Our #OpenWrite Host
Denise Krebs has been writing poetry with students for decades. However, last April was the first time she joined other teachers in a poetry-writing community, the first time she embraced the practice herself. Denise holds a master’s degree in elementary education with a concentration in teaching reading. She teaches English to Arabic-speaking fifth graders in the first modern school in Bahrain, which started in 1899. Her one word for 2020 was TIME. Little did she know the Coronavirus would give her more time to just be. Besides enjoying the solitude and relaxing after too many years of so much doing, she also keeps busy reading, telling Bible stories, cooking and baking. Follow her on Twitter at @mrsdkrebs.
Inspiration
I loved the poem we wrote in April with Stacey Joy. It was the prompt where we listened to music and noted some of the lyrics that spoke to us along with using musical terminology in our poems. http://www.ethicalela.com/5of30verselove/
We have also been prompted through current event headlines as we wrote beautiful monotetras in July with Mo and Tracie. http://www.ethicalela.com/july-openwrite-monotetra/ Since this is an unprecedented time in current events, today I want us to look again at the news. Sometimes it is hard to process so much coming at us. I pray that in writing today you will find hope, healing, and help as another writer shares the burden.
I tried Stacey’s note-taking prompt as I read a difficult article last May. Adam Serwer’s powerful words helped inspire my poem about Ahmaud Arbery. To try to come to grips with this heart-breaking and enraging story, I relied on Adam’s words to guide mine and help me process the news.
Process
Read articles that you resonate with, or infuriate you, or that you want to spend more time with and make sense of the content through poetry. Choose one article and read it with a notebook and pencil in hand. Write down all the phrases and words that jump out at you. Turn these into a poem, along with your own words. Try a free verse poem, as I did, or a poetic form that gives you more of a challenge if you wish. Share the source article too when you post your poem.
Denise’s Poem
Say His Name–Ahmaud Arbery
“Come, son, grab your gun
There’s a black burglar
Bounding ’round the block”
In this land
Two armed white men insist on their
right to defend themselves
While one unarmed black man
is not allowed to exercise the same right
Nor to exercise
State laws made to justify
Two people
Chasing,
Confronting, and
Killing
a person
they’ve never met.
Usurping duties of
police, court, jury,
and executioner.
As long as the two
are on the safe side
of the racial contract in ‘Merica
they will be exonerated.
Always
Assumptions of white innocence
Always
Assumptions of black guilt
Always
Americans implicitly know
Who are bound by the rules
And who are exempt
Would your son be allowed to jog
in a new neighborhood?
I know
You know
All men are created equal
(If they are white and own property)
Crooked creed
All men are created equal
(But some are only three-fifths equal)
Crippling creed
Codicil in invisible ink
Yet penned visibly in red blood
On black bodies
Murder is illegal
But fine for white people to
Chase down and kill black people
If they have decided
That those black people scare them
Cowardly creed
These injustices
Push the racial contract into the open
Then it’s up to us to choose
Do we embrace its existence?
Do we contest its existence?
Do we deny its existence?
Hang on, white men.
Hang on, power-hungry,
To your fading entrenchment of
White political power to
“make America great again”
Father and son
Chased a “burglar” jogger
Shot him dead.
Acting in self-defense?
No.
Arrested and charged with murder
Because of national outrage
(But absent the video, then what?)
Centuries overdue,
But now is the time
for more
national outrage,
America.
It’s time for a
Courageous creed
Many words and phrases in this poem were found in the first half of this article in The Atlantic: “The Coronavirus was an Emergency Until Trump Found Out Who Was Dying” by Adam Serwer.
Your Turn
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.
An Oral History: COVID-19 Teacher-Poets Writing to Bridge the Distance
Did you write poetry during the first days of COVID-19 school closings? Would you like to be interview for our oral history project? Click here to learn more.
Better late than never!
The News
By: Emily Yamasaki
A global threat
Is creepin among
Unexpecting bodies
Taking one, two…
Two hundred thousand
But we are quarantined
But we are careful
But we wear masks
But we wash hands
Our home is our haven
“We want to immediately share that one of our community members has tested positive for COVID-19…”
No one is safe
How do you face
the fear?
“What difference will it make?”
England, Scotland, and Northern Ireland
Taking heed to stop the spread,
“It seems inevitable
that the virus will continue”
To rob, to steal, to isolate
“But how quickly and widely
is something no one knows”
Without intervention
The terror only grows
One girl, two men
Blue eyes, brown skin
Lives hanging in the balance
Risk elevated without local lockdown
Here and there, near and far
Effects as devastating as war
How can I help?
What kind I do?
Think for yourself
It will make all the difference.
Oh, Jolie, I love how you wrote about what the virus will continue to do: “To rob, to steal, to isolate”
That’s my favorite line in your poem. So true. We feel robbed and isolated these days, time stolen away.
I love the title: “What difference will it make” and then the last line…”It will make all the difference.”
Powerful!
Wildfires spread
Smoke in eyes, lungs, brains
Dizzying winds traveling from coast to coast
Carrying worry along with it
Temperatures fall into autumn degrees
Ignorance surely is a bittersweet disease
Lauryl, your poem shows the pain and tragedy of these out-of-control fires. That last line is so poignant and true: “Ignorance surely is a bittersweet disease”
It’s amazing that some people still succumb to it and seemingly by choice.
Denise, It’s wonderful to see you here leading us in poetry tonight! Your poem took me powerfully back into Ahmaud’s story, feeling it again, hard. That’s what I want a poem to do. Thank you.
This was one of my favorite parts:
Thanks so much, Allison, that means a lot.
https://www.nytimes.com/2020/09/21/opinion/mitt-romney-supreme-court-nominee.html
A Found Poem:
Open Letter to Mitt Romney, By Bret Stephens, New York Times
Alphabet
A is for Arguments
Allegations
Attacks
Be is for Bad
Block
Besmirch
Bamboozle
Blowing up Bipartisan tradition
C is for Circus
D is for Drift
E’s the Election
F is for Filibuster
Fool
G, into the Gutter
Garland, Merrick
H is Hard
I = In a nutshell
J is for Judgement
K is for Kavanaugh, Brett
as in “Kavanaugh Circus”
L is for Lies
Lure
M is Majority
N is New Norms
O is your Obligation, Mitt
P is Presidential
(Is that even a thing?)
Q is for Questions
R is Reneging
S is Sin
T, Trashed, Trashed, Trashed
U is Uncorroborated
VOTE
W is for What? Why? When? Whatever.
X is neXt and eXercise;
Also the mark on a ballot.
Y is for You, America, if You’re listening
Z is haZard ahead
Allison – You picked such a creative way to build a strong voice, a compelling stance that moves us right down the line feeling the intensity of what is at stake. The parts that resonated particularly were these …
Blowing up Bipartisan tradition
O is your Obligation, Mitt
P is Presidential
(Is that even a thing?)
Y is for You, America, if You’re listening
Z is haZard ahead
Ending with the sense of foreboding validates the reality of where we are. Once again, in so few words you’ve delivered. So glad your were able to post tonight…these are long days for you. I appreciate your voice. Susie
Yes, as Susie said, such a strong voice in this Alphabet of How Not to Be a Senator.
I love the form! It makes me want to try an ABC poem.
The G and K letters made me angry…
So much truth here! Thank you, Allison!
Wow! I’m glad I came back to look at yesterday’s posts. I love the combination of ABCs (so simple that children can memorize) and the deceit and the hypocrisy (something I will never understand).
Allison, you brought a sense of play to such a serious and scary subject (without sacrificing the gravitas). I thought the ABCs were a creative and clever form for this poem to take. I can’t help but see a sense of irony or satire ….it’s as if you are saying “It’s as easy as A-B-C”…so why can’t “you” or “they” see it?!?!? Thank you for sharing your poem with us!
Having read and assigned “You Should Actually Send That Thank You Note You’ve Been Meaning to Write” by Heather Murphy in the July 20, 2018 edition of The New York Times:
Thank you speaks with a dirty face,
With a wrinkled shirt,
And sometimes out of the corner of its mouth.
Thank you has no filter,
May use colorful vocabulary,
And never met autocorrect.
Thank you may only have
The strength to nod its head
Or glance in your direction.
Thank you may build a fire for you.
It may pull a chair up and ask you to sit for a while,
Hoping against hope you welcome it.
Love, love, love this personification!
Katrina – Your poem uses such effective images. I really love this. Giving life to thank you… so dandy. I particularly love the “dirty face… wrinkled shirt” and “never met autocorrect “ (ha!) … and “pull up a chair…”. So inventive. Way to go! Susie
Oh, what a beautiful, gracious voice coming from the heart of a teacher and lover of humanity. What a pleasant read on this day of so much bad news!
According to the Washington Post, The CDC recently retracted guidance regarding increased risk of contracting covid within indoor environments without good ventilation. My brain was fried so this is all I got today.
This dystopia is science silenced
It is censorship 1984 style
It is shortages of N95 masks even after six months
& “airborne particles suspended in air”
It is sidelined health officials
& humiliated doctors. haven’t you heard
our “Super Stable Genius” is smarter than all the doctors put together
— in this dystopia
haven’t you heard
this dystopia is our fucking reality!
I have so often likened our situation to all the dystopian YA novels. This poem is perfect!
You had me at dystopian…
Tammi, I’m absolutely with you and Gayle here (and undoubtedly many others). So much of what is happening now seems so unbelievable, just so utterly unbelievable. Now, I have so many things to be thankful for, and I am so privileged and I try to keep it in check and don’t take it for granted…but, yeesh, some days, this whole “thing” feels like some kinda Orwellian fever dream.
I couldn’t agree more. I’m hurting with you.
Yes, it is only dystopias that have this as reality:
Yikes! Carry on and keep fighting, Tammi!
land of opportunities
manufactured landscapes
climate shocks
we can bend the world to our will
exposing vulnerabilities in systems we’ve engineered
climate adaptation
geographic diversity
manufactured systems
engineered landscapes
hotter temperatures, drier conditions
Friday Day 33 fire still raging
policy decisions altered those forests
agricultural powerhouse
race to the bottom
not a sustainable response
vulnerable to climate
I believe in California
eroding the idea the state can mold itself into whatever it wants
California was the land of opportunities but it’s just not true
Words discovered in the New York Times, “Feats of Engineering Raise Climate Risks Around California.” (September 21, 2020)
Climate change and man’s impact are real threats to our world. ” Friday Day 33 fire still raging/policy decisions altered those forests
agricultural powerhouse/race to the bottom/not a sustainable response”. You have nailed it. This is not sustainable and
people on the West Coast are really paying the price. So sad. Thank you for focusing your poem on these important issues.
Jamie, your poem felt like bullets hitting one after another. What really jumped out to me was “race to the bottom.” So sad on so many levels!
Land of Opportunities, but in a race to the bottom.
This is so indicative of what has led us to this global climate crisis.
A powerful word today, Jamie.
I love the way you reorganize the phrases from stanza to stanza. I also love the line, “eroding the idea the state can mold itself into whatever it wants.”
Just watching the News
8/29/2020
I don’t wanna live here
Any
More.
In this country
The land of the
Free. (He had a legit lottery ticket)
Home
Of the
Brave. (Don’t fight back)
I don’t wanna live here
Any
More.
Land that I
love(d)
That doesn’t
Love all
B(l)ack.
I don’t wanna live here
Any
More.
Where fireworks
Trump (pun intended)
Bullets shot
From a boy
Thinking
He’s
A
Man.
I don’t wanna live here
Any
More.
But where do I go?
What do I do?
When I sit
And watch
And I
Let the tears
Travel down
My
Very
Pale
Face.
I don’t wanna live here
Any
More.
With archaic
Systems
We use as
Excuses
To stay in
Our gutter
Of
Greed.
I don’t wanna live here
Any
Less.
I keep
Pushing
And
Learning
And yearning
For
Peace.
Your words really resonant. “I don’t want to live here” — I often feel the same way and I agree we need to keep “pushing and learning and yearning for peace”.
LLP, I hear you. This stanza grabbed me:
Land that I
love(d)
That doesn’t
Love all
B(l)ack.
(Maybe New Zealand?)
LLP,
My, you have written a poem here that speaks to so many of us. So many amazing stanzas. The one about land that I love(d) that doesn’t love b(l)ack. Oh, so riveting. This one is my favorite today:
And then that last ray of hope–the final stanza, where we will choose to stay and fight. I love this poem today. Thank you!
I think I read your poem in one breath, a long exasperated sigh. You captured the refrain that echoes in my own head daily…this town, this state, this country….SMH. I found the shift in your last stanza the most surprising:
I want to leave all the time…as if we can escape this reality and responsibility with a change of zip code. Who else will fight the fight? Who else will bare witness? Who else will dissent?
Your poem brought me some peace…I hope you find it, too.
(And I was struck by your use of parentheses…so clever and challenging.)
Thank you for the prompt and inspiration today! I have been trying to make sense of a ton of news…this exercise forced me to face what confuses, confounds, and scares me. I’ve been trying to process posts and tweets from California and Oregon friends as they face the devastation of fires, evacuations, and smoke hazards.
I used words and phrases from USA Today and Washington Post articles. I treated this piece like a found poem, weaving together the images and words into a cohesive imprint. (Excuse my NSFW language…it’s an honest and authentic reaction.)
Extreme fire behavior
Swarm of spinning blazes
Strong spin of smoke and flame
Sparked by dry lightning and persistent heat
Siege of fire whirls and running crown fires
Swelling wildfire, tornado-strength vortices
Shrouded in amber haze and smoke
Pyrocumulonimbus
A fucking fire tornado
Betsy,
It really is a fucking fire tornado. So sad and the fires are hardly mentioned in the news. Thank you for bringing attention to this devastation.
Your imagery is perfect, as is the ending!
Betsy,
Thank you for your words. I’m glad it inspired your study and writing yesterday.
Your poem is woven together cohesively, as you said. I love all the lines that start with S, and then the abrupt last two lines. It made me laugh. Nice work!
https://flip.it/t3OUr5
I’m giving myself permission to write a haiku after this very long day. The Article I read was from the NYT and titled “As School Begins, Mothers Working Retail Jobs Feel Extra Burden.”
Women work retail
Must choose job or helping kids
With remote pressures
Mo,
You speak truth. Haiku is perfect ?.
Glenda
Yes. So true!
A harsh reality of the times.
Sad truth.
Mo,
A haiku works perfectly for this topic. Short and un-sweet. An unfortunate reality for most!! Thanks for sharing.
This was a powerful sentiment, Mo. Thanks for reminding us about those essential workers who are more at risk for infection as well as problems coping with home life since they can’t work from home during these times.
Source: The San Diego Union Tribune, Sunday, September 20, 2020
“Underground Railroad to Mexico Gains Attention” by Russell Contreras
I found this story to be interesting. Who knew of an Underground Railroad going to Mexico! It is inspiring to learn from our ancestors who took courage to fight for justice. Stories like this give me confidence to fight on. Learning about our hidden history can provide awareness and confidence to know that I can be a part of a plan to bring equality. Thank you so much Denise for making me dive deeper.
The Underground Railroad to Mexico
A white man from the South marrying
a Black, slave sweetheart and carrying
her off to Texas – a safe place abiding
where run away slaves could be hiding
to make their move.
A slave laughs. Hard to flee north.
Going South one must burst forth.
No slavery in Mexico.
Gone a generation before.
Must make a move.
I slipped out the back door and ran
Thought it would be an easy plan
Through thick forests and a desert
For getting away from this hurt
must make a move.
To the family on the Rio Grande
who will get me to a new land.
In darkness I float on the river
Don’t make a noise, don’t shiver!
Making a move.
Slave catchers to Mexico came.
Armed village resistance took aim.
Mexican opportunity.
A people in unity.
Making this move.
Freedom from across the river.
In Spanish a name to deliver.
Comes with a new language to learn.
Hard newness at every turn.
Making this move
Marry a Mexican lady
Smart, good looking, never shady.
Go further south, hiding deeper.
One eye open. Never sleeping
after making this move.
Susan—what an amazing piece of history that I never knew! Your tale is perfect, the repetition carryin us—and your hero—through to freedom. Wonderful!
Wow- never knew about this! Really interesting stories. Someone should write a book (if there isn’t one already!) I love how you describe different dangers in these scenarios. Makes me want to read more!
Love the rhythm of this narrative poem. Learned something new too!
Susan, I just can’t stop reading the newsy poems from yesterday. This is something that I didn’t know anything about. Thank you for sharing this history with us. Your poem tells a story. My favorite things about it are the repetition of moving in the last line of each stanza. I also love the way these lines sound:
Thanks again for the story.
Denise — Thank you so much for an inspirational prompt today. I did not want to face down the news, had brought in the paper, unsleeved it, glanced at the headlines, moaned, and shoved it to the side of the kitchen counter, unwilling to dig in and deal with how the news every single day brings me to my knees. Then, I read the prompt, your killa poem (truly superb), walked back and forth in the kitchen poking at the paper, afraid to dig in and read it. Every day is a news challenge for me…it rips at me in ways that I find almost impossible to bear. But the prompt, your poem. Okay, I steeled myself and found Alex Garcia…I couldn’t let him go. You helped me get back to the business of digesting the story, more than “news” it is a story, a real man’s life. Reading every word of the story, then digging for peripheral facts, I was ready for that kick in the pants. Taking the news to the poem, that’s important work. Thank you. Susie
Oh, Susie, thank you so much for sharing these feelings. I love how my prompt made you poke the paper today. And what a success that poking was. I love your poem about Alex Garcia and the backstory you shared with your readers.
Denise, thanks for the terrific prompt. The final words of your poem “Its time for courageous creed” really resonated for me. My poem is based on the Cedar Rapids Gazette’s article “Des Moines says no to Iowa Gov. Kim Reynolds’ demand for classroom return”.
The bitch in charge
Demands to all
RETURN TO SCHOOL THIS FALL
One school district
Declines and resists
33,000 students; 5,000 staffers
Lives are at risk
Covid positivity rate
Is one of the
Highest in the nation
Where the bitch in charge
Makes no mask mandates
Still she demands
all must return to school this fall
When Des Moines Public School
Officials dare to resist
She replies
Tsk Tsk Tsk
“When there’s a will there’s a way”
If you don’t comply
I will deny
The funds I know you need
Most definitely
It isn’t safe
But she doesn’t care
Her rule will cripple and maim
Please, God, I pray,
“Make the Assholes Go Away”
Barb Edler
21 Sept. 2020
Barb — I hear you loud and clear. Your gov is a totally state embarrassment. I go to Des Moines regularly (well, when it isn’t Covid-19 time). My cousins in DM are outraged at the ignorance of the Gov…not to mention Grassley. I loved your poem…I loved the celebratory tone of resistance. Amen for the strength of reason to stand firm for what is logical and right. Thanks! Susie
Whew this is a doozie! Powerful, raw, and bold…the way we have to be in order to survive bitches like her and the others called him who want to kill us.
Perfect twist on MAGA!
Stay safe!
Oh Barb, I know this battle! My daughter had the same battle. The teachers union chimed in to fight to allow the teachers to stay home. They allow the students to learn on-line but they wanted all the teachers to teach on-line but from their classrooms. Go figure. And what about the teachers with school age children that were at home learning on the computer? Were the teachers to bring them into the classroom while they taught? Anyway, the ending was happy for now. After a loud noise, even from parents, everyone gets to stay home and teach or learn virtually. I hope all goes well with Des Moines.
Oh Barb, I know this battle! My daughter had the same battle. The teachers union chimed in to fight to allow the teachers to stay home. They allow the students to learn on-line but they wanted all the teachers to teach on-line but from their classrooms. Go figure. And what about the teachers with school age children that were at home learning on the computer? Were the teachers to bring them into the classroom while they taught? Anyway, the ending was happy for now. After a loud noise, even from parents, everyone gets to stay home and teach or learn virtually. I hope all goes well with Des Moines.
Bravo, Barb! I concur w/ your take on MAGA: Make the Asssholes Go Away! Your governor is awful. Our governor is awful. I’m glad Des Moines is pushing back. HRC was right: The GOP is full of deplorable. Great poem.
—Glenda
Barb—a poem for our times! Love the way the rhyme scheme adds to the anger. Crazy times. Amazing how teachers went fro hero to zero!
Wow! I agree “Make those assholes go away!” Her actions are unconscionable. Love the power of this piece.
Barb, I LOVED this poem!
This sequence was one of my favorite parts:
She replies
Tsk Tsk Tsk
“When there’s a will there’s a way”
If you don’t comply
I will deny
I like all that long-i assonance and the onomatopoetic tsk tsk.
Oh, Iowa, Beautiful Land, what is happening?
Barb,
Thank you, Barb. I’m glad you liked the prompt, and I certainly like what you did with it! Like Stacey said, raw and bold, indeed. The rhyming is really effective in your poem too. I enjoy hearing myself read it.
I love that Des Moines just said no. I had not heard that last acronym for MAGA, and I burst out with laughter. I’m still smiling, but an angry and sad sort of smile. I have a collection of other MAGA definitions over the years.)
I’m drowning in sadness today, so I didn’t work with a current event. Instead, I used excerpts from three different articles in Spirituality and Health magazine as my inspiration. I couldn’t use a whole article because I don’t have a subscription, so I could only see partial articles. It’s the September/October 2020 issue https://spiritualityhealth.com/issues/2020-september-october
Dreams of Light
Have you ever had a moment
where you knew you were in a dream?
the giant pearl in the sky
waxing
light and intensity building
the giant pearl in the sky
full
heavy on the horizon
the giant pearl in the sky
waning
drawing back into shadow once again
I am an animal
pausing in this moment of light
grounded in the cycles of nature
I am an animal
phasing through time
just like the moon
I am an animal
energy building
energy receding
Have you ever had a moment
where you looked up at the moon?
Sharon, your use of repetitive beginning lines is particularly effective here and I love that you ask have you ever had a moment…. have you ever had a moment…. we all need to think of the great moments that we have had and dwell on these instead of the moments we would rather forget.
Oh, Kim, I just read your poem below, and I am in tears. That’s why I had to focus on something different with my poem. Some days the weight of the word is just too much. I’m so glad you survived that terrible accident. Sending you virtual hugs.
Wow, Sharon, I didn’t expect so much cohesion in your poem when I saw you wrote it from three partial articles. I don’t know what I expected, but it was really neat to see how you drew them together, with that beautiful pearl as the centerpiece. It is a lovely read. I really like your first and last stanzas together:
My favorite line is “the giant pearl in the sky” and I also loved what you did in that section with the moon phases beautifully waxing, getting full, and then waning. So lovely! Thank you for sharing with us today!
I love your use of repetition in the first line sings a song of an animal in the moonlight; love the grounding of the moon
I love how this poem takes me on a journey of looking and feeling. The repetition works well.
Sharon, I just reread and saw that you were drowning in sadness yesterday. I’m thinking of you today. I hope it’s better soon.
I wrote mine over this article from PBS News Hour. It’s somewhat pessimistic and melancholic, but the frustration the author felt is my frustration too. It’s about the burnout younger generations are facing today with things like work and school.
https://www.pbs.org/newshour/arts/millennials-cant-even-get-ahead-theyre-already-too-far-behind
Too Far Behind
“Everything is work, and work is everything”
I’ve known this to be true since I was only two
Watching Mother’s tired hands work into the night
“Everything is work, and work is everything”
“But yes, I work all the time because you modeled that”
Imperfection is a sin, but you have to turn it in
Now my tired hands work well into the night
“But yes, I work all the time because you modeled that”
“emotional, physical and financial precarity”
Ramen’s only 13 cents and sleep for dinner makes me tense
Doesn’t matter if my hands work into the night
“emotional, physical and financial precarity”
“striving to complete an impossible to-do list”
I wear my happy mask and complete each stupid task
What’s the point of my hands working into the night?
“striving to complete an impossible to-do list”
“the reality that we’re going to work forever”
Dollar signs that follow, bringing only guilt and sorrow
Loans that can’t be paid by working into the night
“the reality that we’re going to work forever”
Annie—I USED to feel that pain!! I just retired this year, and it has taken my months (since June) to adjust to the feeling that there is time to just do, without frantic worry and resentment. Even so, I still fret. This poem brings back so many memories of all that my hands have to do…
Man, Annie, you may have created a new poetry form. (Or you followed one I haven’t learned about yet.) I love each stanza, with the repeated first and last lines. Sandwiched in-between is a young person’s heart talking about this overwork. The internal rhyme on line 2 is flawless. The repetition in line 3 of hands at work into the night. Oh, my. Your form has given the whole poem more substance and helps me understand more.
Here’s to having freedom to be able to let go of some of it for you. Peace.
Annie, I can certainly relate to this poem….”the reality that we’re going to work forever” sure resonated for me. I loved how you opened the poem with this familial quote and how this refrain was repeated to set up the entire poem. Truly, “loans can’t be paid by working into the night.” The raw truth rings genuinely rings through your entire poem!
Denise, I think poetry gives us a way to synthesize the news and your prompt is a way for us to give our own voices to the world around us. As you wrote in your poem, “Now is the time for national outrage.” I’m sure we were all affected in some way by the news of Ruth Bader Ginsberg’s death. I read an article in Education Week: http://blogs.edweek.org/edweek/school_law/2020/09/justice_ruth_bader_ginsburg_a_.html
RBG
There’s an empty chair at the table,
a vacancy on the highest court.
Candles burn a vigil
for a cherished colleague,
champion of Justice.
Joan Ruth–a pioneer
for equality,
for women,
for righteousness.
Historic tributes glow
for her stalwart stature
in a lace collar.
Margaret,
Your words are few and perfectly chosen, as usual. I’m just ruminating on some of the beautiful images–“empty chair at the table”, “cherished colleague”, “champion of justice”, and “stalwart stature in a lace collar.” I’m seeing her in those images–such a tiny giant. It will be hard to fill her big chair. You wrote a wonderful tribute!
P.S. I learned something that she was named Joan Ruth when she was born.
To the point and eloquent. You capture her beautifully—and I did not know her given name! Stalwart stature in a lace collar—perfect.
Beautifully written. I love the referent to the stalwart stature in a lace collar. Boy oh boy, we will miss her!
A beautiful tribute to a great woman. A star among (wo)men. Aren’t we lucky to have known her? Your well chosen words – empty chair, burn a vigil, lace collar – images mark the moment and woman.
Margaret,
I really loved reading this. It brought tears to my eyes. Definitely a wonderful tribute for such an incredible woman! Thank you for sharing.
Denise,
I know you know how much I love writing about the news in my poems, so this prompt is one I love. My struggle is choosing only one news item to address. Your poem is a wonderful mentor. I love everything about it, especially the dialogue and the challenges to laws and how they’re enforced.
For my poem I turned to Bob Woodward’s new book “Rage” after seeing Rick Wilson tweet “Read pp 116-117.” I also can’t help but reflect on that seminole question from the Watergate hearings.
PP 116-118
“What did the president know and when did he know it?”
Let him talk
Talk uncloaks truth
Push play
Record
In the situation room
A situational gathering
Intelligence chiefs from
FBI, CIA present
Classified briefing to
Adrenal addled, ADHD POTUS
Subject line: Election security
Subject line: Foreign power interference
Pervasive Russian messaging campaign
Goal: Weaken and Divide
Vote count accurate assurances
Sophisticated Russian malware in
Florida manned systems
Awaiting activation
Malware vote erasure
Reduce democratic vote counts
The Russians are here
The Russians are here
To duplicate & intensify interference
Go public
Tell the people
Good tradecraft
Top priority: Election security
Top priority: Election meddling
There is a cost to pay
There is a price to pay
There is a question:
“Why’d you do that?”
His RAGE against the truth.
What did the president know and when did he know it?
Record
Push play
Talk unlocks truth
Let him talk
—Glenda Funk
Oh, Glenda, I had to go to download Rage on my Kindle and read those pages. This poem is better than the chapter. We know truth will win–uncloaked and unlocked. Beautiful images, yet the resident rages against truth. He’s going to lose, isn’t he? I have to believe that truth will win.
The repetition is delicious in your poem. The Watergate question and invoking the tapes at the beginning and end is powerful. I also flinched on the two “The Russians are coming.” It’s so scary that we aren’t more concerned about the travesty of “Malware vote erasure” and “Reduce democratic vote counts.” Oh, Lord, help us!
Thanks for sharing your poem, as I said, it was better than the book. I think poems are a nice way to get the news, (except about otters, Scott.)
Glenda, I loved the lines “let him talk, talk uncloaks truth.” It’s powerful, yet brief. Also, the image of push play and record made the situation very vivid in my mind.
Glenda-boom! That’s it. Just boom! You said it all, in all its awfulness…
Glenda, you always open our eyes with great strategy : let him talk…..talk uncloaks truth! What a line. I loved these also:
Top priority: Election security
Top priority: Election meddling
There is a cost to pay
There is a price to pay
There is a question:
The repeated words with slight changes get noticed!! Powerful.
Holy geez, Glenda — Your voice is indeed a voice of RAGE. How perfect a poem! The list is so treasonous, so horrific. I do not understand how this man is still in the White House. He is criminal beyond all specters, a ghoul. We are moments away from this rage turning to fires. Your voice here is so important, so clarifying at the degree to which our country is about to explode. Heaven help us all. Susie
I was intrigued by a news story about the Metronome clock in Manhattan’s Union Square that has been changed as part of an art installment to reflect the “climate change deadline.” The Mercator Research Institute on Global Commons and Climate Change has this clock running on their website along with more information about the global CO2 budget: http://www.mcc-berlin.net/en/research/co2-budget.html
The Wall of Irreversibility
It sounds like a super power
and I suppose it could be
if only it were on our side.
But it’s not.
It’s against us.
Yet we continue creating it.
With each passing day
the Mercator Carbon Clock
counts down the time.
Its seconds click off –
you’d think no slower
or faster than real time.
But with each passing day
we burn away more and more
of our global CO2 budget.
Always overspend.
Always in debt.
Live beyond our means.
It has never worked against us more.
The Earth will refuse to absorb
any more of our ignorance and greed.
She will shutter out
our reckless abandonment.
Twenty-five years remain.
If only those seconds were
the seconds of real time.
But they’re not.
Continuing our path
of want and need
will whittle it down to nine.
The Wall of Irreversibility.
We are going to hit it.
It’s just a matter of time.
“The Earth will refuse to absorb
any more of our ignorance and greed.”
So true, and so frightening. and we are not slowing as we should.
We are going to hit it. I wish I didn’t know this. I feel so out of control when it comes to climate change. Our little efforts are minute. Thanks for this stark reminder.
Denise,
This is frightening. Thank you for sharing your poem and the article.
Enough of this…
Oh, what “reckless abandonment” we are guilty of…
Here’s to a Green New Deal ASAP.
Denise,
So much to love about this poem. Time is not on our side. Your lines remind me of song lyrics: “Tim keeps on spinning, spinning into the future,” for example. We are a nation of excess, and you capture this with
We must act now but face so many crises.
—Glenda
With the passing of Ruth Bader Ginsburg, I have learned that I have never learned about her. I took this prompt as an opportunity to do so. Here is the link to the NPR article I have chosen to pull words from: https://www.npr.org/2020/09/18/100306972/justice-ruth-bader-ginsburg-champion-of-gender-equality-dies-at-87
She is dead
“You owe her your life” is all I hear
When words of her work have never reached my ears
Ruth Bader Ginsburg
Conveniently left out of my history books
And I am ashamed of my confused look
Champion of Gender Equality
It feels as though she is not allowed to be mourned
Because the hope for our future is now worn
“Tough as nails”
Battling the cancers of our country along with her own
So many have said she now has a better home
Thought to be an unlikely pioneer
She even lived in my state at Fort Sill
How have I never heard of the woman with iron will
I wrote about RBG as well. I felt I needed to find out more about her, like you. The line ” Battling the cancers of our country along with her own” is true and poignant. I hope we can all be better for having learned better from her.
Gracie,
You’re learning about RBG now. That matters. We all have so much to learn. Watch the documentary on Netflix. It’s called “RBG.” You’ll love it. And I’ve you want to learn more about some iconic feminist leaders, watch the series “Mrs. America” on HULU. Much of it is historically accurate, and it will give you an introduction to the second wave feminist movement.
—Glenda
Gracie,
So much has been left out of our history books, hasn’t it? She was already winning landmark gender equality cases when I was in high school. What a life she has led. Your poem and many others this week are helping me learn more about her.
I like the format of your poem with the short line, followed by a couplet. Margaret also mentioned what I think is my favorite line: “Battling the cancers of our country along with her own” — so very powerful. Thank you.
Oh dear, Gracie. Is it true that she was conveniently left out of history books? I hope not in the future. I love this tribute to her. Iron will indeed and articulate as well. If you have not seen the film RBG, you must. I was impressed that she fought for equality for all not just women.
Bravo! Not in the history books! However, her impressive and contagious grit helped her not give Up or make excise, blending her word and her fortitude to do unlikely things in her day. Thanks for crafting this beautiful tribute!
The news source of my poem is an NPR article,
https://www.npr.org/2020/09/11/897692090/how-big-oil-misled-the-public-into-believing-plastic-would-be-recycled
In case I fail with my “bold” characters – this is an acrostic.
Damning details of deception by Big Oil and Gas
Unsuspecting consumers convinced:
Plastic is recyclable
Lies ongoing, more than 30 years now,
Internal documents by industry indicate infeasibility of recycling
Cheaper and easier to make new plastic out of oil
Image of recyclable plastic purposefully promoted for enormous profit
Tempting consumers to buy more, while plastic litter languishes in landfills
Yogurt tubs, water bottles, milk jugs, bags, containers, packaging, take out . . . .
Maureen, what a creative approach to the prompt! It has been so long since I have seen a poem in acrostic form. The word you chose, duplicity’ is so powerful in connection with your article. Thank you for sharing 🙂
There is so much to rant and rail against in this discovery, seeing it condensed here does nothing to stem the anger I feel in reading it. Love the term Duplicity and format, helping to keep the messaging focused. This alliteration is powerful: “litter languishes in landfills.” I feel like we are ALL languishing in one giant landfill of lies. The last line ending on “take out…” reminds me of “take out the trash” but also how we have all been “taken out” by this mess. Oh, how to reverse this. What now? A great piece to both reflect and force forward thinking.
Maureen,
An acrostic is perfect for your poem. There’s an environmentalist (forgot his name) who said nearly twenty years ago we recycle “diddly point squat.” I shared a video of him w/ students many times, and every time a kid wanted to write a paper on recycling or offer recycling as a solution for an environmental problem I pushed back and made them learn about the reality of recycling. Truth is much recycling produces toxins and waste that leach into the environment. The only way to deal w/ our plastic problem is to stop using plastics. Anyway, Ted Talk over. I love your poem. Thank you.
—Glenda
Maureen—this is great! It should be shared with every science class across the land. Duplicity. We have all been duped…
Love the acrostic; well chosen words define the word along the margin. Sharp and clever. Tone is powerful thanks to well chosen words. Focus narrows.
Oh, Maureen,
What a powerful acrostic and strong word you chose. You riled us up with your beautiful poem of this news story. Thank you for shedding light on it.
As LLP said in her poem today, we are in a “gutter of greed” thanks to systems like big oil and all the ties with government. How many of us would have to refuse their plastics and demand more plant protein plastics?
What a thought-provoking poem, Denise! Thank you for honoring Ahmaud Arbery. The piercing truth of this stanza really shakes me in my core:
Thank you for this approach to news…to make more sense of content through poetry.
Thank you, Maureen.
I could not bring myself to write about today’s issues. There were simply too many to choose from. Instead, I remembered a first-person article I had shared with my students as we read about the Triangle Shirtwaist Fire. It moved them, and it continues to move me. I guess this is a version of found poetry–many of the words belong to the reporter who witnessed the event…
https://trianglefire.ilr.cornell.edu/primary/testimonials/ootss_WilliamShepherd.html
Eyewitness at the Triangle
The nation learned of the horrible fire at the Triangle Shirtwaist Company through the eyewitness account of a United Press reporter who happened to be in Washington Square on March 25, 1911. He phoned in details while watching the tragedy unfold. At the other end of the telephone, young Roy Howard telegraphed Shepherd’s story to the nation’s newspapers. This document first published in the Milwaukee Journal, March 27, 1911.
Love Amongst the Flames
The young man helped a girl to the windowsill
Held her out away from the building
Let her drop.
Deliberately.
Then a second, and a third.
“A terrible chivalry”
None resisted; all chose their lesser fate
80 feet. Seven floors.
Quick death or death by fire.
The choice was easy, I suppose…
Then…
One last girl.
His girl.
Her arms circled his neck for a last kiss goodbye…
He held her, too, out into space.
And dropped her.
And then he was on the sill
Heated air lifted his coat; fluttered his trousers.
Leaping, as if to catch up with his love,
He followed in flight.
His hat remained on his head.
“I saw his face before they covered it.
You could see in it that he was a real man.
He had done his best.”
Oh, Gayle, this has me weeping. What an extraordinary way to process/understand this tragic news story. What a beautifully sad poem you have written.
Gayle, I am speechless. This is a tragedy that I have never heard of before. The flow and format of your piece has took my breathe away in the lines of “Deliberately.” and “And dropped her.” In those moments you can feel your heart stop in horror and realization of the situation. Thank you for sharing your piece 🙂
What a devastating and beautiful tribute poem. I am typing through tears. This image “Heated air lifted his coat; fluttered his trousers.” like he is some kind of angel above – and for a moment – I wished he would be able to fly away. That they all had been able. The gruesome images of 911, and people jumping from the towers. Similar. And other factory fires like this since have also been in the news. What a terrible decision of heroism. Beautifully and painfully captured here. Who among us would have done what differently in that same place and time? Harrowing imagery. But thank you. Sometimes, it’s good to cry.
Gayle, Wow! What a profound love story. Reminds me of the jumpers from the Twin Towers.
Gayle, a few of these lines really sent chills down my spine. The ending in particular, “He had done his best,” was heartbreaking to read. The line “He followed in flight” was also really impactful, as I could imagine them being joined in the air instead of on the ground. Beautiful!
Gayle,
Thank you for sharing your found poem from this heart-wrenching reporter’s view. I’ve only heard of the Triangle Shirtwaist Company fire as a textbook version. The article, and even more, your poem puts us into the lives of real people. It is so sad and rich at the same time. What brave souls. Thank you for giving us this gift today.
Gayle, wow! Your poem is so powerful! I love found poems and you share this event with such powerful images along with such a tender tone. Stunning! Thanks, too, for sharing the link!
Animals
There can be no pacts
between lions
and men,
Achilles tells us
in the Iliad (at least
that’s what the
translator said
he said (and actually,
since I didn’t
double check this,
it’s what I think
he said in the
Iliad — at least what
I think the translator
said Achilles said
in the Iliad)).
But that is not germane
to the point.
This poem is about
otters.
The cute, lovable
otters that you can
see on the internet (and,
I suppose irl, too)
holding hands, cuddling
with each other, swimming
happily — merrily I might
even say — along on
their backs. The
mothers even wrap
their pups in seaweed
according to the PBS
video I watched.
William Carlos
William’s was right,
“It is difficult
to get the news from poems”
which is why
I’m not going to
tell you what I
found out about
otters.
Let’s just say “Informed
Consent,” apparently,
does not exist in the
Animal Kingdom, nor
does, again, apparently,
squeamishness about
Necrophilia.
I get it, alright, there are
no pacts between lions
and men, Achilles (maybe)
tells Hector before striking
him down and savagely
exacting his revenge for
Patroclus’s death by
pulling Hector’s corpse
behind his chariot.
And now that I think of it,
a better poem would note
how savage and animalistic
Achilles becomes, and
Is this what vengeance does?
Is it justifiable to shed our
humanity when atrocities
befall a lover —
But I’ll have none of that now,
because, now, this poem is about
otters and
baby seals —
I’ve said too much.
I want to keep Williams’s
lines in mind and
stop this now,
I want to leave you with
your childhood intact,
your innocence, if you will,
unblemished,
your Christmas treat
of watching Jim Henson’s
“Emmet Otter’s Jug-Band
Christmas” with your family
a joyful experience
to hold in your mind’s eye
and cherish it
forever
(which will happen
as long as you don’t
research the
dark side of
otters).
Scott–this is delightful!! All the unsaid issues… and your word choice, and allusions, and hints at dark things and… the warning.
This may be my favorite part, though:
Let’s just say “Informed
Consent,” apparently,
does not exist in the
Animal Kingdom, nor
does, again, apparently,
squeamishness about
Necrophilia.
I have read this three times now, and loved it more each time. I will NOT do the research!
What a clever poem! I love how conversational you are with us, leading us, baiting us, then leaving us to our own research! (I will not!) So fun.
Scott, your piece is so fun to read! I love the conversational nature you chose, along with a feeling that we are following your stream of consciousness. I am now entirely too concerned about the dark side of otters. Thank you for sharing your piece 🙂
Scott,
You’re fast becoming a go-to read for me. I love athe Iliad and can’t help but think about the repetition of Achilles brutality in dragging Hector’s dead body behind that chariot day after day a and Hector never heeding Andromache’s repeated warnings. I wonder what Williams would say about poetry and the news now. Sometimes poetry offers more news than certain news sources. I’m also keenly attuned to the Disneyification of animals, which I see as the motivation for some folks to attempt petting the bison in Yellowstone. Happens every year. Keep not writing poems about these things you’re not writing about. I’m off to learn about otters from Discovery, which my children say taught them a lot about sex. Should be fun. Favorite lines:
—Glenda
OK, Scott, so funny!
I searched exactly for “the dark side of otters.”
I hadn’t known before, but you made me do it! I did get some news from your poem today.
Bravo!
Denise, first of all, thank you for referencing my prompt as well as the others from our amazing community. Your poem continues to touch me. The “courageous creed” rings in my ears!
I wrote about Chadwick Boseman this morning because when you suggested reading news, my People magazine with him on the cover beckoned me to read and write. It’s a work day so I’m thankful I was awake early enough to write before the craziness hits. Thank you, Denise. ?
“Inhale and exhale this moment. Thank God
for the unique beauties and wonders of the day.
Whether it be clear skies and sun
or clouded over with gloom.”
-Chadwick Boseman (a few weeks before his death)
Keep Fighting
Racism
Injustice
Brutality
Pandemic
Hatred
Unmeasurable death
Loss resonating
Metastatic murdering
Colon cancer
Worldwide grief
He persevered
Shielded others
From suffering
Died in peace
Died quietly
Super Hero
Wakanda Forever
Oh, Stacey, thank you. It has been a pleasure. I have used your prompt several times over the last few months. It’s the first time in my life that I’ve wanted to respond to events and news with poetry. I definitely give this community the credit for that!
Your poem is beautiful. I love the short lines, and, of course, the closing line is perfect. I’m so glad you got to spend time relaxing with your People magazine this morning.
Stacey, no recent loss has caught me more off guard than Chadwick Boseman’s. I feel his absence. I struggle with accepting it. Your line-up of what he overcame, coming at us like bullet points, coming at him like bullets until they became too many. The separation of Super and Hero works in two ways (as adjective and compound noun). Forever with Wakanda.
Wakanda forever. Yes. I think he grew in stature because of the way he went=–quietly and with dignity. YOu gave him to us with brevity and beauty.
Thank you for paying homage to Chadwick Boseman…thank you for the beautiful quote by him, at the outset. “He persevered.” Yes, a true hero. His family and the world lost him much, much, much too young.
Stacey Joy,
I ❤️ your inclusion of Chadwick’s words and the sparse reality of your poem. I’m glad you arose early today to share your joy w/ us. ??
—Glenda
Stacey, I love the way this poem delivers punch after punch, powerful pops of the harsh realities of today and there’s Chadwick, quietly passing away. This left me gob-smacked and teary-eyed.
Stacey, your poem is so perfectly crafted through precise words that resonate. I felt completely moved by the lines “He persevered/Shielded others/From suffering”. Such beautiful words and actions…..something I wish we could witness more of rather than the vile actions and words assaulting me on the nightly news.
What’s She to Me?
Who was Ruth Bader Ginsberg?
I thought she was famous because she was old!
I’d never heard it was because she was bold.
When she was doing her most famous work,
I was so young, a new wife and new mother.
I had no idea what she was doing for “the other”.
During those days of the Women’s Marches
They did not seem not to be about me.
I’m a black woman, you see.
After Brown versus Board of Education
In those struggles for integration
We thought it was changes in segregation
That were going to change our nation.
A little selfish, yes, you see, I was not paying attention.
When women’s rights the evening news would mention.
I was a married mother; what was abortion to me?
What did I care about gay rights? I was blind you see.
Now that I read and learn her powers
Now that I see she was not theirs, but ours.
I’ve opened my eyes to the needs of others.
Seeing I must speak up for my sisters and brothers.
Even when the core issues do not affect just me,
If they improve life for others, my task, you see
Is to stand with them, to join the fight.
Like Ruth Bader Ginsberg, though without her might,
Working together, we can help make things right.
Wow, Anna,
I am constantly amazed and blessed by your poems. You can craft quite a story and use rhyming! It doesn’t sound forced. I can learn from this stanza of yours:
I could relate to be focused on my own family when the kids were young. I so appreciate your honesty today. Thank you.
Anna– your message sings true–how often do we forget that every person’s problem should be ours as well? I am the reflection of your poem–the women’s movement was mine (yes, I am “of that age”) and the issue of segregation seemed remote. and now they have converged. Hopefully we will come out the other side with a better understanding.
Anna,
Your poem reminds me how RBG fought for the rights of men as well as women, how diminishing one diminishes all. Like you I’ve often been caught up in my own daily struggles, and these make following the lives of change-makers difficult. Never too late to learn about the extraordinary lives of those who serve.
—Glenda
Anna, I really admire your person insight to RBG as you heard about her when you were a young married mother. Oh, we are learning so much and our eyes are being opened. Yes, I hope “working together, we can help make things right” and follow in her courageous steps.
Denise, your clever use of the word “exercise” in stanza two really grabbed my attention and for me, brought to mind a hierarchy of rights — exercising freedoms and power above simply exercising for health and wellness — and slapped me in the face with a statement about even the simplest of those rights being denied to some of our fellow citizens.
Suzanne, thank you. Your words are a good reminder too. Such injustice–even on giving the simplest of rights.
Wow! Denise, your poem brings tears to my eyes as I reflect on the family who lost their son and reflect on this history of our nation’s creed – literal and figurative. You’ve captured the story, tersely described the “creed” which most of us know to mean “we believe”, then challenged us to to change…with your including closing”call for change”!
Your use of alliteration and a repetitive pattern give you poem power.
Thanks for getting us to think about what’s happening and encouraging us to read, reflect and write.
Thank you, Anna.
September 21, 2014
By Nancy White
“On Sunday September 21, 2014 a fatal traffic collision occurred in the 3900 block of North River Road.”
That was my son lying there in the road.
My sidekick, my joy
My baby, my boy.
“The collision occurred when a bicycle operated by Philip White, 28 years of age, an Oceanside resident, was struck from behind by a Kia.”
I remember when we taught him to ride his first two-wheeler, no training wheels!
In the playground—Whee!
He took off, so free!
“The suspect vehicle had damage to the passenger side along with front-end damage including a missing headlight assembly.”
Amongst the mangled metal he lay.
No one knew for hours.
Later the driver would say, “I thought I hit a light pole.”
My son would like to say, “Uhh, no. You hit ME.
You KNEW, but you left me in the debris!”
“The hit and run vehicle and the driver were located in the city of San Diego and (the driver who shall not be named) was contacted and interviewed.”
The alcohol had left his system. He had waited
Till he came forward to say,
“It might have been me. I didn’t see.
I may have fallen asleep. It may have been me.”
(The parts that were found matched his ugly Alien Green Kia Soul, the one with the missing parts parked in his garage.)
“The family of Philip White was out of town when the collision occurred.”
They were in Venice, Italy, to be exact.
On their second day of their trip of a lifetime.
Of course we couldn’t stay.
We got booked on a plane to fly home the next day.
“The investigation is ongoing.”
It lasted two years. To bring someone to trial
Who needed time to figure out his story.
We knew the story and our son was gone forever.
The trial came and went.
So much time spent
(To hear those unbelievable words: NOT GUILTY!)
Six years later to the day
We remember our Philip as we gather as a family
We will laugh and cry and and celebrate his life
Eating good Mexican food and drinking margaritas,
Things he loved with people he held dear.
Our Philip in spirit joins in from above
After all is said and done, all that remains is love.
Nancy—my heart is broken for you. Your loss, and your recounting—I’m crying. Here is hope that this anniversary is filled with love and memories of better times…
Thank you, Gayle! ?
?Thanks, Gayle.
Oh, Nancy, I’m so sorry for your loss. What a tragic story. The way you have woven the news into the poem with the details from a mother’s heart and the memories around it is just heartbreaking and infuriating. What an anniversary, and you came in strength and love to write a poem. I hope it was good to be here today. May your celebration of his life on this anniversary be full of love.
Thank you, Denise! ?
It’s amazing the connections poems show! My experience was similar, but without the tragic end. Driving home from work one day, I saw a motor scooter lying on the side of the road. It was near our home and looked like the one my son rode. It was his! He’d been hit, thrown from his cycle, and taken to the hospital! Whew! He survived with minor injuries!
Your descriptive poem raised those heart clutching memories, drew me into your pain, then releases me to give thanks with you for the fond memories of your dear Philip.
Oh Anna, I didn’t know you went through something similar. How horrible to see that scooter and realize it was your son’s. Heart clutching, indeed! Glad he was OK. There are so many cyclists in danger these days. Drivers are so much more reckless.
What a precious, sad, beautiful poem. What an extraordinary loss. I appreciate that you shared this with us.
?
Nancy, I can’t imagine your pain and outrage. Thank you for sharing the memory of your beloved Philip with us here.
Thanks Sharon. ?
Nancy,
This heartbreaking poem answers questions I had after reading an earlier poem of yours. It’s just a tragic way to lose a child. I have no words except to say thank you for your vulnerability and trust in us. I hope writing offers some comfort. I hope sharing your pain relieves some of the burden your heart must feel. Hugs and love to you.
—Glenda
Thanks for this, Glenda. ?
You have told the story well, Nancy. May you have a wonderful celebration of his life today enjoying the things he loved. I hope you are in his garden today.
Susan O. — ? Thank you!
Nancy, thank you for the strength to share this loss with us today. I am heart broken for you.
[From the front page of the St. Louis Post-Dispatch, the story of Alex Garcia, from Honduras — sought sanctuary at the Christ Church United Church of Christ in Maplewood, MO. Now 3 years keeping ICE at bay, he remains torn from his wife and 5 kids who live in Poplar Bluff… 150 miles from STL; they visit on weekends. He came alone as a teenager and built a life in this small town where the community, even though rabidly conservative, embraced him as part of the community. He is still denied any rights in the wreckage of this country under this administration…as they insist on deporting this man because he crossed here illegally as a kid, seeking safety from crime, violence, and poverty in Honduras. Even our representatives and the Maplewood mayor have pleaded for Alex to be given the right to remain in this country, all to no avail – as yet.]
Who Is That at the Door?
Scrambling,
Alex Garcia first fled
violence,
abject poverty,
a Honduran doom,
crossed the desert,
the Rio Grande
built a home,
found peace,
a wife,
a family man,
in a small town community,
the heartland.
The heartless
jackboots of ICE
came knocking,
anxious for red laces;
(echoes of Ann in Amsterdam)
after sixteen years
working hard,
building a family,
building a life,
Alex, torn from
a devoted wife,
five children —
Alex Garcia,
supporting, loving
father,
till the jackboots
thudded to the door.
Alex fled
miles from his home
to a small protestant church
that agreed
humanity and love come first.
Three years, 1095 days
in sanctuary, yet
his family toils in darkened hope.
With ICE on the other side
of the door,
Alex waits.
by Susie Morice©
[With a bit of research, I discovered the white supremacist movement in the U.S., includes a group called Hammerskins, a neo-Nazi group that laces boots in red representing the blood of minorities they attack and in white for “white power.” Actually, it was unnerving to read about the various white-power groups in this country and what they seek to accomplish. You can Google the Southern Poverty Law Center for a glossary of terms used by these groups. Egads.]
Susie, thank you for bringing this story to the forefront today. You so eloquently tell his journey and the desperation of his family. The references (jackboots and Ann in Amsterdam) nail it. I spent some time with the SPLC map of hate groups just after the last election – not a fun exploration. eGod!
Susie, I’ve read about this case. It really is reminiscent of Ann Frank and Corrie Ten Boom. It is heartbreaking to see our country, and my home state, swimming in hatred for humanity. This administration is the most blatantly racist in our history.
makes me wonder who will be next. I fear tor teachers and intellectuals should Trump be re-elected. ?
—Glenda
Susie, the poems today are creating memories I’d like to forget! It’s not your fault.
I recall, when I first moved to San Diego in 1986 and was teaching high school there, that we faculty were required to attend awareness workshop on the neo-Nazi groups in our area. We were taught to note the symbols some members wore on their fingers to reflect the dates of Hitler’s birthday and to be aware of the logo on clothing items they wore; (Their logo consists of a red circle containing two crossed battleaxes), and comments the young skin-heads, they were called, made in “secret” talk that may come out in their speaking or writing.
(Here’s a link to the NY Times article about it in 1986 NEO-NAZIS’ DREAM OF A RACIST TERRITORY IN PACIFIC NORTHWEST REFUSES TO DIE )
(echoes of Ann in Amsterdam). That says it all. Susie, thank you for reminding us that this struggle is not over even as new ones arise every day…
Wow, “the heartless jackboots of ICE came knocking.” You used a powerful image that helps us see ICE in a darker light. And anxious for those red laces you taught us about, as they came to get Alex Garcia. Oh, my.
He’s in sanctuary while
Your poem is vibrant and rich. May his waiting bring him home soon to his family.
Susie, your poem is so compelling and terrifying! The research you shared is so absolutely terrifying to me. I especially appreciated your allusion to Ann as I feel like we are living during a time that is much like World War II when Jews were being exterminated. As I am reading and writing tonight, the news is playing in the background, and I am appalled to be in a country when the leader spouts such hateful, derogatory comments. It’s so freaking depressing! I feel like Alex behind the door. What horror will I wake to…what new horror awaits!
Notorious
“We honor a trailblazing icon”
“in the fight for gender equality and justice”
“hearts mourn the death”
of the Notorious RBG
“a catalyst for change”
“fought tirelessly”
“salute Justice Ginsburg”
a woman of
“resilient courage,”
“strength,”
“character”
“often overlooked”
because she was she
not he.
that none of us are free,
until we are all free.
Women belong in
all the places
decisions are being made.
Thank you,
RBG
Thank you, indeed! What a remarkable woman. Thank you for bringing attention to RBG with these descriptors. Someone tweeted this morning that she handed the baton off and we must carry it forward. I hope we have her strength.
Thank you, Kate. I fully agree that “ Women belong in
all the places/decisions are being made”. RBG exemplified this for us. She will always be remembered.
Kate,
I salute RBG w/ you. She’s my shero. I wish I’d known about women like her when I was a teen. I like the embodiment of quotes in your poem. Thank you.
—Glenda
Kate,
I am enjoying reading all these RBG tributes today. My favorite line of yours has to be the end, “Thank you, RBG” It’s so personal and reminds us to stop to consider her contributions. I like the way you fit all the quotes together in that middle stanza and then this:
I heard a story about how she was told by Sandra Day O’Connor when she joined the Supreme Court that if it would have been during a different era of equality, they both would have joined law firms and retired as partners someday. But instead, they blazed new trails. Such resilience and hope.
Thanks for your poem today.
Denise,
Thank you for this inspiring prompt today. I needed this writing so much! I love that you revisited a poem about Ahmaud. What an outrage – and it deserves to be kept in the forefront. Thank you for bringing his memory and injustice back. I chose to write about an incident in Glynn County (Ahmaud’s place of murder) back in 1979. I was waiting on a school bus to take me to school in the same neighborhood where he was shot. I didn’t make it to school that day….but I thought it was fitting to bring some Brunswick news to the forefront a few decades prior…
#trending
Do you remember
#the21stOfSeptember,
2020
The Story Behind the Rise of Schitt (’s Creek)
#TrumpKillsPuertoRico
It’s #WayTooEarly for this schitt
Oh, Jennifer, it is #WayTooEarly! Although it’s afternoon where I am, I had to look up and see what was trending this morning in the U.S.
Then I enjoyed listening to Earth, Wind and Fire. I’m glad this day didn’t pass without me noticing!
Thanks for making me smile and weep today.
Jennifer,
Im not much of a TV or Netflix watcher, so I’m not sure about the story, but I sure do love the sound of the creek. Is the song by Earth, Wind, and Fire about this? It starts the same way – “do you remembah…the twenty first night of Septembah……” Love your use of hashtags!
I have yet to watch Schitt’s Creek, though I keep hearing that I should. I decided to use the trending #hashtags/headlines from twitter today as the found phrases. The first one as a datestamp, the second as a summary of 2020, the third and 4th as emphasis.
Jennifer,
I check what’s trending on Twitter every day, so for me this is a clever approach to the prompt. This morning I thought about a the Emmys “Schitt’s Creek” won and then thought about how we’re up shit’s Creek w/out a paddle.
—Glenda
Lol. Thanks, Jennifer! This was fun. (And, truth be told, I wish I would have thought of this!)
Pull it together for us, why don’t you!! This is great–love Schitt’s Creek, the reference, and the chance to smile this morning!
Jennifer — You just made me smile…it isn’t funny, but it is perfect… We are in a schitt-storm of woe. Hugs, Susie
Jennifer,
I love the use of hashtags in this poem. Also love the allusions to Schitt’s Creek; that show is hilarious! Thank you for sharing this trending poem.
Resending
The Brunswick News, December 1979
Two Slightly Injured
two slightly injured
on Kings Way
at 7:32 this morning
on St. Simons Island
in an accident
/bullshit! that was no accident/
Glynn County police searching for an elderly woman driving a white vehicle
/it wasn’t her fault/
Thomas Desjean
the drunk postal worker
was passing
in a T intersection
when the white car
pulled into his lane
/correction: he was in her lane/
he then lost control of his vehicle
/try this: he was already out of control/
and struck
a 13-year-old girl
Kimberly Lynn Haynes
waiting on a school bus
/me! that was me/
and then collided
with a tree
the Haynes child
was in good condition
/wait, WHAT?!
good condition?
whose opinion was this/
at Brunswick Hospital
at press time
/get this: Desjean
was treated
and released at the hospital/
police are searching
for the elderly woman
for failing to stop
and render aid in an accident
/let me tell you
who stopped
and rendered aid:
two grandmotherly
black nurses
pure angels
on their way
to work
at the Brunswick Hospital…
let me tell you
who they put in MY ambulance with me:
Thomas Desjean….
let me tell you
who brought me
a Snoopy book
and an apology
a week later
so he could move on
with his pitiful life:
Thomas Desjean….
let me tell you
who was NOT
in good condition
as reported at press time and still has nightmares about that morning: Kimberly Lynn Haynes
let me tell you
who worked a miracle
that day:
God/
http://www.ethicalela.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/09/image01555408859248099005.jpeg
Kim, learning that you were the topic midway through the poem/article jump started my brain and my heart! Your use of /side notes/ as the narrator works so well. The / punctuation mark to add slant, both in form and shape, a slash (a back slash at that), has me thinking about other ways to read punctuation this morning. So glad you survived to write this poem.
Oh, my word! When I read your first comment, I wondered why you didn’t go to school that day. Then, like Jennifer, I got to the middle before I realized you were the one who was struck. I thought maybe you had witnessed something, but you were actually the victim. Wow! Thanks for writing this this morning, and I hope some of the nightmares will be left here on this page in this community. So glad you were part of that miracle.
It sounds like they didn’t interview you as a witness. What a memory!
Kim, so hard to read of the trauma and injustices you had to bear. I’m so sorry and I hope your nightmares subside. Our son was a victim of a hit and run. He didn’t survive and there was no justice. I know about nightmares and PTSD. This is heartbreaking and not OK. My heart goes out to you.
Nancy,
My deepest sympathies in the loss of your son – my heart breaks for you. You are right – there is no justice when our loved ones are taken. I’m so sorry. I want to hug you.
Kim,
This is a WOW! story. Yes, “this was no accident.” Drunk drivers choose to get behind the wheel and drive. Why does society provide cover for some of them? And not for others? I love the way you interrupt “the news” to tell the truth. And that accompanying photo underscores the seriousness of the wreck. I can’t help but think about the man showing up w/ the stuffed animal to ease his burden. In an uncanny coincidence, I received a text this morning from a former student confessing something I could have lived fine w/out knowing.
—Glenda
OK–I was reading along, and then realized this was YOU!! Wow. 1. Glad you can tell the story. 2. How often do we gloss over the aftermath and the struggle of the victim(s) after the big news is over? Thanks for the powerful and eloquent reminder.
Oh my gosh, Kim — This is a bolt of lightning piercing a nightmare! Holy crapolini! The voice…your voice… the fist waving voice was sheer power in this re-creation of that horror. I am stunned as I read this, each time I read this, and I’m reading it over and over. The drunk driver… this is infuriating, the way the news did so little justice to what happened to you. I lost a dear cousin at the prime of his youth to a f’ing drunk driver, and I’m feeling the rage. My cousin Jackie, who wrote with us through April 2019, will need to read this. She lost her brother — my fun, hilarious, loving, imaginative, ingenious cousin — on a two-lane in southeast Missouri to a drunk driver. None of us will ever get over that…it stirs such an anger to read your poem here this evening/late afternoon. I thank heavens you survived this well enough to tell the story. I know this is not the least bit gone from you psyche…the newspaper might be yellowed with age, but the travesty is loud and clear and right here. It had to be hard to rekindle this tinderbox, but I am glad that you did, my friend. I’m so grateful you are here. Love, Susie
Kim, thanks for adding the article. That is priceless. Again, we are all so thankful for the outcome of this crash.
How easy
has it been
for you
to turn your
head from
two hundred
thousand dead,
and instead,
push full
steam ahead
with your lies?
And we deserve an answer. I appreciate the brevity of your poem today, the straight gut-punch.
Kevin,
Amen and amen. What a compelling question! I love the simple but powerful way you asked this.
Yes, simple and compelling is right, Kim. And those rhymes in there make it wonderful to read. It rolls off the tongue, but for that charged pause before “push full steam ahead.” Thank you, Kevin. It is good to keep this in the news.
This poem is clear and concise, which makes it all all the more powerful. The rhyme reverberates in my ears even after I have finished reading it. Thank you for sharing this.
Kevin, I agree with everyone else. I love the musicality you craft in your poems. Thanks for writing this! (And I wish this wasn’t a rhetorical question.)
Whew. that is all.