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.
Unfinding Naomi…
“I want to be famous to shuffling men
who smile while crossing streets,
sticky children in grocery lines,
famous as the one who smiled back.”
I do not want…what is the opposite of want?
Of wanting?
To be anonymous…but is anonymity really
the other side of famous?
To gliding women who frown…this one is easy,
if we believe the binary here.
While standing on sidewalks,
Slippery adults…this can’t be right…
In fields where food is grown,
Anonymous,
like a woman who frowns back…
That felt right.
Oh, powerful, Jonathon, I love all the talking to yourself in the italics. But those last lines–“In fields where food is grown, Anonymous, like a woman who frowns back…” Wow! That does feel right, and we should be more aware and grateful. Thank you.
Mahalo Denise for your kind words. Noticing and feeling gratitude is sometimes a challenge for us
Jonathon, you highlight the internal dialogue we have as writers within the italics. Not only does it showcase the conversation, but it also adds an entire layer to the depth of the poem. My favorite part is the response to slippery adults, as it made me smile. You had fun with this, or at least it felt as if you did – and that feels right too.
Jonathon,
Here’s a warm, playful, and appreciative response you could offer:
I love how you let us into the thinking here, the searching and second-guessing and circling around what the “opposite” might actually be. It feels alive in that way, like we’re right there with you figuring it out, and I smiled at the moments where the language resists you a bit and then suddenly lands. That last line really does feel right—it holds that quiet shift from play into something a little more knowing.
Sarah
Jonathon,
You nailed this! It’s fun and gives all the images that make it so unique. Grateful I came back a day later to enjoy this.
Jennifer,
I loved reading your introduction with you and Billy Collins! So fun. I like “I heard a birth beyond my heart.” I guess you wouldn’t have written that without unfinding it from Emily!
It’s been a full day here, so I took your advice that “it’s meant to be a quick write” and did something simple. That’s all I’ve got for today, but I’m coming back to this prompt. Thank you!
Darken, darken big dirt clod
I know you’re right there under sod
Down below the sky so low
Like a drab stone far below
Darken, darken big dirt clod
I know you’re right there under sod
Denise, this is just perfect for a day filled beyond. I heard the nursery rhyme right from the start but knew for sure with lines 3 and 4. I love that you created something so original from the very familiar. Hope your Easter was beautiful too!
Denise, I love the alliteration (and assonance and consonance) that you’ve crafted with this tribute to the Earth. This is the perfect opposite of “Twinkle, Twinkle”! Thanks for this!
Denise,
Today seems to be a very sonic day and your poem is sonically magnificent! I saw that Scott mentioned alliteration and consonance and I agree—specifically the hard consonant sounds, the d and the k and the b sounds that call to mind digging in the dirt. “Clod” is such a great sounding and really descriptive word!
Oh, Denise.
I really love the rhythm of this—it feels like a chant, something steady and grounding after a long day. There’s something about the repetition and those earthy images that sticks with me, like you’ve found a quiet center in just a few lines. It makes me curious to see where you take it when you come back to it.
Sarah
Denise, I love how you’ve captured “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star” and unfound it into this earthy piece. Love, love, love “Darken, darken big dirt clod”. Very fun poem, Denise. I’m so glad you were able to find time to craft this one.
Oh! This prompt really got me thinking. I wish I had more time today to keep playing. My grade 12 students are in the middle of Hamlet and are beginning to understand that Hamlet is an unreliable narrator, so I decided to try this with his first soliloquy (O, that this too too solid flesh). In this moment of the play, he is really angry with his mother and his uncle – so much so that he wishes he could disappear or kill himself. I wondered what would happen if I flipped this, keeping his passion but reconsidering his relationship with his father. It’s eye-opening! I can’t wait to try this in the classroom! SUCH a great prompt!
Hamlet, glad his father died & happy for his mother
O, that my too too flitting spirit would cool,
freeze and settle itself into a fix’d state!
Or that old Beelzebub did not leave
us in our lawless life! O devil! Satan!
How lively, fresh, sharp and wond’rous,
Seem to me all the promises of heaven!
Give me this! This! ’tis a blossoming desert,
That flow’rs and fruits; things sweet and clean in essence
Embrace us fully. That it should come to this!
Full two months dead: yea, more than this, near three:
So insignificant a serf; that was, to this,
Iapetus to an angel; so heedless of my mother
That he would unloose the hell of his hands
On her body, roughly. Heaven and earth!
Let me forget!…
It is and must be for the good:
So fill, my head; for I must speak the truth.
Amanda! This is amazing! It takes someone who truly understands (and lives and breathes the work) to be able to throw these words down today (almost like a lip sync battle). And in what appears to be such an effortless and natural way. I’m so glad you’re going to give this a go with your students. I challenged my 7th graders to antonymize a poetry line and it was a great way to stretch their thinking. Beautifully done piece!
Amanda, great! So glad you can take this into your classroom right away. I love how you gave Hamlet a new perspective. You sound so Shakespearean.
Amanda! This is so good! I love how the “unweeded garden / that grows to seed” turned into “’tis a blossoming desert, / That flow’rs and fruits; things sweet and clean in essence / Embrace us fully.” This un-finding of his soliloquy makes ghost dad much more of a jerk, who would “unloose the hell of his hands / On her body, roughly.” Yikes! Thanks for crafting and sharing this with us!
Well, I had a whole thing typed out, but it got deleted, so let’s try this again.
Awesome prompt, Jennifer. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen this un-found poetry concept presented like this. So fun.
I decided to share a poem by a local poet from Gary, IN then next town over from where I teach and current Indiana Poet Laureate, Curtis Crisler. He also just came by a spoken word poetry competition at my alma mater last week.
Sometimes it S n o w s in A p r i l
By Curtis Crisler
The snow f e l l like a miffed god took bites of cumulus clouds—spat them down
from heaven, o n t o my Midwest — an idyllic snow-globe realm. The s n o w-
covered the branches, pulpy, thick like a l l the trees were Douglas Firs. It was
April 20th. There were blossoms bursting o u t of branches, headed towards
spring, blanketing a chronic white on white commotion.Love t o o k me straight
to Prince. A day before 5th anniversary of the guitar player relocating to another
plane. I b u m p e d his b a c kbeat like meth. Every body antsy. My city under
resuscitation. “Here Comes the Rain Again”—the next song in my ears. Annie
Lennox knew proper way to p l a c e metaphors on v i o l i n strings. I r o d e
around— this would be the last snow until the next snow. There’s nothing like
love in a car, being in the s n o w, letting m u s i c have me and bring me
back. The officer who k i l l e d George Floyd will s e e bars.That’s history.
There’s that. There’s how Minnesota, people around the g l o b e, exposed their
voices like a universal tsunami — people morphed into army of harmony. The
snow moved me in to Sun Ra. He, and band, birthed h a l l u c i n a t i o n s of
“Images.” The ache of imagery, too much— so my tears talked. B r o k e n,
recouping, I drove deeper. I videoed life like a young lady did outside storefront,
but it wasn’t e n o u g h to h o n e the scratchy emotions unable to e s c a p e,
acquiesce to good trouble. The emails. The texts. The chatter. M i s s me with
t h a t. I drove d e e p e r. The snow talked in s y l l a b i c rumbles. Sun Ra
p l a y e d for our mystic futures, o u t t h e r e. I pointed car t o w a r d s
M i n n e s o t a . D r o v e for out there. And I never p u m p e d the brakes.
And here’s my antithesis, maybe wishful thinking on my future, comiserating my present.
The sun rose like a miffed god pulled back the curtains of night—spat them down
from heaven, o n t o my vacation — an idyllic sun tea realm. The sun
drenced the branches, pulpy, thick like a l l the trees were Palm trees. It was
July 20th. There were blossoms bursting o u t of branches, headed towards
sky, blanketing a chronic white on white commotion.Love t o o k me straight
to Prince. A day before 5th anniversary of the guitar player relocating to another
plane. I b u m p e d his b a c kbeat like meth. Every body antsy. My city under
resuscitation. “Here Comes the Rain Again”—the next song in my ears. Annie
Lennox knew proper way to p l a c e metaphors on v i o l i n strings. I r o d e
around— this would be the last quick shower until the next quick shower. There’s nothing like
love in a car, being in the sun, letting m u s i c have me and bring me
back. The man who k i l l e d Trayvon Martin will s e e bars.That’s my history. Paradise
There’s that. There’s how Florida, people around the g l o b e, exposed their
voices like a universal tsunami — people morphed into army of harmony. The
sun moved me in to Sun Ra. He, and band, birthed h a l l u c i n a t i o n s of
“Images.” The ache of imagery, too much— so my tears talked. B r o k e n,
recouping, I drove deeper. I videoed life like an old man did outside storefront,
but it wasn’t e n o u g h to h o n e the scratchy emotions unable to e s c a p e,
acquiesce to good trouble. The emails. The texts. The chatter. M i s s me with
t h a t. I drove d e e p e r. The sun talked in s y l l a b i c rumbles. Sun Ra
p l a y e d for our mystic futures, o u t t h e r e. I pointed car deeper
into Florida . D r o v e for out there. And I never p u m p e d the brakes.
Luke, thanks for sharing this new poet with us. What he’s doing with spacing pushes a certain cadence while making me want to read secondary poems within poems.
Thanks, Luke. You may want to type the poems into a google doc or Word and then paste them here when you are ready; this way you have all your poems in one place and you won’t loose them (unless there is a glitch with the the other platform). I know it can be frustrating.
This was fun, Jennifer!
September is a merciful month, relinquishing
Dander into the life-giving sky, diffusing
Amnesia and aversion, tranquilizing
Vibrant branches with autumn sun.
From “The Waste Land” by T.S. Eliot
April is the cruellest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.
Allison, oh my goodness, what a lovely poem and time of year you’ve captured. I was immediately drawn in by “September is a merciful month”. The image of dander “into the life-giving sky” was a perfect metaphor. I can feel the autumn sun and see the brilliant autumn leaves. Truly lovely poem! So good to ready your work tonight!
Allison, you made September more attractive to me than Elliot’s April. It reads like a light meditation into a softer state that is ready to slow down.
Allison, there’s a sleepiness and softness to your September that reflects the settling in that comes with fall. I love the diffusing and tranquilizing here, the relinquishing into autumn sun – such beauty! (I much prefer your poem and naming of months to Eliot’s. To me, April brings kindness from those cruelest of winter months.)
Allison, it is so good to see you here today! I’ve missed you. Your September poem is full of amazing word choices. So many amazing opposites like “Memory and desire” became “amnesia and aversion”. Well done!
Love “tranquilizing vibrant branches” and “amnesia” together in this poem. I can feel September.
Wow, love this. I have my own Waste Land response project I’ve been working on and have used the line about April’s cruelty a handful of time. This is wonderful. “Amnesia and aversion, tranquilizing/vibrant branches…” Tranquilizing branches is such an amazing, surprising, correct way of describing the beginnings of fall.
Jennifer,
This prompt was so fun! I wish I had more time today. I can’t wait to try this with students and write more unfound poems.
Unfound words from first two stanza’s “I heard a fly buzz — when I died” — Emily Dickinson
I glimpsed a butterfly fluttering — as I lived
The excitement within my soul
Was like electricity in the air
Between the surge of spring
The smiles around — widened
And Breaths were light
For the moment — when we are
one and filled with love
Tammi, I love how you transformed Dickinson’s line. I can sense “electricity in the air” as the speaker experiences the soring renewal. The ending, which connects two into one, is filled with live and life.
Tammi, I love how your poem helps me read “I heard a fly buzz–” in a new way. I might have my lit students try this as a clever way to “get inside” a poem.
Tammi, the fluttering brings to mind life immediately, as in heartbeats and action and movement rather than the constant buzz that reminds me of a heart monitor flatlining (though Dickinson could not have known this). Your play with dashes and capitalization capture her work even while your words spark life. So, so good.
I am in love with this prompt & your poem shows why – replacing fly with butterfly is a great choice, and from there, Dickinson’s morbid contemplation becomes wildly alive: the surge of spring! The light breaths! The love! Yes! This un-found poem makes me want to live.
Jennifer, thank you for this brain twister. I loved how you turned to a beginning in your poem.
I started with Merwin’s words
Only humans believe
there is a word for goodbye
goodbye
Only humans deny
a word for goodbye exists
a gap in language to identify the exit
a child’s departure not marked with a wave
the back of the head, enough
What do they leave behind?
Anything?
Ooh, I really like this, Jamie. Your words have a haunting quality to them. It feels ethereal, like I can’t grasp the images. Wow.
Jamie,
I love the way your poem digs into the language of the word goodbye. It really is a word that carries weight and change and loss. As a parent of three grown children, I really felt these lines ” a child’s departure not marked with a wave/the back of the head.”
Jamie, you bring attention to our inability to understand the between worlds, along with the idea that all goodbyes may not be good byes, as if in our denying we can thwart death – so many considerations. I feel as if I could read your words all day to discover even more!
I feel a real longing in this poem – the way the first two lines deny the goodbye, but the child leaves anyway. And the final two lines – the questions – are haunting. This brings up many emotions for me as I think of my own babies and my grown children getting ready to leave for college.
What a lovely set of lines to use. I love Merwin’s work. Well chosen. IMO, your opening line is a show stopper…”only humans deny.” Yes, this is true. It is what we do, sadly
[Jennifer, I definitely veered on this, but it pushed me to re-embrace Mary Oliver, and for that I am so grateful. I gave away all my poetry books (OMG) when I moved to MN, so I’m up here naked! Eek! Susie]
Mary Oliver quoted lines from “Wild Geese”:
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting –
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.
LEARNING FROM MARY’S WILD GEESE
Starting over, a septuagenarian —
a new distant place,
unknown, anonymous,
a beloved dog,
my dear Kelly, 13 minutes away.
But nothing happens as planned;
a world turns upside down;
I wobble, lack grace,
unsure I was cut out for this;
me, the kid who could face anything.
Then,
the wild geese V’ed across the sky,
heading to this cold northern space
in repeated patterns,
ancestral callings,
blaring their April arrival;
snow melted,
tiny buds of green muscled through barren twigs
on this morning’s path through the park,
harbingers of possibility,
and I find my place
in the family of things.
by Susie Morice© April 5, 2026
Susie, I’m so glad you are finding your place. Starting over has got to be tough! Your poem shows me that you are handling it with grace, just like everything you do!
Susie,
I love the way your poem unfolds and moves with the seasons beginning with uncertainty and then ending with rebirth of spring and new possibilities. Enjoy your new home!
This poem speaks of hope and bravery. I love the line “harbingers of possibility.”
Oh, Susie, these two final lines are so promising, and you found a perfect word to feel tethered “family of things” – love it! I am so glad it’s beginning to feel like home. I also stopped for a moment to “see” “the wild geese V’ed across the sky” – one of my favorite images here.
Susie, every time I see an allusion to Mary Oliver’s Wild Geese I have to share this performance I saw in 2025. Language and art dancing together:
This is beautiful, Bryan!
Oh Bryan, what a breathtaking visual image this is…it took my breath away just now…So incredibly moving. I soooo appreciate that you posted this. Thank you so much. It completed my thoughts. Susie
Susie, oh my goodness, I love everything about your poem. The image of the geese calling you home is powerful and I love the shift to s how the possibility and the beauty of spring. The language throughout is vibrant. I especially loved the line “tiny buds of green muscled through barren twigs.” Then you end so firmly, “and I find my place/ in the family of things.” What a brilliant, emotional end. I’m so glad you’ve found your place. Hugs!
Awww, Susie. You do Mary Oliver proud. I love that you nod and acknowledge and call and respond to her Wild Geese (one of my favorites of hers). I imagine you as the goose on land (wobbling and lacking grace) until your gaggle arrives, connecting your before with your now and never leaving one behind. You bring it all together with that shared line – in the family of things – so, so beautifully. (And I truly believe that MN will be the place to be in this last stand we seem to be heading toward).
This is really lovely, Susie! “I wobble, lack grace, / unsure I was cut out for this; / me, the kid who could face anything. / Then, / the wild geese V’ed across the sky.” YES! Deus ex machina Mary Oliver style! I love it! And, hey, you got this! I have no doubt in my mind. (And browse the local library book sales for some more poetry books, STAT (as they say in the medical dramas) they do a body good!)
Susie,
Mary Oliver for the win. Remember, “you don’t have to be good” for things to work out. I feel that new place becoming part of you in a Willa Cather sort of way. Different state, I know. I do appreciate its glue sharing this vulnerability w/ us.
Jennifer–what a fun and interesting prompt to explore today. I love to visit bookstores, so earlier this week while I was on Oahu I came across da Shop, a wonderful eclectic bookstore with so many fun books to browse (and buy). I was on the verge of buying this interesting picture book about the Japanese poet Basho called, A Pond, A Poet, and Three Pests by Caroline Adderson. It’s a cute story imagining what Basho was experiencing when he created his famous Haiku:
Old pond
Frog jumps in
Splash!
(Or some version, depending on the translation). So my poem is a play on Basho’s poem–using my own context (and maybe not following exact Haiku rules).
Here’s poem #5
Human-filled beach
Modern pterodactyl lands
Air becomes breath
You can find a photo I took that also inspired this poem on my blog: https://thinkingthroughmylens.com/2026/04/05/playing-with-opposites-npm26-5/
I’ve been reading and writing a lot of haikus lately, so I really appreciate yours, Kim. We always comment that great blue herons look like pterodactyls in flight. From now on I’m just going to call them modern pterodactyls.
Kim,
I love your choice of juxtaposing a “human-filled beach” with a “modern pterdoactyl”. Very cool picture too!
Kim, what an incredibly gorgeous photo (truly!) and poem capturing that exact moment. I keep encountering Basho unexpectedly these last several days, as if the universe is trying to tell me something. The last encounter before yours was here: https://www.bopsecrets.org/gateway/passages/basho-frog.htm, which you might find of interest.
modern pterodactyl is, frankly, brilliant!
Haiku are so difficult for me and I admire the economy of language used to create universes of images. Thinking of modernity as a pterodactyl is lovely and will stick with me for a while
this is it
white men demand
that
is
the
poem
kjd
*unborrowed from Judith Ortiz (Cofer) “Latin Women Pray”
Kasey,
The brevity of your poem is perfect to convey the message! So true!
Kasey, I am in awe of what you’ve done here in so few words. I’m struck by the only line (beyond the title) that has more than one word is connected to white men and that the verb chosen is demand and that the title is both a discovering and a finality and that it’s acknowledged because they say it is. I could go on with what I’m reading from this. Amazingness in 10 words.
Whoa! What a powerful unfinding here. The brevity, lack of punctuation – the message. I had to go read the original & now I have another poem to love & a new poet to explore. Thank you.
Hi Jennifer. Wow this was an uncanny experience! I started with the poem of the day on-line “Excelsior Fashion Products, Easter” by D. Nurkse and it turned into such a somber poem. I guess antonyms can do that.
Seclusion
We take eternity and more
to set us free
with a rough sound emitting
from the walls
we frown in disappointment
creating enclosures
of Amen whispers
undressing in the basement
guarding filled flasks
joined in a darkened street
together toward quiet.
Wow- I am looking up the original now- this poem is incredibly atmospheric. I love “guarding filled flasks.” The phrasing is potent and yet sublimely paradoxical.
Susan,
I definitely feel the somber mood and seclusion with your word choice. These lines “creating enclosures/of Amen whispers/undressing in the basement” especially reflect how people are building walls and cutting themselves off from others
Great to see you here, using mixed media in words to generate interesting thoughts. This generates a particular impact on Resurrection Sunday. What frees us?
on the other hand, the lines of Amen whispers undressing in the basement. Hmmm.
I think poem has another life!
Susan, the idea that it takes eternity and more to set ourselves free is such a sobering thought, while also acknowledging the grace we need to find ourselves as well as the greater plan that is beyond what this short life lives. The enclosures of Amen whispers fascinates me. What a powerful poem for Easter Sunday.
I used the beginning lines of June Jordan’s poem “On a New Year’s Eve,” as shown below.
On a New Year’s Eve
By June Jordan
Infinity doesn’t interest me
not altogether
anymore
I crawl and kneel and grub about
I beg and listen for
what can go away
(as easily as love)
On Easter Sunday
By Mo Daley 4/5/26
Finiteness intrigues me
completely
all the time
I run around oblivious
I give and talk
what can stay forever
(as hellishly as hate)
Thank you for including the comparison- I find them both equally lovely- there is something seering in the way you end your poem. Very compelling poem.
Mo — Wow! That ending! So true. I ask myself the same thing — Why is it that the hateful is what lasts?
Mo, there’s something about the finiteness and completely all the time that sit against each other so carefully, as does the idea of finiteness and staying forever. These contradictions add depth and make me want to reread to discover even more. Such a perfect antonymic revelation here!
“what can stay forever (as hellishly as hate)”
These words stick to my bones.
Oh my, Jennifer, how I worked with, and worried over, these words throughout the day! Thank you for this challenge. I knew, pretty quickly, I wanted to use a line from Wendell Berry’s “The Peace of Wild Things.” The line is “…I come into the peace of wild things…” After a few wildly different ideas, I finally settled on the following:
Dinner Party
you walk away from the petty conflicts of the civilized
where barbed comments masquerade as polite conversation
where, even though you worked your way from the outside in,
(the way your mother taught you)
you still have one unused fork after the last course
out back, under the stars, you slip off your stiff shoes
and cool your blistered heels in the spring grass
through the French doors, you hear the clink of glassware,
murmured voices, the bark of a cough, or maybe a laugh,
oh to stay here, alone
an outsider
outside
Lori,
I often tell people I’m a hillbilly from the Ozarks, unrefined and clunky in fancy spaces. Your poem is my soul. Keep it simple is the way I roll! Brilliant opening. The beach clinking line of crystal you’ve given us takes us to a breezy night w/our feet touching earth. That’s heaven, the loose life eschewing gold ballrooms and all the pretense.
Lori, I just love this! I’m in love with the line you chose to antonymize and the opening line you’ve crafted from it. I feel how biting this party is and the desire to be alone. An outsider outside is such a perfect grammatical twist. I don’t think you settled at all – you soared!
Lori, you used symbolism effectively here … or should I say metaphors.
This line is one such line,
“you still have one unused fork after the last course”
The fact that the dinner part is served in “courses” suggest a level of culture.
The fact that “fork” is sometimes used to suggest poking at people, implies the speaker left before saying same s/he might regret… because the narrator was “raised” to be polite..
And the closing lines suggests that even being “inside” the narrator didn’t feel like a part of “what’s happenin’ “
Clever writing about an experience most of us have had on one level or another,
Lori–“where barbed comments masquerade as polite conversation”…”an outsider outside” I love the way you captured a moment, a painting, visceral and vivid.
Lori — This sets a scene and a feeling that is powerful. The sense of being an “outsider” is incredibly real. You’ve used so many killa phrases: “barbed comments masquerate…” (oh yes) and “the unused fork”… oh man…what a perfect metaphor for that self-conscious sense that we didn’t quite get it “right.” Uff! And then being in the dark but listening to the “murmured voices”… I identified with this in a number of ways, a number of experiences so similar. I’m glad you “worried over” (well, not really did I want you to worry) this poem today…. Let me say, it is an exquisitely executed poem! I can relate…and all of us have been outsiders at some point… surely. Love this. Susie
Lori, what a fantastic poem, so Berryesque. I’m seeing the outsider in the poem here as Berry himself, who definitely lives outside the comforts of modern life. I too love the peace of the outskirts of the crowd and am drawn to the outdoors. I sit here by the fire this evening on a campsite in a state park an hour from my home, where I choose to spend Spring Break under the stars. Your poem also speaks to me on a deeply personal level. My father, long ago, was pastor of Port Royal Baptist Church. The Port William series is the fictional version of that town in Kentucky, and Wendell and Tanya Berry were members there then, and she still plays the organ there today. I don’t remember them, but Dad visited Wendell from time to time and always walked away from those visits a better person, more grounded in the simple pleasures. And I find that in his poetry as well. I’m so glad you wrote this today and reminded me of these deep inner values of peace in the wild.
What a wonderful connection, Kim! I was fortunate to have Wendell Berry as a professor at the University of Kentucky.
Jennifer,
Fun, u pique prompt. Excellence mento poem lines. Love your take on the Dickinson line. I used a four-hour food tour in Phnom Penh as my event inspiration on a hot Easter evening. Canva photos are from the tour.
Foraged Season
This evening summer lived—
its wispy warmth danced through
its come hither hot breath
seducing seekers before its time.
As the siren who teased Odysseus,
summer stripped winter’s Puritanical
rites. Half a world away summer’s
magnet pulled us to her breast. We
sucked her culinary bounty,
tasted her alluring feast.
Glenda Funk
April 5, 2026
*********
Inspired by lines from “A Different Kind of April: For Joan” by Linda pastan
“This month i g winter died—
its stinging wind blown out’”
Glenda, I am feasting on the sensuality of your poem. Love the siren allusion and the image of sucking on a culinary bounty. The heat is visceral. Fantastic poem full of alluring words and sounds. Love the Canva, too!
“…Half a world away summer’s
magnet pulled us to her breast.”
I read these lines multiple times, not only because I’m longing for summer, but because the words themselves are as sultry and smoldering as the season.
Glenda, oh my! That siren summer stripping Puritanical rites as the seasons shift is amazing. I had no idea you were traveling again and quite the trip you are having. I feel the need for the expected cigarette after reading this – ha!
Hi, Glenda — You world traveler you! The hot, steamy came through loud and clear! Very sensory! “Hot breath” will do that every time. 😉 Love the sumptuousness of this poem. Love, Susie
Clever description of the weather we’re having this year. Last week, we in Western Michigan had summer, winter, and spring in a single day! We were sucked outside in 70 degree weather then reigned back in by chily rain, before the cool crispy hail feel in some areas and thunder stomped through in others, pulling along tornadoes!
Glenda, this one sizzles with alluring appeal today! I love the way you drew the parallels between the warmth of desire and the warmth of season – – and the Greek elements too. It’s reminiscent of art, as if you gave the poem to a dozen artists and asked them to paint, sculpt, sketch it in a scene. I can see the art. I can always see it in your poetry, and somehow…..wait…..as I look at that painting…..is that a coffee mug she is holding? What does it say? (chuckles to self, imagining the favorite mug)…..safe travels!
Glenda, the same lines Lori had cited earlier grabbed my attention too. I see all that food bounty in your photos, and it makes me want to taste “alluring feast.” You keep up writing poems and create picture backdrops with Canva — this is not easy on the go. Enjoy the travel!
So many sensory words! and I love the allusions to Greek mythology while you suckle summer in Cambodia. I particularly liked “its come hither hot breath / seducing seekers” – it just feels like a hot night.
“summer’s magnet pulled us to her breast. We sucked her culinary bounty,” Wow! Enjoy Phnom Penh and all the delicious food. Say hello to Erika for me!
thanks to light, they won’t discontinue
doubt is an abstract idea
with muscle and sinew
and
nothing are they
with stillness staying
as silence
so
misguide them
with impulses for
multiple urbane
and inferior
annihilations
—
Sources (in order of appearance):
[Title] We will keep going despite dark
Hope is the thing with feathers
What are we without winds becoming words?
“Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?”
― Mary Oliver
—
Jennifer, this was mind-twisting fun …revelatory! Thank you for this prompt.
Maureen,
Excellent lines. Love the Harjo ones in particular and your diction, “misguide” them.
Hi Maureen,
Love what you created from your sources. There is something soothing about the silence and stillness. I love the ending most:
Maureen, you have chosen an incredible trio with a through-line of theme to draw your words from. I love how their lines sit so well together and that you built something just as powerful. Your opening pair of lines works well to set up the reader for what follows, the suggestion to misguide – what a revelation!
Thanks, Jennifer! This was fun!
Silence withers bleakly beneath our feet. (Thunder blossoms gorgeously above our heads –Jean Toomer)
Whether thunder or silence,
Blossoms vibrant or withered,
Clouds bleak or gorgeous,
Above our heads or
Beneath our feet—
Each is beautiful in its own way.
Love the juxtaposition of thunder and silence, and this assurance “Each is beautiful in its own way.”
Hi Melissa,
I appreciate how you are finding beauty in each and everyday. It’s true — it exists, we have to allow ourselves to be open and aware. Thank you for this poetic reminder.
Melissa, you upend Toomer’s words and bring us truth. I feel so much of the withering of late, as many remain silent, despite what they see and hear and witness. Powerful stuff here.
You made it fun too, Melissa! I like how you unified the opposites by emphasizing the beauty of each kind – a witty decision. Thank you.
I appreciate the comfort of ALL! Learning to embrace what is, rather than fight against it. Beautiful poem!
Beautiful! I love the image of thunder blossoms.
I so appreciate the acknowledgement of beauty in the imperfection.
Melissa — You have Truth here. I love the simplicity of the lines and the POWER of the message. Hang this up in your classroom! Susie
Melissa, I love the way you pose options. You allow us to consider and appreciate the options. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.
I’ve had a song from the movie “LaLa Land” in my head, so I tried flipping some of its lyrics. (The song is called “The Audition.”)
—————————
A lot of sanity is a lock
that takes old shadows from us
so hold back the followers
the stillness of boulders
the techies and fixers and tools—
There’s to the scholar who doubts
smart as he is
there’s to the mind that’s whole
there’s to the order that breaks.
“There’s to the scholar who doubts” – oh, I love that!
Rachel, I keep rereading those first two lines, finding more in them with each read, and understanding more layers in what follows. I feel like I’m unlocking the meaning here, just enough for awareness but not so much that the lock holds. wow!
I recognized this song, which I love! I’m fascinated by the flipped lyrics – what a great idea!
Jennifer, your prompt is a powerful one and I really do love the way it forces the writer to think about the many meanings of words as well as their opposites! I started with some of Amanda Gorman’s lines, and took tremendous liberty at un-finding it while sharing my heart which is heavy on this holiday.
Let the globe, if nothing else, say this is true:
That even as we grieved, we grew…
At home, elected
Representatives of we,
The people
Sigh and wonder if
This is a need, a want, a lie,
Even as some celebrate,
Winning battles,
Dropping deadly bombs,
Killing of dictators,
Daring rescues,
We, The people wondered
Had We not learned
Lessons from history?
Hi Anita,
There is so much here… your poem truly encapsulates so many challenges, tragedies, and conundrums all in one. It’s a lot. I appreciate you sharing your poetic prowess and reminding us to pay attention to history and the current situation(s). We cannot take anything for granted especially our freedom and humanity.
This is poignant. I am struck by Amanda Gorman’s “even as we grieved, we grew” and the realization that we are celebrating dropping deadly bombs and killing…totally the opposite of what she hoped in her poem.
Anita!!!!! 🎤drop poem!
We have not learned but I sure hope we do sooner rather than later.
Anita — YES YES YES! I am right here with you… where are the wide leaders who have LEARNED from the lessons of history? We have fools in emperor’s clothing… Keep writing! We the People NEED THIS! Hugs, Susie
Anita, your words nudged me to keep reading and I love your question we land on. Also, I’m drawn to ‘wonder’ – ‘a need, a want, a lie,’ – clearly we have not learned ‘Lessons from history?’
Loud Silence
(all lines antonymized from Robert Hass’s “Faint Music”)
You definitely don’t need to listen to a story about judgment.
Before everything healed is restored,
and everything alive is born,
and the villain has looked away from the mirror
with a little self-understanding,
a loud silence comes over things, a sinking
judgment dissolves.
I didn’t believe the grain of sand so full of song
it could ever quiet a wail of pain,
or that the discord helps.
But finally a humility, after the peace,
and after the hearing.
Kate, the slight stopping after a humility and then again with “after the peace” sets us up for the hearing – even though we “don’t need to listen.” That middle stanza has its own pauses, not so much in the reading but because of the reading – we pause to think, to reflect, to understand further. So necessary.
This is wild – to have inverted all the original lines. I really find these two lines to be particularly evocative –
I really liked your last stanza. The image of “the grain of sand so full of song” is striking.
Kate, you had ne hooked with “loud silence” but then your added “a sinking judgement dissolves” and I am listening.
Jennifer, Thanks so much for this fun prompt and excavation idea! I really enjoyed your poem. The element of a quest, reflection, and acknowledgment is present in your poem.
“Not knowing when the Dawn will come, I open every Door.” ~ Emily Dickinson
trapped in memories
seeking a refuge
starlight and dew drops
carry the story of lost time
the truth of an era
within the songs, art, poetry
loomed by the light of the moon
the world is silent
the same shade of red
the color of diaspora
crescent shaped lipstick marks
the moment you stood there
in your undeniable power
soft, fresh, effortless
what are you waiting for?
deep down inside me
Moonrise
nothing but a mistake
faltering and fading
she was stealing the sun
two lunar eclipses
Darshna, what a beautifully powerful beginning with words that convey so much – trapped, refuge, starlight, due drops – to carry lost time’s story. It’s the color and shape of the silent world that stands out most. And you follow that with Moonrise and stealing the sun – so, so beautiful.
Darshna, I love Emily Dickinson, and her line is so promising. You delivered on that promise, and carried us toward Moonrise. Your words are carefully chosen and I love personification allowing starlight and dew drops to carry on their mission revealing “the truth of an era.” Love the sound effect in “soft, fresh, effortless,” which adds to movement. Just gorgeous!
Darshna, I love how you took Dickinson’s line and made it into something absolutely stunning. I especially enjoyed the way you open with the need to find refuge and the lines “the world is silent
the same shade of red
the color of diaspora
crescent shaped lipstick marks”
are striking and emotional.
The closing stanza is powerful. I feel a sense of angst with “she was stealing the sun/two lunar eclipses.”
Mesmerizing and provocative poem!
Darshna, As I read your words, Dickenson faded and I was “carrying the story of lost time” along with you. That is such a powerful line to bring your reader into your poem. Lovely
Beautiful poem, Darshna! I love your “color of diaspora” and the last two stanzas. Perfect pacing as well.
Verselove Day 5–Unfound Line
[and I really hope no white person ever has cause
to write about me
because they never understand
Black love is Black wealth]–Nikki Giovanni, from “Nikki-Rosa”
but I really hope a black person has cause
to celebrate me
because they already know about
black excellence and black abundance
I hope they’ll sing a little song,
and do a little dance
when I’m gone
I hope they will laugh big loud breathtaking laughs
while slapping their thighs and wiping their eyes,
and start every new sentence with,
“…and you remember when she…”
I hope there will be pinto beans
with smoked turkey wings at my repast,
hot water cornbread, and overcooked white rice,
because I never could get that rice timed just right
I hope an auntie will make a 7-up pound cake,
the kind with the glaze that must be what heaven tastes like,
and mayhap someone will bring cold brew & sweet cream
and if they really are there to celebrate me,
there will be a yard sale of only books,
only the books are free–if you promise to remember me,
there will be journals littered with half eaten poems,
blankets in every hue of blue on cozy yellow couches
where friends sit and tell stories of that time,
“Tracei said, I just had to read this book…”
I thought I was in love with this poem with the thigh slapping and eye wiping—but then the menu arrived, all those rich specific details: not just wings and rice, but smoked turkey and overcooked. And that 7-up pound cake—heaven indeed! But could anything beat “half eaten poems”?! (Oh, free books could.) Wish I had a blue blanket on a yellow couch right about now. Thanks for taking me there.
Remember when Tracei wrote that poem? They’ll be saying those words, I’m sure, while eating the 7-up pound cake and untimed rice. These details show and tell all at once. But it’s that ending I love, the yard sale of free books and journals of half eaten poems (oh, how I wish I’d written that!) and blankets and friends and stories. Such a beautiful life lived and being lived!
Oh, I loved your poem, Tracei! I love how you want to be remembered. I don’t know you, but I feel like I peered through a window into your heart.
Tracei — Oh, I just really LOVED this poem. I feel very strongly that YOU INDEED are to be celebrated exactly as you have depicted here. I love it. I want to “borrow” your poem for my “When I croak file…” that is in the drawer here beside me at my right. THIS is marvelous, Tracei, just really dandy. Hugs, Susie
Jennifer, thank you for easing us into a busy and celebratory day ahead. I LOVE found poems and now I’m in love with Un-found poems! Your poem’s opening inspired me to choose a Rumi quote: “What is the Heart? A flower opening. The very center of your heart is where life begins. The most beautiful place on Earth.”
In Search of Earth’s Heart
Where is Earth’s heart?
Is it inside a withering willow
Or dust on a dove’s broken wing
The edge of Earth’s heart
Is where death ends
Where sun and moon merge
©Stacey L. Joy, 4/5/26
Stacey, your poem with the backdrop of the Earth’s glowing image is spectacular! I love Rumi’s lines; his philosophy of Sufism with its generations of wisdom is close to me. Your lines are strikingly beautiful, and I have a hard time to choose, but these came first:
“Is it inside a withering willow
Or dust on a dove’s broken wing”
This one can be framed–it is a keeper!
Stacey, I agree with Leilya on the beauty of those two lines and equally good are “The edge of Earth’s heart/Is where death ends.” I can imagine that meeting place as one where love overtakes all, beginning even on the edge and strengthening as it ventures further in. Beautiful!
Stacey,
Provocative, necessary question: “Where is Earth’s heart?” It feels like it’s dying at times. Love the ending and the idea light conquers death. Perfect for Easter. Gorgeous Canva.
Oooo, Stacey — This is evocative. Beautiful sensory images…”dust on a dove’s broken wing” … “where sun and moon merge.” Lovely. I love the idea of the Earth having a heart. I will think on this a lot this evening as I relax. Love, Susie
Stacey, This is an amazing recreation of Rumi’s quote making me really wonder, along with you, about the heart of our Earth. Given the rocket currently circling the moon and headed back to Earth, I have found myself drafting several poems about what the astronauts might be seeing, thinking and wondering. You, however take your reader into much deeper thinking about the “heart” of our existence.
I was going to choose one line and evoke a poem from that, but decided, instead, to antonymize the entire poem “Lovesong for Lucinda” by Langston Hughes.
Hate
Is a rotting stone
Shriveling in a citrine field.
Spit it out
And the curse of its repulsion
Will choke and ensnare you.
Hate
Is a Black Hole
Obscuring light from the depths.
Ignore too long
And its icy spears
Will never heal your heart.
Hate
Is the nethermost of the ocean
Lurking in a motionless abyss.
If you
Will always exhale your mind
Do not fall too low.
What a great poem to pick to anonymize. I *love* your first three lines, especially the vivid and striking “citrine.” I’m interested, too, in how “rotting stone” works; one wouldn’t think a stone can rot, but it somehow fits so well and really brings home the spoiling power of hate.
Julie, you’ve woven the antonyms so naturally into your poem, creating images that strengthen upon themselves, building details from strong beginnings (rotting stones shriveling and then choking and ensnaring). So powerful. And ending with that cautionary reminder works so well.
Julie,
This: “Is a rotting stone
Shriveling in a citrine field.
Spit it out”
Put that in a t-shirt. I tell myself every day to surcharge out. Fabulous poem.
This is a powerful reproach to Hate. It certainly can obscure light from the depths. Now I have to look at the “Lovesong for Lucinda.”
I did a lot of thinking about what lines to try. These feel appropriate given the day:
Life, be humble, because many have not named you
Meek and inviting, because you are.
Those who you think you can save
Live, rich Life, and you can help me live.
From work and awakeness, which are what you are,
Little pain; then towards you little less will fall away,
And eventually our worst people run towards you,
Work of their muscles, and body’s imprisonment.
You’re a master of chance, peasants, and satisfied people,
And don’t reject healing, peace, and health,
And alertness or curses can awaken us anyhow
And worse than your caress; then why shrink away?
Many long awakened moments ahead, we sleep for just a moment,
And life will be eternal; Life, you will live!
I like where this went– it reinforced the original poem, especially on Easter.
Sheila, I’m especially drawn to the command, Live, rich Life and how it reciprocates to helping you live as well. I read so much of Easter into this today, with the worst eventually turning toward you. And then the ending command or announcement: Life, you will live!
Your prompt has really gotten me thinking this rainy Easter afternoon. I love how Dickinson’s line created a whole new imagery and meaning
I’m using a line from Eve Merriam’s The New Moon: Tonight is the time, step carefully, hold on to me.
New Moon
Morning is an eternity,
settle suddenly,
Release her.
Dash fearlessly
into this day,
shine brightly.
Don’t hide in the night,
show your beautiful,
luminous face.
You were made
for the heavens
Don’t stop spinning.
Keep reflecting
the sun’s golden power
Stay in my orbit.
Joanne, what an invitation to step into the world, to embrace the day, to make the most of it, to carpe diem. I love how you spun Merriam’s line and delivered so much meaning with your opening. As our attention reaches for more with Artemis and the moon this week, your poem holds even more meaning.
Joanne, I love the title of your poem and how effortlessly it flows. Absolutely love your third and final stanza. I appreciate the direct voice and fabulous diction to implore the moon to shine! Gorgeous!
This poem is filled with an energy and urgency that I enjoyed! I’m a morning person, and I feel like your poem could be a theme song!
“Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—”
One highway converged in a town, and my nieces and nephew
Crowded, narrow Manila Road
leading to Pililla, in Rizal, in the Philippines
Cars, trucks, tricycles
Speeding, yet accidents rarely happen.
My dream since 2017 when my three siblings and I
Together there for a precious week.
Relatives had long given up
We had left forty-three years before.
Four in the next generation, two more in the next next
So far one has stepped onto the ancestral place
and has returned even without me.
Two others keep saying they’ll come.
I am confident they will find
Connections, answers, belonging, rootedness,
adventures not yet dreamed.
I hope they come before I am laid to rest.
Oh, this is lovely. I especially love the lines “So far one has stepped onto the ancestral place/ and has returned even without me.” I love that cycling of generations.
Cayetana, the movement in your piece, from crowded roads through weeks and years, through stepping and next, next repetitions, is beautifully reminiscent of life’s journey, all the way to the end rest. Mentioning the speeding and crowds with rarely an accident shows care and honor of life. I love how the title works so well and feels like the set up (for a joke – a priest, a rabbi… or for a sitcom – the one where…). It’s the start of a very good story to follow. And you deliver.
Cayetana,
There is so much to celebrate in your poem: the connections to family, ancestors, traditions, memories, and belonging. I do hope that you all have a chance to return and rejoice to the Phillipines.The next generation finding their way home. It would be quite the homecoming!
I love how you slanted your poem towards a highway that converged in a town – a place so foreign to me, yet reminiscent to you and your family. There are few places for me like that – I can only imagine you have a love for that place which sounds through your words. Your dream – a precious week, the word belonging is felt through your words. Thanks for taking me there.
Jennifer,
This was a cool prompt! I love excavating poems! I gathered 4 lines from 4 living poets and I ended up adapting 3 of them.
Here are the original lines:
can’t our heart just be an untethered
and unspectacular thing that keeps us from a funeral (Hanif Abdurraqib, Poems from an Email Exchange)
Maybe treasure is anything that reminds you
what a miracle it is to be alive. (Clint Smith, Above Ground)
I am
the savory morsel in America’s
teeth. (Damaris Hill, Shut Up in my Bones)
This one didn’t make it in:
Existence on the fringes and such
My generation just sit like ducks
(El-P, Deep Space 9mm)
Bandaging our better angels
Can our reasoning minds be bound to spectacle that drives us to graves?
Surely this is the realm of intemperance and folly
The detritus that distracts from the miracle of the mundane
The sour bile that drips from America’s jowls,
Intemperate actions fomented in fear and folly
Driving us to pluck the wings from our better angels
Soured from the bile that drips from America’s jowls
Drowning us in delusions that blind us to blessings
Can we not paste back the plumage on our better angels?
Discard the detritus that distracts from mundane miracles
Deliver ourselves from delusion and embrace our blessings
Return to reasoning minds and lives until we lie peaceful in graves.
“Can we not paste back the plumage on our better angels?” That’s poetry gold right there.
Dave, I hear the plea, the yearning to return to reasoning until death – I beg for the same. These lines hit hard: The sour bile that drips from America’s jowls (oh, how I wish we weren’t within those jowls) and Driving us to pluck the wings from our better angels (the losses keep piling up). You’ve upended those found lines into even stronger originals. Admiration here for you.
Dave,
I really appreciate the title and the message of this poem. Only if we could…
There are so much substance and rationale within your poem along with the wish for peace and taking the higher road. Only if we can… The entire poem echoes a need to make a change and reason with our higher power. The elegance of your action verbs and imagery helps make the case.
Thank you for the reminder this day to pay attention to “mundane miracles” AND “return to our reasoning minds.” So interesting to think about how we may unthinkingly be “pluck[ing] the wings from our better angels,” how we’ll need to make a concerted effort to “paste [them] back.”
Oh, Dave, this is such a raw depiction of our reality. The second stanza sounds like a “life imprisonment without parole” sentence to America. The imagery of “plucking the wings from our better angels” is just devastating. Beyond the message, I notice how intentionally you use alliteration in pairs within one line in a couple of places. This helps the rhythm and prompts the reader to emphasize these words:
“The detritus that distracts from the miracle of the mundane”
“Intemperate actions fomented in fear and folly“
“Drowning us in delusions that blind us to blessings”
“Return to reasoning minds and lives until we lie peaceful in graves.”
I also noticed that you move from interrogatives to declaratives, to imperatives (call for action). Your poem could be a great example for a linguistic analysis in my class.
Dave, I am absolutely transported by the visceral images of your poem and love the idea that you used multiple living poet lines to create this masterpiece. Your opening question is compelling and provocative. I was particularly taken by “Soured from the bile that drips from America’s jowls.” Your closing two lines shares everything I desire. Fabulous poem!
Wow, what a powerful poem you unfound here, Dave. I love this prompt that is making poems be born that never would have come. “The sour bile that drips from America’s jowls” is going to haunt my sleep tonight, as it does most days. I like your title too.
Good Morning, Jennifer! I love the prompt and the challenge. Your un-found lines are amazing, and the one you chose to use for a poem is full of life: “I heard a birth beyond my heart.” You did promise to send us down the rabbit hole. It happened ))
I chose this famous couplet from Alexander Pope’s 1711 poem, An Essay on Criticism for my poem today:
“A little learning is a dangerous thing; / Drink deep, or taste not the Pierian spring”
A wealth of learning brings a steady peace; / Sip softly, or shun not the common well.
***
A wealth of learning brings a steady peace;
Sip softly, or shun not the common well.
Take time with what you gather on the way:
Small truths can steady more than one might think.
Observe the lessons in an ordinary day;
Even a brief exchange can help you hear.
Embrace the voices speaking pure and kind;
They teach in ways no book can fully tell.
And trust that wisdom sprouts in any mind
That’s willing just to pause beside the well.
Leilya, wow, what a wealth of wisdom you bestow through your lovely poem. There’s such weight with each line and I love how the narrator moves us to that willingness to pause beside the well at the end. My favorite lines “Embrace the voices speaking pure and kind;”
They teach in ways no book can fully tell.” Your kind spirit and educator’s soul are brimming throughout this one.
Leilya — I love how this poem turns simple reflection into a kind of gentle architecture, each line a step toward a quiet understanding, and how the repeated imagery of the well becomes both a literal and metaphorical space for learning. What lingers for me is the generosity in the way you show wisdom unfolding in small moments, the way observation, listening, and patience can carry more weight than we often realize.
Sarah
Leilya,
I love to turn to quietude and a reverence for small things in your poem. The poem even sounds peaceful with the soft
consonant and consonant blends. Thanks for this perspective!
Leilya, I always find I learn from your words and today is no exception. Your dedication to lifelong learning shines through in the steady peace and soft sipping and slow gathering. How lucky your students are to spend time with you, just as we are lucky to spend time with you and your words here. I’m so grateful to have paused beside your poem today.
“Even a brief exchange can help you hear.” Love this line!
Leilya,
This is such a gorgeous and tender poem that embraces all the small things in life. We need to pause, appreciate, and be awed by these exchanges. Love the pace and flow of the message. Very meditative.
Leilya, where do I even begin? There is so much to love here, and you did this with rhyme and meaning. These lines are sticking with me:
Embrace the voices speaking pure and kind;
They teach in ways no book can fully tell.
These voices and the kindness are the key to the future and to getting along in this world. I wonder all the time what our forefathers would think if they were to come back from the grave for a day or two – – and the poets of long ago. You captured a gem today!
Jennifer, your wizardry with words is shining today with your prompt and poetry. Love the concise power of your poem.
“Even if the darkness precedes and follows us, we have a chance, briefly, to shine.” Arthur Sze
The Tomb
When fickle light falls,
escapes your embrace,
fails to kiss your upturned face,
find the cave, crawl inside,
embrace its endless dark,
caress its walls of silence closing in.
Barb Edler
5 April 2026
Barb, first, OMG! You used the National Poetry Month line selected by poetry.org, I see, and the US Poet Laureate. I’m in awe of the poem – – The Tomb, so timely for today. And embracing the endless dark is also reminiscent of Lauren Camp’s poetry and her time as the Grand Canyon Astronomer Poet in Residence. Your poem today is a welcome respite from the troubles of the world, and I do. I do. I do want to crawl in the cave and caress the walls of silence.
Barb, you amaze me again. The thing you do with the sounds–the sonic effect is just outstanding. Alliterations with f: fickle, falls, fails, and then the play with c/k sounds: escapes, kiss, cave, crawl, caress. These consonants almost carry the tactile weight of minerals/stones that make up the cave. You take this inversion all the way: if there is no light, then there is an escape in the darkness. So good!
Barb,
I love how this poem dives headfirst into the dark, making it feel alive and almost tender, like the cave itself is a friend waiting to greet us. What lingers for me is the way you show that even in stillness and shadow, there’s a spark of possibility—your words make the darkness feel charged with quiet wonder.
Sarah
So good to read your words, Barb! Exquisitely composed. Beautifully eerie.
Barb—as always, you humble me! I have reread this three times and find a new favorite line every time! So peaceful for this Sunday morning…
Barb,
Beautiful poem! I sense the underlying sadness in this, but I can’t help but to see some hope in the shelter of the cave and the embrace of darkness. But the crafting of sound is really remarkable, and your concision, too.
Oh, Barb! I immediately thought of death and the brevity of life after reading Sze’s quote and before reading your title. Somehow, you manage to make an ending feel soothing, a place to rest, an acceptance rather than a resistance. Every line of this is beautiful, each word thoughtfully chosen. Down on my knees praising you today.
Barbara,
This is brilliant poem and you totally took today’s challenge/prompt to a new level. I adore this poem and especially love the “silence”. I think it is often within the silence we discover what we may need especially during difficult times. Bravo!
Barb,
Genius! Love the conditions and the alliteration in /f/ words and assonance in /e/ words. Perfect directive:and action verbs: find, crawl, embrace, caress. That phrase @closing in” does not feel ominous given the tine of the poem. It’s a death has no dominion Easter mantra. Love it.
This is simply stunning. The contrast of “fickle light” to the stone-walled embrace of the cave is compelling. Gives me “Music of the Night” vibes. So good.
Talk about word wizardry. This is so beautiful what you did here. “caress its walls of silence closing in” makes death seem so peaceful.
Jennifer! What a fun challenge this morning. I love the pause in your poem with the stanza break–“to take it in.”
I started with Naomi Shihab Nye’s “Shoulders” and found that changing the gender and action of the child took the piece in a different direction.
a woman halts in sun, considering
forging roughly, ignoring traffic south and north,
because her daughter charges,
awake
this mother follows the world’s
least aggressive engine,
for she is marked everywhere,
her tank top whispering
STRONG, LET THIS ONE BE
we’ll only be able to die in this era
if we resist what she’s doing
for herself
the stream will only be narrow
the sun hidden behind a cloud
Oof, Brenna, your poem is riveting. I love the active words and tension between action and dying. The last two lines are both striking and provocative. I am especially moved by “this mother follows the world’s
least aggressive engine,”
Great stuff!
Brenna! I love how you take Naomi Shihab Nye’s framework and make it vibrate in a wholly new way—the shift in gender and action transforms the poem into something fierce and tender at once. What I am carrying with me today is the way you hold both the mother’s care and the child’s unstoppable energy, showing how resistance, presence, and devotion flow together in these small, sunlit moments.
Sarah
Brenna, how clever it is to change the gender. I kept reading your poem alongside the original. Your second stanza made me stop and think. While in the original men carries “the most sensitive cargo,” in yours the mother “follow’s the world’s least aggressive engine” hoping “STRONG, LET THIS ONE BE.” Amazingly strong transformation!
Brenna – this is so powerful. Interesting that a change of gender can change the whole mood and meaning!
I love the line “STRONG, LET THIS ONE BE”– I think it’s the wish of mothers everywhere. Let our strong girls move through the world!
Brenna, Naomi Shihab Nye is one of my favorites and your words here hold equal admiration. The lines in that third stanza speak truth and I’m reminded of what this era now holds that it shouldn’t be retaining and how resisting the bravery and strength of girls brings endings. Love, love, love.
“her tank top whispering
STRONG, LET THIS ONE BE”
Love, love, love!
What a great prompt, Jennifer! and a perfect one for me today…it’s a rainy Easter in New York and Longfellow’s first verse from a Rainy Day was running round my head: The day is cold and dark and dreary/it rains and the wind is never weary/the vine still clings to the mouldering wall/and at ever gust, the dead leaves fall/the day is dark and dreary.
The day is warm with joy and light.
The sun is shining clear and bright.
Roses climb the pristine wall
and though a few sweet petals fall
the day is clear and bright.
Ann, oh my, this is lovely and quite the opposite to “Rainy Day”. Love the image of roses climbing the pristine wall and the light and joy…..oh yes! Gorgeous poem!
The flip of the rainy day to a warm one with sun and roses is a sweet turn on the weather, and it’s also rainy and stormy in Georgia, just southward down the Atlantic coast from you. Happy Easter, and thank you for the falling rose petals.
Ann,
Your poem thrills me with its pivot from gloomy to glowing, turning a rainy day into a celebration of light and life. I love how the images of climbing roses and falling petals carry both movement and joy, showing how tradition can be reimagined with tenderness and delight.
Sarah
Ann, your antonymizing creates a perfect day everyone would choose instead of “cold and dark and dreary.” You skillfully worked with the pattern and rhyme. Delightful!
A beautiful poem for a rainy Easter. I loved Longfellow as a child. You have made me want to go back and read. Thank you, Ann.
Ann, so good to see you here! Your poem brightens my day (one full of rain and drear, much like yours). Your words are full of hope and all that is to come – so much that we need right now. Thank you for this gift of spring and warmth, light and joy, my friend. Even the few falling petals are sweet.
A much needed move from depressing to lovely!
I sure like the opposite world that you have created better than the reality of a rainy Easter and of Longfellow’s poem.
Jennifer,
I love this inspiration so much! It’s clever and unique and offers endless opportunity to create.
I spent the wee hours of the morning digging for verse then church and such dominated. I just took a couple moments to do one but I will revisit.
From “Two Tramps in Mud Time” by Robert Frost
“The sun was warm but the wind was chill. You know how it is with an April day.”
Turned into
The moon was cold and the stillness was hot. You know how it is with an October night.
Oh, Susan, this is promising. Love “You know how it is with an October night.” I’m on the edge!!
Susan, I saw your pictures of the bridal shower, and they are gorgeous. You have exciting things happening right now in your family. I love how you made the one line sing….there is such power in brevity, and just wringing this line to its opposite gave it antonymic power.
Susan,
Your transformation of Frost is just brilliant—the chilly sun becomes a hot stillness, and suddenly the night hums with its own tension and magic. A single line can blossom into a whole new world.
Sarah
Susan, I am with Barb in anticipation to see what that October night may bring. Have a wonderful Sunday with your family! 🙂
Susan, this is oh, so lovely! I hadn’t looked ahead when I signed up for this day to see that it was Easter and today wondered how many would have time to write – I’m so glad you did. Shifting between April and October, in mood and tone, from coming light to oncoming darkness is brilliant. (I want the rest!)
Love this translation. Halloween?!
Jennifer! Thank you for today’s interesting prompt. I love the way your poem relates to the creative energy that flows from all new things – we can “hear a birth” beyond our hearts. Do we always listen?
I chose my inspirational line from the poem, “i didn’t eat the sun” by ire’ne lara silva.
“ i didn’t run with the
coyotes but i howled with them i howled with
them and
remembered
what
freedom
Was”
“Running with Coyotes”
Last night, in a fitful bout with sleep and unsleep,
I ran with the coyotes,
A stealthy collective,
Moving quietly through the overgrown fleabane.
Then crashed back to earth,
To fret about work and money and time.
I wish I could remember what freedom was.
Shaun, wow, I so enjoyed reading your incredible poem. I love the way the actions move and land on “I wish I could remember what freedom was.” That ending resonates. Love so many lines and the dcition, especially “a stealthy collective” and the personal worries are sadly relatable. Brilliant poem!
Shaun,
I love how the language and rhythm of this piece fully inhabit the setting, the dialogue doing so much work to establish place, tension, and belonging without ever needing to explain itself. So impressed with how you capture that subtle negotiation of identity in a single exchange, how we carry proof of where we’re from in voice, memory, and shared codes, and how recognition can arrive in something as simple as a smirk and a wave.
And I don’t know how you figured out those indented spaces. Whew.
Sarah
Shaun, that “sleep and unsleep” can do weird things. I hear your worries “about work and money and time,” and that final line is so sobering: “I wish I could remember what freedom was.” Your transformation strikes the cords of reality. Thank you for sharing!
Shaun – your imagery is so powerful. It shakes us up and makes us listen.
Shaun, my goodness, this is a great poem, and that last line really blew me away.
And then I looked up fleabane and that made things pop even more!
Bonus: The line that you adapted is also SO GOOD—I have that poem ready to read in another tab, so thank you for putting me on to that too!
Shaun, you capture that moment when waking we release from what we dreamed of and in mere seconds find ourselves facing reality once again, so much so that we lose what was in our dreams. And you do it so beautifully (stealthily, even). I wish you much running with coyotes tonight and every night.
Oof! the last line, “I wish I could remember what freedom was” hits like waking up from a good treasure-find-dream and realizing the bag of money is no longer in my grip.
Shaun—a sad truth, beautifully acknowledged…wow.
So, here’s the problem,
up is down and left is
right and everything
is topsy-turvey;
clichés are fresh and un-unalive
and would you believe “In, In–”
is a Robert Frost poem about an
older newt who regrows his arm
(it’s really a happy tale of rebirth,
you see),
so, yeah,
just lately,
I simply
call this
Tuesday.
_____________________________________________________
Thank you, Jennifer, for this clever and fun prompt (although it nearly broke my brain when I tried to figure out what actually is the opposite of a tree…lol. I was forced to go with “Out, Out–” instead of, say, “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening” or “Birches”).
Scott, I really enjoyed the blend of abstract and concrete here–the balance between the first and third stanzas with the second about the newt (with the rich parentheticals). The last line of “simply call this Tuesday” felt relatable. Thanks for sharing!
Scott. Geesh. I am so glad you are here. You bring such joy. I love how you twist words and ideas here, making clichés and Frost feel fresh and funny. “Tuesday” has this spark that makes me want to smile and read it again.
Scott, I reread your poem twice just to cheer up myself. Your explanation notes are another kind of poems: “it nearly broke my brain when I tried to figure out what actually is the opposite of a tree…” – I laughed out loud at this point. Thank you for bringing in this gem today!
Scott, you can be counted on to have a fresh take on every prompt and it draws me to reading. Even when time escapes my ability to respond, know that I always find your poems captivating. The antonyms here (fresh and un-unalive clichés) are so, so good. And just might you have solved the opposite of a tree? I imagine it as a newt regrowing limbs.
Oh, Scott, what a great response to the tragic “Out, Out–” I love “and would you believe…” Yeah, we wouldn’t, but you tell it so convincingly anyway, this “happy tale of rebirth” Bravo. Thanks for the smiles.
Thank you for sharing this type of writing. It is interesting to think about the other side of things. I chose the poem ‘ The Art’ by Elizabeth Bishop and the line is ‘ The art of losing isn’t hard to master;
The incapacity of keeping is hard to overcome
They told me once—
“The incapacity of keeping is hard to overcome,”
but I just kept mum
Thinking it was something distant,
a line from a book,
Something I wouldn’t have to look
But it held me by the hook
Suddenly it was something that was living inside me.
I feel it now
in the way I hold emotions—
too tightly at first,
then not at all.
Is it easy to fall?
Or easier to hold Love, laughter and…languish
Ohh I wish!
Happiness visits,
sits beside me like it belongs,
and before I can trust it,
it’s already halfway out the door.
Making me long for more!
I have lived whole moments
that I cannot fully remember,
felt love
that I cannot fully explain,
been someone
I can no longer return to.
I don’t lose things loudly.
They fade—
like laughter after it’s spoken,
like warmth after it’s felt,
like meaning after it’s questioned
too many times.
And I wonder if it’s me—
if I was built this way,
to experience deeply
but never permanently,
to feel everything
but keep nothing whole.
Still, I try.
I try to hold onto the small things—
a sentence someone said,
a quiet moment that mattered,
a version of myself that felt enough.
Because even if
the incapacity of keeping is hard to overcome,
I am still here,
learning—slowly, imperfectly—
how not to let everything
slip away.
Oh, wow. I read this aloud and marveled at its word play. I loved how the words flowed and moved. What beautiful imagery threaded through this. There were several lines tht grabbed me. I loved when you said that you try to hold on to the small things.
Oh, wow. I found myself drawn to the midsections of the stanzas: “in the way I held emotions–/too tightly at first/then, not at all” and “And I wonder if it’s me—/if I was built this way/to experience deeply/but never permanently,/to feel everything/but keep nothing whole.” These longer reflective lines followed by “Still, I try” is so human and vulnerable. Thank you for sharing!
Kratijah,
I love how this poem takes Bishop’s line and makes it yours. The way you hold onto little moments, feelings, and yourself—even knowing they’ll slip away—feels so honest and real. It’s quiet, tender, and full of that kind of courage that just noticing counts for something.
Sarah
Kratijah, I kept trying to hold on to all of the bits and pieces of your words and thoughts that I wanted to keep but the incapacity was there – I was living your writing the entire read. I’m reminded of age as things start to slip and busyness while trying to hold all that must be done and living in moments rather than into the future. What a beautiful piece you’ve shared with us today.
Kratijah, thank you for sharing this poem with us today. I was impressed by the title, first. It captures antonymic lexical semantics relationship that Jennifer requested, but it also take the poem to another level, more intimate as “it was something that was living inside me.” Your efforts to hold onto small things reflect my own attempts. Such an honest and relatable experience–thank you!
Jennifer, I loved this morning’s prompt although I am sure that I deviated far from the instructions.
The Beginning and the End
With apologies to Wislawa Szymborska, The End and the Beginning
You said, We’ll need the bridges back
and I thought, they want the divide that separates
you, me, them, and us more than
they desire any sort of conduit and connector
that might bring two sides together.
You said, Someone, broom in hand, still
recalls the way it was.
and I thought, Someone, whitewash in hand,
dismisses the way it was, the gains that were made, or
they use their broom to sweep away the changes that challenge
their narrow view of what ought to be or what should be.
You said, sometimes someone still unearths
rusted-out arguments and carries them to the garbage pile.
and I thought, sometimes someone tears away the humanity
that suppressed a broken argument, to dust it off, and shine it as
an undercover truth rather than a hidden horror.
You said, in the grass that has overgrown causes and effects,
someone must be stretched out blade of grass
in his mouth gazing at the clouds.
and I thought, in the weeds trimmed back to reveal hate and rage,
a group watches, popcorn in hand, flipping through the chaos on the screens.
Melanie, I really appreciated your words. I was drawn to the imagery of “You said, Someone, broom in hand, still
recalls the way it was.
and I thought, Someone, whitewash in hand,
dismisses the way it was”
and the different ways we might go about moving forward after conflict. The “you said” and “I thought” back and forth made me think about the spoken and unspoken parts of conversations large and small. The weeds in the last stanza! i will keep thinking about this piece. Thank you.
Melanie, I love more than anything the imbalance of what You say and what I think here. The stark external voice triggering long meditations within. And you resolve each stanza so powerfully — the narrow view, the hidden horror, the chaos on our screens. Wow / thanks!
Melanie,
I love how you’ve taken Szymborska’s lines and run with them, making the poem speak in your own sharp, observant voice. The way you notice the small, unsettling actions—sweeping, whitewashing, watching—feels alive and very real, like we’re seeing the world through your eyes. There’s a quiet power in how you hold both the past and its echoes, and it really lingers with me. Such intertextuality here that shows the connection of reading and writing as shaping being.
Sarah
Melanie, well if there ever was a time to deviate, you did it with perfection and intention! I am struck by how the writing does exactly that – you lay down the “rule” (someone, broom in hand, still recalls the way it was) and then it’s broken (whitewash in hand, dismisses the way it was). I imagine all those trying to cover what has been done throughout history, whitewashing it. And then the popcorn watchers! Wow!
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.
Julie,
I’m really struck by how you’ve carried the original imagery of kneeling into this tense, rising motion—it makes the world feel almost alive, waiting, trembling. The way you shift from the vast, elemental scale to the intimate, human consequences feels urgent and heartbreaking, and it lingers, asking me to reckon with both what’s happening and what we’ve allowed. I am a little haunted, too. Okay, a lot haunted.
Sarah
Julie, this is heart-wrenching in its reality. From that backward rising along with ashes to the image of time hanging as if in the midst of its lynching to the poisoned innocence smashed while the planet keeps turning. I’m reminded of gothic horror (we’re living in it).
The blue planet continuing what’s it’s meant to be from the beginning. From Artemis II the contours show no war and we will be again. I am hopeful.
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?
I, too, felt I deviated from the instructions. I loved the journey in this poem, the flow and movement of the story. It felt like a moment captured in time, both personal and somehow universal. Love this.
The tone here had me laughing … and relating hard. And the care & the imagery, and the roll-call of family just have me so thankful for this Easter joy you’ve brought : )
Brian,
I love how this poem carries both chaos and care—how the drapes, the dust dinosaurs, and the sweaty sneakers all become part of a world that feels lived in, funny, and tender. And also melancholy. Maybe some bitter. Not sure. What stays with me is how memory, humor, and your version of love and loving sneak into the small, messy moments—washing the curtains becomes a way of holding on, even if everything else is a little out of control. and it feels important that the image is curtains, that we can, ourselves, decide to open or close as this poem does. Glad you decided to open the curtain for us today and all the ways you do that in your writing and teaching and being. Hugs.
Sarah
Bryan, the imagery of this is so striking, from the Pepto Bismol color of the curtains to the dust dinosaurs at the onset and the flash of the bras amidst the Labatt’s Blue bottles strewn around at the end. And in the midst of it all is the living, the screaming and overheating and clutter and laughter. So vivid. So full.
Bryan,
This makes me what to revisit and flip “Curtains” to recall moments in my childhood. This what at its heart i love about this community of poets: the way it inspired me, helps me find my way through words and life. The desire to return to a moment of limited knowing is a pull on nostalgia, and I love the irony of the girls showing their bras! LOL! Wonderful full circle moment at the end.
Bryan, I’m following your poems with heightened awareness as I can feel this familiar season and know the pain and laughter-in-the-pain-because-otherwise-we’d-all-cry feelings. The random scenes make your poetry so relatable, one thing like shoes invading the room and the maternal cussing, and turning on the tv, and the memory of cookies and the memory of….well, bras….and all of this is so real. The universality and specificity of which make it poetry that we desperately need. When I was in this season recently, I turned on my voice recorder and asked for stories, and now they are precious to me even in the anger and bitterness and regret and all the days that seemed like smoke and fog. Please, please keep writing the poems of the tough days, finding the humor in the raw truth. So many need to glance in our windows of poems and know that they are not alone.
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.
Oh, the beauty of the images here. I loved the quick snapshots of the care given described so perfectly in the lines. What a gorgeous piece. I love it.
Joel, this would be perfect for the snapshot poems we write in class, with the exposition needed to tell the story of the dog and his master. Love the “conversation” they hold (midstream) and the gentleness with which you tell it. Hope that your Easter Buddy starts to have easier days.
Joel, you chose a beloved poem, held by many as the first poem that made them love poetry even in its depth of sadness. And what you did with it leaves my mouth agape, my jaw hitting the floor in awe. My heart seems to live in dogs. And aging dogs and their gratitude is a thing of beauty and trust and love in the purest sense. Buddy may be having a rough go of it, but goodness gracious – – he is in the hands of loving owners who are there with him every step of the way, and it makes my heart fill with joy. Dogs and their masters. The best ever.
Joel,
I love how this poem slows down the morning and lets us move with your dog, noticing every little pause (paws), glance, and movement. There’s such tenderness in the way you capture presence in the quiet Easter light, the canine energy, the small exchanges that mean everything. What I am holding onto today is how you make the ordinary feel sacred, how even a walk across the yard becomes a meditation on care, attention, and love. A witness to each other’s existence.
Sarah
I have experience. A few four-legged friends until their end, but really our end.
Joel, I just want to say thank you for this poem. I read and reread your lines showing (not telling) the dog’s appreciation of your care, your compassion, the movement, and the stillness of the early morning. Beautifl!
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!
omg each line has its own surprises & gifts. love the sound of it (blood-bathe, lack luster, and the long vowels of the last line). And remember, Kim, always consider the chicken : )
Kim, you added the challenge of combining lines from differing poems and did it so wonderfully. Placing the actions upon the one storming out aligns builds the narrative from the title forward. The setting works the periphery, almost like the brood-bathing dust settling on the edges. And then there’s that moon, hanging frozen. Lovely.
Kim, I adore the title of your poem, and the first two lines are perfect. That poor chicken! I can hear the narrator’s voice throughout this and especially liked “over yonder the moon hangs frozen”. wow, what an end! Very fun poem!
woah…so cool! That line with “brood-bathe” is so interesting. I read it over again just because it’s so fun and interesting to read.
Kim.
Oh, the moon hangs frozen. Love that, and I’m really taken with the clever flips and twists you’ve made here, how each line turns the original on its head but still keeps a kind of sly, winking connection to the source. I love feeling like you are winking at me as I sit beside your poem (and you). The movement of the poem has a quiet mischief, like you’re daring the reader to catch the antonyms while also letting them float in the strangeness of the images.
Sarah
Kim, you are the chief wordsmith today. You found a poem composed of different lines from O’Donnell, and then you un-found it transforming into this new masterpiece. The title itself deserves a prize. As I read each line, I smiled–so much wit and your persona in this un-found poem. My favorites are “you did not consider the chicken” and “all farms lack luster.”
Kim, I loved this wild poem! 🤣
Kim,
Tgst title is provocative and reminds me of a parent or teacher’s response to a child or student who is unwilling to learn. “as you’ll discover” for yourself feels prophetic. Love the image of farm live and evocation of time erasing idyllic ideals. Very appropriate in these times.
I am so impressed with how you are continuing to stay committed to 1) Living poets, 2) the cento, and 3) meeting the “expectations” of each day’s inspiration. And, you do a marvelous job of providing feedback to so many of us writers. You are one of a handful of MVPs on this blog.
Your un-written poem has such great voice!
How in the world did you convince so many antonyms to paint such a delightful image?! “Over yonder the moon hangs frozen…” – love this!
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.
I, too, love this poet! Your poem captured such a powerful moment. I appreciated its thoughtfulness and its introspection. The last question grabbed me and made me read it aloud. Beautiful work here.
Sharon, grateful for finding another poet to explore! This moment of a fact ended sits naturally, mundanely for what should be such a non-mundane event. I imagine the couple uprooted from their daily tasks at the suddenness of loss. This is a beautiful piece.
Sharon, I will have a new poet to explore, and I love discovering those that inspire others. I’m going to read the rest of the tale at your blog – – the format of which I really love, by the way, the typewriter font and the background color is my favorite color. This poem, a statement and two questions, says so much about death and the aftermath of a life lived and shared in the same walls, in the ordinary ways we all know. It hits home.
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.
I loved the lines “Take you a blindness, take you a mask, that makes complexity a task” it resonated with me. Such great word choice in the whole poem but I loved this line. It spoke so much as a critique of contemporary society.
Wendy, I’m finding hope in your words today in reading nature as human nature and “all is not sour, all’s not undid.” And I desperately need to find it everywhere. Love the Latin beginning and your dated sign-off. Another living poet to study today 🙂
Wow, Wendy, you have created a twisted poem indeed full of interesting turns and phrases. I especially enjoyed, “Never to be darkened, never in stank;” and “Such tart affection more giveth me” Very fun read!
You positively nailed the un-writing! You did so great with the rhyme. I wanted to tackle an original with rhyme and it was a real struggle.
Wendy, I love, love the current spin and use of slang (not undid) that you have modernized in Ben Jonson’s poem, over a century between you and such connection. He’d be giving a side grin, you know, were he here, self-amused in the inspired wording. I also love the seamless rhyme scheme that is not forced or contrived but that makes perfect sense and seems natural – – that is hard to do, and you’ve nailed it here in unfounded ways.
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!
Anna, thank you for bringing to mind easter bonnets! There used to be a bonnet parade by kindergartners when I was little – I haven’t thought of that in years. We would need snow hats today! How sweet is that image of you. Hallelujah!
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.
Diane, your words should be read by every writer and student as a reminder to keep going – those blackened flames in the junkyard are a visceral image weightily describing despair and futility.
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.
Jennifer, your words honor her, every aspect of her. What a beautiful tribute! We spent time interviewing my grandparents as they got older, trying to retain as much of them as possible, and my kids have done this with my parents, too. The recording of stories to mark our history brings together what has come before and what is to be for future generations.
Knowing your love of travel, I know that you want to share with her the new cultures, tastes, sights and smells of your journeys. I hope you share this with your mom – – it will absolutely make her day! It’s beautiful, and what a blessing to have your mom as your greatest fan.
This is the BEST birthday present a daughter could give!
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.
Sarah, a perfect What If of so many things here. My favorite is lighting the lantern. When we had a particularly difficult group of parents, I would send a positive email to someone, anyone every time we received a negative one. It felt as if I was lighting lanterns and it allowed me to get through the year. I love the alongsides.
Just this week, Sarah, my students were geeking out on anaphora. And here the successive what-ifs just show how much we carry. Thanks for showing how with each thing that burdens us, there is a chance, there is the strength to move beyond it — if just for a moment. Thank you for this!
Wow, Sarah, this needs to be a banner song. I love the range of dark emotions: fear, doubt, anger, regret, shame, sorrow! Absolutely adored the closing lines. Love the hope and the “greening under your feet. ” Inspiring poem full of truth and hope.
After the questioning refrains, the solution is offered. What if…
Sarah,
Ada Limon for the win! What if? indeed. It is hard to embrace these what ifs, but most important to our own lives that we do. And what if? is central to this prompt, so I’m here for the magnification and imagine you being in Peru and all the other amazing places have kept what if? at the center of living these many months. keep what ifing, my friend.
So expertly done!
I love the line – “What if, instead of storing regret, you stitched a quilt…” So much to think about here!
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.
Oh, how I love this, Gayle! I recently tossed four of those blackened and flaccid bananas. I’ll have to share with my students as we write apology poems in the manner of Williams, and I know they would find humor in your antonymic revelation today!
This made me laugh…especially since I just made banana bread yesterday with the most flaccid of banana’s, which will now be by new description for overripe bananas,
Ha, love this, Gayle. I actually started a poem today based on Williams’ poem. The opening action is perfect! The blackened and flaccid are a total hoot! Delightfully fun!
So perfect!
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.
Jessica, everything about the the gentleness of this moment, of being within reach of the pasture’s whisper and hope is so appealing. I want to lie within this space too and breathe spring. Beautiful.
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.
Kevin, even though the poem talks about loss, it seems the poet has moved beyond the loss and is himself more genuine that the person he had been pretending to be, which to me left me feeling proud of him.
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.
Linda, what a twist of a spin on Langston Hughes’ poem! I am loving what comes out when we twist and wring originals and read them as opposites. This will be fun for students, too! Hope you had a great Spring Break! Welcome Back!