Our #OpenWrite Hosts
Mo Daley and Tracie McCormick have been friends since they both taught at the same Oak Forest, IL middle school in 1995. Mo holds master’s degrees in English and reading specialist and works as a middle school reading specialist in Homewood, IL. She keeps busy with reading and writing, her ever-expanding family, and love of Little Free Libraries. Follow her on Twitter at @ofdaleys. Tracie holds master’s degrees in English and school leadership and teaches ELA and social studies in Oak Forest, IL. Her one word this year is ATTEMPT, so she is enjoying new methods of personal and professional growth, which is what led her to ethicalela.com. Follow her on Twitter at @TracieMcTeacher.
Inspiration
The rondeau is a French poetic form composed of a rhyming quintet, quatrain, and sestet.The rentrement, or refrain, is a repeating line throughout. A rondeau usually has 8 syllables per line and refrains of 4 syllables. The rhyme scheme is AABBA AABR AABBAR. Think “In Flanders Fields,” by McCrae or, “We Wear the Mask,” by Dunbar.
Process
Traditional rondeaus tended to be melancholy or focused on spirituality, love, or other emotional topics. Consider a dream that you have had, or even one you would like to have had. Play around with the rondeau form and see where it takes you. Feel free to adapt the form or even try a more modern humorous take on it. As always, if the form and prompt don’t work for you today, write what you’d like.
Mo’s Poem
I hoped to have a life-long dream
One that’d make my mother beam
Instead, I fell into teaching
From spouse’s bank always leaching
Doomed to a life of scrape and scheme
Oft there were days I had to scream
Stress, a raging river would stream
Exhausted, tense from over reaching
A life-long dream
Opened my heart, became a team
To my surprise emerged a theme
Being myself with no preaching
Not just minds, hearts I was reaching
Students’ eyes began to gleam,
A life-long dream
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.
An Oral History: COVID-19 Teacher-Poets Writing to Bridge the Distance
Did you write poetry during the first days of COVID-19 school closings? Would you like to be interview for our oral history project? Click here to learn more.
I had to chuckle over these lines as any teacher can relate to them all too well!
Instead, I fell into teaching
From spouse’s bank always leaching
Doomed to a life of scrape and scheme
But seriously…
Mo, I am quite certain your mom would be beyond-her-wildest-dreams proud of the woman you have become!
What better legacy could someone leave than what you express in these lines?
Not just minds, hearts I was reaching
Students’ eyes began to gleam,
A life-long dream
Lies
At first, you dream you can fly
Filled with hope, you give it a try
Smiling, you jump and quickly crash
Through the tears, you learn in a flash
Hopeless, you surrender and cry
You watch as life passes you by
And many days you can’t help but cry
All your dreams you throw in the trash
All dreams are lies
And so it goes, you can’t deny
And as much as you want to try
You are still afraid of the crash
It was too swift like a whiplash
You struggle – don’t understand why
All dreams are lies
Eventually, you dream again
Why not – there is so much to gain
Swift and painful like a whiplash
All dreams are lies
Monica, thank you for sharing your poem. The word “whiplash” stings my ears as I read the lines again.
“You struggle – don’t understand why”
Monica, this line reminds me of loved ones who found out they had depression, but until they got he diagnosis and help never knew why they felt this way.
Such a beautiful and painful poem!
Indonesia? Colombia?
Sumatra? Ethiopia?
Where does one find the perfect cup?
The beans are the key. Look it up.
Perhaps it’s in Mongolia?
I didn’t like Monrovia.
More bitter than Cambodia.
As expensive as Trump’s prenup.
The perfect cup.
How about Babylonia?
Is it in Caledonia?
Beans and Brews has quite the setup.
Tanzania’s a runner-up.
No place for xenophobia.
The perfect cup.
Shaun, this poem is amazing. It’s simple structure and shorter lines make the poem almost bouncy with sass.
Shaun! I love that you chose to write this poem about coffee beans! My family started this little hobby while in quarantine. We have been ordering beans to be delivered from coffee roasters all over the country. I don’t want discuss our monthly coffee spending at this point!
Anyhow…
Your repetition of “the perfect cup” reinforces the dream of all coffee lovers.
What fun is this rhyme scheme! Lovely to go with my morning Joe. It’s true, no place for xenophobia if you want coffee. Or community. Thanks!
Our Camelot
That empty school and parking lot
normal when the season is hot
has weeds now grown in every crack
no students will be coming back
no building opened as it ought.
I sit instead in this one spot
behind the screen, it’s all I’ve got
replacing solid mortared brick
that empty school.
My students’ lives already fraught
resiliencies are all pulled taut
my promise I will not take back
to forge ahead, no afterthought
mythologize our Camelot
that empty school.
Denise, your refrain is haunting and so real in our times. I love that you referenced Camelot – – it once was, but now isn’t and may never be again. The ways of thinking on your verse make me think of Poe’s The Bells…..once tinkling and cheerful, but descend to depths of tolling and uncertainty about the days ahead. Prophetic!
“To forge ahead, no afterthought” is still sitting so heavily in my heart. Thank you for sharing this poem.
I sit instead in this one spot
behind the screen, it’s all I’ve got
These lines define the challenge that is ahead of us as educators. We have so many challenges to be effective for so many children with so few options.
I drove by one of the schools where I work the other day. There were weeds growing through cracks in sidewalks and parking lots that are usually so well kept. Things just looked so desolate. I thought of a lost ideal, what you called “Camelot”. Such a perfect word choice for this situation we’re in right now.
It’s after 2 am; I cannot sleep
My mind a tangled nest of thoughts that keep
Unwinding, spiraling, fractaling in a way
That never happens in the sunlit day
Each new thought into doubt-stained corners creeps
I lie as still as one who is asleep
A counterfeit to help my husband keep
His feathered, fragile waking woes at bay
It’s after 2 am; I cannot sleep.
While worries of a midnight mind are deep
The harvest that a sleepless night might reap:
A poem, a solace built from simple play
With words and rhythm, rhyme and what to say
Is humble treasure, though the price is steep
It’s nearly 3 am; I’ll go to sleep.
OMgosh I know this feeling! You captured it so well. I especially enjoyed this enjambment: My mind a tangled nest of thoughts that keep / Unwinding, spiraling, fractaling in a way” as well as the use of “fractaling.”
Katrien, this is an eye-opening realization for many of us who are with you, wide awake at wee hours. I love the doubt-stained sheets. Those thoughts that never creep up when the sun is shining….come out like roaches in the darkness, crawling and annoying our peaceful slumber.
Katrien, this is reality for so many of us today! Wow, you captured those wee hours in a way that makes me feel the weariness while reading. The second stanza is my favorite because the word choices and descriptions are perfectl “A counterfeit to help my husband keep/His feathered, fragile waking woes at bay” I’m sure this is familiar to anyone who sleeps with someone every night. That stillness speaks and moves like rivers.
Beautiful! Apologies for the late response. I had to come back to read posts this morning. Thank you for your poem.
Yes, Katrien! Why do these complications happen only at night?
My mind a tangled nest of thoughts that keep
Unwinding, spiraling, fractaling in a way
That never happens in the sunlit day
I too, am the one who is the counterfeit sleeper in our bed. My insomnia has been out of control lately and I so don’t want to bother my amazing husband with one more thing. I love that description- fake it ’til you make it (or finally fall asleep)!
I have that same problem. Not to scare you or anything, but a good friend who was into all kinds of Holistic practices told me that the Universe is the one who keeps telling me not to sleep past 3 am and that I should be using that very time to pray, or do things great for me AND the world. She was into numerology too, so I told her the time that I kept waking up, and that’s what she told me afterwards. Ever since, I sleep till about 5, and then definitely commence my day with mediation and breathing practices along with morning prayers. Much happier now I am.
Fine
By: Emily Yamasaki
I’m fine
Grape lip stains from my third wine
A forged smile, persuasive eyes
With each forced laugh, a little soul dies
It’s my dark path, no life, no sign
“Isn’t she lucky?” A gift tied with twine
But I’m suffocating – a gripping vine
But of course, won’t hear my cries
I’m fine
Hiding in plain sight, buffed to shine
All my monsters to myself, all mine
We stand to leave with normal goodbyes
I sway to the tune of all my lies
One more time, you ask that line
And I lie, “I’m fine.”
Ooooh. This is so ominous! “I sway to the time of all my lies” really captures the wavering of the situation, the three glasses of wine, the pain expressed in not being truly seen. My heart goes out to the speaker, especially in quarantined times.
This is hard to read; it is so raw and painful and so, so relatable. “Normal goodbyes” is lovely in pointing out the tyranny of “normal.”
I read “forged smile” as a play on the “forced smile.” Here, it’s “steeled” against what the speaker is enduring. And the “buffed to a shine” relates back to that sense of an armored steel exterior. Powerful.
Good morning Emily. Dang! Dang! Dang! I had to sit with this one for a while. You have a way of creating the deepest and darkest pictures with so few lines and I admire that more than I’ve ever expressed on your posts. This one hits especially hard because it reminds me of a friend who was suffering in silence. I feel connected to each line like you’re calling my name.
The lines that speak to me most:
Not only is that reminiscent of my friend, it’s also reflecting my own feelings.
Hugs, my friend.
Sorry for the late response.
Oh, Emily, I am balling!
This is all too common for females. We lie and say we are fine to avoid dispelling the illusion that we are not perfect. Often we hide behind drinking and then that becomes yet another problem that we will never admit…add it to the list!
I am looking for lines to quote here, but I cannot choose. THEY ARE ALL SO IMPACTFUL!
The imagery is so sad. I can see this narrator suffering inside while smiling outside.
I am holding on to this for a bit, Emily. Thank you for your verse and voice.
Peace,
Sarah
The dream came to me in my sleep,
Tossing, turning, troubling, and deep,
Why does it have to be this way
When I remember yesterday?
Some mem’ries are not meant to keep.
I made myself recall your face
And how your laughter filled this place.
You always kept us on our toes–
But, where’d you go?
I’m in my dream and there you are!
I nearly reach you–oh! Too far!
Again it’s all a blur. So long.
The words elude me in this song.
I’m on your train in the wrong car.
But, where’d you go?
The alliteration in the second line really captured my interest, including the shift to deep to bring the rhyme.
Oh, there is some deep sorrow in this poem. I was struck by the use of “mem’ries” – dropping the o. I have not seen that before. Unique. “I made myself” speaks to some struggle to bring forth, and then a loss in the final stanza with “Too far!” That’s the pain of it. Very dreamlike in the what appears as disjointed imagery on the surface, but as we know, to the dreamer, this collage of images could hold deep personal meaning. Would be fun to analyze symbolism line by line.
Thanks! You’re right! I think the disjointed imagery reflects the dream itself. Symbolism in dreams is fascinating, isn’t it? Yes, deep sorrow because our son passed away five years ago and I keep dreaming strange dreams where he gets lost.
“I’m on your train in the wrong car.”
Oh, the pain you conveyed in just this one line, Nancy!
Lost Plan
Step by step my spirit lifts
and my body begins to shift.
A new idea clearly seeing
forward movement into being.
Ideas, thoughts and emotions sift.
Then I tire and begin to drift
stepping backward as though adrift.
The bright vision disappearing.
It’s clearly gone.
I thought I had obtained a gift.
Could an idea be formed so swift
with a plan for the day appearing
then just quickly disappearing?
Losing the plan, I am miffed.
It’s clearly gone.
Sudan, I want to hug you and tell you it’s ok! There are so many days when I have a great agenda, but I only accomplish a small part of my goals. I’m trying to learn that it’s ok if it doesn’t work out all the way. Your poem shows me I’m not alone!
I see your poem as a mirror. I, too, have felt that sense of possibility…followed by defeat. This poem is a lovely gem that invited me to see your experience and reflect it on my own. Thank you.
Susan, I know what you mean. I get frustrated when I have had that happen with some of my dreams. “It’s clearly gone.” Exactly.
Susan, Nice work here. These rondeaus are proving so much fun to read! I love the sound of your poem. Yours describes perfectly the 4:00 o’clock in the morning question and answer sessions I have with myself. The answer to my problem seems so clear and formed in the wee hours. By morning, I know “I had obtained a gift” until I get fully conscience and realize
Thanks for your poem today!
Step by step my spirit lifts
and my body begins to shift.
These lines remind me of the good intentions to live a healthy lifestyle, and then well, reality happens!
What kind of dream do you mean friend?
A mesmerizing dream no end?
One I”m dying to analyze?
Dreams are illusions with surprise.
Why invest in one with no mend?
Precious and small, gold lined pages,
Gets lost fast, never brings rages.
Blue leather cover front and back
Little Blue Book.
Oh my reliance that you are.
Maya isn’t far as a star.
Love, romance, delight and much more,
You grant them all, to my gallore.
Of course my friend, you leave a scar.
Little Blue Book.
Dreams can certainly be both thrilling and complex. Your line “Of course my friend, you leave a scar” was very compelling and poignant. You’ve captured the essence of those elusive dreams that can sometimes leave us broken.
♥️♥️♥️♥️
TRA, do you really have an actual book? If so, I want to see it! I just look up my dreams online, but I love the weightiness and beauty of your book. I also love the idea that dreams are illusions with surprise. Thank you for writing today!
A lil blue book with gold lined pages actually exists. Will show you. Thanx for the opportunity! ✍️
I might be aging myself here, but the “blue book” took me right back to college, when our tests (essay) were submitted, handwritten, in blue books. As I read your poem a second time, I see the blue book as your journal, where you meet Maya.
I love the line that leaves a scar.
Write on!
Interesting. Love your sparks of your own memories from the lil blue bk. Not sure if I should reveal this but in Sanskrit, India’s language of our scriptures, Maya means illusion. And we are taught that dreams (while you sleep) are only Maya, nothing else.
Oh, I see the nightmares associated with PTSD in your poem, TRA.
And then the journaling about them as part of the healing process in the Little Blue Book.
I appreciate the just right amount of ambiguity in your poem for us as readers to see our own interpretations.
The Joy of Contrast
My skin absorbs the freoned air
Seeps into teeth and bones and hair
Until at last I walk outside
Feel sun against my shiv’ring hide
A sudden thrill of goosebump there
The heat enwraps my cool skin bare
Sends tingles through me like a prayer
Betwixt extremes the frisson rides
Joy lives in contrast
The salt against the lime compare
The birdsong breaking silent air
The swimmer wet, with towel dried
It’s magic when the two collide
Joy lives in contrast
Allison- I smiled to think about the “freoned air, as I tend to keep my house “like a meat locker” according to my cousin. Ha! I love the cold on my skin like your “seeps into teeth and bones and hair.” I felt those “extremes” of hot and cold and the sense that it brings joy. Your poem reminded me of David Brooks’ sermon at the Washington National Cathedral on this July 4. He described the beauty in the storm and how storms bring contrast and change that lets us see beauty. It makes me hope that these contrasts are all the richer because they disrupt. Maybe that’s the collision, the magic. I also loved “salt against lime.” You sure did creat a lovely poem with rhymes that are seamless & not forced. I really struggled with this form. You made it look so easy. Thanks, Susie
I love the contrasts between hot and cold in this poem. I can feel the extremes in temperature through your vivid images. Yes, the “joy lives in contrast”!
Allison, you’ve perfectly captured a midwestern July day. Earlier today I ran outside fir something and was taken aback at the frozen slap I received when I walked in the house. I thought, “Oh no! I’d better turn the air dune fir a while.” Luckily, that thought left within minutes as I adjusted to the temp in my house. I really don’t like AC, but it’s necessary where we live. I love how your poem expresses the duality of our summers!
I love this idea and the imagery of the contrasts you’ve shown. “The summer wet with towel dried” conjures up so many memories for me as I grew up with a pool and near the beach. I could feel that summer carefree joy.
I felt like I was right there with you in air-conditioning because “freoned air” is such a specific word choice! Then more powerful words choices: enwraps, tingles, betwixt.
I love how starting the poem with a vivid sensation lets the reader experience it, then label it as the joy of contrast. When you follow with more, rapid examples (salt/lime, birdsong/silence, wet/dry) I am convinced!
This is the story of my summer, but I have never felt joy in it. Thank you for nudging me towards joy, rather than grumbling about being either freezing or boiling hot! It almost feels like a reminder to practice gratitude — we can’t know the cold without the hot, so the experience of either lives in the other.
Late responding, but what a treat! I am a sucker for contrasts in poetry and I absolutely ADORE the refrain! Love how your mind worked this poem in so many beautiful ways from skin, heat, nature, and fruit! Amazing.
Yes, Allison! How can we appreciate the heat without the cold? How can we enjoy the cold without the heat?
After all, “Joy lives in contrast”!
(Shout out to Mo – I got my start teaching at Western Ave. Elementary in the late 90’s. No doubt we’ve known some shared friends.)
A Rondeau embracing melancholy:
There was a time when we were wild and free
Before spring, summer, and fall 2020 came to be
When we held hands and hugs between us
The air was our ocean to swim, and clean us
We mis-anticipated this wave of viral spree
When time together was a potpourri
And trips and sports and school, a guarantee
My gosh, if only you could have seen us
All lingering in the love and lore and light of Venus
Grasping at the sand
Blinded by ease, leaned together blissfully
Circles of friends could not feasibly foresee
The heaviness that now heaves between us
The gloves and masks and distance that are bound to wean us
From a time when we were wild and free
Grasping at the sand
Small world, Nora! Are you still in the area?
I especially enjoy your refrain. “Grasping at the sand” sounds so fun, yet seems elusive, too. “Mis-anticipated” is a great word choice, too. Nicely done.
Been in San Diego a long time now. Thank you for your feedback. Sand slips so easily from our grasp.
Nora,
Yes, you have really captured the bitter sweet melancholy that we collectively feel. I really love the rhythm of this poem and your last lines “from a time when we were wild and free/grasping at the sand” — Wow! This is totally resonants with me.
Thank you for noting the collectiveness of the melancholy. So true.
I feel the sadness, Nora. All of these things that were once so normal, I just took them for granted. Now they seem magical. I like your use of rhyme, especially between us/clean us/wean us.
Thank you, Sharon. Now, of course, I am wishing to mold it a bit more, make the lines more compact and impactful. But there is also value in just pressing submit!
Nora, I think your line “There was a time when we were wild and free” really touches my heart in its truthfulness. The melancholy in your words connect with me and affirm what I am feeling. Oh to hold hands again! Your longing is well stated.
Susan, your affirmation affirms me in turn. Thank you.
I really admire the complexity of your rhyme.
Thanks! After reading some others, I want to do better!
Nora,
These lines make me wonder how these extreme ways of life will permanently change us.
“The gloves and masks and distance that are bound to wean us
From a time when we were wild and free”
Will we always be cautious and even less social?
this summer
no rainy afternoons in Mexico City
this summer, passports lie untouched
in the drawer, phone calls to Rachel
about a new apartment in
Roma, loss of taste and smell
hot and dry in Austin, create
new routines to structure days – walks,
writing, workouts, clear out the years,
no rainy afternoons in Mexico City
no trip to Arkansas or out
to the lake or Barton Springs
a mid afternoon book with a
cup of coffee, a chat with a
friend, my reach shortened by virus
no rainy afternoons in Mexico City
Jamie, it’s easy to see your strong desire to travel. I am a kindred spirit and am not used to being home for so long. I think the structure helps, but some days I just need to get outside and explore. I’m lucky to have lots of Forest preserves nearby, so walking in them has been a godsend for me and my sanity. Hope you’ll be able to get that passport stamped soon!
Jamie, I appreciate the ways you both nodded to the form and then intentionally strayed from it. The story of your “no rainy afternoons in Mexico City” invited me into your (loss of) experience. “My reach shortened by the virus” was a line that moved me especially.
Jamie, your repetition of “no rainy afternoons in Mexico City” drives home the loss of a much anticipated planned vacation.
However, you weave lines throughout that feel comforting as if you, by forced need, found other methods to spend your days that don’t sound too bad actually!
-walks,
writing, workouts
-a mid afternoon book with a
cup of coffee
Great poem MO! Thank you for your inspiration!
So I was carried away with the quintets! Will revise later to the rondeau form.
On My Mind…
How will we go back?
Will student learning lack?
A days, B days, who will be there?
Spread out the desk and show you care!
Can we fill in the cracks?
Wear your mask and wash your hands!
Can we meet these simple demands?
Keep those little ones at their desk!
This my friends is no burlesque!
Does anyone truly understand?
Come on now Betsy, “Five days a week?”
Haven’t you watched those numbers creep?
This virus is its own strafe!
Let’s be real and keep one another safe!
The alternative could be very bleak!
In my house this week we had a scare!
Took the test, thankfully no virus there!
In my mind, the “what ifs?” raced!
How can we not respect the pain others face?
Be kind, considerate, honest and fair!
Think about all, when making these decisions!
Not sacrificing our children for economic visions!
Have you all became unhinged?
The thoughts of this makes me cringe!
Is this a choice? We must unite no more divisions!
Susan — I sure do feel your anxiety here. Your voice is clear and the tearing feelings between home and school are so real. I’m so grateful that you have “no virus there!” And it does seem to boil down into “decisions” — so many decisions that are critical…”sacrificing our children for economic visions!” Indeed! Insanity. Be safe, Susan! Hugs, Susie
Susan, this is wonderful! You’ve been able to capture so many thoughts and emotions with your quintets. Your questions are spot-on. I’d save the rondeau for another day and another topic if I were you.
Absolutely on my mind as well! I love that you managed “burlesque” in there! And your questions? Spot on.
Susan,
Your strategic use of question marks and exclamation points evokes all the strong emotions for educators right now!
“In my mind, the “what ifs?” raced!”
Same!
@Mo Daley, Your words in your Rondeau really moved me bc at one point, or maybe even more than once, I felt like you were talking about your broom closet, pallet staining friends ;).
Bwahaha!
{Mo — thanks for the challenge of this Rondeau…whew…it was a booger to truly challenge me this evening! Susie ]
Missing Mama and Scrabble
Mama, can we play one more game?
Shake the tiles, line them on your frame.
Two wordies at the Scrabble board,
it never mattered what we scored,
just mother, child in moments claimed.
To reach inside the past, exclaim,
just turn the clock to feel the same —
those Sunday nights, retie that cord
‘tween mother, child in hallowed dreams.
I’ve lost those days, feel bent, no aim,
barely know from whence I came,
no seven-lettered word restored
can bring a dream, though I implore
to feel our words, a love’s refrain,
a bond, the wings of seraphim.
by Susie Morice©
Susie—this brought tears to my eyes! I am by your side as you place the letters on the board with your mom. “Just turn the clock…” if only we cold…
Susie, you always go straight for the heart. What a winner this is today – the memories and images of mother and daughter playing a word game together, planting the seeds that grew the roots that bloomed the you who is today such a master of words. Oh, my heart! This is simply stunning.
Susie, Your poem is lovely. It reminds me of playing scrabble w/ my youngest son. I feel the loss you express in haunting words in the last stanza. I’m trying not to cry.
—Glenda
Susie, how you can take a game of Scrabble and tug at the heart strings really shouldn’t surprise me! The memories that are never too far away came flooding back as I read your poem. My mom loved to play Scrabble, too. Her favorite thing was to suggest I “try opening up the board a bit. Maybe work out this way…” which was actually her trying to lead me away from the triple word score! She’s been gone 29 years No seven letter word restored, for sure!
What an awesome response to this challenge. I thought it was a booger too! Rhymezone saved my bacon on more than one line 😉 I love your description of “two wordies.” Very sweet.
Susie such a beautiful poem! Thank you for sharing your special memory with us! Sending my love!
Gorgeous. I feel your poem deeply as I guide my own mother through Scrabble and Bridge in what are surely her waning years. You have given your experience the lift of well-crafted language. Lovely.
Hi Susie, late responding but thankful for your poem taking me down memory lane with you, your Mama, and Scrabble. So much fun seeing little Susie playing with Mama. I also had those “wordie” memories but ours was Boggle. Your poem is tender and precious, revealing the love between you two. Just love it and love you!
Oh, Susie, is there anything better than just playing a board game with a loved one no agenda and no time restraints?
it never mattered what we scored,
just mother, child in moments claimed.
Mo and Tracie, thank you for the prompt, models, and inspiration poem! I leaned into the “melancholy” history of the rondeau and the idea of deferred dreams…it’s been on my heart and mind lately. I appreciate the challenge of the form; sometimes the rules and requirements force me to be clear and concise when I would rather ramble.
Just One More Loss to Grieve
By now, we were supposed to be
in Birmingham: new home, job, me.
Dreams of reunion, renewed vows
are now postponed: same us, house, town.
I made my peace, said goodbyes. See?
So, you go. And I stay. And we
resume bi-state congruity.
What am I supposed to do now?
I grieve the loss.
Add it to the list “Used to Be”:
school, handshakes, movies, certainty,
bars, travel, lingering meals. How
do we make a life? Plans? Allow
ourselves hope? Dreams turned memory:
I grieve the loss.
Oh, Betsy — This certainly captures the limbo that is so prevalent right now. I am so sorry for the “melancholy” of those “used to be” pieces of our lives. You’ve chosen the right word: grieve. Boy, this so takes me to the grief of this horrible time. I’m glad that you were able to share this so eloquently. Your sestet really brought this right to the lump in my throat. Thank you for your beautiful poem. Susie
I love your line resume bi-state congruity – so many are experiencing loss – large and small – not exactly what we expected – hope to make the best – your experience unique to you is relatable to all of us in different ways
I admit. I didn’t know much about John Lewis, and who he was, until today. I kept reading about him, just before dinner, and reading your Rondeau afterwards, was definitely a perfect honor to Him, I felt.
Boy, Betsy, you weren’t kidding about the melancholy! You’ve made the many losses we’ve all experienced so tangible, but yours makes me even sadder. Something that should have been so simple has taken on such complexity. I hope things work out for you soon!
Wow. This is beautiful and tragic. Reading this made me feel the loss of those things. I hope, if the circumstances in this poem are real that you are reunited soon. I cannot imagine.
ooooh. Your lines are so compact! I love the how you give us such quick examples in these lines: “in Birmingham: new home, job, me.” and “are now postponed: same us, house, town.” and then by the last stanza, you carry on the structure with a similar pattern, “the school, handshakes, movies, certainty,” but end with an abstract idea (certainty) rather than the concrete examples that come before. It contributes precisely to the feeling of uncertainty that your poem captures. Further, in the final stanza, you break the questions into separate lines. The stunted questioning there emphasizes the false starts and repeated losses of this time. Thank you for sharing your words so beautifully.
Betsy, why is the number of things on this list growing by the day???
Add it to the list “Used to Be”
Hang in there!
Good thing your passion is not mine.
Nor you, nor I, a philistine.
It’s just you’re you, and I am me.
And we live in a world that’s free.
I’ll chug cold beer; you’ll sip warm wine.
Your fine fois gras I must decline.
You sleep darkness, I bask sunshine.
You pinch salt fine; my salt I’ll see.
Good thing that.
My glycee to your graphite line.
You pick navel; I clementine.
High church I yearn; you will pray free.
In prose you think; I poetry.
Tis true your passion is not mine.
Good thing that.
Wow, Katrina — This is so good. The repeated line “good thing that” is so masterfully crafted here. Whoo! I wish I’d been able to do that. You really captured the yin/yang of two people. What I found most interesting is that you draw the contrasts so well and never slip into the temptation of brow-beating the “you.” I’d have been very tempted to blast the “you.” LOL! This was totally fun to read. Cool poem! Thank you, Susie
Katrina, I’m hanging on every line today. The syntax is simply perfect for the contrasts. Your refrain is beautiful, and so is your circular ending.
Super neat how your Rondeau made me think you were writing about 3 or 4 different people in the matter of 3-4 lines!
Right here, I thought your were talking about you: “And we live in a world that’s free.”
Right here, you made me thinkg about you and I: ” I’ll chug cold beer; you’ll sip warm wine.”
But then right here, I thought of my own hubby and our experiences together:
“Your fine fois gras I must decline.”
And then finally right here, made me think that you could be writing about you and your spouse:
“You sleep darkness, I bask sunshine.”
Super smooth! Thank you.
I love it when I read a poem and do a double check to see if the writer is peeking in on my life. My husband and I are opposite in so many ways, but it works for us. He’s a totally boring science nerd. A word nerd is so much better! I couldn’t imagine what our relationship would be like if we were more similar.
I loved going back and forth with you! And how short but powerful your refrain is leaves me smiling. Thank you for this!
Katrina, the way you bravely manipulate words to fit your recipe for this poem has me in awe of you!
Here is one of my favorite examples, “In prose you think; I poetry.”
So good!
In honor of John Lewis
Holding Black lives precious and dear
He was beacon of hope not fear
“Make good trouble,” he’d preach
Believing justice within reach
Our nation’s conscience, without peer.
Living through beatings so severe
Peaceful marcher, year after year
Our civil rights he did beseech
Rest in peace, John.
Faith and conviction always near,
He made politics his career
His life is a model to teach,
He was truly a Georgia peach,
Inspiring leader to revere.
Rest in peace, John.
I love that you wrote your poem about John Lewis. His death is very sad and the line, “He was beacon of hope not fear,” perfectly describes what he represents to so many people.
Thank you for reminding us of his words, “make good trouble.”
What a beautiful tribute! “Rest in peace, John”!
Maureen, I sooo appreciate that you wrote about John Lewis…what a remarkable man. A Georgia peach … an American peach. Love this. Thank you and my heart was truly touched. Susie
Maureen,
I love your tribute to John Lewis, especially the first stanza and it’s reference to “good trouble.”
—Glenda
Yes, yes, yes to what everyone has already said! Your first line brings the past into the present for me. Thanks for this wonderful poem.
Maureen, when you wrote “Peaceful marcher, year after year” you really communicated the perseverance of true Civil Rights activists. Change is not overnight. How admirable are legends like John Lewis who understood this!
In the Grey
A In a place neither black nor white
A Filled with much love and seldom spite
B With few absolutes, in quite grey
B I live feeling conflicted on most days
A In a world with skewed views of right
A Extreme ideas bringing fights
A Loud voices declaring with might
B Everyone wanting their own way
R But what is right?
A Should it be that hard to unite?
A To gather loose ends and make them tight?
B Let’s find our better angels and pray
B That peace will be found and then stay
A Shove out dark and find the light?
R. Because that is right!
Susan Ahlbrand
18 July 2020
So many beautiful and precious lines within this poem; I especially liked “Let’s find our better angels and pray/That peace will be found and then stay.” Thank you, too, for – “I feel conflicted on most days” – oh, yes! This is my reality.
Susan, your metaphor of living in the grey perfectly captures these last four months. It’s like a fog that we are all waiting to clear. I appreciate how you changed your refrain from a question to a statement to make the ending so forceful and hopeful.
Susan,
First of all I love that you wrote out your rhyme pattern. I have to do so much of that with these challenging poems to honor the format!
Second, “I live feeling conflicted on most days” too!
The areas of society right now that are “quite grey” are really challenging us, aren’t they?
The Dream
There is always a long darkened hallway
with mysterious intersections–that is the cliche
in my back-to-school dream
I am disoriented, a recurring theme–me, fighting upstream…
I had it today. I could not find my way.
I am lost. Adrift. And late. A delay,
or something else wrong…but it is the first day.
And I am not where I should be. I cannot seem
To get to my class.
The halls shift. What was there before has moved away.
Doors that were there have gone astray.
The students, I know, are already there. This is bad news. They are not cherubim…
And I cannot get to my class.
I hurry faster, aware of the disaster–chaos supreme
will reign in my room. My class is not the cream
of the crop. They are my kids. (I would not have it any other way.)
But they should not be alone for long. Nay.
Hark! I can hear them from afar, their revelry gaining steam.
And I cannot get to my class.
Gayle Sands
July 2020
Gayle,
That refrain of “and I cannot get to my class” is so haunting. This back-to-school dream or nightmare is with us incessantly now, isn’t it? I see so much movement in the lost and astray and the should. Such movement in the bodies that we cannot or may not be beside. So beautiful in this form but weighs heavy on my heart.
Hugs,
Sarah
I can feel the stress and panic from this dream, through your word choices…”fighting upstream,” “the halls shift,” “i could not find my way.” Aack! Terrifying! And then I laughed with the words, “But they should not be alone for long. Nay.” Ha! Definitely a hallmark of summer to have these dreams of school, not being where you need to be…and I think I am having more of these now that I am retired. Weird!
Gayle, thank you for sharing your poem with us! I, too, have recurring nightmares of missed classes and exams, unaccompanied students, and shifting classrooms/schedules. I remember that I had a horrible “teacher dream” a couple weeks into the school- and self- shut down back in March. You capture the dichotomy of fear and pride that comes from a waking or dreaming teacher: “disaster-chaos supreme” and “They are my kids.” I hope you have sweet dreams, friend.
Gayle, this is great! While I don’t have the back-to-school dream/nightmare, I feel the stress and tension in your lines. My favorite line is’ “I am lost. Adrift. And late. A delay”. The short sentences create such tension. Terrific!
“And I cannot get to my class.”
Mic drop…
Mo and Tracie, thanks for helping us here this weekend. Mo, your poem is a lovely dream, and I love the progression and growth throughout the stanzas. Of course, the last stanza, when you opened your heart, became a team, being yourself, no preaching–that’s when the dream seems to be fully realizing. I feel like I came to a second awakening in my own teaching life, so I could relate to your poem, as I see myself reflected in it. I laughed when I saw the leaching bank account–we can all relate to that! Thank you!
Our Final Trip Home
Awaiting our final trip home
Enduring months of the unknown
We’ve been here seven years so great
Always knew the expiry date
A seizure has gripped us and shown
A pompous plague pens a new tome
We will sacrifice to atone
And appease the curse to create
Our final trip home
Have we now reaped what we have sown?
How long before we will have grown
Beyond this harbinger of hate?
I yearn to stop and end the wait
Our final trip home
When are you returning? Your poem so wonderfully expresses the tension you are feeling–the loss and the hope, and the leaving. Safe travels, my dear!
Thanks, Gayle. When we are returning has now become a question. Our expiry date was always the end of 2020. I didn’t sign my school contract this year as I couldn’t commit to the whole year. However, now the virus may keep us here longer. We will continue our work until the country opens up and new people can be hired.
Denise,
I read this literally and figuratively for whoever is yearning a sense of “home” in their hearts as I am. I want to feel safe, a belonging amidst so much uncertainty and self-doubt, and yet there is the literal for you in coming home to the U.S. What awaits you here — so scary, right — while there is a “yearn to stop and end the wait.”
Sarah
Love the refrain, “our final trip home” – So melodic, so full of hope – and yearning, as you said. Clever use of ‘expiry’ to fit in!! I wonder how different you will find home…
Denise, the “pompous plague” resonates with me today as I read your words. Yes, you have hit the nail on the head with the word pompous for sure. This adds a whole new perspective and consideration for your final trip home. I’m so sorry that you have to come home to things that are vastly different from the way you left them…….but I’m glad you are coming home.
Denise,
Having read enough of your poems and blog posts I see the subtext, the call of heaven and the open arms of the savior in your poem. It reminds me of a hymn: “This world is not my home. I’m only passing through. My treasures are laid up somewhere beyond the blue. The angels beckon me from heaven’s open door, and I can’t feel at home in this world anymore.” It’s one of my father’s favorites. Blessings to you.
your refrain creates a longing, you’ve used beautiful language to sketch your experience – always knew the expiry date, sacrifice to atone, have we . . . reaped what we have sown? – I feel like I avoid articulating thoughts, feelings, wishes, ’cause we are where we are
Denise, best of luck to you on your return home safely. Your poem really helps us to feel the anxiety and frustration you are experiencing. “A pompous plague pens a new tome” is a wonderful line.
Denise,
First, I just want to say that I enjoy the background that you include with your poem!
Now onto this line, “Have we now reaped what we have sown?”
Yikes!
I like your question-response reflective style in the final stanza of this poem.
When I saw the prompt, I didn’t think I’d be able to respond, but here is my offering. I only a cheated a little bit on the refrain. 😉 As inspiration, I thought about a couple of recent dreams that I’ve had while sleeping.
Jay
Here he is after thirty years
An image in dreams, he appears
In a market, a random day
In a foreign land far away
He kindly buys me souvenirs
Confused, I need advice from seers
Is he here to allay my fears?
Is a cosmic plan underway?
It was only a dream.
I am alone as old age nears
Left with memories, sadness, tears
He is the one who got away
Why didn’t I ask him to stay?
Love sent from otherworldly spheres
It was only a dream.
Oh, Sharon–this is a novel condensed into a few lines. and the refrain–“it was only a dream”–the “only” hurts where it counts. What a lovely expression of all the if-onlies of our lives. YOu touched my soul with this one.
Sharon,
So appreciate your offering for us. Isn’t it just the thing that we don’t think a poem is there and yet moments (or longer) later, we have created something that didn’t exist. And here it is — in this space for us.
I love the narrative unfolding here — I feel like this is an opening poem and then you will add another and another with the backstory, which I desperately want to know.
Peace,
Sarah
Sharon, this is a beautifully emotional piece – I was moved by your words today. I cannot state it better than Gayle, who said exactly what I wanted to. Only better. Thank you for sharing this with us. I’m so glad you contributed today.
Sharon, your poem is so intriguing! Buying you souvenirs- I wonder what that is about! I think we all ask ourselves about a cosmic plan now and again. I’ve never done it so beautifully, though.
Beautiful…and wistful. The one that got away. Your rhymes are spot on.
Sharon…this poem is so good! I am experiencing major suspense though. You made me want to turn the page and keep reading about this “one who got away” but there is no more written!
Ahhhh…
“Retirement Plan”
I had my retirement planned
To hit the road, see distant land
Gaze upon mountains and valleys green
Journey blue highways I’d never seen
I had my retirement planned
Three trips now canceled out of hand
My home a prison on this strand
A victim of Pandemic quarantine
I had my retirement planned
I long to stroll upon pink sand
Watch frigates sail vast horizons spanned
My prayer now to survive this obscene
Virus invader with no vaccine
Its noxious cells my body spanned
I had my retirement planned
—Glenda Funk
Glenda, my friend, I knew you would do something remarkable in the midst of your situation. I give you my heart’s hugs and love.
I know you had a retirement plan and it can still happen. Trust Him. This is a mere bump in the road. And I will say this last thing because it won’t go away….Sometimes these interruptions are detours from destruction. His plan is always greater and better than ours.
My favorite part of your poem is:
I love that because your faith is calling into being something unseen. Faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen. Hebrews 11:1
Love, prayers, and hugs sent safely your way my friend!
Glenda, I couldn’t help but think of the best-laid plans of mice and men…. Your poem definitely speaks to the current zeitgeist. Even without retirement, I think most of us can relate to the feeling of confinement in your poem and the “prayer now to survive this obscene…” Love you!
Debbi beat me to that response! It’s so frustrating when our plans go awry. I’m making a conscious effort to look for positives wherever I can, but some days it’s incredibly difficult. Those are the days when I have to walk away from electronics for a good long, while! Good luck, friend. It will get better.
Glenda, my heart aches for so many recently. I feel for you as this is not yet the retirement you imagined and planned. I have faith that it will be. You capture the frustration and disappointment in both your longing (gaze) and imagery (prison). Hugs!
Glenda,
I’m glad you were able to write this poem today. I hope you are feeling OK. Do keep us updated when you learn more. The middle stanza is my favorite and describes so well the situation–three trips canceled and your home a prison. It gets old. God bless and keep you, dear Glenda.
Denise
Glenda–this was going to be the theme of my poem. (and then I had “the dream”–see my poem) I feel as if my world is so narrow now. My plans were not as grand as yours, but they certainly were not as non-existent as they have turned out to be! WE are in the same small, narrow, anchored rowboat, my dear! And I love your poem!
Oh, dear Glenda,
This image of “my home a prison on this strand” is so vivid. I feel this, too. As you recall, I left my family to be here in OK only to live in this room for three months with no opportunity to be among students, new friends, meals or this summer for travel. I can only imagine how you feel with all the plans, the travel as reason to retire, to leave your students and a calling you were/are so good at. I feel your longing to “stroll upon pink sand” and I too pray now to “survive this obscene”! So powerful.
Peace,
Sarah
I know you planned your travels extensively for retirement! These fun rhymes do not allay the sadness; there is clear melancholy in this poem. This line is particularly painful – “My home a prison on this strand.” So true! Dear Glenda, are you fighting COVID right now? You are on my mind!! Fight on, beat those noxious cells!!!
You have skillfully crafted form to thought here. Your distress is palpable.
I feel your frustration Glenda! Beautiful imagery! Hopefully all those dreams will come true sometime very soon in your future and you can carry out all your wonderful plans. On the flip side, something you can be thankful for is that you were able to plan to retire. I have several colleagues that are having to take early retirement or a year off, jeopardizing their future retirement. They are forced to make these difficult choices to protect their immune compromised loved ones. Wishing you all the best!
Glenda, I wish you a future of “mountains and valleys green,” “blue highways” and ” pink sand.” My heart breaks with you…all these canceled plans, unmet expectations, and abandoned dreams. Your refrain–” I had my retirement planned.” — touches all of us (wherever we are on our life/professional journey)…it’s such a simple and sad truth when we say it out loud. Thank you for sharing your poem with us!
Glenda — Oh man, your poem just really hammers the sense of loss. I feel so much for your lost retirement plans, but more than anything, I want you to yield nothing to this damned virus. It is infuriating to even think about “virus invader with no vaccine/its noxious cells my body spanned.” I want you to be able to burn a scar across this damned covid land. I think about you every day. Worry. Love, Susie
Glenda, your refrain says it all: the best-laid plans often don’t pan out exactly the way we’d planned. I pray yours can soon become better than you imagined. Your words and rhythm here flow so beautifully into the hopes and dreams that you had for your retirement – and the pause button that life has become on our plans and dreams for the future. I do love seeing your pictures on Facebook in all of the gloriously breathtaking parks that you are visiting. I’m so happy that you are enjoying some of the unplanned plans!
My heart is heavy for you, Glenda. So much loss and disappointment. And, now . . . are you fighting Covid? Prayers for healing being sent your way.
Ugh. Though there is a good flow in this poem…the truth of it just stinks! I’m so sorry you and the rest of us are so stuck in a nation that didn’t do all it could to defend itself from this pandemic. Let’s hope sanity and good health prevails soon. My prayer is that you survive (and thrive) too!
Glenda, It is so unfair, which you convey by repeating “I had my retirement planned”.
Then your priorities shift to, “My prayer now to survive this obscene
Virus invader with no vaccine”.
Also so unfair and terrifying!
Hang in there!
A Virus Spreads
Insidiously it will spread,
Among us this virus will thread,
Spawning hatred and division,
Our lives facing collision,
A cotton veil prevents the end
Politicians bicker instead.
Send teachers and students ahead,
A deleterious proposition!
A virus spreads.
In close proximity it sheds,
Oh, suffering is what we dread!
Teachers beg for safe decisions.
Another world envision
Nightmares, dwell not in our heads!
A virus spreads
Tammi,
I want to say more but am so overwrought right now that I can only manage this: You nailed it. Best words: insidiously, deleterious, spawning.
—Glenda
Spot on! Tammi, your words weave and flow in a way that brings to mind the insidiousness of the “spawning hate and division” that is threading its way into the health and wellness of our teachers and students.
Tammi, what really works for me are the sounds in your poem. They crawled right under my skin! The sneaky movement of your S sounds paired wonderfully with the harsher sounds to really bring your message home. Well done!
Tammi–“nightmares dwell not in our heads”. So true. I find myself constantly saying, “Can you believe this s@#t???” Your version is much more elegant…
Tammi, that line, that declaration with exclamation — “A deleterious proposition!” So fierce. And then the next line that struck me was “teachers beg” — yes, where is the dignity!
I am so moved by the beauty of your words while feeling such anger, too.
Sarah
Tammi, your poem is a powerful reminder of the enduring nature of this virus. May we outlast it!
Tammi,
It is so true how you mention all of the other political noise happening in our society all while, “A virus spreads”.
Sometimes I follow the news and think this all feels so unreal like we are living a nightmare, but you remind us unfortunately that these “Nightmares, dwell not in our heads!”
The After-Life?
by Stacey L. Joy
What if teachers never go back
Parents and tech pick up the slack
Students learn at their own fair pace
Resources and time laced with grace
Everyone wins on the same track.
What if schools gave out lunch and snack
Souls were fed, kept free from attack
Not harmed, murdered or judged on race
Will this be the after-life?
What if support destroyed all lack
Success something to be unpacked
Equity and justice, IN PLACE
Suffering in children, ERASED
Embracing lives in shades of black
Will this be the after-life?
Stacey,
So many “what ifs” here. Both dystopian and utopian scenarios. I can’t help but think of all the wrong choices that have brought us to the brink. I’m putting my hope in these two lines:
—Glenda
We have an opportunity to re-envision the entirety of learning within our school system. I’m so glad you brought our focus here today. The idea of resources and time laced with grace is a beautiful envisioning. The idea of feeding souls for equity and justice and erasing the suffering in children while embracing lives in shades of black – extraordinary!
Stacey, thank you for sharing your talent today. I love the combination of “After Life,” “Grace,” and “Souls were fed” to push our thoughts to a holier place. To aspire to be better and to do more that is right and good.
Stacey, your middle stanza really spoke to me. It makes me want to do better. I will keep this in mind and actively promote these thoughts in my classroom as we work toward a better future. You make me want to feed souls. Thank you!
Stacey, YES to all of this! I let out a sigh at the end of your poem. What kind of a world do we live in that any of the ideas expressed in your poem have to be a debate? My favorite line – “Souls were fed, kept free from attack.”
I hope that your last stanza becomes the truth. Beautifully stated. May we embrace the after life you envision…
Stacey,
What if…
The lines are so powerful, almost the thing of science fiction — if only. And then the all caps IN PLACE and ERASED. Wow, this add such a sense of claiming — of alternation.
Sarah
Your poem is so inspiring. Maybe something really great could come of this pandemic.
Stacey, your poem males me think. What if a phoenix rose from these ashes or a rose grew from this concrete?
Powerful and beautiful! I hope for positive change!
Wow….one question and so much possibility. What IF all of these possibilities were met? I would love to be teaching in a world of justice, equity and erased suffering. I’m going to keep this poem in mind when I get frustrated with the tech and the hours it takes to get online meetings and lessons right. What if…we were working toward better? That would be awesome. Great poem!
Stacey — You’ve posed so many powerful what-ifs! Reading your poem got me ramped up and optimistic…and I’ve been in a colossal funk all day! The “after-life” refrain is terrific… I love this. I WANT your poem to be the new tomorrow! You need to send this to NCTE! The hope in this is just igniting. Thank you, Susie
Stacey, I so appreciate the hope I see in your words. Thank you.
Stacey,
It is true, much was revealed about the inequities of education during this pandemic.
Hopefully, much was learned and much will change.
You used so many words that are worth remembering that could be a poem in and of themselves!
fair, grace, wins
fed, free, support
jusice, equity, embracing
“Will this be the after-life?”
Fingers crossed!
Good morning/afternoon Mo and Tracie! So excited we are back together again.
Mo, your poem sums it up for so many teachers, especially those who “fell into teaching” like you. I love that image. I laughed out loud at:
From spouse’s bank always leaching
Doomed to a life of scrape and scheme
But isn’t it so wonderful to see how it evolves for you just as it does for most teachers who are in for the long haul. This is beautiful:
Your poem made my heart happy and encouraged me to write about teaching today. Thank you!! Stay safe and well!
Stacey, I am looking forward to this week as well!
Friends,
So good to see you all again! We are launching an oral history project about teachers writing poetry during COVID-19. Please consider allowing us to interview you for this project. Here is more information: http://www.ethicalela.com/oral-history-project/
If you are interested, email me at sarah.j.donovan@okstate.edu or indicate here, and I will send you an email.
Peace,
Sarah
A Virus Spreads
Insidiously it will spread,
Among us this virus will thread,
Spawning hatred and division,
Our lives facing collision,
A cotton veil prevents the end
Politicians bicker instead.
Send teachers and students ahead,
A deleterious proposition!
A virus spreads.
In close proximity it sheds,
Oh, suffering is what we dread!
Teachers beg for safe decisions.
Another world envision
Nightmares, dwell not in our heads!
A virus spreads
Tammi,
It is so true how you mention all of the other political noise happening in our society all while, “A virus spreads”.
Sometimes I follow the news and think this all feels so unreal like we are living a nightmare, but you remind us unfortunately that these “Nightmares, dwell not in our heads!”
Mo and Tracie, thank you for this morning’s challenge. It was kinda tough! But, I really like tough. I’m sitting at my kitchen table counting out syllables and my husband has the Washington Post suduko out working on it. We are opposites and yet, the same.
The line, “From my spouse’s bank account always leaching” made me smirk. I’m always aware of the amount of money I don’t make compared to my spouse. And, still–I would teach. Thanks for this poem. It’s inspiring.
Collaboration
I dreamed a dream of writing words
words that chirp and sing like the birds
of morning as day is dawning
clear and sharp and full of meaning
fingers tap a quickening – blur
I woke to sunlight and a bird
from the lilac outside it churred
a tale of soaring and resting
I listened and the bird sang on
But then my story partner stirred
leaving for stories it preferred
my keyboard now uninspiring
in keen silence of new morning
recalling bits that I had heard
I listened and the bird sang on
Linda, I love this! If it was a challenge, it doesn’t show. Your poem seems effortless. For some reason it makes me think of a long ago time when things were simpler. I love how the bird and the lilacs inspire your writing. Fabulous!
Oh, yes! The vanishing story partner. It’s so odd how the words can be all ready in your head and once it comes to placing them on paper, poof! Your refrain repetition is equally effective in both stanzas. Pulling the connection between the bird chirping words and that refrain strengthens this. The more I reread, the more I appreciate!
Linda, I can hear your birds! So lovely! I’ve been watching a cardinal family (mom, dad, and baby) that has been visiting my patio for the past month or so. I even bought some birdseed to let them know that they are always welcome.
The sensory details of birds churring and the smell of lilacs at the dawn of a new day (and maybe an open window and a breeze as I perceive) are so welcoming and hold hope for a day full of all the simple things to love.
I really like the cyclical nature of your poem. It seems that the writer will continue to find inspiration from the birdsong, the bird will leave, inspiration lost, then the bird will return, and the cycle continues. I love it.
Linda, I agree with Mo that your poem is easy, breezy feeling, but the irony is not lost on me. This poem is all about the DREAM of writing beautiful words that come as naturally to you as a bird’s song…and as any writer can attest, it is anything but easy, breezy on most days!
“I dreamed a dream of writing words
words that chirp and sing like the birds
of morning as day is dawning
clear and sharp and full of meaning”
“The Haze of Sundry Days”
This is what happens when you follow
an idea that sparks life into the hollow
threads of approval and praise
lifting bodies lost in a maze
toward some oracle easily swallowed.
You believe in the new that will allow
some change. I believe it, too. Bowing
to vicissitude, alternation to lift the haze
of perceived inertness over sundry days.
Only the oracle’s flaw, a spot so sallow,
strangles in its architecture, the gallows
for those forgotten in it conception, always
forgotten behind the plans until splayed.
Compose to interrogate, rather than follow
to dismantled inertness over sundry days.
@Sarah J. Donovan, 2020
Sarah, what really impresses me is the technical aspect of this poem. When I look at the form of the rondeau, I automatically stop my thought at each line break. You’ve carried on, which while seemingly simple, was mind blowing for me! You can do that?!? I feel like you’ve pushed the envelope here and given me something else to try. Thank you!
Sarah, there is a languidness to the language that is very appealing. It lulls and makes one want to wallow in the words. I struggle to be ok with inertness. But I need to embrace it more. This poem is a celebration of beautiful words. The word sundry, so similar to Sunday, is one I want to play with (my mind is going to Sundry, Mondry, Tuesdry). Thanks for putting so much in my brain today!
“Compose to interrogate” – let’s do it!
“An idea that sparks life into the hollow” speaks to me here – – the breath of life into a void – an awakening! I love the way you used words that made me stop and think about all of the possibilities. “Compose to interrogate, rather than follow” hints at resistance and thinking for oneself rather than being subject to the mass manipulation. Profound!
I love the lush language…and it fits the form beautifully.
Sarah,
I appreciate the way you have worded the line, “perceived inertness over sundry days”.
The inertness of the sundry days is perceived but not necessarily true.
Mo! You capture all of the rollercoaster of teaching in your poem – the raging river of stress, the tense exhaustion, the life-long dream, and most especially the team of minds and hearts that must come together. I love the humor (and reality) in the leaching of your spouse’s bank account. Thank you for giving us a challenge today. Working through the structure of the rondeau is a bit like working through a math problem – it rarely comes easily but it can be done if you keep at it!
Agreed, Jennifer! I had to walk away a time or two when I wrote mine.
Mo and Tracie, thank you for the beautiful poem sharing your lifelong dream of teaching – and a fun new form! I’m without reliable internet today, but can’t wait to read all of these when I return home tonight.
Inner voice
mountaintop treehouse, pen in hand
high atop trees like a deer stand
tasted a donut, threw it down
thought, “oh no!” as it hit the ground
what if bears inhabit this land?
climbed back down into Wi-Fi band downloaded prompt: for gold I panned
climbed back up, set my writer’s frown
“retire here and…”
mountaintop sunrise: ain’t life grand!?
writing footprints left in this sand
high in north Georgia, each new sound
awakens senses all around
flames of north Georgia passion fanned
“retire here and….”
“for gold I panned”
yes … perfect phrasing
Kevin
Kim, your poem is so easy for me to relate to. I’ve been tossing around the idea of retirement a lot lately. If I were looking and your gorgeous landscape, I think the decision would be an easy one for me. I think your refrain is great. Who knows what retirement will hold?
ha! I found humor and inspiration. I love how you love where you live. It makes me want to visit.
Kim,
I am so intrigued by the quotations here and wondering whose words those are? The voice is passive throughout, and while the title is inner voice, there are words spoken allowed without any direct address. It feel so intimate and welcoming possibility with uncertainty.
Peace,
Sarah
Kim — I love the sensory images and rhythm especially these lines: “writing footprints left in this sand/ high in north Georgia, each new sound …
This poem is so relaxing.
Great refrain!
Kim, I love the line “writing footprints left in this sand.” Your entire piece grounds us in the space (mountain treehouse, high atop trees, mountaintop sunrise, north Georgia) – this all sounds like a wonderful place to retire!
Kim, I enjoyed how you interrupted yourself several times throughout this poem “retire here and….”
to mimic your actual life and the stream of your actual thoughts. And even better, you appear to get interrupted and distracted by nature, and isn’t that okay?!
On the Loss of John Lewis
From mountaintops they made a vow
These civil figures showed us how
Sons of sharecroppers, bloodied, beaten
Our missionaries of freedom
They shared their dreams – we have them now.
“I have been in some kind of fight –
For freedom, basic human rights-
For nearly my entire life”
Freedom’s refrain
Their words walking with the wind,
Absolving our original sin,
To congregations nationwide
On holy crusades, our freedom rides
Hands that picked cotton, now unpinned
Freedom’s refrain.
Thank you for choosing John Lewis as your topic … and a lovely poem, capturing his spirit and fight for justice. If you haven’t read the March graphic novel trilogy (his autobiography), I would recommend it.
I recently read and added it to my classroom library. What an amazing man.
What a perfect tribute, Jennifer! I love the idea of them sharing dreams that belong to us now. And “Freedom’s refrain” is just perfect. Thanks for this poem!
This is the poem I wanted to write…thank you. I couldn’t find the words. But, you did beautifully.
This is so meaningful today. You have really captured my feelings, but with so much depth that I understand how I feel. May we share your poem with students and teachers?
Of course! Thank you.
Jennifer,
I so appreciate the powerful language in your poem — how you drew from Lewis’s life and legacy. The lines where you quote him are particularly vivid and bring us into position to bear witness to and honor his life.
Peace,
Sarah
What a beautiful tribute, Jennifer!
Jennifer–wow. “Hands that picked cotton, now unpinned. Freedom’s refrain.” Perfection!
So beautiful. Not only did you describe Mr. Lewis’ legacy, you also reminded me that the fight is far from over. These two lines are my favorite:
Jennifer, you honor John Lewis and our continued struggle with your poem. I read that same JL quote today; may we all join the fight and make our own “good trouble.” I wonder, did you start with this seed and build your poem around it?
I was struck by your last image before the refrain: “Hands that picked cotton, now unpinned”…you incorporate the the the past, present, and potential future seamlessly. Thank you for sharing your poem with us!
The first two lines came to me and I worked from there. As I was exploring his life, I jotted down words from quotes – these just happened to rhyme and were the right number of syllables and I wasn’t fighting that luck! The last stanza gave me the most trouble. But good trouble 🙂
Jennifer, what a lovely tribute to John Lewis. He has passed the torch on to future generations, and his life and legacy serve as their role model. Your words are heartfelt and beautiful.
Jennifer – This is so beautifully done. I so appreciate that you captured the struggle of our black brothers and sisters. The “hands that picked cotton, now unpinned” is a powerful line. The line “they shared their dreams — we have them now” is so important… we have taken far too long to learn, but John Lewis stayed in this fight to help us all be better together. We are going to miss him desperately. Thank you, Susie
What a beautiful way to honor Mr. Lewis. You captured so many specific details related to what he did for our country.
This is a beautiful tribute to a great man. I love the allusions to the past and the promise for the future.
“They shared their dreams – we have them now.”
We have so many people to thank.
I MUST show Mo’s poem to my Mom. As an underpaid Oklahoma teacher she threatened NOT to pay for my college if I wanted to teach. So I didn’t. Then I went back to college 3 years later to do my education work. Here I am now helping (hopefully) those who do the most important job EVER.
Wow. That is a TESTAMONIAL! Those of us that need to teach…we are called.
That’s funny, Amy! I discouraged my son from going into teaching. I’m so happy he loves his job in the translation world.
I guess I should just be honest, Mo. I did the exact same thing. I am so proud of what I do in the education field, but I’m breathing a sigh of relief that none of my 3 sons seem to be gravitating in that direction. That makes me so sad to say that though.
I was never going to teach, having watched my grandmother slaving night after night. At forty-two, I became a teacher after all. and 25 years later, I am retired because of Covid and mourning the loss… It really is the best job EVER!
Someone wrapped me up in Rondeau
Told me the rules, then let me go
But I’m not a poet like that
I see a rule; I break it and laugh
Add a syllable or a line to the old weathered crow
and return to the rhyme when I want, like so
But now I think maybe I know
the path these words of poem must flow
I start at the top and end, last;
Words in motion
For what is a poem but a show
walker on wire; fallen domino;
or a rabbit pulled from a hat
form and function and all of that
I push myself in, take it slow,
consider constraints, let go;
Words in motion
(sorta meta poem against poetic form, with appreciation for poetic form)
🙂
Kevin
Oh my gosh, Kevin! This is utterly delightful in its push-back at the constricting form, and then you lay it out beautifully in form. Oh man, I love how easy you make it look. Mostly, I love that you made me giggle at 6 in the morning. My favorite lines are the metaphors for a poem… so beautiful:
Mo, has give us a dandy writing challenge today! Thank you Kevin and Mo! Susie
Thank you. It wasn’t easy to go out of form and back but I wanted that intent to come through …. Coming to domino as a rhyme was the word that got me to the end of the poem …
Alright, Kevin! I was a little bit nervous about this prompt, but I really wanted to push myself with form. I tend to favor free verse, so adhering to form is often a challenge for me. Thanks for pushing back so early today! Your poem really made me smile. Your last stanza is brilliant! Thanks for playing along ?
I almost always lean to free verse so the structure made me pause and then I figured, time to break the rules and glue them back ..
🙂
Kevin
Kevin, what a gem! I love the little surprises and sass of your poem
–
I love that you broke the rules and made this your own Rondeau – Kevin’s Rulebreaking Rondeau!
Kevin,
I so appreciate how form invites attention to lines, meter, and stanzas and then, of course, places to disrupt form. In this way, we are composers all our own but still in conversation, still engaging other poets.
Sarah
Kevin,
I love the whimsy of this poem, and that you are a rule breaker. It made me smile.
That last stanza is amazing! I love the figurative language here. And “words in motion” is beautifully fluid. You managed to meet the form in such a natural way.
Kevin–this is AMAZING!! I struggled with the form, and almost rebelled as you did. Now I wish I had!! This is the very
best part: “For what is a poem but a show walker on wire; fallen domino;or a rabbit pulled from a hat”. Words in motion. Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful…
I love your words in motion. Before I saw your final lines, I was thinking about the metacognition you display.
a little bit of an ode to the poem form, or the poet and his experience, either way you made fun with the form
I love the ironic message. Form or no form, your poem flows.
Kevin,
I live for having students like you in my classes!
Someone wrapped me up in Rondeau
Told me the rules, then let me go
But I’m not a poet like that
I see a rule; I break it and laugh
Automatic A+++++!
I see what you did there, Kevin. Fun.