Inspiration

What do you carry? In a day, in our life, we carry a great many things in a purse, in a pocket, in a bag, on our shoulders. Write a poem about the things you carry (or do not carry).

Note: This inspiration came from Tim O’Brien’s The Things They Carried.

Process Pointers

These can be concrete objects (chapstick, keys, sticky notes, lucky charm, crumbs, tissue, book, extra this or that- depending on your family or need for snacks) or more abstract things like emotions, self-doubt, secrets, what-you-really-want-to-say-to-someone.

To ponder a life beyond your own, try imagining what others carry (like your parents, child, loved one) or, if you have recently read a book or story, what does a character carry?

Try weaving in some sound and imagery techniques:

  • alliteration (repetition of initial consonant sounds);
  • anaphora (repetition of a word or phrase in successive lines);
  • simile;
  • personification — make an object come alive;
  • apostrophe, talk directly to the object like “Oh, Chapstick, you are so waxy.”

Sarah’s Poem

Things We Carry

I do not carry a purse.
I grew up seeing the purse as a burden.
She who carries a purse,
she is the one
with the tissues, the gum, the bandaid, the comb, the quarter, the mirror, the safety pin, the wetwipe, the toy, the book, the snack.

She is the one
who rummages through the purse with every request from her children for
something.
And when she did not have “it,”
there’d be sighs of disappointment.
“No, honey, ” she’d say.

I just couldn’t carry that.  

Burden.

Disappointing others.

So I do not carry a purse.
And I do not ask for a tissue, a bandaid, a comb, a quarter, a mirror, a safety pin, a wetwipe, a toy, a book, a snack.
But I do accept “it” when my friend with a purse offers.
“Thank you, honey,” I say.

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Michelle Hubbard

Inside my backpack
I carry everything
Gum, mints, tissues
Chapstick, lotion, Advil

I carry my laptop
I carry my chargers
Pens, pencils, highlighters, sticky notes

I carry the weight of 100 quizzes yet to be graded
I carry the fatigue of a 2nd-year teacher who hasn’t has spring break yet
I carry the stress of a wedding that’s 4 months away

I carry so much
It’s hard to let others take the burden
But sometimes, I must put down my backpack
To let everything go
Only if for a weekend

Gail Saathoff

The third stanza captures the burdens of teaching well. May this weekend be one that restores your spirits. It does get easier in many ways, just hang on for spring break!

Gail Saathoff

Friday Afternoon

The desk is straightened,
The lights go out.
I sling over my shoulder
The memory of victorious smile.
The lingering lines of a poem
A burst of laughter
A connected conversation . . .
Today the load is light,
And I will carry it gladly.

Glenda Funk

This is how Friday should be: “Today the load is light.” Love the lingering poetry image.

Michelle Hubbard

I love the line “today the load is light/ And I will carry it gladly” because it makes me feel the joy many of us feel when we get to the weekend and the rest and relaxation we can enjoy!

Susie Morice

Sarah — I really walked in your shoes in your poem. I really do not like carrying a purse… it’s a burden of stuff that I’d rather avoid. And, yes, I do find myself grateful for friends who are all about the purse, loaded with all things amazing. My holy trinity: wallet (must be pocket-ably small), keys, phone. I pack these like pistols in a black-n-white western. I am never quite sure where to respond to your poems…so I just plunked this here in the “Comment” box. Susie

Glenda M. Funk

Am I the only purse carrier in this crowd? Ha! It’s not the size of a suitcase, more like an oversized clutch. I’d lose the phone, wallet, keys, and pens–always need a purple pen–if I did not have a container in which to carry these items.

Glenda M. Funk

I’m feeling the pressure of this prompt and have decided the best I can do is a fragment of what I’m carrying as I prepare to retire after 38 years teaching, 30 in the same school. I’ll return to this later–maybe.

“Retirement Prep”

“Will you carry car loads of
Stuff home when the year ends?”
My husband’s query echos a life. Will you?
Tote weighty accumulations acquired through
Years of schlepping books, bags, boat loads of supplies
Bulging on shelves, in wardrobes, from drawers, along walls?
Lift the red couch, love seat, chair, ottoman carted from
Home to comfort & create a home, hefty & bulky, too
Ginormous for the trunk of a CRV into a U-Haul?
The anachronistic computer cart displaying
Paraphernalia makes inquires: What about us?
Bobble heads: Batman, symbolic & political;
Robo-Pope, subtle commentary on absurdities &
Evidence god created humor;
Metaphorical Elvis shaking the schoolhouse rock;
Bobble head Bard posing among the crowd,
Reminder eloquence need not be stodgy, boring, benign; that
Walking Dead figure, a knife in the eye of a bloody face,
Visible battle scars, time-worn fading memories.
Who can fixate on the Aunt Bettys when
Class commences & the first bell rings?

Susie Morice

OMG, Glenda, this is hilarious. I have walked this same road. So so so much stuff…all of which I continue to purge… but oh, so slowly. Congratulations on a career invested in kids and words. How marvelous a life that has been for you. Not to say grueling on a routine basis. Ha! I even drive a CRV…the schleppin’ machine of all my various lives. As you mess with this “fragment” as you called it, I will be eager to see where you take this on the journey ahead. Thanks for putting this out there. I totally enjoyed it. Susie

Gail Saathoff

What treasure you’ve collected, and I can only imagine the stories that accompany each item. What a way to hold on to the memories. Best of luck to you in your retirement!

Susie Morice

May I Carry Less

They asked Typhoid Mary,
What is it you carry?
She thought I’ve nothing to share, returned a blank stare,
and mingled with all of the crowd that was there.

They asked Mr. Smith, Mr. Wesson, and Colt,
What is it you carry?
Each pulled up a sleeve, a pant leg, unbuttoned a coat,
proud of the metal, the heat they could tote.

They asked women in Libya, Djibouti, and Yemen,
What is it you carry?
Lips cracked, parched, tilted buckets bone dry,
what purpose the question, they wondered why.

They asked those Copley Square brothers six years ago,
What is it you carry?
Backpacks heavy, the two ambled yet strode with intent,
placed payload, wreaked mayhem, showed no lament.

You ask me today,
What is it you carry?
I’d rather not say, let me push you away,
let go of this sorrow, carry less, find a better tomorrow.

by Susie Morice

Kim

Wow! The things we carry – weapons to hurt others until we can find a “better tomorrow.”

Glenda M. Funk

Your poem speaks to my own thoughts about who should carry guilt and responsibility but refuse to bear any burden. Do those who create weapons bear some blame? That’s a hypothetical, isn’t it. Much to think about here. I like the concrete examples: Typhoid Mary, Same Colt, etc. leading to the idealistic admonition to “carry less, find a better tomorrow.”

Gail Saathoff

This poem is powerful! It makes me want to help carry the burdens of those struggling in our world.

Michelle Hubbard

I love the contrast in your poem! Women in Libya, Djibouti, and Yemen do not share the same view as those in Copley Square. We all carry things but some of us may not realize the weight of the things we carry. Thanks for sharing!

Tiffany Mumm

“Masterpiece”

My stretch marks
are the canyons
you carved into existence.
Your signature on my side;
I’m a masterpiece, now complete.

Glenda Funk

Such a positive way to look at stretch marks. The metaphor functions as both a literal and symbolic representation of a child’s impact on a woman’s life.

Kim

Perfect! I never thought of stretch marks as baby signatures!

Kim

I finally wrote yesterday’s poem – maybe I can double up this weekend, but for now here’s my outdoor poem.

Country Porch Swing

Bees buzzing
Bluebirds baby-feeding
Cardinals cheer-cheering
Crickets chirping
Deer dawdling
Dogs dozing
Dusk day-ending
Frogs fraternizing
Hens homing
Hummingbirds hovering
Lizards lounging
Me mellowing
Pines privatizing
Rabbits rooting
Springtime symphonizing
Squirrels scolding
Swing squeaking
Wind whispering
Whippoorwills welcoming

-Kim Johnson

Susie Morice

Kim — Nothin’ quite like a porch swing in the country. I loved how your verbs took me to your place and alliteration helped the fun of it all. “frogs fraternizing” “squirrels scolding” “dogs dozing.” I’m glad you posted. Susie

Gail Saathoff

The alliteration is so fun to read. “Me mellowing” sounds like a perfect porch swing description!

Alex

“Little Fingers”

His little fingers reach wildly
For what other reason
Than to get used to feeling

My worry follows me
Like a beeping battery-less smoke alarm
Sudden, short, but loud
And maddening

One day his feeling
Will evolve from those little fingers
Will reach out of his heart
Find something real to grasp onto

He’ll walk around with heartache
Just like I did
And I know he’ll make it out
Just like I did

And I will walk around
With the memory of his little fingers
Grasping
Mine

Kim

“And I will walk around with the memory of his little fingers grasping mine” – I love that you already know in this last line that the time that is now so fleeting is becoming a memory. Little fingers don’t stay little long enough. Powerful reminders here.

Tiffany Mumm

Your second stanza resonates with me. That’s exactly what it feels like to be a new parent.

Glenda Funk

I like the comparison of worry to a “bleeping battery.” Indeed, we do carry these memories and worry for children long past their years w/ us.

Susie Morice

Alex — Though I’m light years from the experiences of babies, I love that one essential sensation of those tiny fingers…. it wowed me when my brother’s kids were born, and it sticks with me today… nothing quite like that hold. Susie

Anna J. Small ROSEBORO

Sarah, your poem rights loud and clear! Those thoughts about the responsibilities of parenting made me think about my grandmother (who did carry such a purse as you describe and for many of the same reasons 🙂 . It is to her and those purse carriers of her generation that I write what I carry in my heart.

The Heart Tree

There’s a tree in my heart.
Was it there at the start
Of my life as a wife and a mother,
Through the cares and woes
And the joy that just goes
Along when one lives with another?

The trunk is my past
The part that will last
When the children have come and gone.
They are the branches –
Reaching out, taking chances
Outside in the world and the throng.

This tree in my heart
I hope is a part
Of all I have known and still love.
It’s trite, but it’s true,
But, the growth’s due to you
Who grounded me in God’s love above.

Kim

I particularly love the last verse of this marvelous poem : “but the growth’s due to you who grounded me in God’s love above.” You remind us that at the foundation of blessing is faith!

Glenda Funk

Your poem reminds me of a rhizome and what roots us to family, especially the parts of a tree: roots, branches. The pull of family is strong.

Michelle Hubbard

Thank you for sharing! The line “this tree in my heart/ I hope is a part/Of all I have known and still love” shows to me the powerful love for your grandmother and how you have a piece of her with you.

Regina Harris Baiocchi

❤️♥️❤️ Sarah’s poem. It takes me so far back in time. Rather than write a new poem I may share a poem I wrote for my aunt’s funeral called “Aunt Cissy’s Purse”

Glenda Funk

“The Things They Carried” is my favorite war literature. “How to Tell a True War Story” is my favorite selection from the book. I taught it last tear, and the kids loved it.

Sarah—In your poem, I like the way a concert example, the mother who carries a purse, moved to the abstract idea of not wanting to disappoint others, that the idea of such disappointment is too much of a burden.

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