Welcome to day 3 of the November open write for educators! We are so glad you are here. Read the inspiration, process, and mentor poem below, and then scroll to the bottom to compose your poem. Please respond to at least three other poets.
Inspiration
Visual thinking and research are my favorite jumping off places for writing. I invite you to find an image and use a thinking routine from Harvard University’s Project Zero called ‘See-Think-Wonder’ (http://www.pz.harvard.edu/sites/default/files/See%20Think%20Wonder_2.pdf) as inspiration to write a poem in any form that you wish. Or, if you need to write something different…go for it! Just write.
Suggested image sources:
Wikiart.org (use the first image that comes up or search)
Library of Congress loc.gov (scroll down to ‘Free to Use and Reuse’ images)
Smithsonian Institution https://www.si.edu/ (use any image from the home page)
An image of your choice.
See-Think-Wonder Process
After selecting an image, study it for several minutes. Then jot three quick lists
- What do you see?
- What do you think is going on? Or, why do you see what you see?
- What are your wonders?
Use your quick-jot lists as the foundation of your writing today. It’s OK to google for more information about your image to find words or ideas that help flesh out your poem.
Linda’s Poem: The photograph is full of all kinds of curiosities–the name, E.K. Blush, yoked oxen, a man, that huge cart of hay, Stuttgart, Arkansas? What caught my eye was the word albumen in the Smithsonian.org photo notes. Egg white? Yep.
This led me to google albumen and silver on paper... which then led to the most tempting and deepest rabbit hole of all, Wikipedia (insert that unbalanced giggle sound).
As it turns out, in the early days of photography, photographers kept laying hens near studios for the egg white to mix with silver to coat cotton paper to take a negative from a glass photographic plate. How about that?
I returned to Wikipedia to scoop up words for a found-poem below.
Albumen Print of Ox Cart
After searching for albumen and silver on paper
Jump to him
medium size
1871 exploitable–
used to bind 1855
to the 20th century.
Distributors
of remaining silver
and gold
fix importance
to preserving
hand-tinted history.
Words found on Wikipedia by Linda Mitchell Oct. 2021
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.
Our Host
Linda is a family Girl, Middle School Librarian, creative, curious, and loves learning! She keeps a weekly commitment to Poetry Friday blogging at A Word Edgewise and invites you to learn more about participating in Poetry Friday at: https://www.nowaterriver.com/what-is-poetry-friday/ .
https://www.loc.gov/resource/bellcm.14164/
Well-groomed man
Button-down shirt
Sitting up straight for his portrait
Nice nature scene
Provides the background
for him and his artificial leg
Running on fumes tonight, but I couldn’t go to sleep without a line. Thank you for the prompt, Linda. I will be retuning to it!
I grew up fearing the Floyd.
Not only because it was littered with
run-off “fertilizer” from corn and bean fields
but because Mom warned me
rivers have currents.
It makes me wonder why
a sailor would sail into
the roaring seas. Maybe their
mom did not teach them about
manure, currents, rivers, and where
it all ends up.
https://www.si.edu/object/sailboat-stormy-sea:hmsg_66.1643
Rachelle, I’m so glad you stopped to write a few words. I love the “Mom warned me” and then thinking of the sailors’ moms. It is all so interesting to think of people across centuries growing up with moms and their advice. I love where your poem took me today. (And, bonus, it was fun to be able to see in my own memory the Floyd River and corn and bean fields.)
Rachelle,
I love the side-eye of sorts you’re giving to sailors and their reckless abandon. I completely relate–we were always taught about currents and pollution, too. Good mommas!
I turned to Reuters News for their photographs of the day. Here is a link to the image I tried to reconcile in my head tonight.
https://docs.google.com/document/d/16j7ueOyfChIXaDaCOg8jcYkXfvEk0P8AKxKkiIfCqNc/edit
The bright yellow garland loops over green pine,
A fuzzy blue blanket pads Santa’s red chair.
Oh, bring me a skateboard! Bring Ma something fine–
The spirit of Christmas floats gently on air.
—–
Not garland: it’s crime tape that’s marking the scene.
The chair is abandoned as “Jingle Bells” fades.
A once jolly Santa is hoarse from his scream
as violence ruptures the Christmas parade.
Allison,
The contrast between your stanzas is so apt. The cheerful, hopeful spirit of the holidays morphs, at closer look, into a broken scene like so much seems to be right now. Spot on and a great portrayal of the photo in verse.
Photography meets poetry meets journalism. You carried a heavy burden writing about this, and you did so eloquently and gently. Thanks for writing today, Allison.
Allison, your two stanzas are perfect for this picture of the day. Wow. You have captured what the celebrants were feeling from one moment to the next. As I read, I did a double take on the “bright yellow garland” in the photo. The cognitive dissonance I felt was perfect for getting into the poem. You have captured that dissonance with your meter and rhyme, as well. Peace to all those who experienced this tragedy.
Black lace over aqua silk
And trompe-l’œil roses on
Blush pink ball gown
And a wedding dress
Of ivory fit for our Camelot.
The captured beauty of
Couturier of color
Armed with a needle,
Backed up with thread.
Ann Lowe’s Barrier-Breaking Mid-Century Couture
Oh wow – Your poem sent me directly to your link. What a fascinating artist. I did not know what “trompe-l’œil roses” were, but black lace over aqua silk–and ivory fit for our Camelot helped me make the leap. I love how “Armed with a needle, backed up with thread” gives deserved power to Barrier. Bravo.
Katrina,
Wow, like Allison, I hit the link as soon as I read the last word. Beautiful gowns–so gorgeous and timeless! Your poem weaves a lovely silhouette of the dresses–so lovely.
Lovely, Katrina. I would not have taken this prompt to dressmaking arts – but, duh! I have a good friend who is a fabric artist – HUGE into renaissance, and dressmaking is her thang. Of course – it’s an incredible undertaking, much like going into battle. The juxtaposition of the two stanzas is delightful – the first all pink and blush and lace, and the second – beauty captured, armed, backed. Nicely done!
Like Allison, I immediately went to the link. I had to see of what your elegant words spoke. Perfection!
I need to come back to this terrific prompt. I don’t have brain capacity right now.
Conferring, zooming
Eight to eight and fading fast
Thinking I need rest
Thank you for checking in. And for gracefully accepting the day’s limits. <3
Oh, we can relate to those long conferring on Zoom days and when there is nothing left. Peace to you, Mo. Hopefully you will sleep well tonight.
Awwww…! Believe me – I GET IT! Each day I come home (back on campus now), I just have to go lie down. Can’t sleep, but just to be still and away from people, tech, demand, demand. Sadly, that final line, “Thinking I need rest” is only thinking about it, but not getting it. I hope you get yours, Mo!
I hope you make time for the rest you need. Please take care of yourself.
Thank you, Linda. This I see, I think, I wonder process is so powerful. I’ve done it before with historical images. It was fun to try with a photo on my camera roll. I love your challenge to use the research as a jumping off place for writing. I want to try that more, especially after watching you do that with your Hamish poems this year. I love the idea of “preserving hand-tinted history.” Thanks for the challenge today.
Look at my sea.
I am master of the waves
and their sparkly constellations.
Why do you call me a scarecrow?
Denise — I love the use of rhetorical question in verse, and you used it so well here. Thank you for sharing this photo and the lovely poem. I always enjoy your writing!
Denise, I love the framing of your picture, the lengthening of each of the lines, and the question which makes me reevaluate your image. I found the “constellations” only after the second viewing of the photo after reading your poem. Very cool! Thanks for sharing these!
Great idea, Denise! I would love to do this with students – have them go through their own photos, or even select a photo from their photo roll to share with another student (pair/share), and each write a reciprocal poem. The constellations is brilliant! I never would have thought of those water sparkles as such, but it’s a beautiful perception. Is this where you live?
Thank you, Denise. I like that idea. Yes, it is a picture from Hidd in Bahrain. I drove by this body of water for the first time, and I wanted to stop and capture that image. The sleeves were blowing in the wind.
Nice. I just looked that up.
Gorgeous photo choice – and clever poem! I had to search a moment for the scarecrow, and then smiled at imagining why there might be a scarecrow on water…love those outstretched arms!!
https://www.thisiscolossal.com/2015/11/crooked-forest-poland/?ck_subscriber_id=623694169
Nestled in forest
barren pines bend north
in winter haze
Shroud of mystery envelopes
barky fifty foot trees
bent, curiously like licorice ropes
morphed from witches’ utterance
Or, perhaps,
contrived from genetic mutation?
Eighty warped pines curve north,
sag like empty swings
and the conspiracy abounds
What could this oddity mean?
Aliens?
Bizarre gravitational pull, akin to
the infamous triangle?
Or, perhaps,
scoliosis manifested
from relentless snow?
Ravages of war?
The harsh hammer of man?
Veiled in The Crooked Forest
The answers shall remain
Oh the images your poem evokes and what a wonderful photo. I love the idea of a conspiracy of aliens. “Bent, curiously like licorice ropes” and “Sag like empty swings” drew wonderful images in my mind. What a wonder!
Tammi,
What a fabulous photo to work from! I love your whimsical suggestions of the cause–but this is my favorite stanza:
Like the trees, you bend and twist looking for an answer that they don’t care to reveal. Perfect.
Tammi, I love this picture and your various speculations! “Aliens?” Or the result of a “Bizarre gravitational pull, akin to / the infamous triangle?” Lol. After seeing this image and reading your poem, I now need to know what secrets are “[v]eiled in The Crooked Forest.” Thank you for writing this!
What an interesting photo you found to write about today, Tammi. I love the idea of seeing your See-think-wonder notes. It seems like you have had some fun with this prompt. I love the images you mention, like licorice ropes (perfect) and scoliosis. I love the sound of these line:
Barky makes me smile too.
Thank you for this prompt (and your mentor poem) today, Linda! On the way to work this morning, I began contemplating the prompt and — without an image handy — I began thinking about a Stafford poem and an almost accident I had last week during an icy commute. No cars or people were hurt thankfully, but it made a lasting impression (enough, I guess, to wind up in this poem, lol). I added an image from Unsplash to try to recapture the “mood.”
________________________________________________
Under the pool of light,
in the deserted lot
of the gas station,
the cold nozzle
jumping in my hand
before pouring its contents
down the throat of the tank,
I’m struck by the last stanza of
William Stafford’s poem
“Traveling through the Dark,”
that last moment of realization,
that final swerving
which reminds me
of last week
when I was driving over
the overpass
and slide on black ice,
that moment of
weightlessness
and panic
as the rear end
of the car
decided to take the lead
(in a roundabout
sort of way),
I clutched the wheel,
slammed on the brakes,
thought do I turn into the skid?
all the while,
headlights were coming my way
What are they doing in my lane?
Oh
I twisted the wheel,
and through my mind
flitted — not thoughts
of my welfare or of my wife
receiving the call — but that
I just started Ross Gay’s
new collection of essays
The Book of Delights
and though I’ve only read one
selection so far, “Cuplicking”
and it was strange and
kind of wonderful,
I desperately wanted to be
able to continue it,
to not careen off the guardrail
or plow into the twin lights
rushing toward me but to be
able to read just one more
essay in that book.
It’s weird what crosses
our minds during
such times.
The gas handle
kicks again,
and I withdraw
the nozzle,
hang it up,
get in the car,
and drive to
work, taking
care to avoid
any bridges.
Oh, my goodness! What a harrowing experience. You’ve really captured the moment well. Interesting what flashes through the mind during these frightening moments. So glad you are okay.
Holy mackerel, Scott… that was a tailspin I do not want to feel, don’t want to take that frightening whirl on the pavement! So vivid. So scary. The bookends of the gas pump were superb. You captured that lurching of the pump. And the transport from present to the week before on that skid. Egads. Very real image. ?? Susie
Your poem was right for me in many ways tonight. I’ve long loved Stafford’s poems (and his “Way of Writing,” which has time and again reminded me to sit quietly by the pool and wait for a nibble). But it was your “I want to be
able to read just one more essay” thought captured in the unknowable moments mid-swerve that moved me most. I don’t want to live another day to skydive or climb Mt. Everest. I want to sit in here in the quiet and read the essay. Thank you.
Scott,
I just love your recollection of your mid-spiral musings. I love Ross Gay’s The Book of Delights and love that you mentioned it. It, like your poem, is a wonderful distraction.
Oh, Scott, what a story you have woven here in this narrative poem. You have the gift of gab and I love your poems and their Seinfeldesque nature, but holy cow, you can tell a story. I also love the bookends of the quiet moments pumping gas and contemplating the scene a few days later. Beautiful.
The Jacket (worn by Miles Davis)
There it was
the first object I saw.
An explosion of color
in a form-fitting shape
of purple, blue, red swirls, stripes and a yellow grid.
A jacket with wide shoulders, padded
made by Versace.
Properly fitted
the display laid over an invisible human within.
Risen on an eye-level pole
hoping some person would remember
the day when the sound of American music
poured out of a trumpet
and set the rhythm
of body to the soul.
I wonder is this jacket soft to touch.
I wonder if someone else remembers the day Versace was shot
by an ex-student of mine.
I wonder how Miles felt wearing it
knowing it was one of his last performances
while he battled with bad health.
I wonder if the surrounding sounds of his trumpet
and the magical colors of his jacket kept him going.
What wonderful details seen and remembered in this…and what an interesting jacket! An ex-student of yours shot Versace? My goodness. What a surreal journey in these stanzas.
Susan, it’s interesting that you chose this Versace jacket. Remember the rumors at the school where we taught!
This particular jacket strikes me because of the quilt pieces look. Since the book on which I worked with Martin about the stories of art designs used by quilters, I’ve be drawn to such compositions. Did you get your copy of Martin’s book? I’ll FB you.
Yes, Anna. When I read that this jacket was made by Versace all the memories came flooding back.
Susan — I really love these lines:”the day when the sound of American music/ poured out of a trumpet/and set the rhythm/of body to the soul”. What a unique jacket!
Thank you for this opportunity to do ekphrasis with a photograph. This photo struck me with images from my childhood and my fractured relationship with my sibling.
When we were young,
we would sit at the bottom of a pool
and communicate with charades,
popping out of the water
to confirm our synchronicity.
We swam every summer for
five years, until you got a job
and I was on my own–at a different
pool, sitting by myself, an
extraneous afterthought that year.
Swimming was no longer
a game of linking our thoughts
and seeing who could
stay under the longest,
but a way to cool off from the sun.
Our connection has drifted
over the years, floating apart as
time changes and compels,
until now, I can’t reach you
between the current and the cold.
The reading of this feels like a swaying current. Very well stated and full of longing. Thanks, Cara. I hope the currents bring the two of you closer again.
That last stanza is absolutely beautiful – and sad/painful – with its use of water as a metaphor for your estrangement; I wonder if you could share this poem with your sister? There is such love described! What a dear, dear memory this:
I really like the phrase, “our connection has drifted…” It’s such a metaphor for relationships. Beautiful photo!
Wow, Cara, this poem pulled me under, in and through with you! I love the picture you chose too. You completely captured the fun of being underwater in the beginning. I wasn’t expecting the turn and the ending made me feel the distance between you two. Chilling!
Awesome poem!
Cara — Your melancholy is conveyed so beautifully and poignantly. Your last lines — “I can’t reach you between the current and the cold” — Wow, just heart-wrenching!
Cara, WOW! What a beautiful (albeit heartbreaking) poem. From this poem, it appears your sister was older than you. It makes me think about myself, as the oldest sibling, and what I left behind once my schedule got busier. What type of yearning, though unspoken, may have existed from their ends. Thank you for this reflection on your own relationship with a sister which allowed me to think about my own sibling relationships. Isn’t this what good writing does?
Good Monday morning, Linda, and thank you for this prompt and your mentor poem. I love when I can use an image to inspire writing. The Library of Congress collection on Black Changemakers took my attention for quite some time. I settled in and wrote three Zappai poems for Frances E. Watkins Harper. Then the rabbit hole had me creating a blackout poem from her poem “Songs For the People.” Soooo here we are!
Seeker of justice
Frances E. Watkins Harper
Bold freedom fighter
Traveled the nation
Teaching women in private
To fight for their rights
Standing in Black strength
Poet, author, lecturer
Powered by her pen
Blackout Poem inspired by Songs for The People
Make the songs for the people
with more abundant life
Make the songs
relax their tension
Sing
sweet anthems
of the bright and restful
world
Music pure and strong
music to soothe
the world with peace
© Stacey L. Joy, 11/22/21
I really love the end of your blackout poem, Stacey. The soothing sound and feeling of peace and serenity is magical. A true uplifting emotion. Gorgeous ?
Stacey, I have a granddaughter whose middle name is in honor of Francis Harper – thank you for this poetic focus! I am captivated by her wisdom to be “Teaching women in private” – there is much we can learn, I think, from this…never give up, press on, do what you need to do to lead others towards fully understanding their rights, the need for justice. I also love your description of her poetry/songs for the people as “music pure and strong/music to soothe/the world with peace.” Beautiful!
Oh, how I love this…the rabbit holes, especially! Found poetry is so fun. And, you’ve found some real gems. “sweet anthems of the bright and restful world” is beautiful. I’m so glad you spent time at LOC. It’s one of my favorite digital and in person place to visit. I’m lucky enough to live close to the main building in DC.
Truth!, Stacey. Music can incite and soothe! Your poem does both. Makes we want to know what we can do today, in private as Frances E. Watkins Harper, or in public. Will I have the courage to do either … incite when necessary; soothe when necessary. Your poem reminds us of the need for both.
Stacey,
I love that you fell down a rabbit hole. I did too, and I have a second poem I’m working on, which I will share w/ you. Anyway, thank you for introducing me to Francis E. Watkins Harper. She’s new to me. “Powered by her pen” is a phenomenal line. Your poems *sing* a song we need to hear.
Stacey,
I love the message of hope in your words:
“Sing/ sweet anthems/of the bright and restful/world”
Thank you for introducing me to the life and poetry of Francis E Watkins Harper. What an amazing and courageous woman!
Stacey, thanks for teaching me about Frances Watkins… freedom fighter. The picture is a terrific image of s serious and strong woman. I love “powered by her pen.” Susie
I love the See-Think-Wonder protocol, Linda! Thank you for this fun prompt. I found a photo of a lion at the Smithsonian Zoo that seemed so adorable, and it led me here –
Luke the Lion
he wakes stretches yawns
gives a mighty purrrr
what will this day bring?
another day in these confines
another day of quiet limitations
another day of being spectacle
this is the day
he begins to roam
making his daily rounds
checking out the zoo environs
he finds his favorite scratch log
and wafting from this wood
a trove of pumpkin spice,
yes, cinnamon, clove, nutmeg, ginger
and there ensues great nestling smooching yumming
he forgets all else
this is the day!
he is big, fierce, trapped
vulnerable
all these many years he knows
he can’t live in the world he desires
he has to live in this world he is given
he has to find simple joys that lift him
today each day every day
he feels the love
this is the day
Maureen, I was in love with this image also! I felt the nudge to write about our feline friend but fell into another rabbit hole instead. I love this and was so captivated by the idea of them loving pumpkin spice!!
Your poem brings it all! The wrongs of captivity and being forced to be a spectacle, and then the sweet surprises of “a trove of pumpkin spice.”
Beautiful ending! Reminds me to embrace all that I am given “this is the day” and nothing else!
?
Wow, your poem is so thought provoking. The purposeful pursuit of living each day the best that he can sends a powerful message, and what an amazing photo! Stunning poem!
Awwwwwww, what a cutie! I can’t help it…I see big cats and think snuggle! Crazy, right? I love just another day “being a spectacle.” I’m so glad THIS is the day.
Maureen,
I love the photo. The lion reminds me of a kitty scratching his head, but of course he is not. My initial interpretation tricked me into thinking the first two lines would take the poem in a different direction, but then you smacked me w/ the truth: This lion is imprisoned, caged, his freedom limited. ? This is the heartbreaking reality of zoos. I do hope Luke feels loved, I do know not all zoos are created equal. What an appropriate commentary on social control you’ve given us.
Maureen,
I love all the details in this poem but was especially struck by the juxtaposition of these lines:
“he is big, fierce, trapped
vulnerable
all these many years he knows
he can’t live in the world he desires”
Even though you ending is hopeful, I feel sad for this lion who lives out his days in captivity.
Maureen, this is a great picture! And I love the multiple shifts in your poem! The isolation of the word “vulnerable” in your third stanza is very well done. He is a magnificent king of the jungle in captivity, so he must reconcile “the world he desires” and the “world he is given.” You could have turned this more melancholy than you did; instead, “he forgets all else / this is the day!” And I love that. Thank you for this!
“this is the day,” Maureen, to celebrate you and your lovely poem. I love how he has left the zoo environs for a day of nestling with pumpkin spice. Such a joyful metaphor for life.
The Clarion Call
I showed this Jacob Lawrence painting to the students
And asked them, “What do you see?”
They paused and were quiet for minutes.
I’d thought they’d respond with glee.
One young man raised his hand and I invited him to stand
“Come to the front next to me and point out what you see.”
“I see people on the bus and some of them look just like us.
I see people standing and I see extra seats.
What’s that space in the middle? Why can’t they be used?”
Then, I realized, about history my kids were confused.
They’d not been taught about segregation
They didn’t know about separate spaces
They’d not learned facts about our country
About red lining and train track dividers
That people of color were often outsiders
That the Blacks and Whites had separate places
Where they were required to live
Though Blacks and Whites rode the same bus
Few Whites would even dare sit near to us.
So showing paintings was not enough
I had to teach history to bring the kids up to snuff
Please join in, my friends, let’s do what we need
Let paintings and art plant the seed
Let’s clear up confusion and open discussion
About freedom and justice and equity for all
Let paintings and art be our clarion call.
file:///C:/Users/Owner/AppData/Local/Temp/msohtmlclip1/01/clip_image002.jpg
Anna, you are on point 100%! Art is the perfect entrance to history and lends itself to deeper discoveries while learning. I love Jacob Lawrence too so this poem speaks to me! Thank you for sharing your precious words and gift of a poem.
Teaching the truth!
????????
Anna,
Bravo! I love this clarion call, and you nailed both the value of art and the lost history art recovers. So good, my friend. ❤️
Yes, yes, Anna! At a time when the nation is up in arms over books and the actual healing they may offer, you are so clever to share that art, too, has the power to change and heal. I love Sarah’s post today with the message, “Don’t let them erase us.” That was so powerful – and I it brings to mind all that you share in your precious words today. Art has miraculous powers of truth, too!
I totally agree, Anna! Love your concluding cry:
Jacob Lawrence’s paintings are extraordinary; I am lucky to live in the Washington, DC area, where half of the migration series are on exhibit at the Phillips art gallery. These paintings – and many, many other artists – are excellent instigations for real discussions about history. (The See-Think-Wonder is the perfect tool!)
I’m jealous, Maureen. When things open up and we can travel again, I’ll have to visit your school to see how you’re using Jacob Lawrence art. Thanks for letting me know the while migration series is there.
Anna – What a powerful lesson you offer here. I do agree that art can be the canvas on which to paint the discourse of understanding. The question, “What do you see?” with that intentional pause really is the magic that lets kids digest the images in history…it lets kids see the pages omitted in the textbooks. Wonderful poem! Spot on and important. Thank you! Susie
Anna, what an awe-inspiring poem! Love the direct voice, the power of your words, and the clear call to action at the end. Sensational poem and art!
Hooray! Yes, Anna, let these wonderful Jacob Lawrence artworks be our clarion call. So important. This one is a great lesson and your poem reminds one to look and discuss the events. You reminded me that young people today need to learn the history that was hardly even taught to me.
Susan, you’ve noted the power of the book you worked on with me and the poetry writing session we did online with GRAAMA. This Jacob Lawrence painting is one I used in an online setting with young teens. They did short stories that time, but with similar kind of response. They see, they think, they ask questions.
I love this reflection. Art is so much inviting to history. I didn’t discover Art History until my Junior year of college…and that was sad. I loved it! Your students are fortunate to have you combine this piece or any piece of art with history. It’s a much richer story. And, clarion call is the perfect phrase.
Anna,
Truth! I love the narration of this story and the message. I agree we need to “clear up confusion and open discussion” and art is a brilliant medium for these crucial lessons.
She sees a garden
outside her window
light flickering through
leaves and petals through
window panes
a heavy mass at the center
from which colors burst.
I see sisters strolling
a crimson quilt
embracing shoulders
that carry a past
resting in wounds
wondering if we can
heal together some day.
Red Abstraction, Alma Thomas, born Columbus, GA 1891-Washington, DC 1978
Oh wow, Sarah — I see both of these in “Red Abstraction,” and I so love the “sisters strolling … carrying a past/resting in wounds..” ooo, yeah! “[healing] together…YES! I love the interpretation! Thank you for this careful look into A. Thomas’ piece. Susie
Sarah, this painting is so open to interpretation and I see those things – the sisters, the garden. I see you behind both sets of eyes here – the way you capture the stalkative squirrel and other nature surprises outside your window and the love of your sisters walking arm in arm. I sit here an hour from Columbus, Georgia, where my brother – like this artist – was born. There is a tiny Georgia town named Alma, and I can’t help wondering if perhaps this artist had some ancestral roots there. I can surely see the rural Georgia garden outside the window with colors bursting – just as your words in this poem bloom so beautifully!
I love Alma Thomas, a beloved DC artist!! I love how you provide two very different interpretations of the painting, a real celebration of the gift of art, how it can take us different places. I am captivated by the line “resting in wounds,” what a sad and beautiful interpretation.
Sarah,
You’ve written a gorgeous poem from this artwork! Oh, how I love:
Sarah,
I love the painting and love the diverse points of view that speak to the myriad ways art speaks to each one who gazed upon it. I prefer the second way of seeing. Your poem and Susie’s harmonize in a glorious artful dance. ❤️
Sarah, it’s interesting that you chose the word “quilt”. Quilting, you probably know is one of the ways that African American not only passed down history by using fabrics from worn clothing, but also as signals on the underground railroad.
When I view this picture, I see the brown in the center as the BiPOC men and women whose skin color not their red blood color determined their fate.
Sarah,
I absolutely love your interpretation of this poem and the story you have conveyed. So many beautiful images too — “crimson quilt”, “carrying a past resting in wounds”.
You have painted an exquisite word picture…those sisters…that healing hope. Beautiful.
She Wears Deep Indigo
A lone clematis,
perhaps a lonely clematis —
you say clem-@-us,
I say clem-aah’-tis,
some say clem’-eh-tis,
tomāto, tomäto,
umlaut, shmoomlout —
soaks up the last rain of October
and pushes to the south-banked sun
through the sinewy tendrils
of a long season,
despite all her spent feathery achenes —
ready to seed for next spring;
one final deep indigo palm-size bloom
defying the bruise of frost,
lays open her face and turns
in one last triumph
to smile in peace
at my front door.
by Susie Morice, November 22, 2021©
Susie, you are ever the master at making me smile and feel a kinship of sisterhood. I adore the playful way you pause and play with language so conversationally and grab me by the hand like a sister would and then share in eloquent words that this lone clematis ….
defying the bruise of frost,
lays open her face and turns
in one last triumph
to smile in peace
at my front door.
that kind of personification deserves a standing ovation and I’m on my feet for you! (and feeling so sad about this dying triumphant clematis)
Oh, Susie! You remind me of the clematis I planted in May that never grew. Guess I should not buy my clematis from Aldi. Alas, I love seeing this single bloom “defying the bruise of frost” and can’t help tearing up a bit hoping that can be me (and that I hope seeds from my May clematis bloom next spring).
Hugs!
I love this poem so much. I want to steal your title. And that musing on the pronunciations! The personification of the clematis as a greeter of peace at your front door. I feel we had a cup of coffee together and talked about this flower.
“She Wears Deep Indigo” is a song. I can picture you singing along as you wrote your poem today. Great job with the diacritical marks. I could read all those clematis pronunciations. She is beautiful in her “last triumph.”
I enjoy the way you play with the pronunciation! Every single time I name this flower, I say it the name several times differently – so funny. Love the beautiful description of determination and fortitude you offer here –
Absolutely gorgeous poem. The end is so tender and moving. Loved hearing your voice and pronunciation! Very fun and beautiful ?
My friend, yet again, another amazing poem! The fun and enjoyment of your words astound me!
You know I love a standout blossom! This is truly breathtaking!
Thank you, Susie!
?
Susie,
I love the resilience of this flower and adore that she’s a she! Bravo! Girl has attitude, and I’m here for it. In rereading I wonder if all those pronunciations you’ve provided have a deeper meaning. I say they do. Regardless of what the female is called, she endured. She triumphs as all others wilt away. ?
Oh, I love the fighter of this Clematis! “bruise of frost” awesomness.
Linda, I really love your prompt and how you break it down for students, and your poetry blog on Friday sounds amazing. I will definitely be checking that out in the near future. This week I’m traveling so I’m not sure how much I will be able to participate for the next few days, but I’m going to try.
ice pellets pummel
brown leaf fetal-curled—crumbles
another fallen
Barb Edler
22 November 2021
Barb — I like the notion that you and I were both looking in our yards and noticing the leaves and autumn forces here in your poem and the clematis in mine. I love the “fetal-curled” and the whole idea of crumbling.
This is a really busy week, I know. I have out-of-town family here right now and missed getting back to the website yesterday. Lots ahapp’nin’ for you too. Sending huís, Susie
Thanks, Susie. Sending many happy wishes for you and your family and a great big hug, dear friend:)
Barb, you know the Haiku is a fave! We share that deep love of that form. Your poem speaks so deeply to me today – the trees in Georgia are far more spectacular than they have been in years, and a friend posted pictures from
Gibbs Gardens north of Canton,
Ga this morning and now after seeing those pictures and reading your post I’m sensing the fleeting beauty and want to hop in the car and make the drive to experience all the rich wonder. You’ve got me contemplating the drive…..
It is getting very bare here, which makes my river view a lot better:) If you ever get the notion to head this way, you’re always welcome. Just taking off for the mountains as I write this in a very small plane. I’m kinda scared.
Barb,
This is a perfect seasonal haiku. I love the transition from fall crumbling leaves to “ice pellets” signaling the coming winter. Lovely.
You have captured the raw intersection of winter on fall! This description of the way the brown leaves look is fantastic – “fetal-curled—crumbles.” Yes! Those last two words left me breathless, reading into these three lines a much sadder, more ominous meaning –
another fallen
I actually titled this Self Portrait but it got left off. November is a very difficult month for me, but I landed and am with family this week.
Oh, that word…fetal. It focuses the entire poem. Well done.
Linda, I love this prompt! I think it is a beautiful exercise in deep thinking – I’ve often wondered whether we can teach curiosity to students, and while I’m still undecided on the natural inner passion piece, I believe this is a step toward the whole process because of the intentionality of wonder! Thank you for hosting us today. I apologize in advance for the length of my writing today, but I saw, thought, and wondered about my strange nightmare last night…..
I Might Be
I might be the hero
In another dimension’s
Christmas horror movie
I might be
because I have just
torched a baby girl demon
wrapped in Christmas lights
and flung her to the
depths of Hell over a cliff
by the sea and prayed
to the Holy Ghost for forgiveness
in case I did the wrong thing
but I burned every shred of
evil and cast down the devil’s
Christmas elf in my nightmare
then woke up completely
peaceful and relaxed,
not out of breath
or heart all pumping
behind a tight-skinned face
or screaming in terror
despite all the threats
from the little fiend that
she would return
for more tricks tonight
I might be
the movie star celebrity
of a Stephen King realm
that exists in the dark universe
somewhere in a movie theater city
where the sun never rises
and no one ever sleeps or laughs,
they all just eat popcorn
and watch flicks 24/7
like that’s all there is to do
Yeah. Me.
I just killed an evil baby princess
in a vivid little coastal town
probably somewhere
near Bangor, Maine
scaled a second floor
sun balcony patio
with a single jump
to trap her in a stairwell,
wrestled this female
pint-sized Chucky
lit her on fire
with an Aim-‘n-Flame
then hurled her over the edge
~ fully engulfed ~
I, the victor in avenging
this little demon
on a power trip
to destroy the world
only there’ll be no limo
no red carpet runway
In a glittery gown
straight past swooning fans
to a Golden Globe for me
~ just a Little Debbie
Christmas Tree Cake
shared with 3
adorable schnoodles
in the privacy
of my own living room
where I am only their hero
in our rural Georgia
Funny Farm dimension
and all of this
left me wondering
if this little bitch I killed
is the one
who brings hot flashes
and plagues my nights and
whether I just saved
all of womankind
from the depths of despair
with my dream-powered
cunning stunts
clever moves
fearless determination
to overcome the enemy
so if the hot flashes
of the world
suddenly cease and
women across
the world are healed and
have kept the cool side
of the pillow
for nights on end
without sweat or explanation
and start appearing on
The Today Show and
Good Morning America and
places like that
giving testimonials
attributing it to some new
mineral they’ve discovered
or find that they’re dog mamas
of all the same breed?
there’s no need to buy
the infomercial miracle sprinkles
or the puppy
because that’s not why
they’re hot flashless –
no, indeed
it was my nightmare prowess
and bravery that cured us,
y’all.
Yeah,
that was me – the one
wearing the invisible
blue snowflake cape –
a hot flash hell hero
from another dimension
I did that!
Holy cow, Kim, this poem is so full of wonderful images, voice, and delightful lines that I will be returning to this again and again. I love how this plays out like its own movie, and hot flashes are a bitch. I especially enjoyed the attention to place, Bangor, Maine, yes, a perfect locale for a Stephen King horror film. Plus, I also experience those weird kind of nightmares that seem incredibly real, but really make no sense. Your final line is the perfect end. So much fun! Thank you for sharing your exquisite poem1
Kim,
Your mind has been working overtime! No idea why, but your poem evokes images from The Exorcist in my mind, particularly this one. ?♀️
There’s a free flow, stream of consciousness, random, fragmented quality to the poem that I live. It really quickens the pace and replicates a dream. Love it!
Well, dang, the upload failed. It’s the spider stair scene. Trying again, w/ a still rather than a gif.
OMG! This is THE BEST doggone poem I’ve read in a long time, girl! I am absolutely in stitches here. You cranked this baby out at the crack of dawn like no other “hot flash hell hero” possibly could! You have thrown the thunderbolt, slapped the ass of gender demons this morning. You need to go back to sleep and keep on dreamin’, girl! This is marvelous! Laughing out loud, dang, I’m here laughing out loud and pumping my fist at the power in this voice! So many phrases and images are just priceless:
The opening line grabs from the git-go and your readers just can’t stop gobbling up line after line! Damn! This is GOOD!
Mondays must be YOUR days! Wahooty! Susie
Kim!!!! I don’t know whether to say AMEN or YOU ARE A BAD ASS HOT FLASH HELL HERO! I am still smiling at this one. I hope that you are right and the cape has real super powers for all of us “hot” women!
❤️?❤️?❤️?
Hahahahahahaha! I saved this poem for “later” to give it some attention. Oh, my gosh…too funny! A superhero with a villan of hot flashes! You go, literally, girl! This is an epic for a campfire rendition that I want to be at. Thanks for the laugh, thanks for emolulating the pint-sized chuckie…so glad it was all just a dream except for the extinction of flashes. LOL.
Mother’s Loss
—After viewing Analogous Colors by Titus Kaphar
she cannot close
her eyes to this
erasure nor
blink away her pain
analogous colors
empty silhouette
cut canvas babe
plucked untimely from
mother’s breast
(blue-hand protector)
memory stitched in
blood red band of
tattooed names—
philando
sandra
tamir
et al.—
permanent ink
dripping history
we cannot close
our eyes to these
erasures nor
blink away her pain
—Glenda Funk
https://time.com/5847487/george-floyd-time-cover-titus-kaphar/
On June 15, 2020 Time magazine featured a painting by artist Titus Kaphar depicting a mother whose baby has been cut out of the canvas, a technique Kaphar employs as historical commentary. Carol Jago featured the painting in our NCTE 21 session “Taking Interpretive Risks: Creating Antiracist Classrooms through Critical Literary Theory.”
Glenda — You selected such a poignant image. It is really a powerful jolting image. Your poema does it justice…the “cannot close our eyes” is critical. I so appreciate both your poem and the important visual that anchors some of my feelings about this issue.
Glenda — how do we drop in a picture? Does the “link” icon below translate into the image once we post? I don’t want to just give a link; I want to show the pic. If there’s a way to do this without sending it to Sarah first, that’d be great…I hate to bother Sarah. Thank, Susie
Click on the image icon (far right, looks like mountains w/ sun) and upload the image. I saved the image to my camera roll first.
Okie dokie! Thank you! I didn’t even notice that little icon! Ha!
Glenda, wow, I absolutely am enamored with your poem and its message. Thanks so much for sharing this link and the background information. Your words are as striking; the perfect complement to the art. “She cannot close/ her eyes to this” gripping first line and mesmerizing poem. I appreciate how you shared the message of the two different colored hands. Incredible poem! Kudos!
Whoa! A huge heart thump here in this image – kind of like breaking glass. Your choice is perfect for these times. Literal erasure. I love how you masterfully create the beginning and ending as circular
we cannot close
our eyes to these
erasures nor
blink away her pain
and by changing those pronouns from
singular to plural, this puts the onus of erasure squarely on the ignorance of a nation. This child – every child – deserves to be seen! Bravo you!
Glenda, thank you for sharing the history of Kaphar’s painting. It is so powerful. Your poem is also powerful. Thank you for pointing to this, and the NCTE session you attended. The words you chose here are really speaking to me now:
permanent ink
dripping history
Sadly, it lacks hope, which today in our world, we need those words. Necessary to help us to “not close our eyes”
Boom! Hits hard, Glenda! A powerful, much needed poem that should be shared beyond our community here. It took a while for me to leave that original site with Kaphar’s work. Wow.
Thank you!
Really provocative poem and artwork, Glenda! Love this. I especially love how the first stanza and third/last are the same, except for the shift from “she” to “we” – making this poem a call to action. Fabulous!
Powerful, Glenda! That word, erasure….and then naming names. Beautiful pairing of this painting with your witness poem.
What a lovely way to start the week: art AND poetry! Fun! Fun! Thank you, Linda!
Last Piece by Philip Guston
Was it really your last piece?
Streaks of orange and blue
black, green, mottled whites
ghostly figures emerge
from my imagination
Movement with no bodies
dancing diving protesting
shunning saving delivering
It’s considered abstract art, but
what did it mean to you, Guston?
Did if feel good to paint it?
Denise — I really like the provocative idea of a “last painting” and why this particular result…the questions. I hadn’t really thought about “last” paintings before, but it truly evokes narratives and questions worth exploring! Cool! Thank you. Susie
Denise, thank you for sharing the art work. Your intimate conversation with Guston is incredible effective in sharing the wonder of a viewer studying any art; especially abstract paintings. Loved your last line.
The haunting feel of a “last painting” that we learn right at the beginning causes us to cast different eyes on this piece. That’s how I felt at the Van Gogh immersive display when I learned about that crow field painting – somehow it became more sacred than all the rest. I like your use of movement with no bodies. That line is compelling to really stop and take another look and to wonder ….it’s beautiful what you have done here.
Denise,
Your poem captures the haunting, end or near end of life I imagine and raises many more questions in my mind: How old was the artist at death? How did he die? Did his vision or lack of inspire the mottled *bodies* in the painting? The more I look at the piece and read your poem, the more pleasure I take from both. In her NCTE comments, Amanda Gorman said she tells students to always read a poem at least three times, which I think is good advice.
Great questions in your poem…I often wonder, how does it feel to ______create at professional or genius level.
Mix it
then remix it,
then kick it out
even further
Dial it in
with a push
of timbre
Audio signals abound
as two disks spin,
cross-faded sounds
collide, then collapse
together
inspired by image of the Rane Mixing Board (as used by Grandmaster Flash)
https://www.si.edu/object/rane-mixer-used-grandmaster-flash:nmah_1301252
OK, that’s pretty cool that YOU found THAT photograph and then wrote THIS poem. Fate? Destiny mixed in with creativity and talent. I love the sensory words, mix, kick, dial, push, spin….all of that gives the feel of movement. Wonderful response.
Thanks for the link, Scott. I am impressed about how well you create the music through your words. Love the line “Audio signals abound”…the sense of crashing sounds, colliding movement, and “cross-faded sounds” are all striking!
Kevin, I love all the things you bring in this poem and linked learning experience. I started thinking of what I read in this snippet
“Growing up in the Bronx, he was influenced by his father’s massive record collection. As a teenager, Grandmaster Flash first experimented with DJ equipment and became involved in the New York DJ scene while attending daytime technical school courses in electronics. The innovations and techniques developed by Grandmaster Flash established him as one of the pioneers of hip hop and deejaying.”
how amazing – his influence with records, his own “spin” on things and then a technical college, getting out there on the scene with his bad self, and becoming a legend!
just wow!
Fantastic. I am enthralled with this cross of image and sound. Incorporating this through technology – so cool. Some of these objects are actually in the MoMA, aren’t they? Like first computer and phones and whatnot? Because they’re design is so artistic. They are one form of art (tech) used to make another form of art (music) and now to make another form of art (poetry). Zow!