Melanie Crowder is the acclaimed author of several books for young readers. She writes YA historical fiction: Audacity, An Uninterrupted View of the Sky, and the forthcoming Mazie. She also writes middle grade novels of all sorts: Three Pennies, A Nearer Moon, Parched, and the new middle grade duology The Lighthouse between the Worlds and A Way between Worlds. The author lives under the big blue Colorado sky with her wife, two kids, and one good dog.
Inspiration
We are living through turbulent times—there’s an understatement for you! Thankfully, poetry is one of the most illuminating and cathartic ways to put that experience down on the page. Always, I look to nature to refresh and refocus my perspective.
So please, join me!
Process
Identify the emotional state you’re experiencing and wanting to express—write it down at the top of your paper. Maybe it’s the feeling of living with uncertainty, or grappling with a complex and deeply personal principle such as anti-racism, or experiencing grief on an individual or societal level, or even finding sources of unanticipated joy while the world is on fire.
I love this next part: brainstorm things in the physical world around you that is illustrative of that inner state. Use the internet! Get curious…
I often turn to nature for inspiration, but mechanical or industrial objects would be fascinating as well. Reject the obvious, like a chrysalis as a metaphor for transformation, or peeling layers in an onion as a way to show complexity. Try to acknowledge the first idea that occurs to you, set it to the side, then push farther—see if you can discover something unexpected.
Make no mention in the poem of your emotions or the circumstances prompting the poem; let the image you create through your words stand on its own. Write that first draft freely! Don’t censor your words or even edit your thoughts too much, then sit back and see what you’ve got.
Here comes the fun part. Sift through the words on the page. Say them out loud. Think about what sounds evoke the emotional state your poem reflects. After all, sounds convey mood. Think about it—words like twitter or chipper are light and uncomplicated, while words such as ground or morose have weight and a somber quality to them.
Now, as you trim your words down to only the most essential, focus on those sounds that mimic the emotional state you’re going for. Look for places where you can sub in alternate words that have a similar quality, until the texture of your poem paints as distinct a picture as the image.
Here’s a peek at my process for this poem:
emotional state: equanimity (or the search for it)
brainstorm:
- the Great Blue Heron; its opaque gaze; its constant reappearance in my life
- the reflective, impassive, illuminating quality of glass skyscrapers· trees with bark that can withstand wildfire
Melanie’s poem
Deep inside,
the longleaf pine
turns water and sunlight
into turpentine.
Deep down,
the longleaf pine
craves fire.
Every few years,
the forest grows thick
with leaf litter and split trees,
needles scattered
like matchsticks.
Can you hear the crackle beneath your step?
Can you taste the resin and smoke
on your tongue?
The air is ripe with it.
The forest longs
to burn.
*So after this first exploratory draft, I would take a closer look at the vowel and consonant sounds I’ve accumulated: the long and short “i”, and the harsh “ck” that I want to see even more of. I’d also take a deeper look at the tree, seeing if I can extend the metaphor to encompass the tree’s thick bark that protects it from low intensity fires (Look! There’s the “ck” I was hoping for.) or the way the resin inside downed trees fuels the fire, burning itself up in a gift of nutrients to the next generation.
So please, play, take chances, and most of all, be kind to yourselves.
Enjoy!
Write
Your Turn
Now, scroll to the comment section below to write your own poem. (This is a public space, so you may use only your first name or initials depending on your privacy preferences.) Not ready? That’s okay. Read the poems already posted for more inspiration. Ponder your own throughout the day. Return later. And, if the prompt does not work for you, that is fine. All writing is welcome. Just write something. Also, please be sure to respond to at least three writers. Oh, and a note about drafting: Since we are writing in short bursts, we all understand (and even welcome) the typos and partial poems that remind us we are human and that writing is always becoming. If you’d like to invite other teachers to write with us, tell them to subscribe.
Smolder
By: Emily Yamasaki
Red, orange
and sometimes blue
Hot and quick
It’s burn leaving
more than the scar
Flames lick
my heart dark
But careful,
silence is suffocating
And without
action or justice
it will die
How do I
feed my
fire?
How do you
feed your
fire?
Oh, Emily! I was just thinking about how the meeting yesterday fed a fire that i had neglected. A space, a safe space to voice, not be silent, to listen, not passively but with genuine engagement–so filled up. Thank you for this reflection and opportunity to offer my gratitude to you and your little pumpkin!
So glad I came back, better late than never. Your poem is FIRE!
This is brilliance:
Flames lick
my heart dark
But careful,
silence is suffocating
I love reading your poetry and thinking deeper than the words on the page. I always feel like you’re giving me a peek into your special spaces in your life. Beautiful.
Your son melted my whole heart! Love in abundance!
A Library in Disarray
I rearranged the bedroom–
took out the extra three feet
I needed–
to make room for the boxes,
gray, clunky tubs
jumbled full of books
(hundreds of them).
No rhyme or reason or method,
just madness
to my packing storing saving;
and now these boxes are
stacked
stacked
stacked
in rows rows rows
with lids bent in impossible, irreparable ways
full to exploding
and there is
No more room.
Newest editions and additions
that the shelves can’t contain
are spilling out
into the family space,
living space,
public space,
and people are giving me
l o o k s.
I try to shove as many as I can
back into boxes
back into the room
that has sprung a leak.
There are only so many
towers of cardboard and paper
that I can
Jenga/Pisa/Babel
together in this space that has
no more room.
Oh, Andrea! I read this poem with such camaraderie! Your visuals are strong. Your metaphors (sprung a leak!) your wordplay (Newest editions and additions} satisfied this reader at every turn!
Wonderful!
Andrea,
Your single-minded purpose here was breathtaking. Look at the simple objective you had and you kept our interest throughout with so many delights.
And more threes–stacked stacked stacked, each stacked on top of each other and “rows rows rows”
So many fun and playful words and images. People are giving you l o o k s and Jenga/Pisa/Babel.
I had fun reading about your book storage, and you have painted a picture with your words.
Andrea, wow! I don’t know if you’ll come back to see this very late response, but I absolutely loved your poem. I am doing something I enjoy and that’s deciding it’s not about what it’s about. LOL. I believe this poem is not even about books being in disarray or packed/boxed etc but it’s about your life and your memories.
I say that because I see how I or anyone may pack away memories, the ones that bulge out when they need to be hidden forever. How people start looking at us in odd judgement because they “see” us and our lives and they don’t like what we show them. Instead of us being proud and letting it all show, we push our own identities, journeys, back into other hidden spaces.
Oh but…
“back into the room
that has sprung a leak”
Those pieces of ourselves will eventually come out.
I could be wrong, but I’m sure you’ll be okay with that because if it is about books, it’s a damn awesome poem about books! ?
Clamor
Lying in bed I look over at you
your hair mussed in every direction.
Greys and whites paint the scape
like the waves and the white foam.
Lines of cream rush against the sandy shore.
Outside my window
wind catches the limbs of the trees
sweeping them one way and then another.
Brushes move the air across the branches
bending with each breath.
Outside no moment of rest.
Will the branches find a time of rest?
Will the wind retire as day warms?
How long do I sit here staring through the glass?
Looking for rest
among brown and green.
Oh, Jamie! I am so glad I returned and found your poem tonight. I love the comparison you found in greying hair to waves on an ocean. This is (okay, for one of a million reasons) why I love poetry. You invited me to look at greying hair in a new way.
Your second stanza gave me a strong connection between an artist and nature. Lovely.
Your final stanza brings (to me) a shift in tone. I feel your uncertainty.
Jamie,
Beautiful description of your partner’s hair.
It’s interesting how we can find metaphors and inspiration wherever we look. Looking for rest staring through the glass gave you a little rest, I’m sure. Hope you can have a restful day soon.
I have used the prompts as my starting block for each of the past five days. Then somehow wandered off the path (or out of my lane, to save the track metaphor)! I let myself wander because, heck, who has any self-discipline left in this 100th day of COVID life?
Melanie, I loved your prompt. I began my poem process with the word “appreciative” or “appreciative of small joys.” As I brainstormed, I kept listing examples of nature’s magnanimity: she gives and gives. Once I began writing, I felt a sonnet coming on. This still needs work, but it was pleasure to work on this evening. THANK you!
And to all of you poet-teachers who participate in EELA’s Open Writes, thank you for YOUR openness and generosity of words and spirit. See you in July!
Open
Each day the world reveals a way to live.
She opens up her palm and thunder cracks–
Out pours benevolence; she gives
and gives and gives, no holding back.
And in the meadow tiger lilies chime
In with their contrapuntal tune of grace:
Be open, open, open; ‘tis the time
For petals to unfurl across this space.
For nature won’t hold back with knotted fist.
All motion is a bountiful release,
An overflow of moments that exist
To teach us to unfold without surcease.
As nature models magnanimity,
My spirit fills with generosity.
Allison, thank you for this sonnet. How beautiful. You made me have a new thought with your sonnet today. I want to be more like nature. Especially the tiger lilies here:
Their song tells them to be open, open, open . Wow.
My spirit has filled with gratitude this morning, and I hope becoming more generous today, like nature.
Hi Allison, I don’t know if you’ll come back and see this but I am grateful to have taken the time to spend with your glorious sonnet, a real love song to nature. Has it been 100 days in COVID19? No wonder this poem paints a picture that I want to savor.
The way nature teaches us how to live and exist is such a beautiful lesson in your poem:
I have taken these 100 days to appreciate nature and give her the love she deserves. Thank you for this gorgeous poem.
See you in July!
Snow but no snow day
Luxury homes
Displacing urban dwellers
Decaf coffee
Rain tickets
To an all-star game
Missing a child’s first steps
A lunar eclipse
On a cloudy night
Popcorn without butter
The middle seat on
A flight to paradise
Smudged windows
Mistaking oatmeal raisin
For chocolate chip cookies
Non-alcoholic beer
Senior year
With no graduation
Picnics in the rain
A blockbuster movie
Starring Mel Gibson
Beautiful sculptures of villains
A hummingbird darting away
From an empty feeder
Labor pains
Retirement
With no savings
All dressed up with no place to go
Painfully beautiful
All such individual situations…and yet, universal experience. I really like this list poem.
OMG, Katrina, did you nail it here! So many disappointments piled up too difficult to even comprehend. No one has escaped some kind of disappointment during the last few months. I can so relate to your lines: “Mistaking oatmeal raisin/For chocolate chip cookies”. LOL! Brilliant poem! Absolutely loved it!
Wow, Katrina, have you been collecting these for sometime? Or did you think of them all today? So many we can all relate too, and as I read your poem I am here the next morning drinking an almond milk chai latte. That can go on your list too. Haha. It was the first time I tried it; usually I use evaporated milk. What a disappointment.
Some of my favorites today:
Melanie,
I so enjoyed your prompt, your poetry writing advice and ideas…I feel as if this day did not lend itself to diving deeply into this poetic work with emotions, and I will definitely revisit in the days to come. Thank you so much! Thank you, Sarah, for organizing these five fabulous days in June!
Shadows
It’s as if I have been staring
only at one light
bright and falsely clear
blinded by its singular rays
somehow unaware
above, within, and around
luminescent shadows
dance and invite,
flickering, lurking, leading
right there all the time
no longer unseen
revealing, reflecting, releasing
now drawing my full attention
irresistible shadows of
resistance.
Maureen,
As I read I thought about the shadows we as a nation have ignored, walked over and past. Then you arrived at
Indeed, the shadows have caught ya and we cannot resist the resistance. Wonderful poem. Thank you.
—Glenda
Oh, Maureen, your poem speaks to me today, in this season and for the rest of my life. “Only at one light / bright and falsely clear” I love the word “at” in that opener. Because it’s not the light. Or there isn’t only one light. It’s just that we have been staring at that light, not seeing the shadows around it. Not finding perhaps, the great light of justice.
I’m with you, sister.
Three hundred sixty-four days a year
the cuckoo clock chimes, waltzes, and warbles.
But not today.
Today she is trapped in the never-ending hell
that is 12:17.
She huffs.
She puffs.
She pushes.
She growls.
Her teeth grind and gnash.
But no one seems to hear her silence,
nor to care.
She waits, idly
while the idyll of 12:18
is just beyond her reach.
Oh my. Full stop, total stuck. I am riveted – what happened at 12:17? Time freezing right now – such an image of “trapped in the never-ending hell.” !
Mo,
Your poem reminds me of the broken clock Gatsby grabs from the mantle. Love the lines
And
That speaks so loudly. Excellent poem. Thank you.
—Glenda
This poem made my chest tighten up. Mo, I love the way your lines build tension and we are all waiting for her to reach that very next second.
Melanie, thank you so much for today’s prompt. I so enjoyed your poem: the ending lines ” the forest longs to burn” are so chilling and thought-provoking.
Anxiety
Wicked river rises
Flooding fertile lands
Spoiling the hopeful future
Vomiting rotted fish
Rancid
Winds whip heaving
Roots sky high
Landing in a cacophony
Of angry screams
Flattened
Angry vile hands
Keening and cursing
Claw frantically destroying
Sanity, serenity, naivety; hope
Defeated
Barb Edler
June 24, 2020
Well, Barb, your poem was a success! I certainly felt anxious as I read it! Your word choice is spot on. I think it’s too difficult for me to choose the most effective words because they are all so good.
Barb,
I feel as though our poems today are kissing cousins. The anxiety here parallels that I mine. I particularly like the diction: racism, cacophony, kerning, cursing. Well done, friend. Thank you.
—Glenda
There are so many profoundly anxious images within this poem, it takes my breath away. Wow. Love the hard ‘k’ sound of “keening and cursing/claw franctically…”
Why is it our anxiety often takes the form of water? Thank you for sharing.
Whoa, Barb. Anxiety to defeat. What power in your word choice today. I’m stricken. “vomiting rotted fish” wow. I learned a new word, keening, and of course it is perfect for today’s poem. I hope you have read Allison’s sonnet today and saw the other bookend of nature. Your two poems are making me take pause this morning.
Forever
I admire all the rich colors,
the blue sky, the flowers blooming
I feel the warmth of the bright sun
I see the magnitude of the ocean
I hear the wondrous sounds of rebirth, of life, of happiness.
I take it all in.
Everything happens so quickly.
I remind myself
I must enjoy every minute of it
I must not waste time
Time…
How I wish it would stop
at this very moment
I do not want the hands to move
Why can’t they stand still?
I know fall has to come
But can it be delayed?
For how long, you ask?
How much time do you need, you wonder?
Forever, silly!
That’s all the time I need.
Monica, I’m sitting here chuckling to myself because I just finished my poem and it’s about the frustration of being stuck in time. We seem to be exact opposites today! The beginning of your poem has such lovely images that are easy for me to relate to.
You title your poem Forever and when I come to the end I think rest. So much movement. From color and images to thoughts and questions.
This process was a bit difficult for me. What I started writing might cause someone to initiate a “well-fare” check. Because the struggle is real right now. Anyhoo…here’s what I came up with.
An old pair of sweats
That favorite T-shirt
A pooches chew-toy
Running shoe – 500 miles late
My Emotions in a Nutshell.
I too, found the process challenging, but I’m really glad we both wrote today. I would really love to hear more about that running shoe. It seems like it may have a story to tell!
Several years ago before my knees made us quit, my running shoes could tell so many stories. (LOL)
I couldn’t figure out if I was struggling or if I wasn’t giving appropriate focus – this prompt was hard for me. I love this short poem of yours! I feel your emotions. My favorite line, “running shoe – 500 miles late.”
Donnetta,
Each line evokes emotion relevant to this moment. I also struggled w/ the process today. Your last line is especially timely. Thank you.
—Glenda
Linda and Margaret thank you for your inspirational prompts this week. I love your work! This week has been so therapeutic! I am always anxious to see what the day’s task holds and how it will encourage creativity! I appreciate your nurturing comments and well designed motivating lessons!
Fight-or-Flight
Troubling, gaudy character
Heavy body
Hunched over
Unusual, bobbing head
Shaggy and loose
With paler underparts
Circling, circling, circling
Out there above
Searching
Looming
Indistinctly threatening
Soaring
Diving
With false strength
Picking, picking, picking
Powerful scavenging
Aggressively bullying
Maliciously taunting
From motionless remains
Socially numb
Ripping from the soul
Ravenous attack
Moral hypocrisy
Regurgitating to spawn
Leaving a host disease
Parasites from oral droppings,
Vermin and lies
Free from thought
Yet all consuming
Overcoming all parts of intelligence
Shoo! Get out of here!!!
Susan, wow, your poem is so rich with layers of images and timely connections. “Leaving a host disease/Parasites from oral droppings,/Vermin and lies” these words are so effective to show the horror of our current times. I can so relate to the final line: “Shoo! Get our here!!!” Please……..right now! Thanks for sharing!
I can picture so many human vultures in your powerful poem.
This poem is based on something I witnessed yesterday.
“Straight Out of Hitchcock”
white flock gulls
dive into the
sandy mound
the child’s arms
flail winged
propelled toed fins toward
his sandy cocoon
undeterred
searching
pecking
snapping sustenance
abandoned goldfish
their hungry maws gape like
those black crepes flopping
latching bird beaks
unbound by black wire
the aviary tide rolls onto the shore
recedes as the boy’s father
gives chase
damn birds
—Glenda Funk
Glenda, I immediately knew your poem was going to be on the darker side based on your title. I do not think anyone who ever watches Hitchcock’s film The Birds can ever truly be the same, and although I am a huge lover of birds, I also feel very wary of them, especially when I see large black birds together. The descriptive words you use to describe the birds in this are terrific from “latching bird beaks” to “hungry maws”…all illuminate this scene so vividly. I keep wondering about the boy…was he screaming? The birds frenetic determination to feed is gripping! What a wonderful read! Thanks for sharing another brilliant poem!
This is very Hitchcock, oh my! I remember my 2 year old son being chased by gulls, for the fig newtons he was eating – not a relaxing day on the beach for us. Thank goodness for this child’s father giving chase! So many chilling lines – “their hungry maws gape like” – I have chills down my neck!
Woah. Scary moment for sure. Those damn birds!
Such powerful writing, Glenda. I feel like you and I could see the same scene, and you could write a poem like this, and I would register it with a checkmark in my memory. I am in awe of being able to rub elbows with poets like you. Thank you. My favorite lines are the birds as the tide:
Thank you so much to Linda and Margaret for your prompts this week. It was good to be here with you all. Margaret, I hope your hand is healing. Melanie, thanks for your stunning poem about the longleaf pine. I loved the image of longing to burn. It’s late for me, and I spent way too much time researching how saffron grows and is harvested. How fascinating! I knew nothing about it before. Hours ago I forgot about the emotion at the top of my page, so please, dear readers, don’t read too much of me into this poem! 😉
Rose of Saffron
Out in the open
In the full sun
Lies the costliest of all
Spices
For thousands of years
It is true
The Crocus Satimus corm
Initiates the process
First lying dormant
Through the heat of summer
Doing its wizardry underground
Then the autumn crocus
Burgeons and blossoms
Six purple petals
Cradle the crimson stigmas
And yellow styles
Gentle hands
Carefully pluck out the
Three red threads,
Dry and store safely–
150 flowers are needed to make
One gram of spice
(The stigmas of 400 flowers
to match the weight of a penny)
Use saffron for
Fragrance, healing and health
Creating golden ambrosial delicacies
Beauty of the beloved
Denise, what an amazing poem. I love the way you share the process of saffron. “150 flowers are needed to make/One gram of spice” is an incredible detail. It’s amazing to think of what work occurs behind the scenes of things we may too often take for granted. I so appreciate your closing line “Beauty of the beloved” as it share such a feeling of grace. Thanks for sharing!
What strikingly beautiful images you create here. “Beauty of the beloved,” a costly beauty.
reading your words I can smell the images – rich not sweet, rough not light, funny how words which do not refer to scent until the end conjure up such images
Thanks for today’s prompt! I’ve struggled to devote energy to writing recently and today I feel reinvigorated! Thanks for that Melanie, Sarah, and everyone else here!
“homegrown tomatoes”
The uneven backyard steps
mottled with
generations of gravel,
eager explosions of grass,
spiny weeds,
and the errant decomposing child’s toy
poke and imprint the soles of her feet
as she approaches the
lacy-leafed
heart-shaped
tomato plant.
With one pluck
a second,
sometimes a third!,
or even a fourth!!,
sun-flushed
orangy-red
orb will dribble to the soil bed below.
How ample, generous, fecund!
Yet–
she only needs the one for her
scrambled-eggs-on-toast
breakfast.
I want to be in this poem. We cannot grow tomatoes to save our lives.
glad you stepped in – a few brief moments captured in a stream of words – a nice voyage with you
I absolutely love seeing what you have all created! Thank you so much for sharing your work (and your heart) with us all!
Tired of the news.
Another one killed,
another martyr gone to heaven.
another “good” guy murdering a “bad” guy.
Feeling lethargic along with
weary of explaining this
to young people with questions.
Feelings that are broken paper flying across the parking lot,
dirty paper looking like soiled wrinkled clothes
on the ground that people keep stepping on.
Stained paper that’s crying out with anxiety.
Feeling exhaustion that leads to tears that
leads to disbelief that leads to angry faces.
Dirty words that lead to hurt feelings
that can lead to shouting.
Hopefully the new leaders can reinstate
hope, love, confidence, clarity, power, and equity.
So the grubby paper and hurt feelings can all be thrown
into filthy garbage cans.
To be replaced by gorgeous sheets of
gold, canary, copper, crimson, grassy, ebony, sapphire and
alabaster papers that are neatly stacked
next to sharpened pencils waiting for
drawings, lyrics, essays, flowers, speeches,
and words of healing mixed with tenderness.
Thank you for sharing!
Seana this might be one of my favorite poems you’ve written! I’m captivated by the metaphor in paper:
(dirty paper looking like soiled wrinkled clothes
on the ground that people keep stepping on.
Stained paper that’s crying out with anxiety.)
Brilliant!
Then this:
(gorgeous sheets of
gold, canary, copper, crimson, grassy, ebony, sapphire and
alabaster papers)
Girl, you did this poem and the paper the justice they deserved! Love it!
Serena, wow, what a beautiful ending! I surely hope the same. I so appreciate the way you build the opening with the exhaustion I think many of us are experiencing. I also liked the way you used repetition of the word “lead” in this poem. It’s like one train wreck after another. I can barely stand to watch the news, and then I feel like such a coward. The rich colors at the end add such beauty to the poem. Your poem is truly awesome, and I so hope we will begin to experience “words of healing mixed with tenderness!”
What a powerful combination of phrases: ‘Feeling lethargic along with
weary of explaining this…”
The paper is such a powerful symbol too.
I can see this poem written on a collage of paper.
Seana,
“Feeling lethargic along with
weary of explaining this
to young people with questions.”
You should not have to explain this. There is no explanation. I’m so sorry for the mess we’ve made of this world.
Your paper metaphor is beautiful. All the colors reminded me of the song of Jesus loving all the children of the world, with some other rainbow colors added, neatly stacked ready to work, create and heal together in tenderness. Beautiful, hopeful poem.
There is something so very beautiful about the picture you painted at the end. The colors – I’ve gone back to reread that line so many times. Thank you for sharing this, Seana!
Obviously I was having difficulty understanding my current emotional state. 🙂 This was my first time to participate in the Open Write, and I really enjoyed it. I don’t often share my poems with others, but it felt very safe to share here. Thank you!
What Time Is It?
slight apprehension
barely suppressed rage
stunned disbelief
(eager anticipation)
palpable anxiety
overwhelming sadness
agonizing despair
(intermittent calm)
paralyzing indecision
debilitating fear
never-ending exhaustion
(modified Zen)
uncontrollable anger
mild discomfort
unmitigated hatred
(momentary awe)
utter confusion
profound disgust
heartbreaking grief
(tentative hope)
blissful numbness
So glad you enjoyed it!
Sharon, I love your use of the parentheses here especially as what’s in between juxtaposes with the lines that precede. I find my own emotions mirroring yours, so your poem creates a nice ebb and flow. Ultimately, like you, I find myself often floating into that last line when all of the emotions stack up and I take a moment to practice a little gratitude or hope. Thanks for sharing!
I could have just copied and pasted your poem and put my name on it. I completely understand.
Modified Zen made me laugh. Like you, I have difficulty understanding my current emotional state. I try not to be too hard on myself.
Love your poem, Sharon. I love the short, choppy style. And the parentheses. It feels just how I feel much of the time—unsettled with frequent mood changes with glimmers of hope.
three windows before me
the first
four tiny panes
tell the story of
recent
deed, protocol, participants
a window of what is becoming
the second
a half pane
a poem of three stanzas
asks me to hear
“the cracked taste
the resin with white”
space giving me a way out
the third
a box within a pane
codes above wondering what
I will make, a cursor
playing games with my fingers
as I type then wait
staring at white space saying
it’s okay…you’re okay…that’s enough
just stop
submit
Sarah, what a relatable poem! I especially love the second stanza. I keep rereading those last few lines of synesthesia–always mind-bending, in a great way! Thanks for giving my brain something to chew on!
Thanks, Laura. I was actually in tears as I wrote this. Faced with all these windows and this desperate need to fill the whitespace with this wordless sensation I have been feeling all week. Thanks for getting me.
Sarah, I am captivated by your poem. It’s a bit of a mystery at times for me. I keep rereading it, but I think I totally understand your ending stanza as I believe your describing the codes in the box right above this comment box, although I have never been able to figure any of them out. LOL! I truly could relate to your final lines: “just stop/ submit”. I want to push myself to write for these challenges, but I often just decide to stop picking away at a poem I’m writing and push it out. The great thing is that the readers are always kind. Thanks for sharing your work. I’ll be coming back to reread this one again!
Like Laura, I love the synesthesia, “hear the cracked taste.” I like you white space too!
Thanks, but those words belong to Melanie Crowder — her poem was one of the “window” panes or windows on my computer screen as I was trying to write.
Linda and Margaret, thank you so very much for your prompts this week, your encouraging comments, and for giving me time this week to write through some of my emotions. You also introduced me to some fun new poetry tools, poets to follow, blogs and books to read. Thank you for teaching me new lessons this week! ❤️
Oh Melanie, this was fun but it made me search and work hard too! Thank you for today’s prompt and guidance. Your poem is magical and I truly appreciate you sharing your gift with us here. I won’t say what my emotion was, I’ll hope the poem reveals it.
The Eye of Our Tornado
As a city girl
One who thinks sprinkles
Preview pouring rain
And 70 degrees
Is chilly light-sweater weather
I’ve found rest
“As still as death”
in The Eye of Our Tornado
First the wind speeds
Then destruction
Uprooting and flattening
Something as heavy as hate
Cuffing and weakening trees
Before hurling homes into hell
Chaos creating caskets
Scattering our sick soil
Until it passes through
Leaving this city girl
Unscathed
© Stacey L. Joy, June 24, 2020
Stacey, you have such a gift of capturing emotions using carefully chosen words that describe other sensory sensations. Particularly powerful are the alliterations you use in these lines:
Before hurling homes into hell
Chaos creating caskets
Scattering our sick soil
Does that make your writing metaphorically synesthetic! Anyway, however we label it, your writing is graphic, evocative, and provocative, inspiring us to do something about what’s going on!
Thanks for sharing!
Thank you!!!
Stacey, you write with amazing power; there’s a grace in the grittiness of your lines. “Rest as still as death …” – “something as heavy as hate …” -“chaos creating caskets” -“scattering our sick soil” – their terrible truths sting, even as their poetry sings. I think of your “city girl” portrayal in the opening lines and in the last – and I think: astonishing resiliency. I’ve read your poem several times – and will read it more. Deeply stirring.
Melanie,
This is such an incredible prompt. It really got my wheels spinning. I landed on something and created the extended metaphor. I wonder if readers can pick up the subtext. This is definitely a prompt that I will re-visit as it has such potential to be used over and over. I am intrigued by your poem and plan to do some research about it.
The Playground
It’s recess
Kids full of energy
scramble to desired choices . . .
equipment
games
parking tie roosts
hovering within the teacher’s loving sphere
the shade beneath the kissing tree
The socially-inclined and connected
worry where others are before
they make their choice.
Hierarchy reigns.
The pecking order of second grade
determines how the time is spent.
I opt for the teeter-totters.
Two of them sit side-by-side
scissoring while like-sized
kids struggle to strike a balance.
The girl opposite me is heavier
than I am,
leaving me up in the air more than
I want to be.
She pushes off to send me rocketing down.
We try to balance on the fulcrum
but the pivot point can’t be reached
with such a power difference.
Frustrated, she hops off,
with no consideration of me,
without warning,
causing me to plummet
to the ground with a thud and a recoil.
Another girl takes her place.
We are similar in size
and in energy.
We both like to to start
by pushing off our feet,
going back and forth
push, lift, fall
push, lift, fall
with the slightest hesitation
at the apex.
I laugh because she calls it the see-saw.
We tend to pop up and down
pounding the ground
beneath us flat
with dust flying for a while.
Then the earth becomes so
compact that it’s just there
offering none of itself
to the wind,
squished by our power and persistence.
Sometimes, we bravely
release the handle and
assert our willingness to
rise and fall unsupported
One of us says,
“Let’s try to balance.”
We each shift and move
and our toes tap the earth
softly to slightly
lift us closer to equilibrium,
the pendulum ceasing its movement.
It takes a rhythm, a singular focus of
two independent souls in sync.
The symmetry of the sides
and the similarity of the perchers
makes this standstill possible.
It’s as if we are both suspended
in mid-air, feet not touching the trampled earth,
floating and flying free of support.
Little did we know
all that we learned there,
all that was revealed about human interaction . . .
the physics we employed;
the cooperation we practiced;
the single-mindedness we needed
to reach a goal,
to come to consensus;
the power of other’s choices
and actions
on the playground.
~Susan Ahlbrand
24 June 2020
Sigh. What a beautiful, peaceful image that captures so much wisdom. There’s a book called something like “Everything I Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten.” Your poem offers that same idea, Susan. If everyone could just play together nicely… Thank you for this lovely image!
Ann, what a lovely description of children at play. I particularly like the lines
hovering within the teacher’s loving sphere
the shade beneath the kissing tree
because they challenge us as parents and educators to provide that sphere of love that nurtures the kind of behavior we trust our children and students to develop in ways you described in the closing lines.
Thanks for sharing.
Susan, these lines really struck me: but the pivot point can’t be reached/with such a power difference./Frustrated, she hops off,/with no consideration of me …. I think about the jarring pain of that plummet. Second-graders, being kids just learning, that’s one thing. But these lines are haunting in light of history and the current times. How beautifully you tie it together in those last lines: the single-mindedness we needed/to reach a goal,/to come to consensus;
the power of other’s choices/and actions … for, oh yes, these affect us all, long, long after the playground.
Susan,
I agree with Fran, Sharon, and Anna here about the layers of meaning. At once, there is a playfulness and tension. The metaphor of the teeter-totter (which we called it in Illinois) shows what any keen observer can see on a playground at recess — the ones who impose and hurt and the ones who are moved, sorted, even ranked by other “children.” The speaker positions herself in this scene with different playmates to see where the agency is and how well the teetering or balancing can work with different partners, with different intentions, with different, I guess, willingness. One comes to play to the scene and the second comes to play with the speaker. I see this metaphor working on so many levels and with so many generations — kids on the playground, teachers in power dynamics, political leaders. It is such a thing of balancing when both must find that sweet spot and then both must have a sense of trust in allowing one to push into the air and feel the soaring while the other cushions the fall. So lovely, Susan. Much to unpack here. I just try to offer you a window into my reading experience.
Peace,
Sarah
On this final Open Write day: Thank you, Sarah; this is the first time I’ve participated and its been an absolute joy. Thank you, Linda and Margaret, for the soul-searching and stretching of poetry muscles. And thank you, Melanie C., for the longleaf pine poem today; that pine is my state symbol, so it quite literally strikes home. I am mesmerized by this symbolic rendering, formation of turpentine, latent, longing to burn … I love it and am haunted by it. I may carry the latent smoldering taste of it with me always.
What an extraordinary challenge today … here’s my best shot, so far …
Seahorse knows
it’s too slow
to survive
a violent tide.
Anchoring its prehensile tail
to long sea grasses
it endures
and is not swept away
or drowned by its own biosphere.
Once there was a neighborhood
where stood a house
with white metal seahorses anchored
to its redwood exterior.
Incongruous, in the scheme of things
because the children knew
they couldn’t survive
the interior violent tide.
They came running, crying,
seeking some anchor for tying
any living root not dying
in the alcoholic rage
bludgeoning, destroying, their biosphere.
Seahorse shares its name
with part of the human brain.
Hippocampus is tasked
with anchoring emotion and memory
and learning
and perception.
Tiny dual navigator
of life’s turbulent seas.
Seas under which
molten fire burns
and erupts
through self-built, fragile chimneys
venting hydrothermal plumes
of black smoke, white smoke
into the biosphere.
Seahorse—hippocampus—
is conditioned by
the blinking of the eye
tracing, learning, even as it looks
in opposite directions
at the same time.
Anchored
even as blood boils
in a violent tide
of interactions
moving mountains
changing the chemistry
of the biosphere.
Who knows
what Seahorse knows
as the snowblower vent throws
flocculent lava snows
each particle of which is alive
wanting to survive
eventually settling with the tide
to flourish and bloom
in its ocean biosphere.
It’s the human biosphere that goes
the way hippocampus goes.
Down deep, hippocampus knows.
Holy cow, Fran . . . this is an incredible poem. I am not sure that I can even specify all that I love about it. The use of seahorse with the hippocampus and the way you embed traits that each has is genius. When the center of our emotions is not balanced, we as individuals are not. And, when individuals are not, then society is not. I think I will read this poem over and over. You certainly achieved what poets want . . . appreciation and intrigue. Well done!
Fran, this is a beautiful analogy of ocean tides to the tides of life. The emotional pull is even stronger when we see the children holding tight. Powerful words and prophetic thoughts!
Um, Fran….this is genius. You wrote this…just this morning or today? Wow. There is a lot here without explicitly saying it and I’m just blown away with the connections between sea horse and the human brain and what the human brains in the children had to process. I hope you take this poem to somewhere for publication. It’s brilliant.
Wow, Fran! This poem is incredible. I am blown away by the way you weaved the seahorse so effortlessly into your lines. Thank you for sharing your writing all week with us.
Morning Prescription
Dog out
Dog in
Cat urgency
Morning emergency
Bowls filled
Complaints stilled
Dog out
Dog in
Beans ground
Burble sounds
Brown elixir
Fog fixer
CNN
Bad news again
Cup to brim
Facebook skim
Dog in lap
Cats nap.
Day begins.
Gayle Sands
June, 2020.
I love the rhythm of this and the short lines. It makes me feel the morning rituals and that sense of “here we go again.” Thank God for the “brown elixir”! Lol
Gayle, these rhyming couplets give a productive pace to the morning – – covering the bases and beginning the day. Of course, my favorite line is Dog in lap……..that’s just the cherry on top! Love it.
I love the brown elixir line. It makes mornings much better.
Oh this is fun! I know that dog out dog in oh too well! I feel like they have made it into a strange covid game. Thanks for sharing your morning! Well done!
Your poem made me smile, Gayle. Yes, your morning is busy, but it is rich in companionship and ritual.
We are getting a puppy soon, and your poem made me wonder how my morning routine will change. I really like your poem.
This is wonderful and so dang familiar! The short, snappy lines cut to the chase…nothing happens until the pets allow it to. I was along for this ride every single word to the end.
Melanie, thanks for the prompt and the pre-writing steps. Today, I’m feeling audacious and based on work with kids and teens am posting a different poem.
Relevance
Who needs me?
I’m just a whelp. How can I help?
What do I have to offer?
Somebody please, please, please help me see?
Kids and teens often worry and wonder
They ponder their role in life.
Where do they fit amidst so much strife?
How do they cope without much hope?
Remain open-minded and keep showing up.
It’s okay to question and to even disrupt.
Just understand why you do what you do.
Offer your youth. We truly need you.
Be ready to apologize and to forgive.
Believe you have a role and a purpose to live.
You’re alive! Now thrive! Now go out and do right.
Just offer your love and keep your light bright.
This is my favorite line….although there is much wisdom in this poem, “It’s okay to question and to even disrupt.” I have consciously been working on using the word disrupt in my chats with other educators and friends. It so defines what I feel like we need to do.
Anna,
I find myself reading this from a few lenses. The first is personally — whelp, who even cares — and the second is more generally that people are all wondering how they can help in this time of COVID-19 and antiracist work. I so appreciate these wise, wise words:
Peace,
Sarah.
Linda’s favorite line is also my favorite. Now more than ever, we need to disrupt snd we need to allow young voices to question.
Hi Anna,
Great seeing you today!
Your poem says so much in 4 short stanzas! I’m stuck on
It’s okay to question and to even disrupt.
Just understand why you do what you do.
Offer your youth. We truly need you.
I pray our young people know how much we truly need them. I love that you’re urging them to question and disrupt. Gone are the days of sit still and be quiet.
Beautiful ending lines too because without love, what can they really do?
?
“Be ready to apologize and to forgive.
Believe you have a role and a purpose to live.
You’re alive! Now thrive! Now go out and do right.
Just offer your love and keep your light bright.”
Beautiful message! Thank you!
If you don’t mind, I want to quote “Offer your youth. We truly need you.” Thank you.
Melanie, what a fun prompt! I have so much free write from this….I don’t know what it’s going to turn into, but wow. You got me writing today. Thank you! I so appreciate how you don’t use the name of the emotion in your poem but it really gets to that future fire in the pine. I want to write like this!
cornflower blue you
blanket sleepy green hills to
hold on to what’s true
Linda, this Haiku is stunning – the imagery, the relaxed pace, and the rooting to truth. I love the way you used color and setting to create the mood.
Linda, you’ve captured the moment for me! Before our online meeting, I took the time to sit out on the deck with a friend, masked and sitting six feet away. We looked up and the cornflower blue sky and gave thanks for the way it covers us so gently, like a blanket, and being together, we could “hold on to what’s true”, and that’s friendship.
I know I’m probably reading more into the poem, but that what is says to me. I thank you for adding another smile to my day!
Linda, Margaret, and Melanie — Your prompts with the wonderful mentor poems and texts and process guidance have been elixir this week. I so appreciate the thoughtful care you each took in your inspirations and your responses. Such a nurturing community of dedicated writers! Thank you heaps! Susie
I really enjoyed this week! It’s been a lovely beginning to my summer writing. Your supportive and thoughtful responses to writers have been wonderful to read. I learn from you. Thanks!
Susie, I second what you said! This has been a wonderful week of prompts – very introspective and much needed! Thank you to our hosts for investing in us!
I worship at the chapel of the open sky
Seagulls soar
And salty sea-air stirs my memory
Of Dad and me on a fishing barge
Burlap bags of our catch to clean
A day of sun together, a still peace
I sing today a song of praise as
The sun breaks through the morning haze
Whitewater waves strum a serenade
The sun breaks through the gloom and grey
Proclaiming hope and life, renewing strength
I breathe it all in and wait
Melanie, thanks for hosting and for causing me to look inward. I love your poem. I could smell the resin and feel the crackle as I anticipated the burn.
This is lovely. There is something about salt-air that is better than perfume. And, that that fragrance is tied to time with your Dad–that is truly special. I love “Whitewater waves strum a serenade”
Thanks so much, Linda!
Nancy, this is pure poetry for the soul! I love the line “whitewater waves strum a serenade.” And then the sun comes through the clouds – – that’s just beautiful!
Thanks, Kim! ??
Lovely. Just the title and the last line create a beautiful mantra: “I worship at the chapel of the open sky. I breathe it all in and wait.” It feels like a much needed exhale. Thank you!
Thanks, Sharon! ??
Oh! Everyone has said what I wanted to say (she whined)! This is pure beauty for the way it is written, the images it creates, and the message it promotes. My favorite lines, tare
The sun breaks through the morning haze
Whitewater waves strum a serenade
The sun breaks through the gloom and grey
Proclaiming hope and life, renewing strength
I breathe it all in and wait
The auditory image described as waves strumming makes me think of music, drums played gently and playfully the regular rhythm of life. No matter what the night has been like, the sun comes up “proclaiming life”!
Thank you, Anna. ??
Melanie, thank you so much for hosting us today! I love your Longleaf Pine poem – – I live on a Loblolly pine tree farm in Georgia, and so I know well those days of burning the underbrush and then standing back and watching the trees soar when they alone can soak up all the sunshine without competition from other plants. This is absolutely beautiful, and I love the sounds of these lines – fun to read aloud!
the forest grows thick
with leaf litter and split trees,
needles scattered
like matchsticks.
I’m writing on a farm theme lately, so my emotion today is yearning for more farmpeace – to capture more tranquility and inner meditation in the chaos of life.
Captured!
She set out to capture a farm.
She jumped in the old Ford pickup
and stuck to the dirt roads
to cast a wide net
and haul home a truckload.
She drove in wonder
and discovered
morning dew
on a spider’s web
spun between the slats
of a wooden fence
on a hill,
the first rays
of daylight streaming through,
illuminating the
intricate Arachno-haven
steam rising
off the pond,
mama duck schooling her little ones
in the fine art of ripple-writing
on the unlined page
meadow fences
saddled firmly
to the backs
of freshly-mown
lush green rolling hills
cows
ambling across the fields
seeking greener grass
to feast out the day
fields
of haybales
spun in lumpy crumpets,
lying sideways
like warm glazed cinnamon buns
for hungry horses
a barn
hayloft door open
tractor bucket stretching upward
reaching strategically
spoonfeeding bundles of hay
to bale stackers
a much-loved-mutt farmdog
tagging along
on the heels
of his farmer
tail wagging on his way
to his purpose for the day
jumping into the bed of a truck
as the tailgate slams shut
pigs
slurping delicious slops
from their trough
pondering all the shady places
to seize the day
once the sun rises high
a communion of horses, goats, and cows
blessing their breakfast buffet
of oaty-alfalfa hay,
each in their own prayerful way
a rooster!
proclaiming the gospel!
like a street preacher!
from a pulpit stump!
neck and words straining skyward!
all hellfire and brimstone!
about the perils of laziness!
honeybees
swarming their hive boxes
nestled in the wood clearing
buzzing up their secret recipe
to sweeten and heal
sunflowers
still droopy sleepers
as the sun creeps upstairs
to tickle their chins
and bring worshipping smiles
to this colorful choir
of breezy sway-dancers
wildflowers
spilling over the crest of a hill
tumbling and scattering downward
Mother Nature’s splatter-painting
countryside graffiti
a lone tire swing
hanging from an oak branch
inviting barefoot toes
to hop in and fly
to hold on tight
and touch the sky
a hub of donkeys
plotting and scheming
by the broken fence
like old men huddled
in the local coffeehouse
bristling and braying
over town politics
a farmhouse
windows open
curtains billowing out
like arms eagerly welcoming passing folks
to come in for a
buttered bacon-egg biscuit breakfast
and then she realized.
You don’t capture a farm.
…….A farm captures you!
Oh so true…”A farm captures you!” Beautiful imagery! Thanks for taking me there this morning! I needed a “farm fix”!
If anyone can capture the farm, a farm….it’s you. Oh, my goodness this little bit here
“mama duck schooling her little ones
in the fine art of ripple-writing
on the unlined page”
is a picture book all on its own. Please write this and get it out into the world!
I always enjoy your poetry and especially the farm poems. Enjoy the rest of June. See you in July.
Kim,
I love this guided tour of the farm, the celebrate — ode — to each object and being. These lines particularly gave me the feels
So love being with you in this space,
Sarah
Kim, I adore your farm poems – my sister-in-law lives on a farm and my home is in the rural countryside where I hear a rooster every morning (sometimes throughout the day) – a spirit-lifter every time. I love your depiction of the rooster as a hellfire-and-brimstone street preacher, straining his neck, preaching in his rustic voice. Perfect! I love these lines also:
a communion of horses, goats, and cows
blessing their breakfast buffet
of oaty-alfalfa hay,
each in their own prayerful way
I sense just this as I pass by pastures where they graze … and oh, the donkeys! A pair lived around the corner here and they were ALWAYS huddled, almost tethered like men at the coffeehouse (or hardware store). Mostly I couldn’t wait to see where this love-letter was going, what the girl would do with her “caught” farm – and it didn’t disappoint. Truly a delight. I reveled in this farmpeace and I wish you much more.
Lethargic
Expended,
to the point
of exhaustion
Drowsy,
near the edge
of consciousness
Languid,
on the border
of liquid
Listless
by the boundary
of activity
Hopeful
with the prospect
of rejuvenation
Languid, listless, lethargic. Wonderful words to describe this time we live in.
I hope you find rejuvenation. I love and hate summer break…as soon as it starts, the clock is counting down until the big effort of a new school year. You use beautiful words in this….Lethargic, languid, listless…I like that you end with hopeful.
Kevin, your poem is so relatable for teachers – we speak that language! I think I could create a slide to go under the microscope using cells for each of those words – lethargic I could scrape eyelid skin cells on a Monday morning…..expended I could just breathe breath cells on a Friday afternoon……there’d be a day for every word! You sum up a work week and then give us hope for the weekend! 🙂
Kevin,
I find myself wondering about the speaker — if it is literal or figurative, if it is you or another, if it is me.
Am I
?
Sarah