Day 2, February’s Open Write with David Duer
David Duer recently retired from teaching English at Cedar Rapids Washington High School, where he was the faculty advisor for the Washington Literary Press. His work has appeared in Ascent, Exquisite Corpse, English Journal, North American Review, Poetry, and others. His memoir-themed blog From Now On can be found at www.davidduerblog.com.
Invitation from David
Diction can be about the types of things one includes in a poem, and how one describes them. We can create a spacious world in our poems by using mixed diction – nuclear bombs and orange sodas, penthouses and outhouses, chewing gum and champagne – as Dianne Seuss does in her poem:
Imitate the structure and specificity and varied diction of Suess’s poem. Start off your poem with “Let’s meet somewhere.” (Adapted from Tony Hoagland’s Five Powers of Poetry workshop)
David’s Poem
Let’s Meet Somewhere
Let’s meet somewhere
Between the pledge of allegiance and the act of contrition,
In the hippie redwood hills above Santa Cruz,
Or you with your trusty blue heeler, Felix,
On the windswept cliffs overlooking the Pacific,
While I track the muddy creeks of the Cuyahoga River.
Let’s meet somewhere
With two tall bottles of golden cerveza
On the Oaxacan beaches of Puerto Angel or Zipolite,
Or in the piney woods at the end of a winding dirt road
Beside the sulfurous hot springs of Los Azufres
In the Sierra Madres del Sur.
Let’s meet somewhere
Behind the woodpile of my Ohio childhood,
Or in the Santa Clara almond orchards of yours,
Back before your stepfather began molesting you,
Before you had to scour the house for your mother’s pills,
Or stand up in court to sign her commitment papers.
Let’s meet somewhere
On page one of volume one of The Diary of Anaïs Nin,
You and I reading to each other in bed at night
About the steamy Parisian alleys of Montmartre
And the dark passageways of a woman’s psyche,
Agreeing that Henry Miller was an asshole.
Let’s meet somewhere
Between the dough mixer and the bread ovens,
Kneading and shaping the whole wheat loaves of love
In the basement kitchen of Stone Soup Restaurant,
Which was once the kitchen of St. Mary’s grade school
On the corner of Clinton and Jefferson streets.
Back when you wore a tiny bell necklace and nothing else
On the sweaty sheets of our summer afternoon love.
after Dianne Seuss//david duer
Your Turn to Write & Respond
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. See the image for commenting with care. 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.
Late. Yes. I was once again wrapped up in the news of the day and could simply not bring my mind round to this prompt in the right way, so I finally just let the words loose that needed to be. I love this form idea, and will try it again another day when I am in a better frame of mind to play with language.
Let’s Meet Here
I keep trying to find
the point at which
we can meet
me with my rainbows
you with your MAGA
Carl Rogers says
we all can find the bridge
the shared value
the thing we both love
but when those shadows
of what disagree
loom so large
the antithesis of
so many human lives
I can only shake my head
walk away
search for strength
to try again
or
the permission to never
Let’s Meet Somewhere
Between mural towers of Aberystwyth Castle
and Devil’s Bridge,
to feel the kiss of waterfall’s mist
in the Cambrian Woods of Wales
where we embarked on adventure
Let’s meet to reminisce
We are 20 somethings at a party,
our rudimentary terpsichorean talents
shadowed in a drunken strobe lit room,
where nothing but us matters
Let’s Meet Somewhere
Between loquaciousness and silence
Between emotion and detachment
Between life and paralysis
Let’s meet again when this yawning emptiness
is quelled and living begins
let’s meet and remember
the kiss of the mist
I’ll have to admit—this was a tough one, but I’m glad I wrote! I wanted to write a poem about me and my mom because we are really different, but it turned more into a poem about a daughter who has lost their mother and wants to see her again? I’m not really sure—haha! Again, I’m just glad I wrote. Thank you for this space!
Let’s Meet (a daughter to a mother)
Let’s meet
Where cornfields turn to Rockies
Where Rockies turn to the Pacific
Where stardust formed you
And you formed me.
Let’s meet
The stories that are inside us
Hungry Irish Catholics, tempest-tossed Germans,
Salem witches, and Iowan depot workers.
Let’s meet
What may lie for us ahead:
Travels, communication,
forgiveness, Diet Coke
Let’s meet
When you are ready to see me again
When 1963 meets 1993
Then I can tell you I’m sorry
Will you forgive me again?
Let’s meet.
Wow, Rachelle, what a beautiful poem. Maybe part of a novel in verse about that daughter. My favorite is at the beginning, when you transported me there to the corn fields meeting the Rockies and beyond to the stars:
Beautifully told!
I love this. It has such a soft, yearning tone that is quite compelling. Beautiful job!
Rachelle,
I love the way you have juxtaposed the history “Hungry Irish Catholics, tempest-tossed Germans/Salem witches, and Iowan depot workers” and the future “what lie for us ahead/Travel, communicatio/forgiveness, Diet Coke” and how you captured the complicated relationships of mothers and daughters.
Let’s meet in
the tea-kettle whistle
at the nexus of tears and laughter.
Let’s meet where
the hoary freezing fog
touches the flowering pear.
Let’s meet between
the baby’s sigh
and his mother’s shoulder.
Let’s meet between
the sip and the click,
on the oar against the current
where the laurel touches his curls.
Thank you, Allison for this sweet invite. I would especially like to meet you between the baby’s sigh and his mother’s shoulder. How pleasant that would be!
There’s such a nice contrast in your images—the tea kettle whistle and the oar against the current. They create a sweet nostalgic tone that is quite interesting.
Allison! Oh how your writing always rejuvenates me! I love this “at the nexus of tears and laughter”. I love that moment and I love that you captured it in writing.
Ah, what beauty in your words, Allison. I am drawn to this tea-kettle whistle:
I can see the scene between tears and laughter, which seems to me is usually a safe place to be. Beautiful.
Allison — I love this image “Let’s meet between/the baby’s sigh/and his mother’s shoulder.” You have captured that beautiful bonding moment between mother and child so perfectly.
Oh, yes. The tea-kettle whistle, the nexus of tears and laughter. I have sat in that kitchen… love this peaceful, hopeful poem
Let’s Meet Somewhere
Between cooking and eating
where the indulgence in a hearty meal lies.
Between Middle Grade books and Social Media posts
meant to capture our attention and take us far away.
Between notebook entries and blog post
written to record all of life’s experiences.
Let’s meet somewhere
cozy and enjoy
being in the moment.
Donetta,
I like how you focus on the moment directly in front of us: cooking, eating, reading, writing.
Donnetta, what a great reminder! Life’s experiences, not recorded or photographed for consumption by others, but fully consumed by us being in the moment. Yes, to this more and more often. What a great topic!
I love the nudge presented by your last stanza—staying present and enjoying the moment. I need to remember this more often ❤️
Donnetta — love the message here! I agree, it is so easy to get caught up in recording the moment that we forget to enjoy the moment. Your poem is a refreshing remember to live in the present.
Let’s Meet Somewhere Outside Fact and Fiction
between The Liar’s Club and the lost house
on Pennell Road where pepper trees and horses were
bookmarks, in the long hallway with darkened
windows, between the tendrils of the willow tree and
the too tight door of a burrow, where stacks of books
call out their titles–The Weird Sisters, Sitt Marie Rose,
and Fools Crow, in the corner of a not so soft chair
that has just the right light, where the last fifty
pages are sacred and respected, where words grow
minds and imaginations flourish, between the two
sides of the country, where deep, thick humidity
slows the world, to the soft rains of Oregon that
invite hibernation, across mountains of inevitably
fraught days of inner darkness, beyond the expected reactions
and typical rebuttals, come to the moments of peace
accompanied by the soft patter of rain on the roof.
Cara, This was lovely. This line “where the last fifty
pages are sacred and respected” hit me. I feel the pull to slow the final chapters of a book I’m loving. You said it beautifully: sacred and respected.
Where are you in Oregon? Rachelle Lipp (one of this week’s poetry hosts) is out there with you!
I am in Salem–Rachelle is teaching at the high school where I have been for many years. She invited me to this Open Write. I’m really enjoying it–so another thank you to her (and to you for hosting).
As to the “last fifty pages,” they are indeed sacred in my family–if one of us is reading the last 50 pages of a book, we have a firm rule that no one is allowed to bother/interrupt. The joys of living with an English teacher, I suppose. 🙂
You two have more in common than you know! ?
And these lovely lines after the sacred last 50 pages:
This is one of the best parts of meeting between fact and fiction.
Beautiful poem, Cara!
Cara! How in the world did you do this? I love the imagery and the topic. While I have a lot of favorite lines in this piece, this one was the one I could not only picture but feel: “ in the corner of a not so soft chair
that has just the right light”. Thanks for writing today and for getting me to do it too! ?
Cara — You have so many beautiful images in this poem: “tendrils of the willow tree/ and too tight door of a burrow” and “thick humidity slows the world.”
Somewhere
By Nancy White
Let’s meet somewhere
In a mud bath slapping clay on skin beneath the yellow sun
Between the wrapper of the comic strip that wraps around my gum
Under the pier in the black of night skin on skin
Let’s meet somewhere
Beside a slow old river on the bubbles of our pale champagne
Eating chocolate on the slide of the trombone
Of a gilded past century
Let’s meet somewhere
Amongst the crooked trees and hum of bees
In a cave of bushy weeds
Behind the black granite rocks that jut out to the sea
Let’s meet somewhere
Over the cafe and the smell of pastries
In the train whistle as the freight rumbles by our sleepy waking
Across the highway over the bridge, seagulls diving
For something
Let’s meet somewhere
Before we felt the slap, the shame of not being good enough
Beyond the spoiled-meat-stained anger of harsh words
When baby-pink innocence ruled
Let’s meet somewhere
Far above this murky soul
To stars just becoming glimmering things
We simply sparkle somewhere in the Milky Way.
Nancy, this line had me saying “damn, that is good”: “Beside a slow old river on the bubbles of our pale champagne”. I mean, come on with the water imagery here from the river to bubbly. GORGEOUS.
Nancy,
This is a feast of clandestine places where lovers meet, but then the harsh lines
awaken us to life’s expectations and how inadequate we often feel. Like Sarah, I notice the gorgeous water imagery, too. Haunting, heartbreaking, beautiful.
Nancy, wow, what an incredibly moving poem. I absolutely love the imagery throughout this piece, and the wonderful rhythm and rhyme of stanza three. The lines
. are so rich with sensory appeal. The loss of innocence is truly a “slap”. I appreciate how you develop that sense. Then you end it so poignantly with that last line “We simply sparkle somewhere in the Milky Way.” Wow! Kudos!
I think you totally embodied the diction challenge here- the specific images with emotional resonance are just on point- each stanza holds a little treasure- love the slide trombone of past century. Kudos!!
YES. Agree.
As I struggled (enjoyably, but still…) with my poem tonight, I kept feeling that the sizzling juxtapositions were just beyond my grasp. When I read your poem, I thought YES, that’s what I wanted (but failed 😉 ) to do! This is a treat. Each line is a frisson.
Yes, sis, as the comments below state…this is really good!
Nancy,
Wow! This is a beautiful poem with so much amazing imagery. The second stanza is my favorite: “Beside a slow old river on the bubbles of our pale champagne/Eating chocolate on the slide of the trombon/
Of a gilded past century.”
Well, this was a challenge for me, so I just tried to get something down about what was present in my life today.
My Uncle’s Zoom Funeral
Let’s meet somewhere between the beginning and the end
Here now – the person who knew you first, your little brother (my dad)
And the nurse that snuck you ice cream, and heard your last breath
And me – I met you fewer than five times.
Let’s meet between
The cramped apartment in U. City you shared with my dad and grandma
And your sunset view in El Cerrito
And the hours in libraries to make it there
Let’s meet somewhere between
The wife who raised your kids, kept your books, made your appointments
And complained to my mom on long phone calls,
the phone cord contracting and lengthening with my mom’s mm-hmms, tsks, and nods.
(The wife who was your secret family) and the wife you found at your nursing home
Let’s talk only of the good today
Let’s meet somewhere between gluttony and generosity –
Three large onion pizzas from Grassi’s for just three of us? But we don’t even like onions!
While your childrens’ friends’ were awed and honored at your welcoming, groaning table,
“Order whatever you want… and we’ll have an extra entree to share…”
Let’s meet somewhere between
The New Yorker (they never published your stuff)
and the books you DID write – kind of corny, but you were proud anyway.
Let’s meet between
the creative word-play you shared with your little brother
the rapt attention you gave each patient
how you took every call from your daughter
electric trains, sodas, and comic books with your son
sharing meditation tips with your grand-daughter
fretting over your nurse’s son’s education
All the wrong-doing that you did
Cannot wipe out your kindnesses.
Oh my gosh, Emily, I am so sorry for this loss. This is a beautiful poem, and WANT to hold this memory of your uncle and you close to me. Just so touching. My computer is about to conk out. Know that I love you, dear. Hugs, Susie
Emily—this is beautiful, and honest, and yet another opportunity for me to cry today! Your clarity of vision—his flaws, his mistakes, his cruelties—and the so-very-true close. You can do wrong and be kind. The two are not mutually exclusive…
Emily, thank you for trusting us with these moments and allowing us to offer ❤ and condolences to you. I know your uncle in the sense that so many of these occasions resonate as the men in my life growing up. What really stuck me is your in betweeness here, observing your mom and dad navigating the swings and messes.
Peace,
Sarah
Emily,
Your poem touches on the complications of life. Aren’t we all somewhere in the middle? I find comfort in that idea. I chuckled at the New Yorker line. I love that magazine, but those last two lines hold the gold:
This is such a beautiful and honest tribute to what was most certainly a complicated life. Thank you for sharing.
Emily, You took me straight into your complex, multi-faceted uncle in what, 150 words? Your steady gaze is generous but unflinching. You have a poet’s gift for paying attention and translating your truths through words. I’m joining your fan club.
When Asked Where to Meet Next by Erica Johnson
Let’s meet somewhere
below the gentle shade of giant
tomato stalks and zucchini vines
the dirt cool on our backs as the sun bursts overhead.
Let’s meet somewhere
along the crooked cliffs of the creek
chalk lines drawn before a storm
on the precipice of childhood.
Let’s meet somewhere
among the black-green weeds
of twilight farms giving way
to fireflies or stars we captured in glass.
Let’s meet somewhere
that slips between our toes
filling cracks unnoticed and unseen
a heart warmed like two hands around your favorite mug
Let’s meet somewhere
between the playground woods we explored
and the backyard wilderness we dismissed
that time between early snow days and midsummer nights.
Let’s meet somewhere
under your next dream or perhaps
behind the gap in my memory
as long as it’s sometime before soon.
Simply beautiful. ?
The “sometime before soon” strikes a common chord with me (a teacher with covid and teaching a hybrid class remotely). Sometime before soon I’d like to come out of my room.
I lived this calming, loving poem with you—and to meet under your next dream or the gap in your memory—what phrasing, what truth.
I love being here with you and your friend, Erica, in the amazing places of nature and play among “twilight farms”! ? Beautiful.
I love the wistful tone of these childhood memories, along with this beauty you capture. It makes me think of someone you had adventures in every season with, someone who was always comfortingly there. Beautiful! Especially this stanza:
Let’s meet somewhere
along the crooked cliffs of the creek
chalk lines drawn before a storm
on the precipice of childhood.
I love this poem Erica J.
let’s meet somewhere
between the grand canvases of the Grand Canal of Venice and the Burning of the Houses of Parliament where light reflects off the water onto the Piazza San Marco and flames rage high in the sky far above the horizon, and you wait at the end of the exhibit to walk through once more to capture the works, once more
where the space highlighted by Water Lilies and Wisteria filled with art lovers on Sunday afternoon, so rich with admirers it’s important to remember, we too occupy space, and yet we step back to take in the span of color, the interpretation of the form on canvas, before we find each other at the end of the collection with a plan to make once more a stroll to revisit an image that drew us back
where the stones stand tall above the water’s reach and hopes of crossing from one side to the other while keeping feet dry and knees unscathed, through differing routes with an occasional reach of a hand to smooth a step, as water rushes between stones, til I stand beside you on the sandy edge
on the warm coarse sand where toes burrow to stretch and sooth, between ventures into the sea to wash salty water through my hair and across my lips, as you walk to the far reaches of the visible shore in search of what lies among the sea rushed rocks crawling up the cliff
along the shore of the Mississippi River, beside a sprawling bridge spanning this great river, we stand with stories of Huck and his adventures coursing through your imagination, while wonderings of cargo filling barges fills mine, differing periods, different boats we stand side by side
Jamie! I love every word of this poem. So many literal and figurative places speak to me while allowing me to be in conversation with you and your intended audience:
That part speaks to relationships for me as we need someone to smooth a step and find us on the sand edge when we come back together. Love ? . Wishing we could meet on the edge of a Venice canal some day with some Gelato in hand.
Peace,
Sarah
Let’s meet on the path that used to be the Frisco line,
Where you cussed the city for cutting down the trees,
Where perched the cardinals we could see but never touch,
Just south of the school, which bore the name
Of the Confederate general, well, well past his prime,
Just north of where the big red-headed family lived,
The father, a former military officer who failed to command a gaggle
Of giggling girls and just north of the bend where
We met for Girl Scouts, from whence in a store-bought
Raggedy Ann mask I would not skate but slip and fall
Many times to finally meet you with knobby, red knees
By the Pee Wee Store that smelled of gum
And baseball cards. And the path would end at the river,
And the river moved on, and so did we.
Memory lane on so many beautifully details levels! This line, however, is the best—
Just north of where the big red-headed family lived. Coming from a small rural town myself—I think I may know them! 🙂
Love the memories, the images, the perspective from a child’s eye. My favorite part: just north of the bend where/ We met for Girl Scouts, from whence in a store-bought
Raggedy Ann mask I would not skate but slip and fall/
Many times to finally meet you with knobby, red knees
/By the Pee Wee Store that smelled of gum”
So vivid and real I feel I’m there with you.
These last two stanzas are just beautiful!
Many times to finally meet you with knobby, red knees
By the Pee Wee Store that smelled of gum
And baseball cards. And the path would end at the river,
And the river moved on, and so did we.
I love the feeling of these memories frozen in time.
Let’s Meet Somewhere
Let’s meet somewhere
between sweet and salty
between coffee and tea
between science and the arts
between watching and reading
between shopping and antiquing
between comedies and tragedies
between overpaid and underpaid
between sports and nature
between golf and hiking
between cold and hot
between beer and wine
between thinking and overthinking
Let’s meet somewhere in the middle
and see
where
life
takes us
together
I will absolutely meet you there! But can we lean toward overpaid?
Yeah, you might be able to guess which one of us is underpaid! LOL
Mo, thank you for helping me unde understand the form. I love the contrasts you create.
Mo, I love how you set up the contrasting pairs throughout your poem to lead us to your beautiful closing:
Loved it! Thanks, Barb
Yes!!! If only!
I really like where you would have us meet. I used your poem for inspiration for mine. Thanks.
The Hilltop
Let’s meet somewhere
on a hilltop above the city
with dying embers below
left from the campfire we
had to barricade from
the cold icy grass
white from soft snow
over brown crispy blades.
Let’s meet somewhere
outside under the Valentine tree
carved arms reaching downward
hearts raising above the branches
covering our desires
revealing our sins
rooted inside.
Let’s meet somewhere
we can sit and whisper
our secrets
standing up in bold voices
to yell our love
and bind their hate.
Let’s meet somewhere
high on the mountain
with fading regrets below
left behind after
the embraces we felt
under our heaven
untying the solitude
peeling off the depression
and layering happiness
dropping from clouds
raising above dust.
Let’s meet somewhere
we can sit and whisper
our secrets
standing up in bold voices
to yell our love
and bind their hate.
Whispering secrets, yelling our love, and binding hate. What a beautiful stanza in a beautiful poem!
What a beautiful love poem. I want to see the Valentine tree.
Susan,
Such an intimate, dare I say sexy, poem. Reading these lines I thought: ain’t sun fun!
Gorgeous poem – so much is said – so much is left to our imagination to fill in – perfect poetry. I especially loved your last stanza – it really melted my heart – BRAVO
Let’s meet somewhere
high on the mountain
with fading regrets below
left behind after
the embraces we felt
under our heaven
untying the solitude
peeling off the depression
and layering happiness
dropping from clouds
raising above dust.
Susan, I love the images you created with this poem. These lines spoke to me “covering our desires
revealing our sins rooted inside whisper
our secrets standing up in bold voices to yell our love and bind their hate.” It reminded me of high school and secret loves.
Thank you for making me think of young love and a person possibly remembering her past. You’re very talented!
This poem was gorgeous, I love the contrast of images and especially the motion of the tree branches reaching down while our hearts are raised!
Beautiful imagery. I love
Oh, I feel it!
Let’s Meet at the Tree
The last lift up and the last ones down
Let’s meet at the tree where his ashes blew
After we carried them on the well-worn chair
That took us to the top
It just seems fitting that we meet at the tree
Where he taught us to push past fears and cold
To believe we’d achieve if simply minds told us
To follow him
The high road before you, easy does it, steady
The tree is leaden with snow and the generations
Of memories that just blew there unprovoked
They knew the path
Oh, be joyful and meet at the tree where international
Crosses yellow brick road, weary legs catch breath
And minds, excited at the edge of downhill
Remember to let ‘em out
In wind that freezes faces memories are strewn
Lining the loving, the living, the longed for
So permanently planted by temporal gusts
Let’s meet at the tree
Shannon, I love how your beautiful images are rroted to this tree. I can almost see it as I read your lovely tribute. Your last stanza is a perfect way to end your poem.
This tree is obviously such a meaningful and reverent meeting place; this stanza adds magic with its breathlessness and yellow brick road,
TAUT TO RELEASE
Let’s meet somewhere
to toast to our remembered youth,
The sweat trail paths in the dust of both our faces,
pausing to drink homemade root beer eagerly
from blue glass bottles.
Let’s meet somewhere
to sample seafood in its glory
Navy Pier Lobsterfest, the Cajun tastes at Mandeville,
Sandestin gumbo slurped from styrofoam cuplets,
hot, and cooled with Dixie beers.
Let’s meet somewhere
to shed and sow tears
fear tethered and humor greened,
our pasts, particular, painfully precise, or shrouded in memory,
our loves lost, emotions tossed, gases passed.
Let’s meet somewhere
to be together lost in our charged adventure,
mountainside flowers at Washburn,
the Abbey Road DLR station platform, hangover mornings
and one exit too late in St. Louis.
Let’s meet somewhere
to once again pull the rope start to our engined soul,
once again casting our vows like stones skipped
across our shared secret waters, like a flaming sacred arrow,
arcing forward toward an end,
once again.
The last stanza… our engined soul, casting vows like stones skipped…
What elegant diction you gave us. Nailed it!
I love this line, “fear tethered and humor greened” . . . this poem is a beautiful ode to love, a getaway to rekindle . . . love it!
This poem left me longing to meet with my life-long friend. Oh how we could “get lost in our charged adventure” again. Thanks.
Rex — You have some killa images here and a tone that is both nostalgic and “forward…once again.” Images that were crystal clear:
And beautiful phrasings:
I see the untold stories that wait here:
Quite a rich poem, full. The title gives me a sense of back and forth…a tugging of what is here and what was here and what could be here. I love the wondering that comes with “taut” and taught and release to let go and release to expel feelings that need to come forward.
Thanks for sharing this poem today! Susie
you share beautiful images and diction: of sweat trail paths in the dust . . . of our faces, sample seafood in its glory, painfully precise, to capture a few
Rex, I so enjoy the imagery of your poem, the pace, and appeal to all the senses. Your final stanza is especially poignant
The final words “once again” resonate like a precious endearment. Your poetry as always is a joy to read. Peace to you on this bitterly cold day in Keokuk! Barb
Let’s Meet
Let’s meet
between inspiration and formula-tion
past Modernist originality and Vegas pastiche
where
words commingle as coupl-ets and
walk in pairs of conjoined singlets.
Let’s meet
beyond echoes on a planned page
and ink blots that tumble into thoughts
where
cliches cuddle in cerulean starry nights
and lexicons elocute the art of losing.
Let’s meet
as strangers known only in verse who
gather in interactive virtual queues
where
each prompt straps us into the unknown
idiolect of fellow riders in this topsy-turvy word-world.
Let’s
Meet
Here
—Glenda Funk
Something about this I like … not that I would not like to meet in person, but meeting someone only in poems has a power of its own ..
“Let’s meet
as strangers known only in verse …”
Kevin
Oh Glenda, so clever and fun. Love your word play
Especially love the joy of your last two stanzas:
So happy and grateful to be invited along for the ride.
Thank you for sharing!
Glenda, what a fun take on the prompt today. I’m happy we have met here today. That is a perfect image of what happens each time I read a prompt. It “straps us into the unknown”
I think 9/10 times I read your poems I learn at least one new word–idiolect today. You are always a teacher!
Glenda Funk!! You have summed up this wonderful group of minds—fellow riders in this tipsy-turvy world. (And I never encountered the word, idiolect, before—what a cool word!)
An ode to this very special meeting place! Fabulous! I love especially this stanza,
How well we get to know one another, through our verses! Beautiful, Glenda!
Glenda, so happy to meet you here again this month. These lines reach out to me:
So much of what we do here is a tumble into.
I adore how you play with words, then play with phrases. I love how you poetically weave color, emotions, overview and close-ups all together . . . . . I especially love “Let’s meet as strangers known only in verse who gather in interactive virtual queues”
Glenda, excellent! I enjoyed the journey of this poem and it made me think of my own writing. Your word choices are brilliant. The ending says it all and brings it to present day for me. You tapped into our brains and did it in a sly creative way. Bravo !
i love the image of virtual queues of fellow riders strapped into the unknown. Pretty much sums up current feelings.
THIS. Glenda, there is, of course, per usual, so much great stuff in your poem, from “lexicons elocute” to “unknown / idiolect of fellow riders.” And this isn’t even mentioning how much I love the repetition of “Let’s meet” and “where” as it builds to the final rhyme of “Here.” (Oh, I guess I did mention it. Lol.)
let’s meet somewhere between super glue and casket colors, where someone peeled peaches for the dumplings and sipped a can of Sprite for a splash to livin the glaze
on the 9×9 pan that was never enough for your sweet tooth on the lanai in the double wide trailer before you wheeled her around the park for a stroll,
between candle light TV dinners and a carafe of Inglenook slipped into deep kissing, when paper towels filtered Sanka packets and Pop Tart crumbs speckled the sheets,
where five coats of crimson scaffolds to reach the ceiling and Ralph Lauren’s blue suede sand pressed into walls on Aspen, inspiring pages in degrees to doctor a yearning forever unassuaged
anywhere other than between the y in you and the e in me coasting on ice covered roads after a day at the beach miles from a house but always home
at 8 and 5 on the wheel and hand sanitizer in the cup holder
Man, Sarah, what specific images and word choice. They have me longing to hear the stories each one points to. I love the image of being “miles from a house but always home” — so beautiful!
We are making the 500 mile drive from Galveston to Stillwater,
At 25 mph due to inclimate weather, so there is lots to talk about. Hugs!
thinking on this — the space you make here —
“anywhere other than between the y in you and the e in me ..”
Kevin
Sarah,
I often find myself working a puzzle when reading your poems, and that’s true today as I look at your location. No, a 9×9 pan is never enough, and a quick trip
would be romantic under different circumstances, but I know those icy roads. Stay safe, my friend. Do not take unnecessary chances.
My favorite detail of the many beautiful ones—the 8 and 5 with hand sanitizer. What a still life picture!
Sarah, your poem is like a wild ride, rich with taste and sound and physical energy. I was particularly awed by the final lines:
Brilliant!
Nothing speaks to me more than “hand sanitizer in the cup holder” because that’s exactly how it looks in my car right now and yet it is such a strange image out of context. I love the contrasting images throughout this poem and how they come together to make a kind of kaleidoscope of a life.
Sarah, Sarah, Sarah! When are you teaching the class on this? I need to be the first to log on when you do. How incredible to travel with you in this poem from casket colors to Pop Tart crumbs! Incredible images.
Please be safe and I’m hoping you’re safely home soon!
?
Sarah, you are such a mentor and role model to me. I love what you’ve done here. I read your poems in the delicious spaces
between knowing and wondering,
where I think meets trust,
at the kiss of satisfaction and delight.
Wow, you really captured the tone and diction of the mentor poem and picked some beautifully evocative images. I love the caution apparent in the last line, “at 8 and 5 on the wheel and hand sanitizer in the cup holder” – it captures this moment. Safe travels.
BREACH
We have broken windows in this place —
breaches in the bedrock,
nothing so promising as the moments
between chrysalis and monarch
when the cocoon and comfort of a womb
splits and hands us a butterfly
or somewhere in between
the lines of a rainbow’s prism
and the augur of clearing rain and fleeting thunder;
no, we have broken windows built on race.
May we meet somewhere
between that slur
and strange hanging fruit,
between the notes
of Billie’s voice
and the reality
that eighty-two years later
we remain between minute eight
and minute nine
of George’s final breaths?
May we meet to recalibrate,
redress
beyond betweens,
close chasms echoing denials
obscene
and a smeared cyclops eye
that sees pussy as a grab
and white as a right
with flags of sedition,
mob scenes, insurrection.
May we meet
between
the chasm’s edge
and beyond the breach
to stand
hand in hand
in strawberry fields
of better angels.
by Susie Morice©
I’d call this a perfect start to a poem …
“We have broken windows in this place —
breaches in the bedrock ..”
Kevin
Dear Susie,
Your poem speaks to my heart.
I know you’re thinking thoughts I’m thinking, wondering when we’ll meet and bridge those chasms. Can that happen when one party mires itself in the in between? I love the way you’ve approached the prompt and made it original to such important ideals. Peace to you, my friend.
we have broken windows built on race…when do we begin to encounter those strawberry fields with our better angels? Soon, I hope…
Susie, this is so powerful! Stanza two caught my breath. And I am in such awe of your craft, of your turning of phrases: “to recalibrate, / redress / beyond betweens, / close chasms echoing denials / obscene.” So good!
Susie, phew.
“We have broken windows built on race.”
This poem needs a broad audience. My heart broke again with these words:
And then the bile rose again in the following stanza.
Such thoughtful,thought-provoking power here today.
Susie, oh my, your poem is so incredibly powerful! I am completely awe-struck. I love all the nature imagery, the allusions to literature, and the gross reality of
A chasm indeed! The ugly truths are striking, but I am shaken by the beautiful and poignant end: “in strawberry fields/
of better angels.”
Outstanding poem! Thanks for sharing your brilliance with us today! Barb
Suuuuuuuuuuusie! Mercy, mercy! Read it aloud a few times to savor it even more! Thank you for the voice, the stance, and the passion you have for meeting “beyond the breach to stand hand in hand…”
Praying for this day to come!
Standing and clapping!! ????????
The “breaches in the bedrock” so adequately describe a the kind of foundation that causes “broken windows in this place”
And the imagery of hope from the chrysalis to butterfly and lines of the rainbow…beautiful!
Gosh. Susie! I am stunned by the references here. There is a Billie feature film coming out soon, and I saw an interview with the director on Sunday Morning. I listened to her song Strange Fruit after that and was/am haunted by how time has stood still. Broken. 8 am wondering if there will be a time when students read your poem and know who cyclops is, will be disgusted to learn about the pushy references. Ugh.
Thank you for your verse of truth.
Peace,
Sarah
Love the allusions, the diction.
It took me a minute to dissect “this place” and you capture this moment of transformation and the healing yet to do, the in-betweenness here. The language is rich and specific throughout.
Man, was I lucky to have you as my teacher!!
Thank you, David, for this challenge and the memories it prompted.
Meet Me
For Adam
Meet me driving down Route One, licking twirled soft vanilla,
Where the highway stretches along the sandy bend
Of the St. Johns River
Meet me standing in the doorway of your dorm room
Where you flip flop flaired your yellow hat
From head to hand to head
Meet me in the cold-doused silence of Abel Tasmen
Where you led us across the too-deep estuary
Hiking drenched and discouraged to our next campsite
Meet me, phones to our ears,
Where you wait on the line with me
Until I can finally find my car in the Houston hospital parking lot
Meet me before Sunday’s sunrise on the empty sidewalk
Where we walk and plan our grocery list and our week,
Masked and trailing our curious canine
Meet me at the restaurant with the red wallpaper
Where we order walu walu and hama chile
on the twenty-fourth of September
Meet me beside our too-stilled and trached nephew
Where you stand by as I tell his parents he looks good
When he decidedly does not
Meet me in the backcountry trails of Yellowstone
Where you slow to my pace and call out,
Up the hill, up the hill, up the hill
Meet me on the rose-colored sofa
Where I bend toward you with grief
Under the painted shut windows of the Rosedale house
Meet me in the Erwin Center, Horns up
Where we listen to your sister, seated behind us
Hope the freshman will finally bank one in
Meet me in the wind-whacked tent
Where you toss and turn for fear of bears
And we wake to moose in the meadow
Meet me on the passenger side
Where you doze as I drive down the West Texas highway
Looking out onto a desert of ocotillo, sotol and prickly pear
Meet me waking in the cold damp of your sister’s house in Palmerston North
Where you pause and postpone pushing away the blankets
Pulling your blue wool cap back down over your ears
Meet me in the crush of the concert crowd
Where we sing on and on and on
We’ll be together yet
After Dianne Suess and Jeff Tweedy
This is a fantastic description of life with a dear friend. I love the memories it evokes as well as the fun, encouragement and sharing.
Sharon,
Your poem is so intimate yet so familiar. I find myself searching for places in today’s responses and feeling as though yours and others’ poem have places us together in so many spaces. I love the sound in
and the way each verse peels back the layers of your life.
Sharon,
I love how it it creates a contrast of the person being gone, but returning in each stanza to the shared moments. Ending the way it does gives me a sense of hope/promise as well.
so many paths carved by your words: licking twirled soft vanilla, flip flop flared your yellow hat, where you slow to my pace, nice testament to Adam
I love how this takes us through moments of wonder, grief, joy, adventrue… a true life lived together in small and big moments. Lovely.
It has been a busy day, and I almost went to bed without attempting my Let’s Meet Somewhere poem. I couldn’t though. I’m using a line from Margaret’s poem as another mentor “I’ll savor your words, notice your smile, your worth.”
I have been thinking of this all evening and started feeling nostalgic for my friends from my previous school in Iowa. It would just be lovely to sit today in another world at a ball game without a covid mask and without sub zero temperatures. Thank you, David, for the mentor poems and the tour you gave us of so many beautiful and tragic memories and places. Yours is quite a love poem for Valentine’s Day. Thank you.
Let’s Meet Somewhere
between Paullina and Orange City
where hog odor occupies every pore
ubiquitous as it is noxious
and the gravel dances behind trucks
until it goes rogue and cracks your windshield
Let’s meet for burgers and fries,
where a veggie burger means
tomatoes, onions, and lettuce on your
all-beef patty with a homemade bun
at the greasy spoon that used to be called the Dug Out
Between the gas pumps out front and the toilet out back,
the one with the cracked mirror, no toilet paper,
a cloth roll for drying your hands that long ago was spent
and didn’t get replaced
and where the calcium deposits are so thick
you could chip them off with a strong fingernail
After lunch we’ll go to the ball park
pride of Granville
home of black soil and an immaculate diamond
and watch our Catholic boys beat the ego out of
the Protestants from down the road,
which has a bigger town and a richer school,
but they don’t know baseball
We’ll eat salty sunflower seeds and spit the shells under the bleachers
We’ll drink lemonade and eat watermelon
and stay for the second game of the double header
We’ll laugh and swear,
spit and eat,
talk and enjoy each other’s company
This is such great imagery, with the specific language this prompt seems to be about:
“… where the calcium deposits are so thick
you could chip them off with a strong fingernail …”
Kevin
That line grabbed me too!
Denise,
I love the Americana and Midwest sensibilities in your poem. Having lived in Iowa and grown up in Missouri, it’s easy to recall the hog farm smells. I’m thinking I should have written about riding pigs. You capture those nasty bathrooms perfectly. So gross!!! I’m smiling from ear to ear from the kaleidoscope of familiar images. Love it.
I’m glad you stayed awake! All of it is wonderful—these lines paint an exquisite moment in time…
and watch our Catholic boys beat the ego out of
the Protestants from down the road,
which has a bigger town and a richer school,
but they don’t know baseball
We Meet Across Space and Time
We meet across space and time
In those ethereal moments before sleep takes hold
I enter your chamber quietly
Disturb not the prayer your hands enfold
We meet across space and time
Grandmother and granddaughter, it seems
And we wonder; me at how tiny you are,
You at my makeup and jeans
We meet across space and time
Weeping we embrace our hearts the same
You show me the tapestry that you’re weaving
That hangs in my home in a glorious frame
We meet across space and time
I show you all the marvelous things on my cell
And you are perplexed how this can be
Are these things that will send you to hell?
We meet across space and time
I weep because your fate is known to me
But for now we marvel at the miracle
And for all things in the future, yet to be
We meet across space and time
For a moment through the portal we blend
Knowing that you will forever move forward
With your DNA that will never end.
Judi, what an idea for your poem today. It has me thinking of my grandmother and what surprises she would have if we could meet. What a lovely image this is–
And then that she lives on through her family is nice.
Well done!
Judi, I love the concept of your poem…meeting between space and time; the miracle of knowing the future. How DNA never ends and continues to connect us between reality and the portal of space. Your poem is poignant, ethereal and provocative!
I enjoy the repetition of the first line throughout this poem. The beginning is so strong too. I love the image of the prayer held between the hands and the hints to the conversation between these two who have met across space and time — it’s fascinating and beautiful.
Judi, this is a sweet poem that reminds me so much of what I miss. Missing my mom and grandmother and the times spent exchanging our life stories. I truly feel the loving adoration between you and your grandmother and I’m grateful you chose to write about this today. I honestly don’t think there is a stronger love than the love we share with our grandparents. So thankful for this poem.
?
Let’s meet
Let’s meet between tissue 37 and 38 in the Kleenex box, the one with the soothing lotion,
The Coconut Oil and Aloe. Let’s meet along the tines of the bent fork in the cutlery
drawer. Let’s meet in the pile of discards from last night’s Uno game, just between the draw
four and the red seven. Let’s place ourselves on the hanging Walter Drake calendar, the one
on the frig, on some random date, a Tuesday say, and surround ourselves with doodled
hearts from a Sharpie permanent marker or meet on the pages of your favorite Swamp Thing
comic. Your pick. Let’s meet on the Roku sci-fi screensaver next to the spaceship from Arrival
or on the back of the sandworm from Dune. In fact, let’s push off Paul Atreides and ride it
ourselves. Let’s visit Arrakis, but then move, agreeing that it’s just a bit too hot. Let’s visit Pemberley
or Narnia, Asgard or Atlantis. We could meet in the Honeycomb from Watership Down
or the bullpen at Cop Central even stare out the narrow window in Eve’s office or what about
waiting in the pauses in the buttery and mellifluous voice of Special Agent Aloysuis Pendergast.
Oh, I know, let’s follow the “be” in Hamlet’s line to really give him a question:
To be us or not to be us. Because that is the truth, isn’t it? There is only us or not us, a
Schrodinger’s Cat, if you will, but that’s not exactly right either. This dichotomy, this binary one
or zero doesn’t quite ring true because we could technically meet with Julio down by the schoolyard
which may change the lyrics and intent of the song with all four of us there, but so be it. Because here’s
the thing, the rub, as Shakespeare would say, according to Einstein’s Theory of Relativity
and his loss of simultaneity we’ve already done this. We have already met in the eye
of the needle (the one with the camel) and the head of the pin (the one with the dancing angels).
All the places I can conceive of our meeting we have already met. Depending on our frame of
reference and the speed and direction that we’re going means that before I can actually think it
we’ve already done it. The past is prologue and all that. Unless, of course, you’d rather not take
astrophysicist Adam Becker’s word for it, but the BBC Earth video did seem pretty legit and
although the animation wasn’t that great, I find comfort in the fact that we are together,
have always been and will always be.
Scott – What a valentine this turned out to be! Beautiful! I love all the quirky places you might meet…starting with the tissue box (ha)… Some were so characteristically funny (the sandworm in Dune — I chuckled) … the bent fork made me smile. But when you get way out there in time and space, I can’t help but think that even Einstein would love the way you ended this… “together/have always been and will always be.” Gee. I love that. You two might be “relatives”! LOL! Happy V-day! This was a treat! Thank you. Susie
Yeah
“… surround ourselves with doodled
hearts from a Sharpie permanent marker or meet on the pages of your favorite Swamp Thing
comic.”
🙂
Kevin
Scott, it is always such a joy to read your poems. Wow! This one is existential to its bones. I love that you have proven your last line to be true with your powerful examples. I was sold when I read this:
Bravo!
Scott, this is one of those poems when I copy/paste before I’m even halfway finished.
I am a sucker for Sharpies and this is pure love:
Then you give us this:
Wow, Scott. I need to take a class where you’re teaching this writing technique! You’ve done it masterfully!
David, your poem was perfectly adult, eye opening and led me to so many images. Bravo!! Thank you for the inspiration.
Let’s meet somewhere
before our wedding
before our decades together
before hurtful words, lies,
disappointments, bargains,
unemployment, misunderstandings,
before having a concept of maturity
and adult love.
Let’s meet somewhere
before forgiveness and daughters,
before birthday parties, late nights
wrapping Christmas presents, hiding dolls
and building Barbie kitchens at midnight
Let’s meet somewhere between
houses, escrows, agents, neighborhoods
vacations, boat rides, date nights,
cooking together, singing in the choir,
trips to Vegas, breakfasts in bed, orgasms
Let’s meet somewhere before daughters in college,
explaining treacherous roommates, supporting
hair-brained ideas, learning to keep your
parent-mouth zipped tight
while nodding your head so they’ll continue to
confide in you and listen to your suggestions.
Let’s meet somewhere
before the dyed gray hair, swollen feet,
weight gain, weight loss, deaths of parents,
dear friends, beloved uncles, and adoring cats
Let’s meet somewhere
after the immaturity and
focus on the beauty and
stillness of treasured
passionate love.
Seana,
I like the before, after and between various events–let’s meet here and there, especially to
Beautifully written with so many intimate details to give a rich picture of a full life of love.
I think your last lines here are beautiful, with a real resonance of all that came before.
“… focus on the beauty and
stillness of treasured
passionate love.”
Kevin
Seana, what a special treat this poem is! Love the emotions, experiences, ups, and downs of life in love. I’m holding this in my heart because it’s what we have to experience but feels so much less painful when we have our loved ones near:
Well done, my friend! Thank you for sharing such deep love with us. ?
Wow!! This poem speaks so much in just the last stanza. What a journey! Wow!
Oh, Seana, you spoke to my long-married heart! This was a gem. I especially appreciated the stanza about keeping our mouths zipped to encourage further disclosure! Your poem was a mirror for me.
Let’s meet somewhere
between the said and unsaid
your truth my lies my truth your lies
abandon the bright bombastic red
toss aside the condescending blue
shut down our echo chambers
slip through the barbed wire
dividing us
bloodying us
let each of us
dare
to consort and contort
together
dare
to lift all that is
precious in this world
above our heads
with one hand
while standing on one foot
while our other hand
reaches across the midline
towards one another
dare
to hold this position
feel
the quiet
painful
tension
unrelentingly off-balance
feel
the mix of trepidation and trust
awareness
acute need for
one another
feel
the ground we share
the hopes we hold
together
let’s meet there
AHH I can feel every line, every word of this poem, Maureen. The images are so powerful, especially:
“dare
to lift all that is
precious in this world
above our heads
with one hand
while standing on one foot
while our other hand
reaches across the midline
towards one another
dare
to hold this position
feel
the quiet
painful
tension
unrelentingly off-balance”
The pace and urgency in your language about finding middle ground is so well done. Thank you for sharing.
“your truth my lies my truth your lies
abandon the bright bombastic red
toss aside the condescending blue
shut down our echo chambers
slip through the barbed wire”
Maureen–my Maryland friend–when we are both vaccinated and feeling brave, can we PLEASE have lunch? you have encapsulated all of our lives in this poem so clearly–to hold that precarious, dangerous position of trying to reach the other side. Our echo chambers are so grand right now; our barbed wire so thick.
Maureen, I love the rhythm of this! When I re-read it the second time (and third!), I had to do it out loud, had to hit the well-placed “dare”s and “feel”s that you’ve crafted. Thank you!
Oh, Maureen, wow, what a poem. I think it needs to be published for lots of reds and blues to read. It makes me weep for what we can accomplish. Maybe. Let’s meet there.
Maureen,
Your poem is perfect for this day after. I particularly love the opening lines:
But I am not ready to retreat from my anger, nor am I ready to set aside the votes of the 43. I don’t know how we as a nation rise to the challenge you’ve so eloquently laid before us. Such meeting feels like surrender.
Maureen, the political pain of today resonates throughout this poem. I feel the barbed-wire cutting and bloodying us. Thanks for showing the reality of today with such striking imagery. Finding steady ground seems to be increasingly difficult.
Maureen,
I like how you capture the discomfort that comes with balance. It is a stressing in the quiet, and a stripping away to get to that point. It is not easy, but heroic.
Maureen, you left me breathless! I think I should copy and paste every post today. There’s so much power in these lines:
?PoWeR!! ?
Thank you for this prompt today, David. I love it. Both model poems were inspiring so much so that places to meet came to mind as I read. My favorite lines from your poem are: “Let’s meet somewhere, On page one of volume one of The Diary of Anaïs Nin, You and I reading to each other in bed at night” – how lovely, meeting in a book and reading together.
On a Bridge Between Past and Present
Let’s meet in the middle
of stiff, wooden pews,
gold smoked incense,
votive candles glowing red,
and stained glass squares
where my mind always stared
during the sermon
and try to understand faith.
Let’s meet at the panaderia
I remember how to get to
after twenty-two years —
straight, left, right, right —
so we can share a pink concha
and pumpkin empanada
where nothing has changed
even though everything has.
Let’s meet during adolescence
listening to Something Vague
and you teach me
how to download
music illegally
and I spend too much time
choosing which Pulp Fiction quote
to add to my AIM away status
just like I spend too much time
writing poetry today.
Let’s meet under hundred-year old oak trees
and hopefully see the albino squirrel
and we’ll wonder about the caterpillars
that fall on our heads and
the horrors that took place
on this land in the past.
Let’s meet in between photographs
sticky and yellowed and make a wish
to return to a memory, a day
and feel the reason
we had huge smiles
(even if only for a picture)
and let’s smile huge, as adults.
Let’s meet on CA-37
so I don’t have to drive
and I can play hide and go seek
with the moon in peace,
but if you want me to drive,
I always will.
Let’s meet any of the times you told me
how similar we are so I can
feel special again because I’ve always
looked up to you and I always will
even when I shouldn’t.
Let’s meet at grandma’s grave
where I haven’t yet been
just like the funeral I didn’t attend.
Let’s meet on the other side of the world
Where everything is different
except the unbearable humidity
and people wanting to be happy
and people working and surviving
and eating food and traffic and kindness
and we realise things are quite the same
despite differences and distances.
Let’s meet in the crotch of a fig tree
And not let any figs die at our feet.
So many precious and beautiful images here. I love these lines especially
Such a great image of time spent in adolescence…also, the opening line of this stanza – let’s meet during adolescence – so tender, such a beautiful way to go down memory lane…
Angie, you completely pulled me into so many experiences and images in your poem. I love the way you connect hope and regret, poignant memories and harsh realities. Your title is perfect! I long for a world where we all
. I am in awe of your craft and am glad you spent too much time writing poetry today. Thank you for sharing this beautiful poem with us today! Barb
Angie,
I like the end with the inclusion of the fig tree. I saw it referenced in a show the other night. It has so much meaning when it comes to living and life. I like how you use it to end the poem, as it gives the promise of it not ending.
Angie, you’ve shown me how to navigate this model in such a beautiful way. I love the flow and the mixture of light and heavy images.
This is a perfect ending!
Let’s Meet Somewhere
Let’s meet somewhere
between Purdue and IU,
between the Reds and the Cardinals.
Let’s meet somewhere
between relishing in the Now and lamenting the past and fretting the future,
between easy-going and anxious.
Let’s meet somewhere
between ESPN and sappy rom-coms,
between Captain Morgan and a glass of wine.
Let’s meet somewhere
between Golden Tee and a book,
between the recliner and the big comfy chair.
Let’s meet somewhere
between gaining energy from interaction and being drained from it,
between seldom having awareness to the room to feeling like everyone is tapping me on the shoulder.
Let’s meet somewhere
between being Amish and levering technology for good,
between never spending a dime and Amazon boxes three days a week.
Let’s meet somewhere
between obligatory church attendance and a constant hunger for the Lord,
between keeping the money in the account and philanthropy left and right
Let’s meet somewhere
between taking things at face value and constantly digging beneath the surface,
between tapping to the tune and “Listen to these lyrics.”
Let’s meet somewhere
between numbers, strategy, logic and words, language, emotion,
between sports, The Office, Impractical Jokers and sappy movies, Food Network, throwback shows.
Let’s meet somewhere
between long-winded lectures and sneaky surveillance
between fun and freedom and solid support and shaky fragility.
Let’s meet somewhere
between the grill and the oven,
between getting things laid out hours in advance and cleaning as you go.
Let’s meet somewhere
between simpleton and the mind’s wheels constantly spinning,
between doing and planning to do.
Let’s meet somewhere
between laid-back living-in-the-minute and weeks-long anticipatory worry,
between go-with-the-flow and researching every detail of the trip.
Let’s meet somewhere
between being on-time or slightly late and being a half hour early,
between lingering after for hours and ready to go before it’s over.
Let’s meet somewhere
between hours talking on the phone and a few texts every few days,
between occasional interrupting and engaged listening.
Let’s meet somewhere
between storytelling with a captive audience and sending thoughts and ideas into the void,
between “what you see is what you get” and the constant swirling behind the curtain.
Let’s meet somewhere
between “Sure, I’ll go” and “I better not,”
between up-for-anything and homebody.
Let’s meet somewhere
between thinker and feeler,
between conveniently oblivious and sensitive empath.
Let’s meet somewhere
between begrudgingly leaving bed at the last minute and up at 4:00 a.m.,
between TV, some video poker, a chew after midnight and a podcast or the rosary in bed at 10:00 p.m.
Let’s meet somewhere
between loving life and fearing death,
between “what will be, will be” and “how can I control the outcome.”
Let’s meet somewhere
anywhere
everywhere
with cracks of weakness
and scars of strength.
Let’s meet
Always.
~Susan Ahlbrand
14 February 2021
Susan, what a great way to frame this prompt in between so many opposites! They create a sense of balance at times, like “between easy going and anxious”. Very nice.
So many fantastic juxtapositions! This stanza reminded me so much of my own extremes when teaching:
Such a sweet conclusion – Let’s meet/always.
Susan–I will take one from column a and three from column b, please! and I will meet you anywhere and everywhere, my friend!
Susan, what a wonderfully rich poem. I loved the contrasts that resonate throughout this poem. From Captain Morgan to wine to the grill and the oven, you share so many accessible experiences and emotions. Can there be a happy place in between the “before Covid” life? I so loved your ending lines, and the positive power of
Perfection!
Susan,
I remember/feel the tension of relationships in my 20s/30s with this. There seems to be such a defining of the players in it. The chew after midnight, the thinker and feeler. It feels like it also taps into the impact of time on the verve in the relationship as well. Thank you for sharing.
Susan!!! Yessss!! Oh how I loved every single stanza! I was about to be funny and copy/paste/block quote the whole thing but then thought that’s insensitive.LOL. I absolutely believe your poem could be the model I save for teaching “Let’s Meet Somewhere” the way I teach “Where I’m From.” It’s the depth of each experience that pulls me in. Bravo, Susan!
I savored this stanza because it reminded me of the importance of time (pre-pandemic) to today where it seems to be so easy to arrive/leave at the click of the button on Zoom:
Completely in love with your poem! Thank you!
I really wanted to work on a poem that used mixed diction. I think I need a guided lesson. LOL. So I went with what has been in my heart and mind for the last few months. I’m really missing traveling and spending time with those I love.
Living and Breathing Again
Let’s meet somewhere
After the COVID strains die and distance closes in
In the hallways before sunup and in the parking lot at sundown
At the table assigned to Grade 5 or at the copier to fix its jams
Let’s meet somewhere
After COVID finishes its course and flying to other countries is safe
On the plane stuck in the middle seat or on the road with the college Lyft driver
Inside the hotel lobby to get our keys and inside the elevator going to the top floor
Let’s meet somewhere
After COVID can be cured and no one takes their last labored breath
To hug our friends and sit close to our students on the classroom rug
To eat expensive cakes at crowded weddings and dance until our feet hurt
Let’s meet somewhere
Any place
Where only our breath lives in the distance between us
©Stacey L. Joy
Stacey—all of those feels. I want to be there at the 5th grade table or the copier, or with my feet hurting at the wedding dance…where only our breath lives between us…
I thought I had been doing okay with status quo at this point in the pandemic, but reading this brought so much aching longing to the surface. Those little little things that we all took so much for granted. Will I EVER complain about a middle seat in the plane again? NO! Or kvetching over the copier or getting caught in a parking lot conversation that keeps me a half hour from my dinner. That final line is SO SO dangerous and wonderful. I want it.
So many great thoughts about finally getting out and about again, post-COVID. I love the ‘inconveniences’ in this line
“On the plane stuck in the middle seat or on the road with the college Lyft driver” and
how I would genuinely enjoy such inconveniences right now!
Gayle,
Thank you for capturing and sharing so many of the details of our pre-pandemic teaching lives:
I feel such a strong and shared yearning for that beautiful last stanza:
Beautiful!
I’m ready!
Stacey — Boy, especially today, I am really feeling this poem. This…
And the ending line… oh, how I wish for the ease of exchanging breath. It seems so inconceivable at times… I miss that closeness.
Let’s meet, indeed, my friend! Thank you. Susie
Ah
” … Where only our breath lives in the distance between us”
Yes
Kevin
Stacey, wow, I just love the way you move this poem from its opening to its end. Yes,
I could so relate to the images of school…. working during wee morning hours until sundown. I love the joy you share of dancing and eating expensive cakes. How I long to be there as I keep pondering crowds while watching snow fall on this cold February day isolated from the warmth of gatherings, etc. I hope you will be traveling soon, Stacey!
David, so much inspiration today, both in the mentor poem and in your example. I wanted to spend all day in these lines, to play with thoughts and words, and I’m sure to return again. But for now, here’s a brief space to meet.
Let’s Meet Somewhere
between I’m and Sorry
in the space occupied
with apostrophes and missing letters
and words unsaid.
Jennifer—succinct and so very, very huge. That space takes up the world, doesn’t it?
I love brevity when it works so well! Jealous, in fact. This reminds me of Rumi’s ““Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing there is a field. I’ll meet you there. When the soul lies down in that grass the world is too full to talk about.” Of course, the rhetorical elements in your poem are a joy to writers.
So much meaning in 4 lines, Jennifer. I love the idea of meeting between a phrase like I’m sorry.
Jennifer,
I’m impressed by how much emotion and possibility you capture in four short lines.
Triggers my imagination about all the possible stories your poem fits into.
Powerful!
Thank you for sharing.
Jennifer, the words you have chosen in this poem aim straight-forward, powerful, and striking. The last three words: “and words unsaid” continue to echo! Superb!
Greetings David! Oh how I love your poem and the mentor text by Diane Seuss. Your poem reads like a travel diary with so many rich images and places to enjoy.
This left me thinking and imagining:
I’m in awe of this beautiful poem!
David, thanks for sharing such a colorful, rich poem. I especially enjoyed the final two lines! Thanks for sharing such a wonderful prompt and mentor poem. I’m going to be coming back to this one again. If only time travel were possible. Peace, Barb
Between Then and Now
Let’s meet somewhere between
River Road and Bridgeout
Or the cemetery and home
Let’s meet somewhere between
Childhood and high school
To hug and hold hands
Let’s meet somewhere between
The fall trees you called gorgeous
And your Austin Power impressions
Let’s meet somewhere between
Sharing the raw truth and before
Aching days of disbelief
Let’s meet somewhere between
Light beautiful you laughing
Singing, celebrating life—lifting
Our hearts that now
Somewhere between then
And now have shattered completely
Barb Edler
February 14, 2021
Oh, Barb. Let’s meet somewhere between
Light beautiful you laughing.
If only we could roll back life and freeze it at that beautiful moment. All my love and support and healing… You have given us this person to love along with you…
Barb! I want to meet in that place between childhood and high school, most especially for the hugging and hand-holding. This is a magical place. And my favorite lines from your piece (though that ending is pretty gob-smacking too).
Barb,
Leaves me thinking how hard it is for love to live and last. You crafted a raw and honest poem that takes me from the sweetest love to the hardest love to bear.
?
Barb — I continue to feel the unmeasurable loss that comes in your poems. You have put into words the rawness of the loss. “Aching days of disbelief.” Your poems, in their intimate revealing of ache, are really important. I so appreciate that you write and share this. Thank you. Susie
Barb,
What a journey you bring us on. I feel the punch of the structural and emotional shift in the final stanza:
Thank you for sharing.
Barb,
Thank you so much for your sharing this. I am not gonna mess things up by typing too much, but I will say how much it moved me. I get a mental image of the commercial from the Television News entry, and it is such a positive happy memory it makes me realize the hurt as well. Thanks for your poem and your willingness to share.
Oh, dear Barb, Your poems keep peeling back layers to show us your son. This is beautiful. Each stanza stirs strong emotion: the space between cemetery and home is crushing. Thinking of our children between childhood and high school–to hold hands, no less–is riveting. Your final stanzas move me into the raw truth/aching days of disbelief and the exquisite lifting/shattering of hearts.
This was lovely, hard, and true.
When I started this exercise, I was thinking about how we can’t meet for coffee with friends these days, but it ended with a thought about my writing group partner who passed away in January. Wishing for another meeting.
Let’s meet somewhere
between Walmart and the park
where coffee and harvest cookies
are served on ceramics.
Let’s meet somewhere
after school before supper
a play where kids can play
while we share the day.
Let’s meet somewhere
between Valentine’s and Easter
when winter gives way to spring
and flowers begin to bloom.
Let’s meet somewhere
between time and sleep
as the sun meets orange horizon
there between worry and wonder.
Let’s meet again.
I’ll listen harder this time.
I’ll savor your words, notice your smile, your worth.
Just once more, pretty please.
Margaret, Your last stanza really sums up what I think we are yearning for…connection and appreciation of savoring those small moments. Thank you for reminding us of this and sharing today.
Margaret, wow, tears and hugs to you. I love the imagery throughout this poem; especially “sun meets orange horizon” and “winter gives way to spring/and flowers begin to bloom”. Your final stanza is heart-breaking! You’ve made your poem and pain so accessible. I can relate to “Just once more, pretty please.” Bless you for sharing this today! Thanks, Barb
You give us all the things we need and want and crave. Then you pull us back to reality. i will never again ( i hope) take those opportunities for granted. I , too will savor. Pretty pretty please
Margaret, what a beautiful choice for this poem today. Hugs to you on such a loss. That last stanza really hits home. I’m reminded of what more I might have done with the people who are no longer here with me. This is a worthy reminder for every day.
Oh my, Margaret. This is a heartbreaker but so much love running through it all. Sincerely sorry for the loss of your friend and writing partner.
The last stanza is a lesson for all to listen harder, savor words, notice smiles and worth. Tomorrow is not guaranteed for any of us. Thank you for sharing this gift with us.
???
“Let’s meet somewhere
between time and sleep …”
and then later, the savoring of words ….
Beautifully done, Margaret
Kevin
I appreciate the connections in Suess has made between seemingly random and colloquial objects to create a definite place and time. David’s poem – It welcomed easy visualization and you can almost feel each stanza come to life and gave a glimpse into lives far away but very close.
I was inspired by his title, Let’s Meet Somewhere.
The Last Ride
Let us meet,
Where there is no coronavirus
Where you can order a muffin,
And I a scone,
And share secrets and talk about the firemen,
Over steaming coffee in a funky mug at the bakery.
Let us meet,
Where there is no coronavirus,
And when someone has a cold,
It is just a cold,
And not a three alarm state of emergency,
Placing fear in all those around you.
Let us meet,
Where there is no coronavirus.
Where we can gather with our families and friends,
Without wondering where they have been,
Not in the old loving way, but with suspicion.
Where our front doors are open again,
Held with open without judgement.
Let us meet,
Where there is no coronavirus,
And we can embrace –
Truly embrace,
Without holding our breath,
Without trepidation lurking under our skin.
Let us meet,
Where there is no coronavirus,
Where the kids can play at school,
And teachers can sit closely and read to them,
And share crayons and trinkets,
And just be kids and teachers,
There only to love and learn,
Not serve as political pawns and cogs.
Let us meet,
Where there is no coronavi–
Wait – Can such a place ever exist again?
Have we paved our proverbial paradise,
And put up Joni’s parking lot?
Where the cost to park for the day is merely your soul & spirit?
As a horsewoman, we pray,
“God, please don’t let me know when it is my last ride.”
Have we had our last ride together,
And blissfully, or maybe even miserably, didn’t even know?
Let us meet.
Where there is no coronavirus.
All of my fingers and toes are crossed, see, dear Lord, see?
I’ll be so good, I’ll wash my hands and love even harder, I promise.
Just please, dear Lord, please,
Let us meet.
my friend– this part right here:
Let us meet,
Where there is no coronavi–
Wait – Can such a place ever exist again?
Have we paved our proverbial paradise,
And put up Joni’s parking lot?
Where the cost to park for the day is merely your soul & spirit?
I loved the rest–but this clinched it!
The plea in this poem is so real for us all, and you’ve captured it in every detail. I want so badly to sit next to a student and read to them without fear or worry. So many things lost that were taken for granted. I pray your prayer today.
Annie,
Reading your poem I think of all the places we can’t meet and the way repetition drives that point home until we question whether we’ll ever again meet the ways we once did. Your poem is both heartbreaking and hopeful. We’re all making promises and bargaining w/ our future desires to meet.
Annie, oh my gosh, from the opening title to the end, you took me on a ride! I hear these prayers, this longing to meet. What a heart-wrenching poem! I’ve got my fingers crossed for all us. Thanks for sharing this powerful poem with us today! Barb
Did you look in my brain and heart and pull it all up? I mean, each stanza, the meeting with the girlfriends with the funky mug, the hug, the school, just all of it spoke to me right now. Thank you.
Annie, where a cold is just a cold… I’m not sure we’ll ever find that space again (as you so deftly point out in the 6th stanza). But, like you, my fingers and toes are crossed and prayers have been said, and bargaining has been extensive. The yearning in that last stanza, and especially the last line, is so powerful.
Annie!!!! You and I were thinking alike this morning. You, however, have done a SPECTACULAR job of writing a poem that reveals each detail of our experiences in the pandemic. I love the subconscious informing the actions:
The lessons we may have to learn in this are clear. We may have already had our last ride. Wow.
And the ending… nailed it! “Let us meet.”
Whew, David! You took us to some places today – places of anger, passion, love and fear. All in that one poem. I love the repeating line and the glimpse into the relationship you share with your beloved. The form and its word intercourse – oops- interplay of this diction brings a love affair of sounds mingling and mixing! What a fun challenge. Thank you for inspiring us along new paths. Happy Valentine’s Day!
A Clandestine Valentine
let’s meet somewhere
between Tallahassee and not-a-hassle
face-to-face – no more Facebook
at the Albany Walmart parking lot
after our late-night indite to seal the deal
let’s meet somewhere
between happily married and woefully wed
a quick tryst – a clandestine Valentine-destined
love potion – not broken –
not nine on the corner of 34th and Vine
what was yours- now mine
not red not pink not blue not green
we’ll share this love somewhere between
let’s meet somewhere
blue RAV, white Chev
and share the love from his to hers
spouses unknowing where we’re going
yours won’t detest in the midst of divorce
mine may weep tears – a reason he fears
or smile, when he finds out about this love child
let’s meet somewhere
and do the math – no dollars involved
you: one to zero, me: two to three
this act of love is painful- but free
I can’t wait to meet this new life
she’ll be sweet
I’ll hug her and love her and raise her just right
…so pass me this Schnoodle pup full of delight
my Valentine baby, all mixed black and white!
Kim,
Of course this “love child” is a new puppy! And you’re rescuing it: “this act of love is painful—but free.” I love the clandestine planning, the way you trick us until the end and we realize you’re playing w/ us the way one tosses a toy for a fur baby. This is so clever and fun. I need pics of the pup!
this is glorious! I was entering this somewhat lascivious world of yours, choosing some blush-worthy lines, and then met YOUR PUPPY! and had to rearrange every thought I had previously blushed over.
I gasped at your ending because I have a schnoodle, the love of my life, Charlie. He’s all black fluff and love.
Kim,
Thank you for this poem today. I appreciate the play of “do the math–no dollars involved” and how often we use math…even to calculate love.
Kim, wow, you really had me going! I love the end! Such a fun poem to read today! Thanks, Barb
ME TOO! 🙂 <3
Kim!!! I want to see the Schnoodle! OMG you must be in heaven. Your Valentine baby is already getting you to write poems about her! This is the cutest poem ever!
?Love it! Please share pics!
Kim, what a fun Valentine poem for us. Your sweet new love child. What a treasure to capture moments, like this one, in a poem. I’m sorry the puppy’s family is breaking up, but it’s good the Schnoodle will have a new happy home. One more to add to your two other pups. Enjoy!
Kim — You are downright frisky! You devil you. I loved that you played this out so well and delivered us a giggle with your Schnoodle! Oh, I want to play with this little booger. Thank you for the fun! Hugs, Susie
Your use of word sound and alliteration (that first stanza is a great example) gives the poem momentum and rhythm.
Kevin
Kim,
Love how you lead up with the rhyming because it seems to make the tryst sort of sordid and nonchalant and then I’m like, “Duh, it’s a pup!” Then it takes on a totally appropriate sound, making me feel like it could be a children’s book. I love the playfulness.
Let’s meet between the hops vines
somewhere hidden
from the smell of stale
IPA fermenting on the floor
Let’s move our eye contact
over the crowd of drunkards
somewhere, away from small talk of
booze and novelty
Let’s stop whispering to hear
smelling each others breath of brew
somewhere we can malt into each other
making this part of our perennial narrative
Stefani, you brewed a concoction of memories that appeals to all the senses today! The distance from the crowd in a more intimate place – breathing breath – takes us there to understand the full picture!
Your poem smells! So hard to actually capture scent, but I know this one, so pungent and strong. Love the use of the word molt.
Stefani, oh, I could smell this brewery and visualize the crowd of drunkards. I adored your line
Wonderful!
Oohhhh Stefani, your poem is an incredibly sensual experience. I am one for scents whether they are pleasant or harsh, my keen sense of smell rules. Your poem appeals to my sense of smell in a remarkable way. The first stanza opened my nose right away as I’m not a fan of the scent of beer LOL! Brilliant!
“making this part of our perennial narrative” – ooh, wow. I teach mythology, so this hooked me and dragged me down! I have students write their “creation story” – having them recount the story of their birth, which can include the tales of ‘conception’ as they are willing to share them. It’s hilarious how many “bar” stories I’ve gotten! And the perennial nature of it – that it is a perceived existence that mirrors our own but is in all ways ‘better than’ this earthly moment. Isn’t that how we romanticize all such beginnings? Lovely. And I’m a HUGE fan of IPA! Added bonus in this poem!
I love your play with language here – hops vines somewhere hidden, crowd of drunkards, somewhere we can malt into each other – so clever
Let’s Meet Somewhere
Let’s meet somewhere
Between the front steps
Of the apartment building
Where you sat with all
those different women–
One each night, it seemed.
And the grocery store line
Where you stood behind me
and noticed my legs…
Let’s meet somewhere
Between you not believing in marriage
Or turning thirty
Or buying a house
And then one night you said
OK and I said
Are you serious?
And we married
two weeks later.
Dad wore a Kelly green leisure suit.
Let’s meet somewhere
Between one child then
Twins then
Notenoughtimetobreathe,
much less remember
why we loved each other.
Let’s meet somewhere
Between myworkandyourwork
And the kids’ games
and the kids’ needs and
Our needs? Not enough
of us left over
for that.
Let’s meet somewhere
Between a big house
with no kids in it anymore,
and time for us
but we aren’t sure
what to do with the time.
So we don’t, for a while
Let’s meet somewhere
in that big house
filled with our aging selves,
Between growing old
and discovering that
the long-legged girl and
one-time-stand man
never moved away,
They were just waiting upstairs
for the right time
to meet
Somewhere in the middle.
Gayle Sands
2-14-21
Gayle, this is a beautiful time lapse of love and marriage! The legs at the beginning and the end of the poem create a loving wrap-around that makes cheeks blush and hearts flutter! Beautiful on this Valentine’s Day!
Gayle,
This is such a gorgeous love story and both unique to you and your “stand man” and all who fall in love and find that love shoved to the periphery while life happens. Jamming words together to suggest a crowded life consumed w/ work and children leaves me breathless. But it’s these last lines I love:
Love it.
Gayle,
Thank you for sharing this today. The leisure suit stood out to me and I imagine a family picture with this as well. You take us through this relationship with ease and purpose.
Gayle, wow, wow, wow! I love your poem! I so enjoyed the way you describe your husband in the opening to the busy life raising your children, and right up to the end that I can so completely relate to! Your honesty is rich and accessible! Hope you have a very fine Valentine! Wink! Wink!
I so love your second stanza – the matter-of-factness of the dialogue with no punctuation <3
I quoted the opening because I’m completely drawn in. Now let me read the rest. ?
Ohhhh my, so much tension in this! I know that feeling.
What a sweet ending! I honestly could’ve copied/pasted/block-quoted your whole poem.
Gayle, Kim said this perfectly. It’s just beautiful. I’m reminded of a series of slides projected on a stand up screen, the images snapping by in the dark. I cannot pick a favorite section – they all resonated today.
Oh Gayle, what a great journey through your marriage. I read every word on pins and needles. I was happy to read the happy Valentine ending. So lovely! There are so many delicious details–like Dad’s Kelly green leisure suit “Notenoughtimetobreathe,” which helps us KNOW. Thank you and I’m glad you meet somewhere in the middle.
Gayle,
Thank you for bringing us on this journey. I was rooting for the couple.
I love the way you capture the couple’s transformations:
That stanza made me laugh at they way life carries us from “not believing” in something to living it out.
Thank you for sharing.
(I am not sure I fully understand diction in poetry, but ..)
Let’s meet
somewhere
in the music
in the space
between the
staves and sound
vibrations of
the treble clef
Let’s meet
somewhere
where chords
connect, where your
notes complement
mine
in the rhythm of
the movement of
the signature of
the time
Let’s meet
somewhere
at the start,
and then
let’s meet
again at the end:
this joyous
singing heart
I am pretty sure that you understand diction. 🙂 This love poem–for that is what it is–is sweet in all the gently was we want to be loved. the music references, and then that ending–
Let’s meet
somewhere
at the start,
and then
let’s meet
again at the end:
this joyous
singing heart
(oh, my heart…)
Gosh, Kevin — Once again, you have done right by the in-betweens in music. This is beautiful. How do you do this so early in the morning and so quickly? There is a true poet in dem bones of yours. I particularly was taken by the importance of what happens in the gap between the “start” and the “end,” in that it has continuity rather than disconnect and thus music with a “singing heart.” It reminds me of the time between when the bell clapper hits the walls of the bell and when you hear the tone. What’s not to love in that?! Great place to meet! Thank you. Susie
Kevin, yes – I agree with Gayle. You understand diction just fine. Oh, the symbolism and innuendo here – these Valentine verses are full of love in all its tempos today! Loverly words and I enjoy your metaphor of making music!
Kevin,
This verse surely focuses both you as poet and us as readers in the language of fiction:
I echo Susie’s question: “How do you do this so early in the morning?”
I’ve been reading Bruce Springsteen’s memoir and thinking about the diction of music and all that’s between the writing of a song and the hearing it by an audience. It speaks to “this joyous singing heart,” such a beautiful ending.
Kevin, your poem reads like a song! Such a beautiful cadence and rhythm! Loved it!
I love these lines most:
“Let’s meet
somewhere
at the start,
and then
let’s meet
again at the end:”
So beautiful, especially the assonance.
Kevin, what a tender loving poem! I know I didn’t know what to do with diction but I think you did it! I think. LOL.
I really love poems with music terms. For some reason they give me a feeling of joy. This is very sensual and beautiful and I hope your loved one appreciates it too.
??
I am here swaying to the music in these lovely lines:
Thanks for the music today.