Mosaic Poem with Wendy Everard
Welcome to Day 4 of the March Open Write. We are so happy you are here, however you choose to be present. If you know what to do, carry on, if you are not sure, begin by reading the inspiration and mentor poem, then scroll to the comment section to post your poem. Please respond to at least three other poems in celebration of words, phrases, ideas, and craft that speak to you. Click here for more information on the Open Write.
Wendy Everard is a high school English teacher and writer living in central New York. Her role as mother and teacher has given her plenty to write about since she started writing personal narrative and poetry, lifelong hobbies kicked into overdrive when she joined a summer institute with the Seven Valleys branch of the National Writing Project a few years ago and began mentoring student teachers. She teaches in Cazenovia, New York.
Inspiration
In the midst of 2021, one of my students shared this with me:
“There was an internet trend a little bit ago that was based on the saying ‘We are all mosaics of everyone we’ve ever met’ meaning that every part of us, all our quirks, are something we do because someone we know or love influenced us to. I don’t like my mosaic. I don’t like most of the people who influenced it. I want to build a new mosaic.”
–Max Earley, Grade 12
Process
Write a poem about the mosaic that comprises you, for better or worse.
OR
Write a poem about the mosaic that you’d like to be.
OR
Write a poem about someone you know who is a mosaic, composed of people or experiences.
NOTE: A useful approach is to start with prose, reflecting about the influences that have built us (or someone close to us). Then draw from the ideas and language in your prose to build your poem.
Use whatever form you wish for this poem. This article by writer Fatimah Alayafi may serve as inspiration. Below, I’ve shared both a mosaic poem by one of my students – 11th grader Mari Crouch – for today’s model.
As always, feel free to write on a topic of your choice today if you have a poem that just needs to be written!
Mari’s Poem
The mosaic.
The different parts all shine art,
But all with different hues.
The shining pieces.
The shining pieces glow with happy memories.
The ones that dance and put you in a trance.
With flavors so sweet which are more than a treat
And a splash of romance.
Filled to the brim with sights
Sights of eyes locked on pixels till motion sickness takes a toll
And warm comforts of ball pens that roll…
More or less the sentimental view of gratitude.
But behold! It’s intoxicated by your self-deprecated view.
My mind is cracked with the fragments of the past
Slowly seeping its way into everyday
Forever reminding me to turn back.
The fear that developed from my youth
Made its way into my more mature age
And are more mocked and led astray.
When your view of how you act to people is grossly tampered
How could you ever trust anyone who says otherwise?
You can’t, that’s the point.
If you try, you just lie.
The question.
When your whole world was just a facade,
When you find out your personality is not who you truly are,
What do you do?
Who are you?
Your mosaic is scattered with placebos of glass,
But when the plastic is what people like to look at,
What can you really do?
If you change, everyone will know.
So who will you have left?
The answer.
Who will you have left?
You.
You will have yourself.
–Mari Crouch, Grade 11
(Monday, January 3, 2022)
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.
Will you participate in #VerseLove 2022?
April is National Poetry Month. The Ethical ELA community creates a celebration of all that poetry does for our hearts and minds by offering daily writing inspiration and a supportive space to discover what happens when we write poetry all month long.
Words
I’ve always been a lover of words,
reading from a young age.
But I don’t think anyone ever told me that
words are forever imprinted in my mind.
Kind words, cruel words, funny words all the same.
No one told me that words would shape me,
make me, break me, create me.
No one told me I would repeat the words said to me in anger
late at night locked in the bathroom with scissors in hand.
No one told me that I would practice lying words to
parents and friends about eating and sleeping.
No one told me I would repeat my mother’s words
about my body and starve it into more agreeable words.
Why didn’t anyone tell me how hard it is to
give kind words to my mind and so easy to give
strangers everything I needed to hear?
Why didn’t anyone share?
I taught myself how to share–
with anyone I meet, with anyone who will listen.
Let me share with you all I know.
Let me tell you and teach you; let me heal scars that have yet been made.
Let me tell you those funny words when you’re on your knees,
begging to the universe to end the madness in your head.
Let me hold your words as you fall apart in my arms.
All I can give you is my words.
Pieces
small slivers
of something
inside of us
connected
together,
the way every
moment gets
glued
to memory
— Kevin
Kevin- Yes, “slivers” connecting. Maybe menta “glued/to memory”… just the right words. I liked thinking that when it all boils down, it is, indeed, the memories left behind that are the most important … the impact of the pieces, a slice of this and a knick of that. Glad I came back to find this poem this morning. You always give us such meaningful words. Thank you. Susie
Kevin, love this elegant image! Thank you!
This is a gorgeous prompt, Ave I can’t wait to use with students some day. It reminds me a tad bit of “Where I’m From” format, but with a twist. Thank you!!
and*
Thanks, and hope you find it useful! Love the “Where I’m From” prompt!
Wendy, This was a powerful prompt. I have bookmarked it to use with students. The “mosaic” concept would make a great invitation to personal narrative and memoir. THANK YOU!
Mosiac
I am my mother’s
fists punching against the yeast’s sure rise
my father’s pause between
the rook and the knight
my sister’s (still) sneer
all that vodka hasn’t wrenched
my second sister’s
ever updraft
yet (another) sister’s
fistful of broken glass
and a lone brother’s
sloped shoulders.
This is beautiful, Allison!
This is a very interesting mosaic. I reveals the dynamics in your family and how they have shaped you. I like the way you gave each a descriptive line that has become you.
Oh, Allison, I would like to try to write a poem in this vein. I wonder what I would say about each of my siblings and parents. You have chosen such interesting images and mosaic pieces to put your poem together. I would love to hear you talk about these pieces because you have left us with beautiful mystery.
Allison- You selected just most exacting words to pull out those images: your mom’s “fists… sure rise” and the “pause” on that chess board caused me to pause as I read it, giving me that moment to visualize ( that was genius). Then, the “wrenched” that comes from that vodka… oh wow! The “updraft” is a gasp in itself … what an image! “Broken glass” and “sloped shoulders” are packed with meaning, telling a hundred stories. These tiled into place create a complex Allison with remarkable depth. I really love this… and love my IA poet friend. Beautiful. Susie
Thank you, friends, for hearing my poem. My first draft was way too long and wordy and tried to include far too many people. When I pared it back to just my parents and siblings (still! so many!) I could hone in. I love how this mosaic idea allows us to see slivers and fragments at face value rather than demanding we see the entire influence.
Allison, thanks so much for this! Love the influence of your siblings in your life — for better or worse, both and neither — that is captured here. The “ever updraft” captured my imagination. Beautiful job!
Wendy, this is a fascinating prompt – one that I could probably spend hours and hours writing into…thinking about how I’ve been influenced, what pieces of others I see in my kids, on and on…
Here’s where I landed this evening –
where do any of us
begin or end?
all
beings
move like a river
through time
washing
winnowing
wearing down
glistening with mineral deposits from
rocks trees soil upstream
adding delicate cracks of
one’s own erosion along the way
breaking away
moving like water
onto others
where do any of us
begin or end?
So much truth here, Maureen! And I love the river winding in your white spaces! I might have to steal the “erosion” image at some point! Susie
Maureen, I loved how you stepped back from the prompt to address its “all-ness.” Your visualization of the river via your spacing reminded me of why why why I love poems: every word, every space sends a message. <3
Maureen, I’m with Susie here, I love the topography of your poem and the river simile that you’ve crafted! And this is the question, isn’t it? “[W]here do any of us / begin or end?”
That is a great image of what we do to each other–the river “washing
winnowing
wearing down”
Nice images and your poem makes me think of generations before and future generations and how we have and will continue to form each other.
Maureen, I’m watching the river flow and feeling it’s currents as I read and admire your gorgeous poem. It’s stunning both in its words, questions and appearance. ❤️
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Maureen, this was gorgeous! Love the structure and physical movement of this poem that underscores the meaning so beautifully.
Heredity
By Mo Daley 3/22/22
My Grandma was tall and thin
And a little scary looking, if I’m being honest
She never smiled in pictures,
But always treated us kindly
Her daughter-in-law, my mom,
Was shorter and softer in just about every way
She was funny, smart, and loving
But they both had those awful bird legs
And then there’s me…
Tall, used to be thin, generous,
But you will definitely know if you’ve gotten on my nerves
I’ve had more book learnin’ than both of them combined
But I haven’t found a way to make a man think these bird legs are sexy!
This is wonderful! I laughed at the line “But you will definitely know if you’ve gotten on my nerves” – yes! Speak the truth! It is fascinating to think about what we’ve inherited from those before us.
Mo — You have me here chuckling. You are so honest in this piece and yet so goofy-funny in that last line. My favorite part was that grandma was “scary”… yup…those images make total sense to me. “never smiled in pictures” Wonderful, my friend! Susie
Mo, this is great! Both serious and funny (and with that last line — seriously funny!). Thank you for this!
Haha! Mo, I loved this cheeky poem! Loved the shifts in tone and the ending, especially! Thanks for sharing this!
in those languid moments of synaptic stupor pierogi and borscht settle in a sour cream dollop of reverie
aunt vi and the fifty pound lasagna of spoiled cheese
vic and grace –good bread good meat, good god let’s eat—pass the biscuits please
wally was like a father to me
as far as i knew a father to be
uncle ralph and his so transparent altruism, my mom and her extended hand
my working single mother of two and
her humble callused hand
the environmental factors; unsupervised by necessity
independent by default
cob-webbed coal bender refuge
running for the sake of the chase
the cops had no chance
the future—such a distant thing—irrelevant
the experiments that lasted far too long
running for the sake of escape
my mom had no chance
the genetic factors; resilient by necessity
hearty by default
fire burns—my hands are proof
my scars are my story
i am the product
in the past i pondered—what if…?
but have since recognized the futility
i am the product…and
i’d have it no other way
I love the wide net you have cast here, moving from family traits to physical environment, making clear it’s not just people that influence us but place, too…these two lines are so true:
Steve — This is terrific! The crisp images of those firebrand elements of your past are just so rich. The lasagna made me laugh out loud…omg! The tender acknowledgment of your mom… so tender and real. I smiled at outrunning the cops. The future being “irrelevant” is priceless. The scars…. and having it “no other way.” Well, yeah! Cool and personal and real. Love it! Susie
This was a wrenching poem, and beautifully so.
I appreciated your slowing of:
her humble callused hand
“Cob-webbed” is my new favorite adjective.
And this might just be the apex for me:
“resilient by necessity
hearty by default
fire burns—my hands are proof”
Wow.
This is fabulous, Steve: it feels expansive and it speaks to my similar upbringing and calls up ghosts for me to once again meet. Thank you for it.
MY MOSAIC
Shards of stone,
cuts of amber glass
tumble and toss
to the sand,
roll back into the currents
against the tides,
splay across the marble floor,
each stone a story
lambent in the afternoon sun.
Never meant for immutable design —
tidy images mortared,
cured, leaded into place —
my every roll
with each coursing rush
of time and fluid acceptance
becomes a play
of blues against crimson,
moonlit mercury against ebony,
a tiling of what was,
what is,
what will be
roiling in an eddy,
of again
and
again
till all that’s left
is the dust
of an ancient
mosaic.
by Susie Morice, March 22, 2022©
This is so melodic! That last stanza, in particular, just rolls, sways, moves. I love this so much, “each stone a story
lambent in the afternoon sun”
Susie, I am honored to share even an inkling of what you are about! There’s definitely connected brainwork between us today. Playing with beach sand would be a destination of choice over star dust as we head into spring break. I adore the word lambent and “moonlit mercury against ebony” – be still my heart!
Susie, so beautiful. Like Maureen said, melodic. I love these lines:
Susie,
I agree w/ Maureen. This is musical, in a sense elegiac. Your diction is so precise: shards, eddy, splay. “Tumble and toss” is perfect alliteration. The poem reminds me of ideas in Shelly’s Ozymandias. In the end all that’s left is dust.
Susie, what beautiful imagery here! The movement of the images and the play of them against each other made me feel this poem in a very kinesthetic way. Thanks. 🙂
What a great prompt and a wonderful example from your student! Kudos to her! I’m not completely happy with my poem today, but I am making a note of it to come back to.
In the beginning we all think we know
who we are and what we’re doing—
Making choices and taking chances
Because we think we know what we want.
That is, until we realize that our
Choices are driven by the desires of others—
accommodating, acquiescing, adjusting
our own expectations to fit the wishes of others.
Pleasing, but flouting what our heart really wants.
When do we get to come first?
Take the shards of broken
Relationships and friendships
And piece them back in a new and stronger way—
the mastic of experience holding the beauty
Of authenticity and renewed confidence together in a way
That shines all the more brightly
With the fire of independence and
The brilliance of true honesty.
Cara — I loved the multiple references to mosaic-making (the shards of broken/Relationships…that’s my fave). “Choices driven by the desires of others” is just way to familiar to many of us, I’m sure. I can see you working to reshape the mosaic. Stay strong! Susie
Cara,
I am not even sure where to begin. I connect to so much of your poem. However this line;
hits home the most, it feels like adjusting has become second nature.
this poem really connected to me and I am really drawn to the drama between the two stanzas. You do a good job of building that anticipation. Creating the mosaic in the second stanza makes it feel purposeful and like the speaker has agency to put their lives the way they want it to be. Thank you!
Cara,
Love this. It rings very true to Max’s sentiment that he wanted to reassemble his mosaic, displeased as he was with it. The second stanza shifts to such a feeling of hope with its “fire of independence” and “brilliance of true honesty.” Thank you!
Thank you for the prompt today. I love the all the different ways your students helped us to interpret this prompt, Wendy. Please tell Mari and Max thank you. I especially liked these lines in Mari’s poem:
When I saw this image on Twitter today, posted by Kevin Rothrock, a journalist in Russia, I thought of the mosaic of this young man’s life and all the choices that have been made for him that have brought him to this place in life. According to Rothrock and commenters, the translation on the back of his coat says, ““This is my grandfather’s coat. During WWII, he starved as a child in occupied territory. Why do the gruesome themes of [those] long-ago stories echo in my time? I feel pain and I’m scared. I don’t want war!”
Grandson of promise hopes for
a future of peace and gets
remnants of terror, for we
cannot remember.
Denise, thank you for this touching piece. What a picture. What a poem. What times we’re living in.
Oh gosh, Denise…the image and the story here is painfully moving. Thank you. Susie
Denise, you’ve crafted a powerful poem for a powerful image. My heart hurts for all right now. Thankful to be in a place where words can be expressed. Hoping Ukrainians remain in that space. And that we do too.
Denise. what more can one say that hasn’t been said after all these years? Few words seem fitting. It’s all so here we are again. Brilliant poem. Stark and poignant.
Thank you so much for this inspiration, Wendy. This topic is haunting me a bit…
wholes broken into
pieces to tile the drab
blank, empty, damaged
tiny parts in a hand
design a masterpiece
patience assembles shapes
fragile glass jagged
robust stone suave
afar glistening dimensions surface
scenes and patterns of
life constructed
up close intricacies unveiled expose
grout rifts, tile splits of
live lived
brokens made whole in
the body it holds
across time
Sarah, the topic is haunting – I agree. I like the word approach you used, making lots of sense and all at the same time feeling like a word mosaic in terms of the word associations that have a pieced-together effect that is so effective here. The end brings imagery of holding together those pieces in a way that are not the same as before….
brokens made whole in
the body it holds
across time
Sarah, this was really cool. I loved how the fragmented nature of the poem mirrored the nature of the mosaic! Loved it. 🙂
Sarah,
The concise way you craft this matches the content well.
I especially love
Sarah — In so many ways, I feel like you and I were on the same path with this poem-ing this evening. I like that you messed with the play of light in the images … “glistening dimensions surface..” I loved “brokens made whole” in particular. Hugs, Susie
Oh, Sarah,
I love how you took us from “wholes broken into pieces” to “brokens made whole” So beautiful and such a story of life, at least as we hope it should be. Love.
Sarah, your words are bits and pieces of the whole. They cause me to read as if piecing the mosaic into images and patterns, searching the segments in a staccato style read. It reminds me of the effects of time – we begin whole, are chipped and fragmented and then put ourselves together again.
Wendy, thank you for this poem and prompt idea! I like that you included Mari’s wonderful example–it’s giving me some lesson plan ideas. The prompt brought me to a memory of a project my dad worked on when I was little–a DIY mosaic countertop. I was in awe of the process.
It smelled like smoke in there–
mostly from the wood-burning stove
but partially from the Marlboro lit up
in Dad’s mouth: an incense benediction.
This workbench, the altar, is covered
lightly in dust and ash (remember you are dust
and to dust you shall return). It’s not a church,
but this machine shed is sacred.
Sitting on an old piano bench,
my favorite pew with a front row view,
I listen intensely as father
mumbles 80s rock hymns
with the 99.8FM choir, making humble offerings
to his mosaic project. Each broken piece of tile is
inspected in the sunlight beaming
through stained-glass windows and placed
ever so carefully on the counter.
I wonder how he knows where
to place each piece.
I wonder how many of his
broken pieces make me.
Rachelle, this evoked such haunting pieces of my own (broken) dad (his benediction? Winstons.). That last stanza — oh, my heart! Lovely imagery throughout, and this touched my heart.
Rachelle, the metaphors are working. What an altar, what’s a pew?
But the most moving lines are the closing “I wonder how many of his
broken piece me.”
The poems today are asking many of us this same question? How much of me is me?
Rachelle,
“incense benediction.” Wow! Such a powerful sensory image and with “dust and ash” alongside “machine shed” which is so concrete is just striking.
The last stanza — I will carry your wonderings with me. “broken pieces make me.”
Thank you,
Sarah
Rachelle,
I love the narrative structure of this poem–you tell wonderful poetic stories. The last line is so apt–aren’t we all just pieces of the experiences and people who we have lived through and with? Thank you for sharing.
Rachelle,
Wow!! What a wonderful story you unfold in this poem. Thank you for sharing today.
Wow, Rachelle. Such a beautiful memory of your witnessing this mosaic project, and intertwining it with faith images. The last stanza was a complete surprise, but it makes the poem perfect.
Wendy, what a treat you have shared with us today! Mari’s poem made me think deeply about how the youth are able to question reality. I love that about them. They don’t just accept what is as what is. I sat with this and I need to spend time asking myself these questions:
(Not a fan of my title, but I wrote this in class and it’s been a $hitty day so I am leaving it here for now.)
I Am
I am the poem
Nikki wrote
On a bench
In New York City
I am the spine
Of the book
Maya held
When she couldn’t speak
I am the letters
On the board
My teachers printed
In chalk at school
I am the recipe
Between the pages
Of Nana’s book
She kept in her pocket
I am the song
Of my ancestors
Oklahoma to New Orleans
That kept them strong
I am the prayers
Whispered to God
When Mommie knew
I was suffering
I am the poet
I am the reader
I am the teacher
I am the baker
I am the warrior
I am the believer
And the joy
and the sorrow
of all the women
I love
© Stacey L. Joy, 3/22/22
Stacey, what an impactful way to share the pieces of you, the movement of writer to reader to writer, from woman to woman to woman. I especially love the language of the song of ancestors and the whispering of prayers. But Maya’s spine when she couldn’t speak holds such strength – and I love that it represents standing up for oneself as well. Beautiful!
Stacey — thank you for this poem today. It makes me want to break down parts of my own identity and acknowledge them. It makes me want to honors all the women I love. Powerful images. Thank you for sharing today, and I hope your day improves <3 Sending good vibes your way.
I really like the perspective you took on this using I am and the objects. So clearly spoken and true.
Stacey, loved this so much. Every stanza is a story-poem unto itself. I’m glad that your bad yielded such a beautiful piece!
Stacey,
This is so perfect! Tapping into the influences from your past (a mix of famous and familiar) and then connecting to the role in your life that they influenced.
Ah Stacey, how cleverly reminded us of the power of reading as you basically said, we are what we read! If we want are students to be thinkers, we gotta’ have them read what makes them think as well as what they see when they read. Thanks!
YES! That is Stacey! She is… she is… she is… I loved seeing those bits of evidence… the letters on the board and this:
I really loved that. Great voice… AGAIN! Abrazos! Susie
Family Bits and Pieces
Conceived by my parents
in the joy that war had ended.
Now they could follow their dreams.
Father
fought hard as a soldier to ensure my freedom
(Now I am angry to see that freedom is challenged.)
built a house, started a business
watched out for me
said I could be what I wanted
was loyal, loved and laughed.
Mother
a newly-wed waiting for two years
kept a victory garden
(Now I have patience and grow lettuce. )
knew how to cook delicious meals
(Now I bake up a storm)
comforted me when I was sick or brokenhearted
(Now I have empathy for others)
sewed all my clothes
(Now I sew and knit special gifts)
said I oould be what I wanted
was loyal, loved and laughed.
Sisters
who looked up to me because I was the eldest
(Now I have strength to make decisions.)
endured my teasing and spying
(Now I am a bit more gentle.)
knew I could be what I wanted
were loyal, loved and laughed.
Best Friend
shared travel, sewing, cooking, planting, boyfriends, schools
(Now I see her memory wherevever I look.
I wear the clothes she gave me
follow her lasagna recipe.)
believed I could be what I wanted
was loyal, loved and laughed.
Husband
attractive, handsome lover full of daring and excitement
lover of the outdoors and nature
(Now I follow the daring and excitement.)
Still attractive, handsome and inspiring
said I could be what I wanted
is loyal, loved and laughs.
Father, Mother, Sisters, Friend and Husband
all said
you can be what you want.
So I went to the university to be a scientist.
No other women in class
no support from the men.
So I went to art school
learned how to paint.
Found I would starve
unless I learned to teach.
So I went back to college
learned to teach the arts
where I could paint
and express my feelings
of joy in this life.
These bits and pieces make who I am
because I could be what I wanted.
I am confident, secure, and accomplished
because they were loyal, loved and could laugh.
Susan,
What a treasure this poem is. I think my next attempt will be similar. I love how you honored each person with a stanza. So special.
Susan — thank you for sharing this really thoughtful piece today. I really liked the parentheses that showed how someone’s sacrifice, interest, or a lesson learned from that person translates to your life today. That was really clever!
Thank you for that feedback. I had made an indented format for those parentheses but it didn’t copy to the post here. It’s a little harder to separate the parts of them to me.
Susan, this was so lovely! The structure and the pacing dictated that I enjoy each portrait, and I loved the parenthetical asides within that reinforced the qualities and lessons learned from each mentor. Love the measured rhythm of the last two lines. Beautiful work!
Susan, having read your book about your parents, you are demonstrating here how well poetry can summarize with few words what we some times take more words to write. In English class we called this transliteration and the students usually got a kick out of seeing how much more succinctly they could say the same thing with fewer words.
Thankfully, we have myriad genres in which to our express our mosaic make-up and today it’s poetry!
Wendy,
This is such a wonderful prompt which I will return to AND use with my students.
Having yourself left is all that matters.
Mosaic Makers
“We choose who we let into our weird little worlds”
Which people form a shard
of the whole
and which become dust.
Fragments of different sizes and shapes
Different colors and shades
placed perfectly and precisely
to form an image
an image that is
Me.
Family
Mentors
Friends
Colleagues
Students
Fellow parishioners
Acquaintances
Celebrities
Famous thinkers
Writers
Bloggers
Posters
Influencers
Podcasters
Be careful what you let in.
Be careful what sticks.
Would the product be made of
Glass
Pottery
China?
Likely mixed media
Some parts fragile, some sturdy.
All contributing.
Some chunks of pottery
I wish I could just pop out
and erase its influence
but a gaping hole would be left.
And that damned pottery is strong
and stable and just won’t leave.
Sure kinda ruins the effect.
I envy the people whose mosaics
remain in tact.
No need to dissect a chunk
and end up in therapy
examining the hows and whys and whens.
I’ll take a distorted—yet complete—
piece of art any day.
A mosaic made of
big and little influences
some nameless
some short-lived
but all positive
and affirming.
Instead,
I live with a much imperfect
piece of art
that reflects my life
with God as the mortar
in thin lines
and big globs
patching the incised holes.
~Susan Ahlbrand
22 March 2022
Susan — thank you for sharing this poem today. I felt liked I learned about my own life reflecting on this through your eyes. The repetition in these lines particularly stood out to me: “Be careful what you let in. / Be careful what sticks.” Wise words!
Susan,
Love the insight and imagery of this line:
“Which people form a shard
of the whole
and which become dust. “
Loved the truth in these lines:
“Be careful what you let in.
Be careful what sticks. “
and in these:
“Some chunks of pottery
I wish I could just pop out
and erase its influence
but a gaping hole would be left.”
Definitely related to those last lines recently.
So much wisdom and insight in this piece.
Susan — I really felt your poem here. I so identified with this:
Your use of all the mosaic bits just really works!. I certainly resonate with the “imperfect.” 🙂 Susie
Nature/Nurture
I know
Harlow had
his monkeys
and
Mendel had
his pea plants,
but I still
don’t know
Who I Am.
I know
I am more
than the sum
of my parts,
and my parts
are a part of
what came
before, but
I also know
that while
Coke and
Lemonade
might taste
like an
Arnold Palmer,
mixing all
the fountain
drinks together
is called a
Graveyard
for a reason.
__________________________
Wendy, thank you for the prompt today! It left me drafting and drafting; until by the end, I found that I still had many more questions than answers. Lol.
Oh, oh! My oldest mixed all the pops together at the movie theater one time and broke out in hives. Have to wonder what all those chemicals do when mixed! I really appreciate how the “Graveyard” reflects all those who’ve come before you too.
Scott, that last stanza! Gave me pause. Many of the poetry today celebrated the mosaic — I loved the cautionary tone of this one.
Scott — You are so funny…so real. The “graveyard” …LOL! Still, the conversational tone might seem so simple…what you do with it is remarkable… just so wonderful. If you ever get to the weird business of adding up the parts against the whole, don’t ever leave out the poet… you are a killa poet. Hugs, Susie
Physically, I love the form and rhythm of your poem. I also love the subtle depth, I’m still puzzling over interpretations. Very cool.
Wendy, I loved that you were able to share your students’ voices. Young voices are silenced too often, even though they have the keys to unlock the problems of this world. This is my favorite line from Mari’s poem: “Your mosaic is scattered with placebos of glass”. Very interesting and intriguing choice of words. Thank you for sharing! Here’s mine.
Miracle Mosaic
I only linger outside unless I have to.“Look at me.” Words I utter
as I look in the puddle of rain mixed with asphalt and oil.
As a step into the wetness to wipe off the mud,
ripples create an effect of reflection, like a flashback.
A dream.
Studying myself, a myriad of fragments that God somehow intricately pieced together,
Skin- hairy, honey, and hanging. Eyes- olive wood and almond-shaped. And don’t forget alluring.
Body, well….rounded.
Hiding the pain and sacrifice of seeing others happy.
Love, hate, disdain, joy, irritation,
How can all of these make something so beautiful?
Inside are near and distant relatives, backstabbing friends, and strangers I’ve grown to love as sisters and brothers.
Inside me is a complete mashup of all my folks on both my mother and father’s side.
With all of the secrets, controversy, and silenced voices
ready to explode as I find my place in life.
Jessica, this was arresting! Lovely and powerful at once. I loved that your reflections, your expressions, and your imagery here did not romanticize what you see. Loved the reflection in the (muddied) puddle that set the scene. This was complex and contained a lot of attractive tensions. Thanks for sharing it!
Wendy, thanks for honoring your student by using that writer’s poem as our model today. You’re m modeling the valuable fact that students can teach us! Your prompt evoked a memory that reminds me that I am who I am because of the ones who taught me and why I resisted.
Do I Have To?
Who are you?
You ain’t boo!
What makes you think you can?
You’re not so good or better than
Anyone else around here.
My pre-school years create the stones
In the mosaic that is me.
My earliest memory is sitting on the steps
When I was only three.
Get dressed. Your Dad will be home soon.
Was what we heard every afternoon.
Wash up, look neat if you want a treat.
Dad will have in his metal lunch box.
From earliest years we got the cheers
When we did what we were told.
It was years and years and years and years
Before I could even act bold.
Now I know that what we grown-ups say
Affects those who hear us in some sort of way.
Now I see why I see me when I look in my daughter’s eyes.
I also know why I see my mother and remember those early cries.
Why do I have to do what you say?
Why can’t I do it my own way?
Because you’re mine to raise in God’s design.
So you grow up to reflect Him even though you’re mine.
.
Anna, I think those of us who have children often shake their hands when they do the things we did. Children are so innocent and the questions they ask are just literally what we’re too afraid to ask. These lines: From earliest years we got the cheers
When we did what we were told. It was years and years and years and years Before I could even act bold.” And reflected on these now, this is the one thing we want our children to do now. I had this exact conversation with my daughter in the car on the way home. Thank you for sharing. And that sign; if only it were that simple.
Anna, I loved and appreciated this so much. As a mom of two (teenage) daughters, I acutely feel and relate to the lineal themes here, and as a first-born, Type-A kid, I also “did what I was told” and it was “years and years before I could even act bold.” (Love those lines!). Now I see me reflected in my daughters in so many ways — and my mom reflected in me! This was great and thought-provoking; thank you!
Mosaic Me
Pieces of marble, glass, and smatl
Scattered across a blank slate table
Like grains of pollen on grandpa’s
1971 Chevy Cheyenne
Hammer to hardy I chisel the gray marble
How is Marble made? Where did I get this piece?
Heated and squeezed through a life of limestone
Metamorphosed like Grandpa
I add him to me
Glass is fragile like Grandma’s bones
I examine the blues, pinks, and reds
Choosing a Cornflower Blue
I score the perfect line
Grandma’s eyes dance like blue rain drops
As I add her to me
If laughter had a color I imagine it in shades of yellow
Grasping the smalti — I smile
Is this Mexican? Is it Italian?
Funny thing is, Does it matter?
My sister is yellow
Sunshine yellow with waving wheat hair
I grab the wheeled nippers
SNIP
Laughter and sister
As I add her to me
Browns, blacks, deep purples, and navy blues
Dark shadows of my family’s past
Echo life beneath their hues
Reaching and calling for me
I pick them up
One by one
As I add them to me
I gaze in the mirror
A product of my past
A piece to my future
A mosaic
This is a beauty Robyn! There is so much imagery and your use of the words of color creates a gorgeous image. The scenes come alive through your words. My favorite line is repeated: “As I add them to me”. We are a clusterfudge of our people, whose past intertwines with the present to create an unpredictable future! Thank you for sharing a glimpse of you.
Robyn, thanks you for this — just gorgeous! The imagery was so lovely and moving as you described crafting your mosaic (and it taught me what a smalti was, so thanks for that). Just a lovely poem. 🙂
Robyn — Wowza…this is RICH with images of the mosaic business. I loved all that! I am grinning that you and I shared some of the same thoughts on the “past/a piece tony future…” Funny how that happens… indeed, we are a bunch of teacher-poets! I thoroughly enjoyed your poem. Thank you. Susie
Thank you for your kind words. My side hobby is I am a mosaic artist. This subject was perfectly aligned with my love for making broken things beautiful.
I love the colors and each stanza gives me “video” of your life.
The Pattern of Obsessive Confusion
An old shack leaned in the middle of town,
Ragweed and Devil bushes grew all around.
A teenage boy dared to venture down,
He crept in slow and did not make a sound.
As his blue eyes peered through the crack,
He saw an old man with a hunchback.
His eyes encircled the walls,
That were decorated with cans, some big, some small.
Each stood on a shelf,
Three-quarters turned to the left.
The old man had hundreds, each a different color,
Some bright and new, some were duller.
Up to the ceiling and down to the floor,
Orange, red, yellow, and even more,
He watched him open his mouth and pour,
Drink after gulp galore!
Then stack the cans on every wall and every door,
Turning each one, a taxing chore,
one being the same as the one before.
Multiple times he encircled his shack,
Turn the cans and walked back,
To sit on his bucket and reach in his sack,
Pulling out cans and placing them back.
Mesmerized by his repetitive action,
The boys’ one eye lacked satisfaction
.
He wanted to see the mosaic clearer,
So, he decided to move around to an opening nearer
Peeking through, perplexed that the man was a mirror.
That reflected the picture that hung from the ceiling,
Floating there, his image very unappealing.
His hair- long silver, black, and mustard grey,
His beard gnarly with hairs astray.
And as the boy focused in on his eyes,
He began to realize
That the mosaic of cans had not been turned,
The old man’s rhythm was now his concern.
So, the teenage boy reached into the sack,
Picked out a can and placed it in the back.
He lined each can to the left,
Perfect quarter turn on the shelf.
How this put his mind at ease,
To turn the cans as he pleased.
Round and round the boy would go,
Back and forth and to and fro.
The mosaic circle was very appealing,
And when he sat on the bucket it was all- revealing.
That his face had wrinkled and now was old
The mirror was dusty and begun to mold.
As he stared into the picture frame,
The hunchback is who he became.
And as he peered out a nearby crack,
He noticed a teenager boy peering back.
– Boxer
Boxer Moon,
Wow.
Engaging, fun to read, clever, and just awesome. Loved how you played with perspective, with imagery. And loved your rhyme that juxtaposed a feeling of playfulness with the painting of a more poignant picture. Beautiful.
Genius strikes again! The pieces of who we were, who we are, who we will become – all in the symphony of quarter turns. Every decision we make matters. We are the product of our choices.
First context: I wrote this following a conversation w/ an economist working for the federal government about GDP and Keynesian economic policy. In our conversation I said, “I’m weird.”
Weirdo
A little bit nerd.
Often absurd.
Takes no sass.
Not much class.
Loves to read.
More books I need.
Questions galore.
Curious to the core.
Knows my place.
Needs much space.
A little bit of them,
But not much kin.
—Glenda Funk
Glenda,
I love the contrast between the context of GDP and Keynesian economic policy and the rhyming couples here, the technical/formal alongside the whimsy or what you call weird. Well, contrast perhaps but you integrate such a mosaic so beautifully in your being and poetry. “Take no sass.” One of my favorite parts of you.
Sarah
Glenda, I love the rhyme, beat and how light this sounds coming from a conversation about GDP and policy:) Nerd and absurd are my favorite though! Thank you for sharing today.
Glenda, I loved this! And I loved your rhymed couplets. Your last stanza was thought-provoking (your use of “kin,” especially). This poem was feisty. Thanks for it!
I wish I’d added another line to this before posting. Here’s what I’d add:
It’s who I am
My own iamb.
Love it!
Glenda, the short, tight format of couplets to mirror the bits and pieces of you works so well. The symbolism of the couplets in creating those bits from pairs is such a clever use of structure. So much of your personality shines through this piece!
I like your little pithy couplets, Glenda! So much self-knowledge and truth that not many words were needed. I love “Questions galore/Curious to the core” for the sound and theme especially.
Aah, Glenda — You are a mosaic, indeed. I love the “takes no sass” but will argue the “class” business… you have sh*!@loads of “class.” Hugs to you, my “weirdo” friend. I’m impressed that you even knew what the heck “Keynesian economic policy” even MIGHT be! Holy Moses! I have no clue. Does that make me weirder than you or less weird? LOL! Are you still across the pond? Sending hugs! Susie
That added line below – – I am who I am, my own iamb. That’s just the perfect line for our Glenda, the Glenda we know and love. You are a reader and writer through and through. And a fellow traveler along the journey, reading to travel when you’re not elsewhere.
“What can you really do?
If you change, everyone will know.
So who will you have left?
The answer.
Who will you have left?
You.
You will have yourself.”
Wow – lots of wisdom was shared by this student. I was listening to music this morning and looked at my music roots.
You are my playlist, Part I
Music from home –
My hands resting on my mom’s hands
as she played children’s classics on the piano
My piano teacher’s in a terrycloth tube top
patiently watching my hands conjure my own music
My brother laying on the floor of his room,
eyes closed, crooning James Taylor.
Belting out Big Bag Leroy Brown with my uncle and cousins on Thanksgiving
My grandmother demanding the Star-Spangled banner sung on Passover
Seeing my mom’s fingers float over
The Impossible Dream & Debussy.
Music that reached me –
Requesting to hear Lean On Me by Bill Withers & Red Red Wine on repeat
Crying every time I heard Puff the Magic Dragon
and Ha’Tikva for reasons I cannot explain still.
Music from the road –
Road trips with the best of Billy Joel and The Eagles
Drives to school with Dad, The Commitments, The Beatles, and Bonnie Raitt
Mix tapes from my sister with Phish, Sting, and that good GenX music.
Music from me –
Buying my own first CDs – TLC’s Waterfalls and Boyz II Men
“Discovering” the Beatles, Indigo Girls, and Tracy Chapman playing on repeat as I sleepily pulled on my clothes for school.
Bouncing to Beastie Boys & Sublime in Betsy’s car on the way to play
Tower of Power and Herbie Hancock with the other band nerds.
I realize I’m too old to list every little moment of music
The pierced my heart and tickled my brain
But I really want to…
Emily, I loved this! I’m also a music lover with deep music-loving roots, so your poem made me want to write a similar one! Loved the way you structured this — music from home, music that reached you, music on the road — clever. And some images were so vivid — your tube-topped teacher, your mom’s finger floating (beautiful alliteration!), and your brother crooning! Evocative — thank you!
Emily,
So much of this poem is very grounding in objects and hands and people and artists and yet abstract in being and experiencing “pierced my heart and tickled my brain.” And then, the final line with the ellipses — those 3 dots showing the wanting but the possibility and maybe to show that you stopped the poem to listen to music again. Wow.
Sarah
Emily, my shoulders are bouncing to “don’t go chasing waterfalls…”–I love how you you’ve made a playlist of your life. I connect to so many of these songs and enjoyed “tickled my brain” at the end. Thank you for sharing.
Your poem took me back in time! My favorite verse because you know its real — Bouncing to the Beastie Boys ….
Emily,
I love your approach to this…musical influences.
Holy smokes, Em… these are spectacular images of you. I LOVED these REAL snapshots (or I should say pieces of tile…LOL). Every single bit of music was spot-on and in my mix. You are truly a wonder-child! Love you, Susie
Susie- you were there for the “discovering Beatles” phase!! Thanks for seeing me through to the other side, kindest teacher.
Wendy, what a heartstopping poem – – wow. The pieces of people – we ourselves – often have jagged edges, Thank you for hosting us today and investing in us as writers. This poem made me think of one of our rescue dogs, a Schnoodle named Boo Radley, who was abandoned and left behind when a family moved out of a duplex in a neighboring county and not discovered for over a week. He was matted and shaking and I saw him within moments of when the landlord brought him to the rescue. I applied for him right then and there and brought home a shaved dog days later – one that still has so many issues, from flying insects to dings on cell phones to people. I often wonder about the mosaic that is Boo.
scattered, torn pieces
tattered fragments, betrayal
mysteries unsolved
Boo Radley is blessed to be a part of your family now, Kim. What a heartening moment in a world, his world, where everything seems a mess. And what a perfect being to share a mosaic from! We had the same wonderings about our rescue.
Kim, it was heartbreaking to learn about poor Boo here — but love the way your words and images drew emotion from us. I’m so glad that he became a part of a loving household!
Kim, you have packed so much meaning into this short verse. “Pieces, fragments, mysteries”: the stuff of life. This says what I wanted to find words to say.
Kim,
I read the poem first, then read the story of Boo. At first, I was wondering how these three lines might be part of you and was so curious, and now I see that these three lines of Boo are part of you. That you are in the white space around Boo as he becomes/is part of your mosaic. So cool.
Sarah
Kim, I do hope you are have an anthology of pet-related poetry published soon. I love your consistent themes of dogs and your power with words in your haikus. Thank you for sharing.
Awww, Kim…precious! Soooo precious. You have a heart that I just LOVE. Susie
Wendy, thank you for this artistic prompt and for Mari’s poem as a model. Her lines are so full of power and introspection. Many of them resonate with me, especially the one about people preferring to look at plastic; this speaks so to the sad superficial level of relationships when people desperately crave to be known and valued for who really they are, deep within.
I’ve been very moved by the actions of two incredible female figures on the world stage today…your prompt has given me a way of expressing. Thank you-
Two Shards in the Mosaic:
Olga and Amellia
From the fragments
they rise
glittering
like stars in the heavens
glowing
like sunflowers in the field
turning their faces to the light
iridescent shards
in the mosaic
of our time
a prima ballerina
leaving her homeland
and the Bolshoi
to join the Dutch ballet:
‘I am against war
with all the fibers
of my soul’
a little girl
all of seven
consoling others with song
while sheltered
in a bunker
encouraging help
for her homeland
after escaping to Poland
with her grandmother
standing onstage
before a huge crowd
in traditional dress,
a little nightingale, singing
her national anthem:
‘The glory and freedom
of Ukraine
has not yet perished…”
They dance and sing
through the brokenness
iridescent shards
in the mosaic of our time
turning their faces to the light
like sunflowers in the field
glowing
like stars in the heavens
glittering
they rise
from the fragments.
(Note: the sunflower and nightingale are national symbols of Ukraine)
Oh, you have drawn a lovely picture of dance and song for us to begin this glorious spring day. I can see the movement of a ballerina and hear the voice of an angel singing, despite the storms, as wars of home rage on. I love how you brought in the symbols. This is powerful, Fran – as always, but particularly today.
Fran, I could not love this poem more! The tragic destruction of a people, a culture, of our world is haunting and overwhelming to me. The hope rising from Olga’s and Amellia’s courage (stories I did not hear) raise hope within me – something desperately needed. If they can rise above, turn their faces like sunflowers, to sing and dance, how can any of us not? “Iridescent shards in the mosaic of our time” is perfection. Thank you for sharing every word this morning. What an honor to read.
Little Amellia sang “Let it Go” to console fellow Ukrainians sheltering in a Kyiv bunker – watch the videos and feel every fiber of your soul quiver ?
Fran, this mosaic poem slices right to my heart. I love that you chose this dancer and singer and images of them. The idea of artists turning their bodies, thoughts, minds to this tragedy is deeply poignant. You wove in the sunflower and nightengale so beautifully.
Fran, this was poignant and beautiful! A wonderful use of the national symbols of Ukraine to infuse this with emotion and elevate your imagery. I love the refrain, “iridescent shards/in the mosaic of our time.” A fitting tribute to these two inspirational young women. Thank you!
“Shards” is a powerful word, and I’m thinking about its connotation and literal shards, yet they do radiate and reflect light. Like you I’m moved by the Ukrainian people. They are teaching us how to live w/ honor.
Fran,
Such a beautiful and important ode to these two women as ethereal yet natural beings with the symbols/allusions to Ukraine. The “shards” stand out to me as powerful/cutting and also full of light and possibility. The “rise” makes me think of the flame/phoenix from the ashes– so much destruction. And then I think about how they are now part of our mosaic in the way you’ve created this poem and shared their lives with us in this way. And who is listening and watching and being inspired by what women can do.
Fabulous and thank you,
Sarah
Fran,
This poem is so powerful, especially in light of what is going on in Ukraine. This needs a larger audience. Get it out there!
Wendy, thank you for connecting this idea of mosaic with our present identities. I also appreciate how you’ve brought in Mari’s mentor poem. Her stanza starting with “The question” is riveting and heart breaking. Thank you for this prompt today.
For my own writing, this reminded me of a poem I wrote during a book club with colleagues around Menakem‘s “My Grandmother’s Hands…” I revisited and made some edits to share this morning.
lineal
hands
four warm
silky handles
rocking
caressing
me
into
a
woman
who scratches
for new ideas
holds their
unidentified
feminisms
slaps away
power
folds memories
into their
progeny
types their
her-stories
to mold
another
fist-raising
generation
of
women
Stefani, love the strength of the raised fists while creating herstories. “Folds memories into their progeny” is beautiful, evocative, and gentle – all the things grandmothers share when passing along their substance from one generation to the next.
Oh, how I love “scratches for new ideas” and “folds memory into progeny” and the strength of women knit by story, one generation to the next – this is incredibly powerful and beautiful, Stefani!
Stefani – I love the verbs of the hands here! Hands are always a powerful metaphor, but they take on an extra-special meaning here – rocking, caressing, scratching, holds, slaps, folds, types, mold, raises a fist. These make me picture a nurturing and spiritual elder, making magic, making it happen.
The slapping away of power is such a powerful metaphor for equality – I recognize someone who leads from the from the trenches and not from the pedestal.
Stefani, thank you so much for this; I love Resmaa and My Grandmother’s Hands! Your juxtaposition, here, of receiving and asserting struck me and made for powerful images, as did the poem’s focus on hands throughout; very cool!
Beautiful poem of the passing of ideas and feminism with such love and importance. Thanks!
Wendy, what a fascinating prompt today. it had me delving into all kinds of rabbit holes. Please thank Mari and Max for sharing their words today.
Pillars of Creation
The shadow of an elusive promise
sits within me,
a compass comprised of star dust
and solar grains
formed before time began,
a mosaic of an impossible maelstrom,
one part past,
one piece future,
I am poetry for the present
Absolutely stunning, Jennifer. We are mosaics of heavens and earth, full of potential and power, from and containing impossible maelstrom…I am just sitting here savoring these true and glorious lines. No words for how much I love the last-
Bang! This cosmic-scaled poem is so dreamy, I almost picture it animated. This reminds me of A Wrinkle in Time and Carl Sagan – we are made of star stuff. The images are beautiful, and capture all the cosmic bigness that lies within us. I particularly enjoy “a compass comprised of star dust and solar grains” – yes!! Y
Jennifer, yes you ARE! I feel every solar grain falling, swirling into the you of the past, present, and future. The imagery here is shimmering and sparkling – all the stardust!
Wow! This was a gem. The “elusive promise”; the “compass comprised of star dust”; “solar grains” — all conspired to make me take a minute to reflect on my foremothers, on potential, on the passing of time. Beautiful job, Jennifer — thank you!
Jennifer, I love the immediacy of that last line. I also love the way it acknowledges you both as a writer and a person.
Ooo, Jennifer — Pillars indeed! The first line just grabbed me… so rich. I didn’t read any of the poem posts tonight before I posted, and I’m struck by how much we had in common. You and I shared the sense of past, present, future for sure. And the sense of “maelstrom”… dang! That’s amazing to me. Simpatico! Hugs, Susie
Jennifer,
Wow, pillars of creation, to be sure! I love the depth and breadth and hugeness of your poem. Past, future, and present poetry! Lovely.