Today’s writing inspiration comes from Kimberly Johnson, Ed.D. She is a literacy coach and media specialist in a public school in rural Georgia. She enjoys writing as a guest blogger for www.writerswhocare.com and counts down the days between monthly 5-Day Writing Challenges. She is the author of Father, Forgive Me: Confessions of a Southern Baptist Preacher’s Kid. Follow her on Twitter at @kimjohnson66.
Inspiration
As writer/reporter Tom Ryan, author of Following Atticus and Will’s Red Coat, was losing his dear friend Vicki Pearson to cancer, he read aloud to her from her bedside the 32nd stanza of Whitman’s “Song of Myself” from Leaves of Grass:
I think I could turn and live with animals, they are so placid and self-contain’d,
I stand and look at them long and long.
They do not sweat and whine about their condition,
They do not lie awake in the dark and weep for their sins,
They do not make me sick discussing their duty to God,
Not one is dissatisfied, not one is demented with the mania of owning things,
Not one kneels to another, nor to his kind that lived thousands of years ago,
Not one is respectable or unhappy over the whole earth.
So they show their relations to me and I accept them,
They bring me tokens of myself, they evince them plainly in their possession.
Full text of poem available here: https://whitmanarchive.org/published/LG/1891/poems/27
Ryan’s life has been one of turning from the distractions of daily life to things that silently resonate deep within the soul – things that matter more. He uses a poem by Whitman that, in many ways, foreshadows Ryan’s own turn from a heavily populated society to one of quiet solitude with his dog.
Process
Raise a Glass to the Literary Avant-Garde by writing a “Turn From” verse, using Whitman’s line starters to create your own poem, or scroll through the linked poem and find another passage to use as line starter motivation today.
From what or where or whom do you turn?
Toward what or where or whom do you turn?
What would happen if you turned toward something new or away from something you’ve always known?
Perhaps you will craft a verse using a future perspective or imagine this turn toward or from as some fictional character or superhero.
Kim’s Poem
I think I could turn and Manhattan-dwell
I’d stand and watch folks buy! and sell!
They do not gather their own eggs
They do not stop for one who begs
They do not nap on front porch swings
Not one picks the crops rain brings
Not one serves biscuits with gravy
Not one offers sweet tea! Crazy!
So they swiftly move from place to place
They meet deadlines at break-neck pace
I wonder if I’d miss life on this farm
Did I jump the gun on greener-grass charm?
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.
I think I could turn and disappear
I’d stand and watch those closest to me be inconvenienced with chores I left undone
They do not miss me, but they miss what I do for them
They do not stop to look for me, only to look for lunch and laundry
They do not remember the color of my eyes or the sound of my laughter
Not one picks the lock of the door I slipped through
Not one opens the window to listen for footfalls
Not one.
So they lament the loss of leisure
They miss what had been, but the one who had been is already forgotten.
I wonder if I’d miss myself if I turned that final corner and wave goodbye to what I tried to be.
Did I forget to be present in my own reality while trying so hard to be their world?
I think I did.
I think I could turn and live without them
They are so young and naive
I see and hear them discuss the ideas they are too young to understand
They fuss and complain about their unfairness
They make me laugh with their mountainous molehills
They are distraught and obsessed with their obsessing of likes
They bend and change because they have not lived a jaded hundred years
They believe in hope and honor and lights that guide them and
A help that is a question away.
They have their perfect naive innocence
Who I am to take it away?
They bring me moments of pure joy, so no.
I will not turn and live without them.
Laura Douglas May 19, 2020
Sorry to be a day late. I had to work yesterday. I missed my nap and snacks. It was an adjustment to be back at school.
Laura,
You capture the joys of adolescence so well in this. I love how “the turn” turns and the speaker sees the “perfect naive innocence” in the end.
Ah, and the reason I love teaching adolescents. They still believe in so many things in their perfect innocence. Things that we need to remember and return to. The idea of “what you don’t know won’t hurt you” comes to mind. I can’t live without them either.
I could turn to
Seaside charm
Glistening sunsets over water
Cool, gentle breezes
Enchanting, mesmerizing, tantalizing
Like a dream that keeps recurring
Awakening my soul
Gnawing at my heels
Whispering my name
Over and over
Like a land of make believe
From a faraway place I used to know
Toes embedded into the warmth of the earth
Salty air spitting on my face
Energizing my spirit, lifting me higher
Palms gently swaying, beckoning me home
I like the repetition of the -ing form here, followed by the word “recurring” which comments on the syntax as well as the actions. I can actually feel the “toes embedded into the warmth of the earth.” Imagery I could use on a chilly, Michigan day. I want to be there in that poem!
Awww…this is so sweet. I love the idea of running away to the beach (it’s my kind of beach). Beautiful work.
Wow! I love how this transported me to a beautiful beach! My favorite line is how it is “gnawing at my heels” and then rises from the sand up into the palms. Great movement!
Turn Away from this Day
I could turn away from this day
Hope for tomorrow come what may
Forgive myself of all my sins
Look at another with a new lense
I could turn away from this day
Rejoice and glad in it, I pray
Not to look back on what was wrong
Just keep on, keep on moving along
I could turn away from this day
Time is ticking on, no time to play
Can’t worry about what I didn’t get done
Turn the page, before tomorrow’s gone!
“Can’t worry about what I didn’t get done”
This is the hardest thing to leave on the counter for the night …
Kevin
This is great. It feels like my internal voice after every bad day. Excellent.
Hi Susan…
I love the sense of urgency “time is ticking on, no time to play” as it contrasts the need for forgiveness of oneself “not to look back on what was wrong.” A common emotion that speaks to us all in this frantic, busy life we lead. At least Covid may have given some of us a little relief from a “schedule” and time to reflect on what’s important. Thank you for capturing this idea that there’s going to be a new chance tomorrow (or maybe today) to tackle that “To Do” list.
You nailed how I feel after a bad day, when I beat up myself repeatedly for simple errors. Thank you for helping me see “hope for tomorrow” and “turning the page”. What a timely poem for me to read today.
I think I could turn toward baking loaves of bread,
I stand at the oven window examining and cheering their rise.
They do not worry or make other plans,
They do not measure their success against the other,
They do not ponder their existence–they are, and that is enough.
Not one is capable of disappointment, not one is naked or lacking,
Not one requires accoutrements, yet happily relaxes under slathered butter and salt,
Not one is unwelcomed or tossed out stale.
So they reveal my time and preparation and accept my ways,
They bring sustenance, comfort and testify that all things worth having take hours of anticipation.
Success is based entirely on what they are – a lesson we should consider for ourselves and others.
This line “Not one is capable of disappointment,” moved me to tears. Wow. Each of us is disappointed and none of us want to be or handle it gracefully. I love the extended metaphor of bread.
Turn away from the chitter
the chatter
the charlatan
Turn away from the news
the noise
the “knows”
Turn away from the lies
the loonies
the limbo
Turn away from the COVID cloud
the computing catastrophe
the constant communication
and
Turn to this brave new world
where dogs dream of day-long dalliances
where birds bounce from branch to branch
where kids can collaborate casually
and teachers teach children without technology
Love everything about this! The sound, the ideas, the last lines.
Yessss Mo! I’m turning with you! I love this. Clever use of consonance! My favorite lines because they describe this week and it’s only Tuesday…
the computing catastrophe
the constant communication
Phenomenal!
I like every line here but I wanted to comment on the use of alliteration and short phrases, and how the poem danced on the page like a piece of music …
Kevin
This line “where birds bounce from branch to branch” touched me. At the beginning of this Covid isolation, this is what I did. I stayed in bed every morning and listened to birds outside my window. They didn’t know about the virus. The were just tweeting each morning and every day like they had done and will do. They didn’t look at numbers, or statistics, or listen to press conferences. At first I envied the birds, but gradually, I just smiled with their songs.
Mo,
The sounds of this poem are rich and gratifying. The message is even more relevant. I think we all feel this way. Hopefully we can start next year in a less stressful way.
They carry me away
I think I could turn and listen to the voice and strings of Rhiannon Giddens,
and fall into the Piedmont vocal chords, and banjo strings.
I’d lose myself in the winds over Appalachia, deep into the caves of memory.
They do not call me to remember a note left lying on my desk.
They do not remember unfinished tasks.
They do not stand silently waiting for me to lift my head.
Not one note that isn’t followed by a cotton dress swaying to a rhythm.
Not a single strum but one repeating til it trails off into a gentle song.
Not a dimly lit stage, but one that glows with amber light.
So I might trance out listening to one soulful voice.
They carry me away, dancing toward the center stage.
Jamie, now I have to look up Rhiannon Giddens. I don’t know anything about her, but you’ve made her sound incredible. Those caves of memory and that cotton dress- wow! I want to be carried away, too!
I Could Turn
I think I could turn from anger to prayer.
I’d surrender and try to let go.
They do not acknowledge my pain.
They do not listen to reason.
They do not do what they say they will do.
No one wants to not trust.
No one seeks to build up a wall.
So I will care no longer and leave them to their devices.
They have their own praying they need to do.
Donnetta, the “I think” in your first line conveys such desire along with hesitation that I really relate to. It seems like you, and I , want to do the right thing, but there is just a little something that holds us back. I really like this.
Donnetta, this is very powerful because when one realizes that prayer is the answer, it always opens the eyes to see how to NOT try to fix other people’s problems. Turning inward is such a gift. I love this.
Kim, thank you for this creative prompt tonight (and Saturday’s and Sunday’s as well)! I love how you invited me (in a low-stakes way) to revisit “Song of Myself.” I want to try this approach with students: introduce a poem, and rather than have them, as Billy Collins would say, beat “it with a hose to find out what it really means,” invite them to find a line or phrase to use as the jump-start for their own poem. In the process of finding mine, I thought carefully about what Whitman had written.
I considered “the smoke of my own breath” before settling on “The sound of the belch’d words of my voice loos’d to the eddies of the wind.” It resonated with me because as I try to write daily through this strange time of COVID-19, I just get sick of my own run-around of thoughts, repetitive voice, and the “belch’d words” I keep puking onto the page! 🙂
I Think I Could Turn
I think I could turn from the sound
of the belchéd words of my voice,
the incessant merry-go-round
repeating my thoughts without choice.
I’m trapped in the cave of my head
ideas spin like bats ‘tween the walls;
none settle and rest, but instead
scratch and tear with raptorial claws.
So I turn from my own belchéd words
away from my black scratchy thoughts–
and listen instead to the stirred
silent images others have wrought.
For here in this space I am met
with voices that loudly come through
without reprimand or regret;
my own voice is welcomed anew.
And Monday’s! I can no longer count days.
Allison, side note: Tonight I asked my husband what day it was. When he said Tuesday, I said, “Are you sure it isn’t Thursday?”
The cave of your head filled with raptorial claws is such a vivid and real image for me. Sometimes it’s hard to distinguish day from night with all the ideas rattling around my brain. I especially love the last stanza where you show appreciation for this wonderful writing space we have all created.
I Could Turn
Stacey L. Joy, May 19, 2020
I think I could turn from the screen
And pick up books that feel unseen
I could turn from the screen
And write eleven poems my heart has seen
I could turn from the screen
To inhale the beauty of earth’s new green
I could turn from the screen
But then maybe my house would be clean
I could turn from the screen
To take a long bath to ease my mean
I could turn from the screen
And mute this virtual teaching scene
Oh, Stacey, what a feast of rhyme! By using a single rhyme throughout, you drove home the repetition of this strange time, the sense of doing and doing and doing without actually moving forward that keeps building on us. In honor of your poem, tomorrow I will turn from the screen–at least for a while! <3
Stacey, I hear you! The screen is so tempting, powerful, and guilt inducing! I’m glad you took a little screen time to write your poem today. I especially love the idea of poems your heart has seen. Thank you!
“I could turn from the screen
To take a long bath to ease my mean”
Yeah. These lines resonated, after one of ‘those’ days …
Kevin
Turn from the seen
hospital bed where the dining room table was
dad on your left
daughter on your right
To the unseen
You’ve longed for
Turn from the temporary
a job
a house
a car
a pension
To the eternal
Prepared for you
Turn from death
eight year battle
cancer’s ravaging crusade
canes, wigs, appointments, pity
To life
Abundant, glorious life
Feeling in the world but not of it
like a stranger in a strange land.
Awaiting what no eye has seen,
nor ear heard,
nor the heart of man imagined.
It’s time, Mom.
Just like we sang,
“Turn your eyes upon Jesus.
Look full in his wonderful face.
And the things of earth
will grow strangely dim
in the light of his glory and grace.”
The way you weave in the idea of the temporary and the eternal , plus the many scriptural allusions is beautiful work!
“I Turn Away”
I turn from religion and embrace spirituality
discover connection to humanity
seek meaning in life
I turn from religion and archaic cannon
millennials of distortion derived from stories
& men with no connection to now
No man will rule over my body! No man will rule over my daughters!
I turn from oppressive, archetypal figures
& black days mired in hypocrisy
They will not have my devotion
I will not subscribe to hatred and judgement
denounce that history!
So I will turn and unearth peace and purpose
I will spread compassion, love and acceptance &
realize oneness with the universe
Tammi, I noticed some wonderful verbs in there like spread, denounce, seek, and discover. I enjoyed the balance of what you were turning from and what you’re turning to.
Tammi — You have a strong voice here that speaks to your “compassion, love…” I like the strength of your turning, and the questioning of old traditions. Your poem shows how you have thought hard about these forces in our lives and have chosen to reject “hypocrisy” — I sure get that! You have the voice of a fighter! “I will never…” I hear it! Stay strong! Susie
Tammi, thank you for this important poem. Religion is for many of us (certainly for me) an ongoing struggle, and you’ve captured the essence of that here. I love this line “I will not subscribe to hatred and judgement.” Keep pouring love into our universe. <3
Wow! You’ve clearly conveyed what I’ve been feeling lately! I agree– it’s all about spreading compassion, love, and acceptance.
I TURN
I turn to you for comfort
When I have lost hope
When I can’t find peace
I find rest
In you
Some say
We all need
Something
Or
Someone
To
Believe in
I say
We all have
Something
Or
Someone
To
Believe in
It’s just a matter
Of choice
But what happens
When
Something
Or
Someone
Causes you
To
Forget
What you believe
What role does
Choice play
You got to dig
Deep
and turn
From what is blinding you
Then find your way back
To where hope resides
I love your message of hope, especially these lines: turn/From what is blinding you/Then find your way back
To where hope resides.
Wow, Melissa, I thought I knew where this poem was going…and then it wasn’t! I love how the turn “But what happens when…” caught me by surprise. It was the second half of your poem that grabbed me and said “LISTEN!” I loved your ending: digging deep and finding your way back to hope. This was powerful.
Oh I really like this poem! Great advice “turn from what is blinding you then find your way back to where hope resides”!
Hi Melissa…
Your poem definitely takes a turn when you write, “But what happens when something or someone causes you to forget what you believe.” I have been there and it is true that you must dig deep to find your way back to where you can find hope and happiness. Thanks for sharing this, and I hope you find that place you are yearning for.
Turn Me Inside Out
Several suggest I might turn
from sharing life with a dog:
I would shed the dirt, errant leaves and sticks at the door,
hair tumbling with the whirr of the fan in gossamer wisps across the floor,
I would save burning dollars in the fire pit of vet bills,
fifty-dollar bags of senior-morsels, vaccinations, comfy collars,
and be
spared the scurrying home to send him out to his backyard Serengeti,
that grazing circuit of sniffs and squats, his leg-lift calisthenics,
spared that camel-legged counter-terrorist
snatching butter, bacon, steak, a cake, no reverence,
spared the grim late-life dysplasia, those old bones fossilized,
that wet nose in my sleeping face at five, no compromise,
spared that breath of rabbit M & Ms, his natural sort of Greenies,
our rain and snow walks, pocket treats of weenies;
and finally,
turn to find a house clean,
new travel funds and time, no tear in the screen,
turn freely this way and that,
looking for his definitive smile, agreeable chats,
turn to sleeping in, no towels at the door,
listening for his deep sleep snore,
and finally turn the mirror to see
a vacant, lesser me.
by Susie Morice©
Wow, Susie! I am rocked by the last line, but I want to go back to all the “spare” and sparing in what wouldn’t be, the loss but also the perspective of the other here and the question of “who says you’d be spared” or that sparing is the point of it all. And then you turn, you turn to the vacancy that would be but, thank goodness, is not. “And finally turn the mirror to see” — this turning of the mirror to see you means you are turning the mirror away from your precious pooch –who is there.
Sarah
It IS all worth it, isn’t it? Those creatures we love so much that live so few years less than we do. I love the line about coming home to let your dog out. Yes, we work…but that getting home on time is so important! This is very sweet and sad but more sweet.
Susie,
I hear you saying, “My dog completes me.” I feel the same way. Perhaps that’s another reason why we share the same opinion about that guy in the WH. I read your poem to Ken, who is in no way a poem lover, and it touched him deeply. He has such a tender relationship w/ our pups. Poor Puck has a bunch of fatty bulges, and we are awaiting the vet’s estimate for removal. Puck’s a million dollar dog, in a manner of speaking. But we would be lesser w/out him. I’ll take the “errant leaves and sticks at the door” and all the rest for life w/ these boys. I simply love every line, every image you’ve penned. Now I must hug and kiss my four-pawed children. Thank you.
—Glenda
Susie,
I love so many of these images:
“hair tumbling with the whirr of the fan in gossamer wisps across the floor”, “that grazing circuit of sniffs and squats, his leg-lift calisthenics”, “that wet nose in my sleeping face at five, no compromise”. This whole poem made me smile and I know that there is no way you could turn from sharing your life with this dog! I definitely feel the joy in your companionship.
Well, Susie, my family just adopted our very first dog 2 days ago. So many images are already relatable here, which is why I am going to love on him even more tonight despite my exhaustion at keeping up with this new life I’m responsible for!
Susieeeee, awwww, pure love. No one should ever be spared the unconditional love of pets. I’m a firm believer that pet lovers have a deeper connection to compassion and love. I adore this poem so much. I want to share it with my best friend who’s dog recently passed but I’m sure we will both be crying. and wanting another dog way too soon.
My favorite part is the end because the “vacant, lesser me” will never come to pass. Impossible.
?Stacey
This: “his backyard Serengeti,
that grazing circuit of sniffs and squats, his leg-lift calisthenics”
Oh now I just want to quote every line. You are an amazing poet, Miss Susie. That you not only wrote this beautiful, word-treating, imagistic love poem to your dog–but also RHYMED it with such satisfying combos as fossilized/compromised and terrorist/reverence, is just jaw-dropping awesome. Then, with your final couplet, you punched me in the solar plexus. I love this poem. And you.
Susie, I can hear your voice as I read this and I see your lovable, sweet, teddy bear as well! Although all those things may be true he is worth it! Enjoy every moment with him! Who needs a clean house anyway? So well done!
I immediately sent this to my daughter who has always loved dogs and horses more than people. In my memories, I always see her playing with and packing her stuffed dogs and horses into a soft-sided doll bed. I never recall her playing with dolls. Growing up on a small farm, I equate animals with extra work welcomed turning away from that as I created my adult life. I much prefer people, but your last line caught my heart and helped me understand her more. Her immediate response to the poem was tears and gladness that I shared it with her.
Sheri
There is palpable love in this poem, and I feel you really captured the essence of Whitman’s lines. There are so many beautiful, vivid vignettes in your lines: “hair tumbling with the whir of the fan,” “backyard Serengeti,” “camel-legged counter-terrorist (I love the play on words here!) snatching butter…” I feel like I know your fur baby through your writing, and I feel why your life is better and less vacant because of him.
You perfectly describe the physical realities of having a dog which simultaneously capture the feeling of owning one. The true dog-lover knows that fur, cold noses, interrupted sleep, excessive costs for their needs equate to the simple enjoyment and love of having the best companion one could have at her side. I hope you have written more and then can put in a dog poetry book someday.
Where is the threshold between
human
inhuman?
The true witness to this fissure
cannot answer
for those who saw
the Gorgon
have not returned
are mute
are stone
You want to see the threshold between
human
inhuman?
To see the Gorgon you must
turn toward
the specter in the vase
turn toward
the impossibility
of seeing
of witnessing
of testifying.
Still, you turn
toward
not from.
You are not stone after all.
A walking corpse without a story.
A witness who cannot bear witness.
Where is the threshold between
human
inhuman?
I was reading about the 1987 study of Muselmann in Romanticism After Auschwitz by Sara Emilie Guyer. I kept thinking about this metaphor of turning away from the Gorgon and the people who will not look at the state of things in our country, and the people who have looked who are not giving their testimony, and then there needs to be another stanza for those who did not turn mute but are lifting their voices — I just want to sit in this space of silence though for now.
Oh, Sarah, YES! This is such an important image…our “looking away” is a specter of what happened back then at Auschwitz. Very powerful image and concept. I particularly like “witness to the fissure.” The words “witnessing” and “testifying” are power words for sure. I would love to read this when you add those lifting voices. Thank you for this thoughtful direction! Susie
“You are not stone after all.” is the line that really gets me. We the reader have a choice in this despite how difficult. This poem really makes me think about that fissure between inhuman and human.
Sarah,
There is much to ponder in this metaphor. It’s sending me back to some mythology I want to revisit. I can’t help about the efforts to turn those who do bear witness to the evil to “Stone,” to toss them on the trash heap of “stone,” the inhuman. Corpses? Destroyed careers?
As Susie notes, this poem is powerful and will get stronger as you flesh it out. The article sounds interesting. I’d love to read it and your finished poem.
Wow, Sarah! You pulled me in with your first lines: Where is the threshold between/human/inhuman? You really have captured the state of the world and how people are so willing to turn a blind eye. And the metaphor of the Gorgon, nailed it!
I love that your piece was historically inspired, and I respect your choice to pause in silence with the heaviness you brought up. The repeated human/inhuman refrain is so effective–the syntax and structure in general–spare, just-so, fits the topic. I think the line that strikes me most is “turn toward / the specter in the vase / turn toward”–I keep rolling that image over in my mind.
I tangibly feel the poignancy of your poem. The change in indentation physically reflects a turning and the imagery is vivid with a “walking corpse” and those who are “mute” and “stone.” With your provided background, I better appreciate the connection of facing the Gorgon’s of today as others have faced it in the past. It makes me contemplate that history does indeed repeat itself, but in far different manifestations. We really do still need to consciously think about humanity vs. inhumanity and how it plays out in our world today.
Would that I could turn to you, Mom,
when you were just 35,
and in the throes of an internal crisis,
and say to you, “It’ll be okay, Mom”
I understand now why you laid on the newly carpeted floor,
and listened to Hey Jude, over and over and over again.
I understand now why you laid on the couch
asking me to bring you the blue pill . . . or the pink one
Your doctor called it “nerves”, but it was something much more
One day they will have a name for your illness
It is called Depression, and there will be help for it.
I know because I inherited it.
I understand now that you thought the only road for you was AWAY.
Away, for a while, so you could think, but that turned in to forever.
Away from the black clouds that enveloped you,
away from the claustrophobia that was inside your head.
Away from your family that loved and needed you.
You needed you; I understand that now, and it’s okay.
I wish I could turn to you, Mom, and tell you
One day the sun will shine again in your mind
And you will be genuinely happy.
Judi,
How amazing poetry is, that you can use a poem to “turn to” and do what perhaps you could not have done years ago that only you now, with perspective, can do and only in this way. Thank you for naming Depression and for allowing us to bear witness to your experience and for introducing us to your mom. I connect deeply with this.
Sarah
Thank you, Sarah. Isn’t it funny how these amazing prompts each day make us dig deeper?
Gosh, Judi, what you have realized in this poem and the bare rawness of that is incredible. Dang! This is a powerful poem of wisdom and awareness and tender understanding. Just reading this is a lesson. I love this poem and so appreciate that you shared this. Thank you! Susie
“Away, for a while, so you could think, but that turned in to forever.” Depression steals a lot from those we love. It also robs us of experiences we desire. However, it teaches us to treasure every moment with the ones we love.
Judi –This is so powerful and beautiful. And even though it is heart-wrenching, you have infused hope.
These lines brought tears to my eyes: “I understand now that you thought the only road for you was AWAY.
Away, for a while, so you could think, but that turned in to forever./Away from the black clouds that enveloped you,
away from the claustrophobia that was inside your head.”
Judi, thank you for sharing this with us. “You needed you; I understand that now, and it’s okay,” is beautiful. Three distinct messages with three distinct responses in the reader. Powerful but simple language you harnessed!
I could feel the emotion and vulnerability in your poem, perhaps because I personally relate to this as well. Like Sarah, I’m glad you named Depression. I loved the lines that began with “away.” I felt like these spoke to real, relatable struggles; I also love how the next line shows so much compassion and healing. The overall tone is one of understanding and hope that is admirable.
I think I could turn
on Spanish-soled toes and pivot and pivot and pivot
and pivot around someone’s strong finger and
count the revolutions until I could
not and then the dizzy would let
my eyes be watercolor paintbrushes, swathing
colors together into amorphous shapes in
which I’d swim and take off into
a kaleidoscope night and
this centripetal force would keep me,
as sharp blades on a propeller hub,
so that I could take flight and know,
really know, the joy of the
Trumpeter Swan.
Sarah,
I love this line:
Such music and movement in the words that sit so lovely with the pivots and the propeller and the flight!
Sarah
Wow!!
This pulled me in, whirled me around, and didn’t let me go! So many strong images—so much power. I can’t even choose a best line—but kaleidoscope night is way up there!
are you missing dancing? I love the metaphor of the kaleidoscope night like lights on the dance floor – centripetal force, blades on a propeller hub
Yes yes I am! So much.
Your poem is mesmerizing in and of itself. I picture a ballerina turning and turning, and I always wondered how they could do that and not be dizzy (I never could)! I know your poem is so much deeper that this, though, and I loved the colorful reference to watercolors, paintbrushes and kaleidoscopes. Enchanting!
I think I could
By: Emily Yamasaki
I think I could turn and live
carefree like the others
I stand and look at them, wondering and wishing
They do not tense up or clench until they’re sore
They do not live in a constant state of fight or flight
They do not trade sleep for anxiety
Not one is dreading the day, not one is panicking
Not one fights the dark from taking over, nor strains to see light
Not one is worrying about nothing just to feel a false sense of control
So they live in this freedom and in this world, they measure up
And I use that to bury me further beneath my own weight
Emily,
I read this over and over, just letting your words wash over me. Thank you. The last line is staying with me “that to bury me further beneath my own weight.” There is a sense of complicity here but it is not one-sided.
Sarah
Emily, your poem is so real. Often people live carefree lives because they are trying to forget everything mentioned in this poem.
Although I am one of the “carefree” ones, I wasn’t always that way, and I still know the feeling of “trading sleep for anxiety.” No one completely escapes these feelings, but I hope that you can learn to let the lighter side through. The words “they measure up” really spoke to me about how we create our anxiety by unnecessarily comparing ourselves to others. I know that when I stopped doing this, I found much more freedom. Thank you for sharing these raw emotions.
I think I could turn and live without anxieties, they are so overwhelming,
I stand and they are there, always there.
They do not leave and live a life all on their own.
They make me lie awake in the dark and think it through again,
They make me sick, my mind is muddled, my defenses down,
They are never satisfied, nor will one acquiesce to my attempts to master them.
Not one yields to another, nor to those from yesterday or the yet to be.
Not one is capable of honestly living outside my mind.
So they show up when I least expect, and I accept them,
They make a mockery of reason, they make a show of the worst that could happen.
I wonder where do they get their nerve,
Did they not hear that I can take medicine and live despite them?
Katrina,
As I read this I can’t help but think how cathartic it must have been to write. I can feel your power to control, dispel, and manipulate your anxieties. I love your courage and bravery, especially in those last two lines! Your repetition in the second stanza is powerful; after spelling out the worst parts of anxiety, you then expose their vulnerabilities.
Katrina! I had just finished writing my poem and scrolled down to see that we are fighting the same beast.
Your line describes precisely how anxiety manifests in my life. Thank you for sharing this.
Katrina, I love the pun at the end: I wonder where they get their nerve. My favorite line: they make a mockery of reason, they make a show of the worst that could happen. Anxiety is a thought-provoking topic – we all struggle with it in some form at some time, and especially right now. This is a great time-stamp of our current pandemic situation.
Amen. I love that you found a way to fight anxiety by naming it and giving it boundaries. I recognize so many of those places they invade!
Oh, boy, Katrina! This speaks to me on so many levels. Oddly, the social distancing has helped my anxiety without the fear of having to “go out” to be normal. I like how you use the pronoun “they” which shows the multiplicity and the specter/ghost-like quality of anxiety in mass — “they show up” and “they get their nerve” (good pun, too).
Sarah
Lately, as we shelter in place, I’ve been turning toward solitude
and the expansiveness that is inside of me,
which I’m learning is more vast than anything outside.
In the middle of chaos wrought by virus and a pathological lack of empathy,
I am turning toward what is stripped down and essential.
It feels like a homecoming, and my heart breaks for those who will never come home.
Deanna, I love that your poem feels stark and far-reaching (also, I had to get out the thesaurus because I tried to describe your poem several times and kept coming up with the words that are in your poem!). I’m drawn to your ideas of space in and outside of us. I think about this often as I try to convince (fairly successfully, surprisingly!) that our summer of travel will be just as well within my mind.
Deanna, what a compelling thought that the essentials bring us to a homecoming. We return to the roots – the basic things we need, and take comfort in the unanchored, carefree feelings of being liberated by letting go of things we only thought we needed. Those are some profound thoughts. I love the last line!
Thank you, Deanna, for opening up some new thoughts and feelings in me about my perspective right now. “Which I’m learning is more vast than anything outside,” is the line sticking with me in particular. Even if I shut my laptop right now, I have enough inside of me to turn to!
* This is about when I was first diagnosed with clinical depression decades ago. I no longer feel this way and I’m in a much better place.
Empty
I wish I could wake up one day and not feel
this emptiness inside.
I’d be like those who are happy
They find joy in small things
They mean it when they say “I’m well, thank you.”
They plan and dream
They feel joy being alive
Not one of them needs to escape
Not one of them has to pretend
Not one of them feels empty
Not one of them eagerly waits for the end
I’d smile a genuine smile
I’d laugh a genuine laugh
I’d take off this mask
I’d enjoy being alive
I wish I could wake up one day and not feel
this emptiness inside
But that’s never going to be me
Monica, I’m so glad that you’ve made your way to a better place. Your words bear the weight of depression and the way you’ve moved within this structure I feel as if I’m falling down the hole with you.
Monica, I’m so glad that you are in a better place now. I know everyone who is diagnosed with clinical depression has a different journey, but when my father was diagnosed back in the early 1990s, the changes we witnessed were staggering. We also saw him improve and begin functioning again with treatment. I am glad that we live in a time of understanding more about the chemical imbalance and treatment and didn’t live 50 years ago when so much less was known by medical professionals and by patients. I love your reference to the mask – – I have observed the way that elements of our pandemic are making their way into our writing today as a time stamp of our circumstances, whether figurative or literal.
It’s disheartening that the voice of depression can be so overpowering to make one feel to the point of “that’s never going to be me.” I’m glad you were able to turn from this place of longing and distress to something better.
Turnings
I could turn toward that.
That has always been my mantra.
I have turned toward—or away from—so many things.
Lovers, towns, careers, friends, classrooms…
Never with a plan—I am not a planner at heart, although
I usually make the best of the turns I take.
Turning has always come easy to me.
My turnings have brought me here, at last,
to a turn I hadn’t planned on so soon.
I am turning from being a teacher to… what?
A Not-a-teacher-any-more? A Used-to-be-a-teacher?
This turn is a hairpin turn with a blind spot.
No worries. I can steer through this one, too.
It’s not my first sharp turn.
Next start, retirement.
There is so much confidence in the words, “Turning has always come easy for me.” I really relate to your poem, being at exactly the same place – retiring with this pandemic. So strange! This is me – “to a turn I hadn’t planned on so soon./I am turning from being a teacher to…what?” That is the question that confronts me now. If we EVER see the end of this scourge, we must get together in Maryland!
Already penciled in (in invisible pencil) for a future date!
Gayle, congratulations on your retirement! What a beautiful time to really start being able to enjoy a new and different life, a little less affected by the changes that are surely on the forefront of education. My favorite lines: turning has always come easy to me and this turn is a hairpin turn with a blind spot. I like the resilience and the imagery of the turn. Absolutely you can steer through this sharp turn – – and put the top down on the convertible and enjoy the 360 degree view with the wind in your hair! What fun, my friend! The road ahead is yours to travel. Cheers for the journey!
I sense so much personality in this poem! Some of my favorite lines are “I could turn toward that,” “Never with a plan–I’m not a planner at heart,” and “This turn is a hairpin turn with a blind spot.” The carefree way you speak of turning evokes a sense of joie de vivre, taking the unexpected and making the most of it. I also respect how the problem that has come around the turn is unprecedented, but will be faced with the same optimistic spirit as the others.
I really went in a different direction than intended . . .
Turn From, Turn Toward
Turn from the carnival and chaos
Turn toward calm and contentment
shelter in with peace and intimacy.
Turn from the going and running
Turn toward solitude and stillness
sit and soak it in.
Turn from the company of many
Turn toward the comfort of family
join in the union with those closest.
Turn from the pleasing of the masses
Turn toward taking care of the inner circle
spend time with those who matter.
Turn from selfishness and pursuit
Turn toward philanthropy and the greater good
give of your time, talent, and treasure.
Turn from division and polarity
Turn toward tolerance and middle ground
listen to all viewpoints and form your own.
Turn from earthly matters and concerns
Turn toward the Creator and Savior
trust in the goodness of the Lord.
Turn from, turn toward
Turn in, turn out
Turn around
Turn beyond.
~Susan Ahlbrand
19 May 2020
Susan—love the peace that flows from this—the acceptance and welcoming of our days.
Beautiful. Yes…let’s just settle into the quiet. I love the ending repetitions.
Susan, I love that you let the pen lead today and followed in a different direction – a day when you reach into a part of your soul that needed voice that you allowed. This is beautiful. The repetition, the verbs that begin each line. I love the alliterative words in your lines as well.
Kim- I feel I can hear your voice (even though I don’t know it!) as you use exclamation marks in “buy!” and “sell!” and “Not one offers sweet tea! Crazy!” I like the auditory effect it gives your poem. I also like the overall theme of greener grass. I feel it is something to which most easily fall prey, including myself!
Trusting Within
Each day I turn
round and round as if Julie Andrews in edelweiss’d meadow,
yet it doesn’t feel serene, only dizzying.
I shake in shell shock by the war of words detonating around me.
They encourage, dig, decry, blame, praise, shame, pontificate,
and I reel: word clouds of scribbles slashing in my thoughts.
A small voice whispers direction.
It encourages me to trust my quiet instincts
rather than these fog-hornists.
I hold to compassion, equality, honesty, empathy, kindness, advocacy,
the virtues often publicly subscript where boldness truly calls.
These turn me face first in the mirror and compel me to not keep them to myself.
Kale,
This is just a cool poem –yes, that it is! I love the allusion to Julie, in just that phrase an entire setting and feeling grab hold of me, and then you keep turning in this poem toward and away bringing the speaker to face the mirror, but not leaving it there. Another turn must happen for it to mean anything…telling others.
Sarah
Kale,
I thought about “turning, turning in the widening gyre” from “The Second Coming” as I read. I love the spinning image of Julie Andrews and see his in an Austrian field through your words. Sarah’s comment is spot on. The line “I shake in shell shock by the war of words detonating around me” incorporates wonderful alliteration replicating the rapid-fire word war escalating each day. I’m glad you did not end in a dark place but found the strength to turn to the good: “compassion, equality, honesty, empathy, kindness, advocacy,” leaving us w/ a sense of hope. Thank you.
—Glenda
So many things to love here—the edelweiss meadow, the word clouds of scribbles slashing, the subscript of virtues. Hard to choose which I love the best!
Wild Morning Glory
I think I could turn into
wild morning glory,
“bineweed.”
Yes,
I’d get out and go visiting,
weaving my way into
everyone’s garden.
I’d get up nice and close,
climbing within and about,
defying the recommended six foot distance.
I’d feel them tug on me,
so many hands reaching for me, and
I’d have not a fear in the world.
Yes,
I’d get up nice and close,
burst into flower for my favorite people,
simply strangle every plant of
those folks who get under my skin.
There’d be no secrets from me,
as I sneak in and around.
Yes,
I will go on and on and on,
find my way someplace new every day,
never give up,
even come back the next day
after being pried loose and away.
I’d be the bane of everyone’s existence, yet
most certainly,
I’d feel connected.
Maureen,
Love this idea of getting into everyone’s space only to end with the gratitude of connectedness. I wish I could burst into flowers! This would save me from having to speak — my tongue just does not work well at all.
Sarah
Maureen—yes! I want to also simply strangle those who get under my skin, and sneak in and around. I love your metaphor (personification?) of binge weed—beautiful, yet a pest in the garden. What a fun poem!
Maureen,
You’re a flower child, but I do sense a bit of Venus Fly Trap in the line:
I love both this poem and the one on your blog today. Thank you.
–Glenda
your poem reminds me of the image in Harris Burdick by Chris Van Allsburg of the vines growing out of the open book
I absolutely enjoyed the personification here, and now I feel like I might want to be wild morning glory as well! I loved the movement and the creeping forward. That movement really drove your words. I also felt your imagery was evocative; I especially appreciated your line “burst into flower for my favorite people.” I was captivated throughout my read!
I think I could turn
into the most kind
thoughtful loving
human being
filled with grace
and humility.
But each day
some new stupidity
has me kvetching
at the television
railing against the radio
muttering into my thoughts.
About the idiots
the selfish the negligent
the self-righteous
the willfully ignorant
and all their
kindred relations.
I studied meditation
and learned of meta
how to make phrases
to silence my worst critic
to accept others
just as they are.
Even to embrace
and show them
loving thoughts
like the Dalai Lama
who was exiled from
his own country.
Still he shows
compassions towards those
who demonize him
murder his people.
He only wants peace
and a safe return.
I am not the Dalai Lama.
I never believe I could turn
into anything nearly like him.
So each day I breathe
I seethe I reset I try again.
This is who I am.
Denise, what insight and honesty! I love your poem and its blunt truth. The abrupt turn to “But each day has some new stupidity…” is so great and we all can relate. I love including the things you had learned like the Dalai Lama, but then he becomes the antithesis of who you are, in all your sweet candor. I love this:
Very powerful poem.
~Denise
The fact that you have not given up is a reason to hope. No, you may not be the Dali Lama, but you are a woman of compassion who is moved to WANT TO CHANGE. So, as you state in your closing lines, “… breathe … reset … try again.”
“I breathe /I seethe I reset” – oh these words really spoke to me, today. (My own poem went a little dark and creepy, as a result.) Yes, I go along just fine until ‘some new stupidity.’ Thank goodness for role models like the Dalai Lama, leading us to better ways. Thank you for this!
Denise—this is wonderful! The mellow tone of the first stanza and the immediate move to the second—kvetching is such a perfect word there! And the honesty in the last stanza—I, too, breathe, seethe and reset. Love this!
Denise,
I love the cyclical feel of your poem. I chuckled when I read
I told my dental hygienist this morning I think I have a civic obligation to announce my disdain for the “Pamper pile” (see Denise’s poem) in the WH. Every day is a new low. Still, during the pandemic I find myself working harder to “show compassion.” Maybe this is progress. Thank you for articulating so much of what I think.
–Glenda
Great job! I can really identify with that first part…and then my day starts! Ha~ Really enjoyed “so each day I breathe I seethe I reset and try again. This is who I am!” Beautiful! Embrace with grace!
There Is a Story Here
Whitman says, “I have heard what the talkers were talking,
the talk of the beginning and the end.”
The bolt of lightning crashed through the canopy,
Splitting the lodgepole pine
Leaving behind char and glowing orange embers.
There is a story here.
Thunder booms overhead.
Now a deluge of water stings my eyes.
Wind presses me and bends my frame.
There is a story here.
The morning sun warms my face.
Oranges and yellows reveal a morning mist.
It pours through the valleys and canyons like soup.
There is a story here.
The ocean crawls up the hillside
And the moon pulses full and white.
There is a story here.
Starlight reflects off the muddy sand,
where creatures squirm and slide,
Hiding from unknown dangers.
There is a story here.
I’m tired. I will just lie here for a minute
And close my eyes, maybe to never open them again.
Images strange and familiar will fill my head.
There is a story here.
How on earth do you even come up with lines like “It pours through the valleys and canyons like soup.” and “The ocean crawls up the hillside” – ? These are so uniquely odd and yet so relatable in terms of the concreteness of the analogies. Love the repetition of “There is a story here.” That in itself is a great prompt line. In this work, it seems like a declaration, but at the same time, so much is not told – it makes me all the more curious as to the ‘story’ that is going untold.
Shaun, if I read your refrain correctly, we should be watching for a release of your next book. Right? “There is a story here”. You’ve got your setting. Who are the characters?
Thanks for teasing us with the promotion poem. 🙂
Shaun,
This was like a meditation for me, the comfort of the refrain was everything, but in each breath in, I was filled with your images of lightening and sun and ocean. There was some destruction, but it felt rather beautiful, asking for appreciation for the story that awaits a listener.
Sarah
This reads like chapters in a wonderful book, or at least short stories. Each one could stand alone. Your refrain “there is a story here” pulls it together. Word choice, imagery, flow. Wow.
I don’t know if I am getting close to the intent of the poem, but it seems to reiterate the cause and effect of nature. Particularly magical to me are the lines, “The ocean crawls up the hillside and the moon pulses full and white.” Wow!
Whose Is It to Choose?
Mom, I don’t want to go to college.
But, son, think about all that knowledge
That you will miss learning.
Think of the money you may miss earning.
Mom, I know what I want to do.
In this, do I have to obey you?
You know I love music. The tuba’s my thing.
I love to play music, and you love to sing.
Let me do what I want; I have much to learn.
I know I can live on whatever I earn.
But, son, Dad and I have been saving for years.
And at your concerts and games, we raised our loud cheers.
We’ve been bragging to friends how well you have done.
That’s your thing, Mom. Now let me do mine. I’m the one
Who has to live with my choices.
Let me do my own thing. Mind my own inner voices.
I appreciate you both. I respect you and Dad.
But force me to college! That would really make me sad.
Ooookkkkaaaay, Son. You’re grown. We respect your decision.
Go with God. Stay safe. Live the life you envision.
Anna, thank you for sharing this. I think this is a familiar story these days with so many young people. Was this a recent decision? Or have you had some years to look back on it yet? You and your husband sound wise, but I’m guessing it wasn’t as easy as it sounds.
By the way, I wanted to comment on your poem about your daughter kayaking in the U.P. That was so powerful and scary. At least from the beginning we knew she had posted about it on social media, but saving the fact that it was your daughter until the end was really powerful. I’m still thinking about her today and thankful she was safe.
~Denise
Thanks, first, for your empathy with us as parents. The incident in the poem yesterday was recent…just a couple of weeks ago! The months of waggling in today’s poem refers to incidents some time ago. Our son pursued and enjoyed a career in music in Europe. Ten years later, he returned and attended a music school that hired him! He taught music technology for years. Just recently, he has begun “passing CLEP tests” and earning credits towards a college degree. It’s his choice and we’re still “friends”. 🙂
Anna, thanks for the updates. I am glad to hear that years have passed on your son’s story. It makes your poem sweeter, the decisions made wiser, and he is a success. That’s awesome. Praise God your daughter was safe!
Hi Anna,
This is fantastic, not just because it’s such a sweet treat of a story between you, your husband, and son, but because it’s one of the most difficult things to do with our children – letting them go on their own paths.
All I know is he will be just fine because you’ve “trained him up in the way that he should go.” Letting him go is a blessing.
Thank you!
Anna,
You use rhyme so beautifully.
And, what a brave parent to say, “go . . . do what you want” for it truly is his life. But, gosh, don’t we want to joy-stick them?
Your rhyming is so free and natural—I envy it! The story you tell is warm and so true—Ian’s your choice is the choice that allows the relationship to grow. Good parents, good son!
Kim, your poem cracks me up. I had to look back at your bio to see that indeed you are a southern girl like me. The sweet tea was a dead give away. My husband and I enjoy traveling to cities. But I don’t think either of us would want to live in one. Thanks for this prompt. I am still feeling very drafty about this attempt. The very feeling I’m trying to express is keeping me from expressing it.
I think I could turn and live
as though your opinions didn’t matter.
I could be me without that inner chatter.
They never wonder about your impression.
They write with freedom of expression.
They hold their heads above all tokens,
Making their mark to wherever it takes them.
They do not sweat the small stuff.
They rise above when life gets tough.
I’d relax and be who I want to be.
I’d walk and talk confident and free.
Amen! I wish I could get to that point. The place you write of seems so peaceful….and healthy!
Margaret, I love that you capture exactly what you are trying to express! And what a goal for all of us. As if opinions don’t matter. My students did a lot of reflection on this idea this week in our Today We Change/Are You Better Today than Yesterday unit. They all express the idea of wanting our insides to speak for us rather than our outsides since so often judgments are made based on the physical. Thanks for shedding some light today.
Oh, may it be so – “as though your opinions didn’t matter.” This world is full of strong, dogmatic opinions! Here’s to walking and talking ‘confident and free.’
Bravo, my friend who obviously knows what’s in my brain! Yesss, we need this more than ever. Live freely in confidence and fine with being ourselves.
Thank you for reminding me that I’m not alone.
?
Even though the speaker in the poem wants to break free, she still works within the confines of rhyme and rhythm, which is a reminder that she has not yet arrived at where she wants to be.
That last line is perfect.
Margret,
I totally get the idea that the chatterboxes create a cacophony in our heads that often preclude us from listening and following the directives of our own consciousness. Love those first three lines most:
I also feel as though I haven’t quite articulated what I wanted to in my poem this morning. After reading so many wonderful poems I think I’ll need to revisit this prompt.
Thank you, Kim. Your prompts have been so refreshing and interesting this week. I like your sweet farm to city comparison. What differences! No one serves biscuits with gravy or sweet tea–that would be a tragedy. That is crazy! I’m guessing you would miss life on the farm, and this form was perfect for the questioning at the end. Then you threw in the challenge of adding couplets too. My favorite line is “They do not nap on front porch swings.” Mine took a strange turn today. Please forgive me.
Diapers
I think I could turn away from dirty diapers, they are so fetid and disturbing.
I stand and look at hundreds of crammed nappies that, in many cases, haven’t been changed in decades.
They do not work for 99% of the people, but are hollow gongs.
They do not serve, but are crafty, selfish liars.
They do not care about dismantling systemic racism and wealth inequality.
Not one is honest or empathetic, but rather cold and venal.
Not one feels the pain of the people they came to serve.
Not one is willing to walk a road of suffering to love others.
So these Pamper piles must be voted out of office.
They bring disgrace to our nation.
I wonder if I overgeneralized my disdain
Did I miss any worthy to retain?
“Politicians are a lot like diapers. They should be changed frequently, and for the same reason.”
~Tom Dobbs, Robin Williams’ character in Man of the Year (2006)
I love this because I often refer to people that don’t want to change as loving the smell of sitting in their own diaper!
Oh, good one. Great way to write out some of those frustrations! Yes, let’s vote these Pamper piles out of office. Great language!
Denise, the quiet revelation of what those dirty diapers really are works perfectly here. It brings readers to a realization, a revelation, making that metaphoric connection stronger. These phrases resonate: hollow gongs, Pamper piles, I wonder if I overgeneralized my disdain. Well done!
This is so clever – and has made me smile! “I stand and look at hundreds of crammed nappies that, in many cases, haven’t been changed in decades.” Such an excellent line, perspective on our world today. Thank you for this!
Denise, your poem reveals the flexibility of poetry and the fact that the feelings/knowledge/experience we readers bring determine the message we take away.
At first, I thought you were describing being the mom of a newborn; then the child of an aging parent who had become incontinent. I was lines into the poem before I recognized the metaphors for current S.E.P. issues.
(That’s the acronym we used in our senior lit class when students were asked to reflect on the social, economic, and political issues they noticed in their reading. BTW, teacher readers, paying attention to S.E.P. in literature can be an effective cross-curricular activity. I’d have my students quote from their history books to support their claims about what they observed in the texts read in my class. Great results!)
I am literally laughing out loud right now. The tone in these lines is the best
Denise,
Preach! I’m right there w/ you. Love the quote and the metaphor of politicians to “dirty diapers.” The “No” and “Not” repletion gives the poem an emphatic tone. The stench of “crammed nappies” is visceral. I found that guy’s drug pushing from the Oval yesterday particularly disturbing, and that made me think about El Chappo getting pissed because the president is now in the business of not only popping pills but pushing them on the ignorati who salivate at his heels. Your righteous indignation is palpable. I hope Susie sees your poem because I know she’ll be cheering you on as am I. Love it. Thank you.
–Glenda
Denise, it seems strange to say I really enjoyed “Diapers”! I love it! For the sake of our nation, it can’t be soon enough to change our “dirty diapers”!
Kim, I found such joy rereading Whitman’s poetry. He would have surely been a treat to meet! Thanks for your invitation to celebrate his lines with a response of our own.
I think I could turn and live
Quietly hidden away in a
Writer’s retreat
Far from bell schedules
And inflexible routines
To loaf and invite more loafing
I think I could turn and live without
A life scheduled and routine
Hurried lunches and
The urge and urge and urging of
“Do your best, please!”
Or one more lesson to complete
I think I could turn and live
Photographing the birds
Cardinals, Indigo Buntings, Orioles and the
Hummingbirds gathered at a feast
Curled up with books inviting and sweet
To celebrate the day with a barbaric yawp
I think I could turn and live
Free from creeds and schools in abeyance
If you want me again look
Not under the desk but in the midnight moonlight
Still waiting to be understood undisguised and naked
Like the green grass and the whippoorwill
Barb Edler
May 19, 2020
I can totally relate to this busyness that we were under like it was a terrible spell and I love that I can go to the bathroom now whenever I want. Love how your piece brought me peace at the end. #peace
Where do I sign up? I agree….where you would turn sounds lovely. In the old days, weren’t there places women could go when life got to be too much? I want my place to be what you describe.
Barb! I think I could live right along with you! Loafing and more loafing sounds paradisical. I know I could live without the schedules and urgings. I love visualizing Robin Williams in that barbaric yawp. These lines are beautifully crafted:
Oh, Barb, can I come? You really do a great job of describing what you are turning from and what you are turning toward. There are so many wonderful things and people at school, but some of the things we don’t miss are expressed so clearly here–“the urge and urge and urging” and “bell schedules and inflexible routines.” But, on the other hand, the to be able “to loaf and invite more loafing” and photograph and listen to the birds, and to find you in the midnight moonlight. It all sounds delightbul.
Let me start with the end:
“Not under the desk but in the midnight moonlight
Still waiting to be understood undisguised and naked
Like the green grass and the whippoorwill”
OHHHHH how this resonates and bops my soul! I want this. I need this.
Lately, I’ve pondered this life as a remote teaching crazy ass teacher and wondered, is this how my career ends? Many a nights working past bedtime and waking the next day to the same nonsense. Let me stop or I’ll turn my comment into a rant.
I love your poem and the voice you share for folks like me and everyone else in this hustle and bustle of educating while surviving a pandemic.
Deeply appreciative of your poem today!
If you want me again look
Not under the desk but in the midnight moonlight
Still waiting to be understood undisguised and naked
Like the green grass and the whippoorwill
What beauty there is here! Can I join you?
Barb,
I love all the hidden allusions to Whitman in your poem, as well as the repetition. “loaf and invite more loafing,” “If you want me again look,” “barbaric yawp,” to name a few of the Whitman phrases. I also find the repetition effective and satisfying. Thank you.
–Glenda
Barb, your verses remind me of the upside of quarantine. The repetition “urge and urge and urging” works well. The birds bring splashes of color into your poem too.
Barb — I love the freedom that rings through this poem. The taking pictures of the birds…and the ending has a sense of the sublime… like nymphs dancing in the dew… “midnight moonlight…undisguised and naked/like the green grass and the whippoorwill” is fabulous. Ending with the sound of the whippoorwill is so alluring…I love that sound…it is unlike anything else and always seems to be a true calling sound. Whooo-who-whooooo! LOVE IT! Your poem is like fairy dust! Aah! Susie
your poem makes me think this is your dream – I hope a little less structured time has afforded you moments to loaf, take pictures and write
Oh, Kim this is such a fun prompt! Thank you for it and for your mentor poem. I love the idea of greener grass in a city…but you make the country life sound good too with those porch swings, fresh eggs, and rain watered vegetables. The invitation to rhyme is especially fun!
I think I could turn to my backpack
filled with a sweater and some snacks
a book to read, a book to write.
I’ll lace up comfy boots to hike
walk out my house, to the streets
seeing, finding, rambling sweet
Until I find a place to sit
crack a water bottle, take a sip
open the books and read until
the need to write begins to spill
words upon empty pages
words until it’s cold enough
for my sweater wool and rough
around my shoulders bent
to write and write and write
all night.
You had me at backpack and cinched it with the sweater and books, both writing and reading. This makes me yearn for the outdoors and travel and nature and all the things I’m missing right now. These textural words, lacing up comfy boots, sweater wool and rough around bent shoulders, place me with you and make this all the more real.
And all those delightful things you’ve turned to have kept you from enjoying your snacks, (I noticed) which shows how lovely and wonderful all those things are for you. My favorite was “…seeing, finding, rambling sweet / until I find a place to sit…” I would enjoy turning to this too, Linda.
Linda,
I sense a kindred spirit in nature’s call. Love the rhyme as it gives the poem a cadence replicating a hike. We’re headed to Moab, Utah and Lake Powell Friday, and I am so looking forward to the hikes and writing they’ll generate. Favorite lines: “open the books and read until / the need to write begins to spill.” Fun poem. Thank you.
—Glenda
Linda, every readers/writers dream come true. I’m coming with you! Don’t worry, I won’t talk at all.
I’ll sit with this and stay a good while in silence:
open the books and read until
the need to write begins to spill
words upon empty pages…
Marvelous!
I want to join you! This is a beautiful poem that I feel in my writer heart.
Linda — The movement of this…boom, boom, boom… it almost vaults me to my feet. How effective you are in using the short lines and repeated sounds/rhymes to create movement. Saying this poem out loud is downright fun. My dog is here smiling like a daft old man because I just read it to him. HA! Love it. Thank you! Susie
Friends,
I just love that it is 7am in Oklahoma, and already you have been writing and responding to one another about turns toward and from. So amazing. I also tend to write poetry in the morning, but today I am saving it for dusk so that I can turn toward an article that I have been avoiding.
Kim,
I love the rhythm and rhyme in this one as you offer the contrast of place and ways of being in our country. We do get captivated by “greener-grass charm” even if there is only concrete and asphalt where pastures once were.
So enjoying this week’s inspirations!
Peace
Sarah
Kim, these prompts are really thought-provoking this week. I love your phrases ‘Manhattan-dwell’ and ‘greener-grass charm.’ The slight spin on word choice/placement causes me to gravitate to these. The contrast between Manhattan and farm couldn’t be larger and you show it so clearly. I love that you question it at the end. Thank you!
I think I could turn from life more easily now that I’ve passed a lifetime here.
I walk the edge of existence, leaning ethereal and star-bidden.
Life does not contain me as it once did.
It doesn’t hold me fast and earthbound.
It does not my existence make.
Not one turning takes me closer to prologues sprung from the hand of God.
Not one is a Genesis between darkness and light, between waters and land.
So the days become night.
They become waters become land become milky and way.
Oh! doesn’t help me fast and earthbound. I love how this poem makes you think of storing our treasures in heaven rather than here on earth!
Wow! This is a stunning poem. I want to make “star-bidden” the title. The thoughts about what’s worth living for in this piece are very provoking…there are many truths. Beautiful.
Jennifer, your poem is one written by one comfortable in her sense of self and her place in the world and beyond. There are so many beautiful phrases and lines: “I walk the edge of existence, leaning ethereal and star-bidden.” “prologues sprung from the hand of God” and the last line “They become waters become land become milky and way.” Thank you for sharing yourself here.
Jennifer,
Your poem captures a paradox we face as time passes: the desire to live and the desire to be comfortable w/ the inevitable. The line “Life does not contain me as it once did” encapsulates this idea for me. Thank you for this important idea.
—Glenda
Wowza! Jennifer — This is a brilliant poem! It has a smooth rhythm to it that mirrors that “life more easily now.” Such beautiful phrasings: “walk the edge of existence” and “star-bidden” and “prologues sprung from the hand of God/Not one is a Genesis between darkness and light, between waters and land/So the days become night….” And the ending line! Man! I really love your turn of phrase… “become milky and way” — WHOOHOOO! You really rocked this one, girl! Thank you for the strength of voice in this… the personal sense of where you are. Wow! Susie
Thanks for this, Kim! I always forget the doorway greatness of Walt, how he sounds lofty and archaic while saying thoroughly modern things. And your turn and turn-aback toward Manhattan made me smile–I often wonder how I survived there for 5 years. Love those last two lines!
Here’s me, rehearsing the idea that I was born for a resourceful, rhythmic, callused but creative homesteader’s life of yore.
I think I could turn and live the old unbought way, it is so practical and self-contained,
I sit and consider that briefly each day.
They did not sweat and whine about their commute,
They did not lie awake in the dark and stress for their salary,
They did not make themselves sick discussing their investment accounts.
Each one was satisfied, each one was dedicated to the manual labor of things,
Each one knelt to dig, to do the kind of work as done thousands of years ago,
Each one was responsible to get their living lightly, by hand, from the whole earth.
So they show their daily scratchings to me and I romanticize them,
They bring me tokens of my past, they evince plainly how unfit I’d truly be for that profession.
I’m so excited you chimed in today, Heidi. I love the way your poem accentuates what we do in this century with worry. To go back to living off the land would be a hard life, but like you, I romanticize those days. I was a big fan of Laura Ingalls Wilder books and the TV show. Your poem reminds me.
Ohhh, the turn of that final phrase really drives it all home. This one line is poignant: “Each one was responsible to get their living lightly, by hand, from the whole earth.” The sense of “living lightly” with the image of a hand (hard worn no doubt) and the globe – I can just see so many images collaged together in this work. Have you ever created a collage to go with your poem? This would be a good one!
Heidi, I so enjoy the way you share the commonplace worries we have today. I, too, have often romanticized days past and then think, “What no refrigerator or air conditioning!” I so enjoyed reading your poem! Thanks for the smile!
Hooray, Heidi! So glad you joined us. What beautiful thoughts and phrases: “unbought way,” “knelt to dig,” “living lightly, by hand.” You really bring a time from ago to the present. I pine for my ancestors in this way. I wish I knew them better. I would love their wisdom in today’s weirdness. This poems bring there too.
Heidi — This is beautifully written. I love the reverie tone of it. Several phrases really rock… “old unsought way” is my fave. I can so set behind me the things you’ve admonished… “sweat and whine…commute” and “stress for… salary” and absolutely “investment accounts” — groaners all! I like how you picked up the “evince plainly…” Wonderful piece! Thank you, Susie
Kim, I suspect you’d be lost in the city w/out Chanticleer’s crow from time to time. I love the speculative nature of this prompt and your use of white space to remind readers sometimes what we long for might not be best for us. Walt Whitman is one of my favorite poets. I’ve been thinking of him often these days, especially his admiration for Lincoln and his poem “When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloomed as I walk around my neighborhood and smell lilac blooms.
“Turn to Nature”
If I could turn and roll back time
I’d run to the forest among trees sublime.
I’d gather fallen leaves that carpet earth’s floor
I’d live among critters I now adore
I’d wonder along the railroad tracks
I’d listen for the train’s clickety-clacks.
I’d dwell in peace, sheltered by tall oaks
I’d sleep beneath forest canopy where nature shelters my soul.
If I could return to Missouri’s thick woods,
I’d find what I lost in my long gone childhood.
But in the elevated city where I reside
I turn to mountain peaks, my western nature guide.
Such gentle rhymes…gentle as those lovely memories of places in the forest. The thought of a forest canopy….brings me peace. The turn at the end of your poem is wonderful. It’s not quite the opposite. Again, it’s gentle. I appreciate the craft in this.
Your rhyme is seamless here. I love the image of walking the railroad tracks and the clickety-clacks. My great grandparents lived near a train track and I remember running out to see the caboose engineer who would throw us candy.
Glenda, your poetry is always such a rich delight to read. I so appreciate your skill with creating a beautiful rhythm, imagery, and sensory appeal. I especially enjoyed the railroad track lines, and especially “I’d sleep beneath forest canopy where nature shelters my soul”. The last two lines provide a clever shift. Truly beautiful poem! Thanks for elevating my soul!
Glenda, this is glorious living! I often find your poems create a picture book of some kind in my mind. This is a visual dream that I, too, could live forever.
My favorite lines:
I’d dwell in peace, sheltered by tall oaks
I’d sleep beneath forest canopy where nature shelters my soul.
Ahhh, yes, let’s turn back and live here.
Glenda, I can hear the train’s clickety-clacks. I agree with Linda that your poem is lovely and gentle. It feels a bit like a lullaby, and I especially love the line “I’d find what I lost in my long gone childhood.”
Well, Glenda, ol’ Whitman would approve. I loved thinking about each one of these places and the sounds (clickety-clacks), and the “tall oaks” that shelter. I’ll send some acorns and press some leaves in books for you. 🙂 You send me some peaks and highland meadows. Turning to Nature is wonderful. I really love this. Thank you, Susie
I wish I could turn
and wander from
these moments,
to remember forever
how it was before
with school hallways
bustling with chatty energy,
jostling bodies walking,
the slamming of the
metallic locker doors
the quiet of our writing,
mid-way musings of
pencil scratches on paper,
digging into words,
emerging towards something more
of recess, and lunchtime,
of navigating friendship,
of bus loop energy,
of greetings, farewells,
silent reading on the floor
I wish I could turn
and wander from
this moment,
a return to the before
Kevin, it’s all so everyday, what we treachers are missing and grieving, yet your poem catches that everyday energy of growandchange that it’s so hard to catch onscreen. Thank you!
Gosh, me too. Yesterday was rough for me…trying to fit distance learning into a learnable way. I miss the noise, the sound of kids being kids. This poem brought me right there.
Oh, Kevin, this longing is so real. “A return to before” hangs out there at the end of your poem with no punctuation, as if we could turn back the time, back to the busy hallways, and all that kid noise. How is it that I can remember the last day so clearly?
Love these lines: “digging into words, / emerging towards something more.” I miss being present to witness that. Sigh.
Kevin, what a wonderful message. Yes, it would be so great to return to a very inviting learning atmosphere which you create so well with your lines: “mid-way musings of pencil scratches on paper, digging into words, emerging towards something more.” Ahhhhh this makes me long for a writing workshop with students, always my favorite part of teaching English classes. I really enjoyed the line “bus loop energy”. Your poem has such a wonderful rhythm, and one I hope you will be able to return to before too long.
I cannot single out one line that I like the most. Every line in your poem is so powerful. Your poem expresses the longing and sadness we all feel about school closures. It was unexpected, devastating, and without closure.
Kevin,
“a return to the before” is simply perfect.
So many great details in this poem.
Your last line says it all—a return to the before. A before that we took for granted, and didn’t notice the wonder of until we couldn’t have it any more. Yes…
Oh how I miss the sound of scratchy pencils. I also wish I could return to “the before” and appreciate it for all it’s glory that I somehow missed before.
Kevin — I hear that plea so clearly. The rhymed last words of those lines have that melancholy sound (before , floor, more, doors)… that ooo sound really adds to the sense of loss and wishing “I could turn…” I like the “of…of… of…” carrying the wistful images and building to that sense of “I wish… Nicely done! Thank you… I wish I could make it all right again. Susie