “privileged wanderer” is beautiful, and then you take me on a journey. I keep going to another tab to look up your words to find the images, the places to wander. The Pashupatinath Temple in Nepal is magnificent.
Sarah
Stefani — You captured a sort of elevated sense through this wonderful poem. The “privilege” is a power-packed term and it really fits the notion of travel right now. I so fell happily into the worlds of Sophia and Dervish… Utica … and Pashupatinath — I could use some Hindi and Buddhist and Greek and Phoenician vibes… lift me up. Aah! Thank you! Susie
Stefani, I am embracing the idea of “foraging” here – the languages, art, smells – they carry me places, make me want to expand my own travels, and open my mind to possibilities!
Foraging languages, art, smells…addressing the pinpoint of existence—you have certainly wandered with privilege, and you make me want to accompany you!
Good Morning, Jennifer! Thanks for the wonderful prompt. I was disgruntled this morning having overslept — which means my time for writing was cut short.
BUT, I zipped out to the grocery store (avoiding later crowds) and a line from my favorite “journey” poem came to me…which led me to using it as a template for this draft. I only wrote a stanza. The original poem is much longer.
https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/51296/ithaka-56d22eef917ec
After James Cavafy’s Ithaka
As you set out writing today
hope your pages are fallow
wide with space to plant row
upon row of words
from your life’s journey
full of adventure, full of discovery.
Lethe*, Zeus,
frivolous Narcissus–don’t be afraid of them:
you’ll not encounter them today
as long as your pen plods the page,
as long as you follow thoughts raised high,
high as a lantern through the labyrinths of your mind.
Kassandra will not hinder you
unless you bring her along inside you.
unless you surrendered to disbelief.
Write as if you are
sailing to Ithaka
and the meanings of all
these Ithakas will come to you
today.
*Greek god of forgetfulness/amnesia
Linda,
I don’t know if you this was purposeful, but your asterisk to remind your reader of this Greek God had great comical impact:)
I also appreciate your line “write as if you are”…because it could continue with endless descriptors.
Thank you for sharing.
Clever asterisk, indeed!
Ha! No purposeful…but it is funny now that I look at it!
Linda — This is, indeed, a beautiful and lofty journey… I love the beauty in your phrasings. Several just really got me…
and
,
and
It makes me want to surrender and get on that ship to Ithaka…. the sense of floating is quite real in your phrasings… like waves. Wonderful! Thank you, Susie
I love this! Your representation of the writer’s struggle is an ancient journey, and the allusions to mythology reach across centuries.
Linda, this idea of planting words, with the pen plodding the page much like the farmer plods the fields is a rich metaphor, one that makes me want to pick up my pen and write as I think of spring and warmer days.
“We follow singing sands/ and windless air.” Beautiful imagery to travel alongside.
Yesterday I had my grandson Leo. He has a new baby sister, so we were giving his parents a much needed break. That special time with him is my poem today.
A walk with a two year old
is a journey of discovery.
Take the wagon with you.
Pose with your nose in the air
like the reindeer on the lawn next door.
Pick up sticks, a few gumballs, fall leaves.
Stir with a stick–“Cooking bumbo” like Da Da.
Smile when Mr. Jim waves through the window.
You will never get lost.
There’s always a hand to hold.
Absolutely precious. I want to make a birthday card out of this for his 3rd birthday. These memories are the foundation of his life and you get to be there. You are one fortunate grandmother. Enjoy every moment.
Margaret,
I love the acknowledgement of discovery, as it happens on both ends of the hand holding. Enjoy every minute with Leo and thank you for sharing.
Margaret — There’s a lotta love here. Save this for that precious one when he’s 13. Susie
Me, me! I want to walk with a two year old! I love your compass: a hand to hold. This is incredibly powerful, and I thank you for taking me along with your walk as I desperately needed this glimpse of innocence and joy.
Hugs!
Sarah
Such a wonderful journey! I was with you on this wonderful walk, seeing the world through new eyes. I love the injection of voice “Stir with a stick – ‘Cooking bumbo’ like Da Da”! Such a sweet moment to remember.
Margaret, you must do something with us to share with your grandson – how special and meaningful. What a grift to him! Those last two lines are absolutely perfect.
Your poem reminds me to keep the simple things and let them be my compass. All the world is a new discovery to a two year old. Love it. Thanks for the cheerful reminder to keep my nose in the air!
What beautiful memories you are building! Your poem brought back memories of walks with my grandfather, and then with my own children. Thank you!
My compass is lost somewhere
shooting marbles
who went missing last March
Happy Campers
Oblivious to my need
for a sense of direction
or any sense at all
“Need for a sense of direction/ or any sense at all.” Our circles are small these days. Our compasses off charts. Hope is on the horizon.
Ha! I love the wry tone of this…yes that feckless compass, those missing marbles…that sense. Great entry
Amy, I couldn’t help connect this to the Lost Boys. I appreciate the simplicity of this poem yet so full of purpose. Thank you for sharing.
Amy — Your compass feels very much like mine these days. Lost those marbles back in March…great! The need for direction…or any sense at all… you just really captured my feelings. Perhaps your marbles aren’t lost at all…they just rolled up here to STL to me! LOL! Thanks! Susie
Amy,
The idea of a compass off somewhere shooting marbles has me wishing I was a cartoonist. That is a perfect image for this year. Maybe that is just what we (I) ought to be doing — shooting marbles, embracing the lack of direction. Is there a way to be a “Happy Camper” without a sense of direction? Is it okay if our compass is lost?
Hugs,
Sarah
Amy, I can’t help but connect losing our marbles to the compasses lost in March. It certainly feels that way, as we’ve been moving without our sense of direction for so long now. I feel as if I’ve found something within your compass poem today.
Amy, oh that feeling of being lost without a sense of direction – or knowing which way to go to seek help! That’s such a miserable feeling, and I love the analogy of the compass shooting marbles and envision it a lot like a pinball going in different directions. I hope that when the 2021 ball drops, Covid magically disappears and things start looking up!
Yes. This is wonderful..my marbles, too, are off somewhere cavorting with the compass I never could use anyway!
[Jennifer, I love the beautiful images of your poem. And I absolutely love the prompt idea! I fell down a different rabbit hole this morning. But here goes…]
Journeying in Covidlandia
Journeying,
an intended and challenging trek,
not just a trip to the drive-thru pharmacy window,
requires lists, plotting,
premeditation
in Covidlandia;
journeying
comes at a price.
Today reports 298,000
stricken and gone from Covidlandia;
lying head-to-toe
at an average height
of 5’6” tall,
the bones of the dead
under our feet
could mark a path
316 miles long,
St. Louis-to-Des Moines.
It’d be named
Grandfolks Trail,
or build a bone white marble wailing wall
along the Texas border and call it
America Ain’t So Great After All.
by Susie Morice©
The snark of your poem would be funny if it weren’t so true.
Oh, Susie…this gets me. This really gets me. The images of bodies laid out, head to toe. The idea of the name of a trail such as Trail of Tears but this one Grandfolks. It’s tragic and god, I wish it was only a nightmare to wake from. This poem is a keeper.
Susie! I just noticed your gorgeous thumbnail picture. Love seeing your smile.
And for this poem, ugh, these lines here:
Poetry welcomes abstract for sure, but there is clearly a need for concrete, quantitative phrases that is undeniable. 316 miles long! How will we remember? What trail, border, wall, cemetery will Covidlandia be a decade from now? Will people visit the hallowed lands to mourn?
Hugs,
Sarah
Oh, Susie! This Grandfolks Trail will surely be as sorrowful a marking as the Trail of Tears for those who follow us. And that bone white marble wailing wall defines Covidlandia. Such visuals. None more severe than the dead laid end to end.
I’m feeling the snide humor on one hand about the wall comment and crying cause it’s all too real for us on the other. My husband went to a wedding today where there were over 200 people and less than 10 wearing masks and no one social distancing, and so now I am truly convinced we will both be sick in a matter of days. I do not know what possessed him. Truth: the town funeral home owner walked in and quipped, “you know what we call this? A super-spreader.” That Covidlandia you mention resonates with me for this reason. What a place it has been, is, and will continue to be.
OMG, Kim — I am so sorry you are living this scare. That is exactly it…a super-spreader. Oh, I so hope that your hubby distanced enough and that luck is on your side. They added 2000 more deaths to the list today alone. Every time I stare at the numbers, I just get choked up and furious and scared and heartbroken all at once. Kim, you and your sweetie…you take care of each other. No more doggone weddings! Just say, “No! See ya at the end of next year….see ya for your 1st anniversary.” Sending love, Susie
Covidlandia—wonderful!! Your imagery is spot on—I am envisioning those bodies laid end to end…
Jennifer,
Another wonderful inspiration. And, I love your poem, especially the lines
gathered like field flowers
in petals and pollen,
while finding our way home.
It makes me think of how when we travel, we come back with both good and bad . . . ALL the stuff we have experienced changing us forever.
book flights
homebody at heart
limited by the lack of means
and lack of time
(and in full disclosure: fear)
to travel
but something deep within me yearns
to go and see
experience foreign cultures
explore places
learn history.
so I hop on a plane, a train,
a ship, a wagon, a horse, a barge,
a car, a spaceship, a time machine
and journey through the pages of a book
going to places
my feet will never wander
and seeing things
my eyes will never behold
the pages a passport
to getting lost.
~Susan Ahlbrand
13 December 2020
Susan, we feel the same way here with limitations for traveling right now. I’m so glad that you remind us we do have books to go places that we cannot go in person right now. I love the idea that our days are like passport pages. Genius!
Aah, Susan, this is beautiful. I so love the whimsy of “barges…time machines” — INDEED! I especially loved “passport to getting lost” in books… yes! I’m here hunkered with my stack of books and the NYT crossword this morning! Kindred spirits! Thank you, Susie
Susan,
I love, love this connection the journeys in the pages of books. I appreciate the line “my feet will never wander” as it ties into the power these pages have and the empathy building that comes with reading. Thank you for sharing.
Susan,
Such a lovely poem title and journey of “book flights”! I love the image of the pages as passport!
Sarah
Susan, I love these lines, “the pages a passport/to getting lost” – imagining the pages and passport as one creates a bridge, another way to transport us. What a clever play on the title (booking a flight)! Thank you for taking us on a book journey today.
Camping Haiku
enjoy the journey
(engraved sign in my camper)
girl seeks adventure!
This makes me want to go camping! Definitely the thing to do right now. I can see the camper and the “enjoy the journey” sign. Enjoy the next adventure!
Oh, Kim, I love the sign–and the camper and the hope and energy in this haiku. I’d like all four about right now.
Kim — This put the high in the Haiku! I love the whole idea of camping as my safe way to think of travel at a time when I really want no part of it. My tent is ready…wish I had your camper! Hugs, Susie
I love haiku! In this one, the “engraved” and “camper” have a sense of being solid, permanent, and grounded or tethered in some way – including being enclosed in parentheses. This contrasts nicely with “seeks adventure.” The use of “girl” adds to the youthful idea of venturing, and, or course, the exclamation point is the energy and vitality. As haiku are often read repeatedly, taking the reader on a circular journey (so to speak), this once circles back around to the first line, solidifying its original message: enjoy the journey – or, just simply: enjoy. Indeed!
This haiku paints a perfect picture of the “girl” adventurer in you!
Camping just sound wonderful right now…Oh, for a camper and a bit of woods. If no woods…any empty space will do.
Kim, the format of the haiku (small, succinct, 3 lines) mirrors the three words of the sign in your camper, another small, succinct wording – but it says so much. I yearn for the days when adventure carries me somewhere, anywhere!
Kim,
I’m right there seeking adventure w/ you. I just wish it hadn’t come by way of a pandemic!
—Glenda
Whether
North bring us here or
South sings us there or
East lures us home or
West leaves us alone,
this tiny needle of hand-made iron and Earth’s faint p / u / l / s / e
still, and always will, spins
for us
Kevin,
Your writing is always so ingenious . . . to the point that I get envious of what you think of!
This is awesome. I especially like the clever way you format pulse.
Oh, neat! the compass as stethoscope….or pulse finding object. Very clever.
So clever. Fun to read. I love the idea of places bringing, singing, luring, or leaving us alone.
Kevin I like the way that you create a pulse and take us in the cardinal directions and still show us that life and its heartbeat are all part of the same big adventure.
Kevin — I really like the whole compass idea — so creative and smart! When I think about the NSEW, I’m always wondering what is in the middle…of course, WE are in the middle. Well spun! Thank you, Susie
You are a master at the small poem. This tiny needle…pulse still…such longing within hopefulness.
Yes. I like how you spun this prompt. I really responded to the last 3 lines and the wonder of the big picture, and how miraculous the actual workings of the Earth are. Both the scientist in me and the poet in me felt this in the heart.
Kevin, thank you for allowing us to feel each beat of the p/u/l/s/e this morning. I find myself imagining which direction would be luring me home or singing me there.
Something about the line “South sings us there” started a playlist of my favorite music from “the south” – in just a few words I was transported aurally. Thanks for the journey.
Small Journeys
Small journeys
Carry me through the week.
The best are in the forest or
When I am alone,
Free to notice and wander.
The geese on Flagstaff Hill.
The taffy green moss on the cliff.
The glance down at the bridge and stream beow, miniature.
I journey to see each.
And to see you, journeying, too.
I appreciate this line and the direction it points:
“The best are in the forest …”
Kevin
love the “geese on Flagstaff Hill” and that taffy colored moss. Beautiful.
Emily, the imagery here is absolutely beautiful but I also love the idea that journeys do not require a trip but are part of your daily landscape.
“The taffy green moss on the cliff” – are you kidding me?! This is what I think when I see amazing one-liners – like, How does a person even think that way? I never would have come up with that, and yet, I totally. Get. It. This prompt also has me thinking forest, so I’ll see where that might take me! Journeying, too.
Emily — The whole idea of small journeys is really good… I’m going to steal this idea at some point. Small journeys are so often just what you describe…noticing the moss… Ah, yes! Thank you, Susie
Emily, this captures our ability to travel during the small peeks we have that carry us elsewhere. My mind went to Ireland in your “taffy green moss” and the bridge and stream carry e to New England. Thank you for allowing us to journey with you today!