VerseLove is Ethical ELA’s celebration of National Poetry Month each April—an invitation to write, read, and reflect together. New to VerseLove? Learn more: https://www.ethicalela.com/verselove
Our Host: Jennifer Guyor Jowett
What a merry sole lender I am,
a giver, a granter of words and ideas
and there is everything yet to undo
I loudly open my computer
and type with fingers spread along the keyboard.
-Jennifer Guyor Jowett, with a finding and un-finding of Billy Collins
Inspiration
To bard or not to bard? That is today’s question. Well, one of today’s questions. There are several others we might explore. Because, really, we might Dickinson or not Dickinson, Frost or not Frost, Donovan or not Donovan (nodding to you, Sarah). It’s up to you. There are so many choices, and rabbit holes, and jack-pots, and revelations that we might land back on the bard out of ease. But I’m on a tangent. Let’s get back to the thought provokers.
They say that opposites attract. But do they? Or do they simply exist alongside one another in a constantly repelling state?
And that brings us to found lines. In The Trouble with Poetry, Billy Collins explains that poetry urges him to write but also fills him with a “longing to steal, to break into the poems of others/with a flashlight and a ski mask.” We’ve played with found lines. Sorted through them. Rearranged them. Created new poems from them. But have we ever un-found them? If I were to un-find Collins’s line above, I might state that writing urges an indifference to give, to join into prose of one’s own, with a hood and a blindfold?
Perhaps this is a better (or worse) way to create, but it’s meant to be a quick write for a busy morning. Let’s see what comes of it and founder… er… un-founder along together, shall we?
Process
Find a line of poetry that speaks to you.
Un-find it by exchanging the main words with their antonyms. You may choose to keep smaller words like helping verbs, prepositions, and articles or use an opposite for those too. (This is a good challenge for students)
Write one line or several and join them together. Or use a line as a starting point for a longer piece. Or ignore this prompt entirely and write what’s in your heart today. It’s entirely up to you.
Jennifer’s Un-Found Lines
Several thorns alongside this kindred slight wouldn’t taste so sour.
(A rose by any other name would smell as sweet – Shakespeare)
I heard a birth beyond my heart. (I felt a funeral in my brain – Dickinson)
Bad fields destroy bad enemies. (Good fences make good neighbors – Frost)
A habit of gaining is easy to ignore. (The art of losing isn’t hard to master – Elizabeth Bishop)
Jennifer’s Poem
I heard a birth beyond my heart,
new life called to me
I paused a moment
to take it in,
but I had wandered too far
from beginnings
to find my way back
Your Turn
Now, scroll to the comment section below to write your own poem. (This is a public space, so you may choose to 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. 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. Also, please be sure to respond to at least three writers.
This is such a cool exploration!
The original line, from “Song After Sadness” by Katie Ford: “Even as the day kneels/ forward, the oceans and strung garnets, too,/ kneel, they are all kneeling”
The Way of Things
After the night rises backward,
the deserts and scattered ashes
rise, they all rise.
Time hangs suspended,
feet twitching, moans cascading
through the thickened,
blackened air.
Our children–our girls–
innocence smashed by
poisonous wrath
What have we become?
Who are we now?
The blue planert continues to turn,
unaware and unassailable
on its axis of eternity.
Well, Jennifer, I may have failed today, but fell in love with this morning’s prompts. Finding a poem was easy (chose Ruth’s Stone’s Curtains), but found myself work synonymously, rather than with antonyms. Perhaps the opposite of following directions is an image of this guy named Bryan. We may be sharing, however, your lines “but I wandered too far / from beginnings / to find my way back,” even if they don’t show up in this poem.
Curtains
Washing the Pepto Bismol drapes,
dust dinosaurs invade corners
as if it is July in the humidity of Syracuse
when my sisters still lived at home
& on a lucky night, we’d get corn fritters.
How would this poem be written 20 years from now?
Crap..it’s Sunday Morning
& I blew the circuit
overheating a dryer with Dad’s sneakers.
because Mom screamed,
“He’s invading my living room
with his dirty-ass shoes.”
She looked around at her own clutter
and made herself laugh.
It’s easy to channel Cynde at such times,
frustrated, but calm with an ability to care,
and I remember our Grandma Vera,
& Sherburne molasses slab cookies
“Well, I’m going to bed,” he tells us.
His departure was prepared an hour ago
& I already turned his t.v. on so there will be
no knocking things over….
no excuse for maternal cussing. Christ.
It’s Easter, and none of us know any more.
I want to walk Cherry Heights, again
imagining what we’d be like as adults,
when CNS girls would flash their bras
at me and my buddies, Labatt’s Blue
bottles lying in the field.
At least I washed their curtains, right?
Jennifer, I have never heard of un-finding — thank you for this fun challenge! As always, I post what I write here, and today, here’s “Quatrains for the Morning” (I wish I could call it Easter Buddy, but I couldn’t fit my dog’s name into the poem — see photo attached). Oh, and I undid the opening line of William Stafford’s Traveling Through the Dark to kick it off. Enjoy!
Sitting in the morning sun, I heard him,
brisk paws clicking from the bedroom to me.
It’s a relief — this energy. He’s old
and has had a rough go of it lately.
Squinting into the living room, he walks
to the back door. Thankfully, he hasn’t
bothered Michelle, who’s up with him at night
a lot these days when he’s panting or can’t
get comfortable for whatever reason.
So I unlock the door to take him out.
He sniffs about, finds a spot, and leans in
to water the grass, staring ahead. Now
he turns to look at me, midstream, no pause
to his business. As if to say, “I’m here.
You’re here” or “Thank you” or “Give me a treat”
or “Where’s mom?” or something else entirely.
We walk in the haze of this cool Easter
morning, away from the puddle he made
and into our house — a dog, his master.
Quiet hours before they all awake.
Jennifer, what an amazing prompt today! Wow! This process brings whole new poems in the unfolding of lines – unexpected ones in all the most surprising ways! Thank you so much for hosting us today. I’ve been reading Steam Laundry by Nicole Stellon O’Donnell, a living poet in Alaska, and I’m using lines from her collection today.
Here are the original lines from the book:
Not the way I came (At Last an Invitation from Eldorado)
I thought of the egg (In the House of our New Marriage)
So we each took turns in the water (Tom and Elmer Dive for the Gun)
Some towns glitter (The New Camp)
When I lose myself (At Last an Invitation from Eldorado)
But here the sun spins around (Lost Luxury)
Here is my Antonymic Revelation Poem:
Go on, Figure it out For Yourself
surely the way you stormed out
you did not consider the chicken
they didn’t brood-bathe in the dust
all farms lack luster
as you’ll discover for yourself ~
over yonder the moon hangs frozen
The found lines you chose work really well in this opposite format. You have lots of practice creating found poems, as I saw last month in the SOL challenge. Well done!
Jennifer,
Thank you for this playful prompt and invitation to spend time with my favorite poet, Wislawa Szymborska. Reading her work this morning, I was reminded of how much she plays with opposites. I like how you showed us a few beginnings that you played with before finding your poem.
I feel the heaviness of
—————————————————————
A Fact Ended
After Wislawa Szymborska’s A Tale
A house is always unprepared
For the death of a person
Where is the woman who opened the blinds
Letting in the sun and the fog?
Where is the man who scraped his chair
Across the floor
Siting at the table
To eat his eggs on toast?
––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––
You can read Szymborska’s poem and see her photo at my blog, Pedaling Poet. She is such an amazing poet.
Jennifer, this was suuuuper fun! I opened a poetry book to a random page and chose a Ben Jonson poem that I had never read before. I’ve reprinted it below and follow it with my own pale — but admittedly amusing — version of Jonson’s lovely poem. I’m still not sure what mine is about. 🙂
Simplex Munditiis (“Plained neat” “unadorned Elegance”)
Still to be neat, still to be drest,
As you were going to a feast;
Still to be powdered, still perfumed;
Lady, it is to be presumed,
Though art’s hid causes are not found,
All is not sweet, all is not sound.
Give me a look, give me a face
That makes simplicity a grace;
Robes loosely flowing, hair as free.
Such sweet neglect more taketh me
Than all the adulteries of art;
They strike mine eyes, but not my heart,
–Ben Jonson (1572-1637)
__________________________________________________
Universa et Confundens (“Complex and Confusing” 😀)
Never to be mussed, never to be nude,
As I were staying for a lack of food;
Never to be darkened, never in stank;
Man, it is to be ascertained,
Though nature’s free effects are not hid,
All is not sour, all’s not undid.
Take you a blindness, take you a mask
That makes complexity a task;
Nudity tightly wound, bald and trapped.
Such tart affection more giveth me, rapt
Than all the fidelities of nature, defect
They miss mine blindness, not intellect.
–Wendy Everard (1971-Present)
Oh, your signature…how wonderful. I love it. And, how you use the word, “stank.” Fantastic! What a cool unwriting.
Thanks for offering opportunities to quote others.
What’s This Day?
Does Resurrection Sunday make you think of the Easter Bunny
Hunting for Colorful Easter Eggs or wearing a fancy bonnet
Sunrise service singing hymns of the faith
Or a long weekend off from school?
All ring true to me.
They’re a part of my upbringing.
How do they all connect
Is something I’d like to know.
I’d like to say keep reading
But now I have to go.
Services will be starting soon..
But I’m not wearing an Easter bonnet.
Rain is predicted today.
So no Easter Egg hunting, I’d say
The Easter bunny may come out
And the old ladies at church are sure to shout
“Hallelujah, it’s Resurrection Day!”
Anna. I love how poetry is the I’d-like-to-know form. You invite the tensions or paradox of how something came to be, this holy and this commercial holiday. And then end in the lived experience. The ceremonies we can choose for ourself.
Sunrise service singing hymns of faith… takes me through a slideshow of memories through the years… He is risen! He is risen indeed!
Anna, those Easter memories of upbringing and continuing traditions bring shouts of joy and hope. Love the photo you included, too – a new Easter dress and Easter shoes are just the perfect touch here. Rain? I hope the Easter egg hunt happens in the house. We missed a sunrise service because of the rain. Happy Easter, Anna!
Writing with sixth graders, we borrowed line from Langston Hughes, so I tried unborrowing…
Let go of failure
For if disappointment takes hold
Despair becomes a driven beast
That will not leave
Let go of failure
Because when futility sets in
The mind becomes a littered junkyard
Blackened by flames
Oh, a littered junkyard. Is really a vivid metaphor for failures we carry without their lessons. Nice.
Diane,
Such strong images:
Langston is here.
Thank you, Jennifer, for this cool prompt today. I enjoyed your un-found poem, especially your first line ‘I heard a birth beyond my heart’. Today is my mom’s 71st birthday, so I wrote a poem for her.
For Mom
I want to listen to her stories
and commit them to memory
I want to learn her recipes—
the ones she knows by heart
I want to spend time with her
and learn the parts of her I don’t know yet
I want to tell her thank you
for being my biggest fan
I want to tell her
I know she loves me so much it hurts
because I can see it
in her eyes
and hear it in her voice
I want her to know how proud I am of her
for all the hard work and sacrifices
so I could live my dreams
I want to show her my favorite parts of the world
so she can see the world through my eyes
and experience
new cultures, tastes, sights, smells
I want to tell her I love her each and every day
because I do
~Jennifer Kesler
5 April 2026
Did you share this with her? What a beautiful early mother’s days tribute. Heck every day can be a day to tell our loved ones we love. Thank you.
I did! 🙂
Jennifer, loved this beautiful tribute to your mom! It filled my heart on this gray morning in CNY.
That simple phrase at the end…because I do holds all the lovely warmth of the poem.
Jennifer,
Thank you for sharing this gift of love, of attention, of gratitude.
Happy Birthday to your Mom!
I think your ‘want’ just became an inevitable ‘must do.” I hope your mother appreciates the words you crafted for her this morning.
What If
What if, instead of holding fear, you built a bridge
What if, instead of carrying doubt, you lit a lantern
What if, instead of keeping anger, you opened a window
What if, instead of gathering worry, you planted a field
What if, instead of storing regret, you stitched a quilt
What if, instead of gripping loneliness, you set a table
What if, instead of bearing shame, you raised a shelter
What if, instead of tending sorrow, you carved a path
And what if it isn’t instead, but alongside—
the lantern in your hand, the table set, the field already greening under your feet
From “What if, instead of carrying a grief, you carried a tree?” In The Hurting Kind by Ada Limon.
Sarah,
Loved this shift:
“And what if it isn’t instead, but alongside—”
Beautiful, thoughtful poem!
Oh Sarah!
I was enjoying and appreciating all of your instead ofs, nodding along. And then I read your ending which quickened my heart. Yes! We can carry our opposing feelings into actions.
Your whole poem is beautiful, but those last two lines sing!
I’m going to carry them with me today.
Sarah, this is beautiful, and it sure makes us think about putting down some of the holding, carrying, keeping, gathering, storing, gripping, bearing and tending we do with negative energies. I’m loving the quilt – – a nice feeling of warmth instead of regret. Gorgeous! And Ada, such a lovely choice for today.
This is beautiful. I’m just loving all the un-writing. “instead of gathering worry, planted a field” is great. And, the repetition of “what if” is wonderful.
What a beautiful poem! My favorite line is “What if, instead of gripping loneliness, you set a table” A shared meal is a sure fire way to connect.
Now, if this was a t-shirt, I’d wear it proudly. I so appreciate the path you carve for all of us, Sarah.
Jennifer—what fun!! I taught this poem to middle graders every year. It was ripe 🤦🏻♀️ for un-writing…
I’m sorry, William. It Had to Be Done…
I tossed out
the bananas
that were on
the counter
and which
were probably
meant for
banana bread
You can thank me later
they were way overripe
blackened
and flaccid
Gayle, I first thought of this poem, too. Love that banana bread references. For some reason, we watched a New York Times video of Jake and Maggie Gyllenhal making banana bread last night. Overripe is the key.
LOL! This one gave me a giggle on this gloomy morning (why is “flaccid” such a funny word?).
Gayle,
How fun–and that pun in your intro. Ha.
I like that you picked a poem that we all instantly recognize and that many of us have probable written or at least read other versions of.
I wonder what William would think of all the homages including yours. Wouldn’t it be fun to hear his feedback?
Gayle, I love this. Forget the plums. It’s the bananas, and I love the word flaccid to describe them in that state. WCW would be chuckling, I just know he would – – he would proudly proclaim, “No apology needed, Ms. Gayle!” Because he knows so much depends on unflaccid bananas.
LOL! That’s perfect. Oh, my gosh. A belly laugh here.
I love false apology poems! The flaccid line cracked me up!
Laughing, Gayle, as I just delayed my departure with making banana bread, because I couldn’t stand the thought of leaving rotten bananas on my parent’s kitchen table. The bread is cooling now. No apologies to William. I loved your poem and humor.
Versapoem
I stand amid the roar / Of a surf-tormented shore, / And I hold within my hand / Grains of the golden sand” — Edgar Allan Poe
I lie outside the whisper / Of a delicate pasture of wildflowers / And I reach in hope / To be part of the peaceful petals before the moment wilts.
– Jessica L Fata
Oh. Peaceful petals before the wilt is perfect.
Nice rewrite, Jessica! Love the alliteration in the last line..
Oh Jessica,
I love your peaceful version which brings me right into the meadow
Stunning.
Soooooooo cool!. Love the antonym of roar in whisper and pasture ….to the reaching. Really, really pretty. I love it.
I took some time to wander through the daily poems of poets.org to find line I wanted to “antonymize” (which is a pretty cool word, even if it’s not a word. Is it a word?)
Kevin
You saved me, you should remember me
— Louise Gluck, via Vita Nova
You lost me, now forget me –
for I have anchored far
from where we once were
when our lives entwined,
though little tidbits of talk
remain stashed like eggs
on the Internet –
I am no longer the person
I once claimed to be
There is such loss threaded throughout your poem, Kevin, to devastating effect. I feel the dissolution of relationship, the finality of it. The strength of the narrator is heard in the anchoring far from – anchoring, that word and the final lines, highlight that strength. Powerful writing here.
Wow. This version is grief, to me. It’s got such a strong sadness. Wow. Well done.
Kevin—this reminds me of all the old relationships I left behind. The last line…who did I claim to be then?
Feels like a breakup. But more of a note to the listener that they’ve missed out on an important transformation. A changing of the feed.
Kevin, I loved how you opposited the first line…then ran with the poem, making it your own. Loved this line:
“though little tidbits of talk
remain stashed like eggs
on the Internet –”
Wow…all of this…but these lines
They punch hard.
Good Morning Verse Lovers! I’ve been on spring break and missed the opening of the month. But, oh! It’s good to be here. I Iook forward to catching up with poet teachers and reading your creativity.
Jennifer, this prompt is amazing. It’s such a good opportunity to study tone! I will absolutely bring this to my students. I wish I could start this week–however, my long planned review stations are already set up in my library and my ELA teachers would not like any of them changed. I think this would be so fun to use during spooky Halloween days.
I grabbed the first poem I came across in my journal as a starting place, Langston Hughes’ The Dream Keepers. It’s a favorite of mine and worked the antonym words and feelings. What a shock to my system this was to see the opposite! Wow. Thanks again for this prompt.
I saved for myself the last nightmare
hopelessness —bitter notes,
played in a minor key,
leaving bare
winter’s frozen mud—
becoming a smooth voice of hell
enticing me
to forget all
that was ever
me.
Linda, what a way to start your VerseLove journey this month! I can envision a parent withholding all that brings sorrow or pain from those they care most about – the selflessness in holding on to the worst so no one else experiences it. And your examination of hopelessness is weighty in its devastation. So, so good.
Linda—“to forget all that was ever me”. The sadness echoes…
Feels like a prologue to a transformation. But the voice of hell makes me also think this is a crossroads.
Linda, this worked so well! Great imagery in this!
Whoa…this poem has such a dark element to it.