Amber lives in Grove, Oklahoma where she teaches English Language Arts at Grove High School. She serves as the sponsor for International Club: this past summer, Amber traveled with students on adventures across Panama; and this upcoming summer they will go to Japan. Amber is also an instructional coach for the First Class Teacher Induction Program – virtually engaged in coaching cycles and conversations on classroom management and instructional practice with second- and third-year teachers across Oklahoma. Amber promotes life-long learning for all people.
Inspiration
I am inspired by people and programs that implement the following:
- Empathy
- Inclusion
- Using Your Voice
The four foundational people in my teaching career that have helped me build a positive culture of writing for all students are Shaun Perkins with Rural Oklahoma Museum of Poetry; Sarah J. Donovan, Ph.D. through Oklahoma Council of Teachers of English; Hannah Neuhauser with Young Author’s Greenhouse; and Kindra Hall, storytelling expert. All have hosted writing contests or workshops that have not only helped to motivate my students and I to improve and care about our writing, but also to grow as a writer and a writing reviewer for each other.
Process
My students and I have improved our writing by avoiding abstract language and using concrete and descriptive words to express ourselves, take care of our readers, and make sure every word has a purpose.
Write a poem about something abstract, using concrete words. Abstract words refer to thoughts or feelings: love, grief, hope, life, or death. Concrete words are tangible, they are things we can experience through our senses: touch, taste, sight, smell, sound. We can bring others into our reality when we share abstract thoughts and feelings when we write in a concrete way.
Pick an object within reach of where you are right now. What emotion does this object bring to you? Use the abstract word as your poem title, but use only concrete words in your poem to bring your readers into your reality, being sure to identify the different senses related to this emotion and object.
Amber’s Poem
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. Also, please be sure to respond to at least three writers. Oh, and a note about drafting: Since we are writing in short bursts, we all understand (and even welcome) the typos and partial poems that remind us we are human and that writing is always becoming. If you’d like to invite other teachers to write with us, tell them to subscribe.
Thanks for this prompt, Amber! It gave me a chance to do some perspective taking. I hope I honored your invitation.
We can hold more
than one thing
one emotion.
One hand holds
The hands of schoolmates
Of new friends
Their paint crusted palms
Face down as
Dirt packed nails
Face up.
Shoulders bump shoulders
On the smooth wooden bench
On the pioneer prairie porch
Facing the butterfly garden
Where butterflies
Clutter the petals of at least
A hundred wildflowers.
Blue Bonnets
Pink Primrose
Indian Blankets
Wine Cups
Black-eyed Susans
Their colors blend and shudder
As butterfly wings
All dancing in the prairie breeze.
The other hand holds
A plane ticket
Cool and slick to the touch
Its black ink detailing
A one-way destination
To (new) home.
It holds the promise
of hands in dirt with Magaw
of hands in batter with Mamaw
of hands on steering wheels with Pagaw
of hands on keys and strings with Papaw Bear.
Where the painted crusted palms
And dirty nails of new friends
Will clasp one another
As shoulders collide on
A new solid bench
Outside of a new
Solid school
Where a heart that beats
slow and calm
and fast and excited
Holds them all
In every cell
All at the same time.
Amber, thank you for hosting.
Peace
Diffusions of scented oil
Billowing plumes of calm
Dense silence crafting moments of clarity
The background matter really doesn’t matter
When long stretches of nothing are left alone to be
Donnetta, I can relate to your last line because that is how peace has seemed to come by me in some situations I’ve faced. Thank you for sharing this and bringing us into this reality of peace.
“Stress”
Bees fill my body
like the hive that
bloomed in our
neighbor’s wall,
filling every crevice,
buzzing incessantly,
producing honey from
pollen of the nearby
azalea bushes.
“Bees fill my body” is such a creative (and accurate) way to describe/explain stress. I really enjoy how the lines “filling every crevice” and “buzzing incessantly” help illustrate stress in such concrete terms. I also like the kind of “easy going” quality this poem has – from the short sentences to the concise language. I see a contrast between the topic of the poem and the poem itself that serves to amplify how powerful and all-consuming stress truly can be.
Wow, Laura! This insight for stress to you is helpful. I never thought of considering stress and how it feels in others. This makes my empathy grow more and more for others who state that they are stressed. It makes me want to lean in to ask what that is like for them in order to understand and be with them in that moment. Thank you for sharing this.
Time
I run my hands along the smooth
polished mahogany neck
My fingertips gently sliding along
stainless steel strings
Right thumb in sync with left hand
I pluck out a quick melody
C – D – G – E – E
C – D – G – E – G
Left hand glides down to form
a Dadd11 chord
and right thumb plucks
another melody
D – F# – G – F# – D
D – F# – G – F# – E
I strum the strings slowly
letting
each
note
ring
The faint dissonance between
G and F#
vibrates in the air
fading ever so
slowly
until nothing is left
but silence
a caesura
a silent fermata
the end that proceeds
a beginning
James, music but especially guitar are so fitting as representations of time. Starting with the image and feel of mahogany and taking us through the notes interacting in space but in time too, creates the perfect picture of time.
James, I like the symbolism you bring into the world with music and “silent fermata” being “the end that proceeds / a beginning.” It puts sound to certain parts of life. Thank you for bringing us into your reality.
After the first Disappointment, or Death by AI poem two hours ago, I just had to think about something more heartwarming. Here is the second attempt.
Renewal
Gentle brushstrokes
Over the blank canvas
Spring a meadow to life
With vibrant colors.
Sunny dandelions,
Buttercups, wild violets,
And pink clovers are
Swaying to the symphony
Of a light breeze
On a lush green carpet
and whispering a story
Of hope and new dreams.
The work of an artist
Is complete.
Leilya,
This sounds like a painting I have on my wall–you create a beautiful vision of spring, which is just what my heart is yearning for. Thank you for sharing!
“Spring a meadow to life” is such gorgeous wordplay – I love it so very much!
Leilya, the imagery in this poem is bright and cheerful.
I must also chuckle to myself. This past weekend (Thurs-Fri) I performed as Camille Monet in a creative playwrite with Monet’s painting of “Camille Monet on a Garden Bench.” It presents the idea of how Claude and his assistant Alice had a thing, while Camille and her husband Ernest had a thing. It ends with the historical facts that when Camille died, Claude and Alice united and Ernest ended up moving away. Quite a unique spin on the words “of hope and new dreams” because in the playwrite Alice keeps asking Claude Monet when they will get to be together.
disappointment
fuchsia ranunculus fill the glass vase
a puddle of fallen petals rest on the leather tray
stems bend like inverted u’s
others stand upright with slight curves
most bear blooms in various degrees of fresh
tiny ranunculus wait to open
older ones raised remiss of petals
others drape over the edge of the vase
there’s even beauty in the drying sepals
the color is magnificent, even the petals scattered around the vase
all part of the bouquet I bought last Sunday
Oh wow. I read your poem–so rich with “inverted u’s” and “puddle of fallen puddles.” As I moved through your poem I felt a growing sense of resigned sadness, which brought me back to your title: Disappointment. This was a lovely example of turning the abstract into concrete. <3
Jamie, I wrote the first poem about the disappointment as well. As much as I love flowers, I’d rather see “the petals scattered around the vase” than disappointment with people. You did clearly convey an abstract concept in such a descriptive concrete way. Thank you!
Jamie, I can picture this all too well. What vivid language you use! “inverted u’s” and “drying sepals”.
New Grandchild
His skin is softer
than the underside of an earlobe
until I touch his earlobe
I am now sinking into
all I have lived of softness
flannel sheet against cool skin
crème brûlée on piqued tongue
heartbeat pulsing on my own
ray of warmth against my neck
first glint of sun in the east
whisper of apology
grandmother’s skin
“…sinking into all I have lived of softness” might just be the greatest line I have read all week! I can feel every single example you list. And “whisper of apology” is just a perfect line. Perfect. That tugged at my heartstrings HARD. Thank you for sharing your beautiful craft.
I want to “sink into all I have lived of softness” right along with you, Allison. I love how it turned at the end to a whisper of apology and grandmother’s skin. Beautiful!
Allison, congratulations on your newest grandbaby! What a sweet, sweet moment you have captured here. I agree with James: “whisper of apology” tugged at my heart. I felt that one!
Amber, thank you for this good-writing nugget: “My students and I have improved our writing by avoiding abstract language and using concrete and descriptive words to express ourselves, take care of our readers, and make sure every word has a purpose.”
Allison, you are so, so welcome! Enjoy!
Thanks Amber–I love the idea of using the concrete to express abstract ideas. I’m not so sure I approached this in the right direction. I started with my feelings of irritation with yet another gray day–the kind of day that seems to wring out the energy and makes you want to curl up and take a nap–right in the middle of the day! But then when I turned to the concrete–pulling on my favorite sweatshirt, the one with the Linda Christensen quote on the back and our writing project name and logo on the front, something unexpected emerged.
Making Sunshine
When clouds are damp and thick
like wet blankets hanging
from the sky
and the sun has gone missing
in an elaborate game of
hide and seek
I shiver and grab my favorite sweatshirt
the one I seem to wear most days
from April through June
Luckily, the sweatshirt is an old friend
whose hug reminds me that I belong
to a strong community of educators
Who make the sun shine
even on a gloomy gray spring day
creating the right kind of friction
the kind that warms hearts
puts students at the center
and knows that teaching is all about
joy and justice
You can see the quote on my sweatshirt on my blog: https://thinkingthroughmylens.com/2023/04/28/making-sunshine-npm23-day-28/
Kim, this poem immediately made me think of the prompt about the importance of titles, because I think “Making Sunshine” is the perfect title for your poem.
I particularly love this stanza, with the imagery of the warm hug as a metaphor for not only the sweatshirt but the care of your community:
First, let me thank you for this in your introduction: “ another gray day–the kind of day that seems to wring out the energy and makes you want to curl up and take a nap.”
Writing poetry opens up our vulnerability–and sharing vulnerability leads to connection (i.e. life)
I FELT the way the sweatshirt brings both physical and emotional warmth. Beatutiful!
Kim! “joy and justice” What a fabulous final line. That is a great central thought to have in all we do with our students. Caring is the secret sauce for sure!
ribbons of purple
pink and orange blanket the
earth, welcoming night
An amazing image of sunset in your haiku, Mo! Each word counts indeed. Thank you.
Ooooh! I love a sunset, especially one that wraps me in a warm colorful blanket! Great Haiku!
Your haiku felt so pure and undiluted. I love the way you evoke the perfect imagery without using abstract language. The combination of purple, orange, and pink stands out so strongly in my mind’s eye, I feel like I can perfectly picture these colors even though I’m almost sure I have never seen anything quite so striking.
Mo, so beautiful! I can see this. I know this scene. Thank you for bringing this sereneness to my day today.
It took me a while to decide on an abstract word, so I went with that feeling! Thanks for the challenge, Amber. I really struggle making the abstract concrete, so it was a really good opportunity for me!
Indecisive
Spending
all evening,
(at least a movie-
lengths worth
of time)
scrolling through
Netflix’s rolodex
of films and shows,
but now it’s time
to go to bed.
Ha! I can so relate! Rolodex…I love the old school work paired with Netflix.
word not work!
Rachelle, I, too, loved the focus of this prompt! I want to use it with my students. I might start the prompt with this question:
“What does ‘scrolling through Netflix’s Rolodex’ imply?”
This might also provide an opportunity to teach the word/term “Rolodex”!
THANK YOU for writing in this space <3.
I love your “indecisive” approach, Rachelle! I think it helps “being real,” as my students often say. Thank you!
Rachelle,
Indecisive is such a great choice–and you completely nail it with the doom scroll of a streamer scroll. Sometimes just nothing hits right and you capture it spot on.
Rachelle! Isn’t that the truth! I’m glad to hear I am not alone in this. Although it’s usually scrolling through YouTube finding a maker video for fiber arts. Bedtime usually comes first.
Touch of Love®
I suppose it can
Come in a plastic
Tube, 5.5 ounces of
Blackberry and lilac,
A palmful
Smoothed in circles
On shoulders and hips
And ankles.
The name of the product is so fitting. I like the image of smoothing this touch of love “in circles / on shoulders and hips / and ankles”. Places on my own body that could use more love. Thanks for sharing tonight, Katrina
Katrina,
Mmmm, blackberry and lilac sounds luscious! All the gentle s’s in the second stanza are perfectly soothing.
Katrina!!!! Ohhhhh! This is such a great poem for this product. This gives me lovely ideas for more poetry prompt ideas. Thank you for bringing us into your reality. I now want to apply some of that lotion! Sounds soothing.
I’m not sure I followed the prompt exactly, but I had just been looking at the flowers when I read the prompt this morning, so it stuck in my mind.
Posy
Yesterday a student came back
from a week of missed school due
to a DECA competition in Florida.
Though I don’t have her on A days,
she popped into my room with a
little bouquet of wildflowers–
“I missed you!”
“I missed you, too!”
Little blue mini irises
on fleshy stems
interwoven with
tiny yellow cinquefoils,
greenish-grey burreeds,
and wide blades of grass,
all tied together with a
green grass bow.
This small nosegay in a
blue Dixie cup
was a gift of joy.
Beautiful imagery, Cara, and I love how ordinary the flowers and “blue Dixie cup” is but the fact it was a gift makes it all the more special.
Cara, this is such a sweet poem and a true testament to the connection that you must have with your students. The description of the flowers is so vivid and specific and I love the term “nosegay”–I had to look it up!–but it was perfect!
I love your last line labeling the bouquet a gift of joy. Your description of the blooms, iris which are familiar to em, cinquefoils and burreeds not so much. And the added touch of a green grass bow. All share the intentional gift.
Hi, Amber, thank you for hosting today. Love your mentor poem with its title and final “Bleh!” When I read your prompt and inspiration this morning, I thought I would right about something happy and joyful looking at the flowers in my garden or enjoying a fresh cup of coffee. Then I began grading students’s work. The first submission turned out to be surprisingly well composed. My poem doesn’t use all the concrete nouns, but it’s my disappointing reality today.
Disappointment, or Death by AI
I read her response—
Strong verbs, clear phrasing,
A variety of sentence structures,
A decently presented concept,
And relevant examples.
It seems everything is there,
Yet something is missing—
Her usual way with words,
Her personality,
Her voice,
Her thought process.
ChatGPT admits generating her response.
Leilya, I totally understand this poem. The last few lines “her usual way with words, / her personality” just reiterates how important it is for people to find their voice and nurture it in their writing. Thank you for sharing this experience with us.
Leilya,
Yup, this is a dismaying reality. I had to confront a student about this same issue yesterday.
Leilya,
”Death by A.I.” is a perfect title. Such writing is soulless. How do we teach students to write w/ soul, with their own voice? I think a lot about this dilemma. Your poem parses the problem perfectly.
Michelangelo, it’s said,
knew that his sculpture
was “already complete
within the marble block.”
All he had to do was
“chisel away the
superfluous material.”
And I call bullshit.
I’ve been staring at
the bright red cover
of this “Newly Revised
and Updated” Random
House Webster’s
School & Office
Dictionary trying
to see the poem
inside, and I got
nothin’.
All the poems that
have ever been
written or will
ever be written
are all, supposedly,
locked in this
block of text
and I can’t
unlock
any of them
except for a sad
little poem I started
about a salamander
named Walter
who was trying to
get a bag of Cool
Ranch Doritos from
the office vending
machine and it
got caught up in
the rungs so he
waited around for
two hours hoping
that someone else
would buy the same
thing and, thankfully,
someone else finally did,
several hours later,
but, it was Larry that
jerk from Accounting,
and he didn’t share.
He took both bags
of Cool Ranch
Doritos
and It was at this point
that I realized A)
I’m not Michelangelo
and B) I think my
dictionary is broken.
_____________________________________________________
Amber, thank you for your mentor poem today (and the recipe therein – which, absolutely, sounds like it needed that tablespoon of Pure Vermont Maple Syrup!). I loved the final “Bleh!” at the end!
Scott, You are Michelangelo. You sculpted this verse and it’s stunning. Congrats.
Scott, I just needed to read your poem today to bring smile into my soul. I enjoyed following Walter’s odyssey and your witty conclusion. I would go with the second one: “[your] dictionary is broken.” Thank you!
You are better than the dictionary though—you know what to do with words.
Scott, in your inimitable, ironic style, I think the sad little poem you started about a salamander named Larry emerged after all!
Scott, that guy Larry sucks! But your poem is great. I love to follow the wanderings of your mind and your pen through this and who wouldn’t love Walter the salamander!
Addictions
Thin, white squares
(not as soft as
their box claims)
stacked on top
of each other
I’ve emptied
two boxes
this week
and my nose is
red and raw
but still it drips
so I reach
for more
…ouch
And on the 3rd read, I celebrate the joy! I’m just thankful I’m no longer in the Ohio Valley. It’s bad in CT, but those days….phew. This is a poem for all our nasal passages!
Rachel, I am sorry you suffer from allergies. Louisiana is also brutal for sensitive people. You have perfectly executed the prompt task. Thank you and stay well!
Aww! Definitely not as soft as the box claims when allergies are flaring!
A lovely homage to the kleenex. Lovely description of a mundane object. Not as soft supports the red and raw nose. A tool, not a cure.
Oh, Rachel, I’m so sorry for your cold! So miserable! Two boxes in one week. I feel for you. You have made this so concrete!
Hmm. I’m not sure if this did what it was supposed to — but I still like it! XD
The glass cups
crimson liquid
like prayerful hands:
Inhaling the incense of it,
I smell
musky
oaky
redness
glowing
with an aura
of its own, the light
reflected in its
shimmering surface,
and with a raise of the
chalice,
I offer thanks
to the Gods
that it is
Friday.
P.S. Poem name: “Friday”. 🙂
Oh, crimson liquid and oak/redness. This ritual, this ceremony is welcome on Friday.
Friday— a glass of wine and two days of breathing!! A chalice, it is!
Cheers!!! My Friday includes vino too! Lovely!🍷
Yes, Wendy, you deserve a glass of “crimson liquid.” Relax and have a great weekend. Thank you!
Made me smile! Thank you!
I know this is a stereotyping poem. I have a husband and two sons, so I’m not a man hater. But, the boys I have in class have really been pushing my buttons. They are just soooo different–for the most part–from the girls. I wanted to represent the abstract idea of masculinity through the tangible (some) things that they enjoy as a generalization.
After over a week of state-mandated test, they are worn out yet hyper and I am flat exhausted. I hope this poem makes a little sense. I know the rhythm is a little off, but oh well!
Boys Will Be Boys
Skoal spittoons
and jock straps
pick-up trucks
and racoon traps.
Sportscenter
and getting laid
urinals
and Naked and Afraid
Big muscles
and toting guns
smoking cigars
and Seinfeld re-runs.
Not all the males
enjoy these things
and the testosterone
they’re rumored to bring.
I love a man
but sometimes bemoan
how they ignore key things
and stay in their zone.
We all differ
ain’t that for sure.
I guess that’s part
of the allure.
~Susan Ahlbrand
28 April 2023
Susan, I thought that this did a terrific job of making the abstract concrete (although, I will readily admit that I also love Seinfeld reruns). And, yes, what is the allure of Naked and Afraid? LOL.
Susan, “sometimes bemoan” is fair, and I totally get the testosterone effect as spring is in the air.
Testosterone— the drug of spring!! I laughed all the way through this!
Yeah, you nailed it. The boys in my high school — at least the ones who use the bathroom down the hall from my room — will occasionally (for some unknown reason) decide, hey let’s rip the soap dispensers off the wall and what’ll happen if we unspool all the toilet paper and stuff it in the urinals?) Now, I know this is stereotypical (and not all of the boys do this), but I just can’t imagine the girls going into the bathroom and deciding to destroy the place. And, granted, I haven’t been in the girl’s restroom, so maybe I’m wrong, but I do know that the women’s staff restroom, I’ve heard, has, like potpourri in it. So, what I’m trying to say is that boys and girls are different. And boys are, sometimes, idiots. Sorry, Susan, that they’re being rude and disrespectful and whatnot! Hopefully, they’ll mature a bit more in these last few weeks of school.
Amber ~ I was impressed by your preparedness but more delighted by your “Bleh” since that is something I’d have done! I think I took the prompt too seriously as the closest object within reach was an empty cereal box…which sounds cheerful enough except that all I could think of was my 24 year old’s introduction to Cheerios…having spent his first 19 months in a Baby Home, he never learned to crawl and his small motor skills were non-existent. I remember how it pained me to watch his unlimbered joints lift a small oat circle. Of course he’s fine now and that got me thinking about time.
Time
Tiny, fragile
fingers,
slowly bend
slowly lift
slowly grasp
a circle of pressed oats,
a cheerio
on a bright yellow tray.
oaten circles spill to dust
spills of dust are swept away
empty box, empty bowl
empty room of spectral gray.
Ann, this poem is a beautiful tribute to great gains in your son, but also you. The line “on a bright yellow tray” brings me into your reality, but also brings a sense of joy. Thank you for sharing this and letting us into a part of your day and memories.
Ann, loved the mood of this and how sensory it was. Loved the repetition at the end. Beautiful use of language and detail!
Oh, cereal is the perfect concrete circle to explore time, especially the ones we find in between car seats.
I enjoyed this poem & the little sensory journey it took me on!! What a sweet image of your little baby, learning slowly. (Also, I don’t know how many times I’ve crunched cheerios “to dust” under my feet after a little one has spilled them on the floor!) Your last line is especially provocative.
This poem is so small and specific in detail, yet so huge in heart. It brought back memories. Thank you!
It’s the title, Ann. And I’m still sweeping up Cheerios. Good for my cholesterol, I hear. You mastered a telling that is larger than a telling. Superb!
Ann, I love how you “slowing down” time to savor the memory in the first stanza. Beautiful! Thank you for sharing.
Oh, so sweet. The transition from yellow to gray speaks beyond the tiny fingers and cheerios. The details definitely talk.
Ann,
Exquisite and lyrical in every way.
Amber, thank you for the challenge. I’ve been toying with and thinking about abstract nouns all day. I’m sure I’ll continue. I stuck with this one today because it seemed it should be a nonet. Although I’m going to try again with more specifics like you modeled! Your hangry poem made me smile when you forgot the Pure Vermont maple syrup!
Aging
Barreling through time the steam engine
roars down the track with hope and a
future–the baby, child, teen
never (adult now and
again) thinking
that the track
will soon
end
Ooof! Denise…the oomph in that last line…how your poem tapers into the word “end” is so appealing and rings through to the power of aging. Thank you for bringing these words here, today. I can see this nonet paired with several other poems that writers have shared with us, today, into a little collection on this topic of the realties of living life.
I feel like you nailed it with this, Denise! Beautiful job making the abstract concrete!
Denise,
Barreling and steam engine are fierce and unrelenting. The imagining of the track ending may be more.
Denise, choosing this form to create imagery that narrows down to that one final word (end) at the end works perfectly. Aging certainly feels like a steam engine with the speed life moves nowadays. Kids are noticing that quick passage of time too. I wonder what their adulthood will feel like if they’re already speeding through life.
Wow! Aging can be a difficult topic to approach – you did it so well. I love your form & the concrete image of the train, “barreling through time.”
Oh, Denise. You are singing my song. The track’s end is closer every day. I guess we just have to enjoy the ride as much as we can, my friend…
Denise, wow! You surprised me with this one because in the beginning I was ready for a ride. And then the track ending, 🫤😩.
Denise, that circle of life – maybe oval like a track – becomes more defined as our years roll on. Yes, we don’t ever know how close…..the end might be.
Denise, the shape of this works so well! Starting with “Barreling” and then “roar[ing] down the track” to that final line and final word: “end.” So good!
Denise, you manages to fit an entire life within nine lines. So skilfull! From the roaring steam engine with all its power to the end of the track. It is sobering and real. Thank you!
Denise,
Your title has me thinking about concrete manifestations of aging. And a train track that clickety-clacks into the horizon is a perfect metaphor for aging.
Amber, I don’t think I followed your instructions, exactly, but I appreciated your inspiration. and you gave me an excuse to do my favorite thing. 🙂
Procrastination
Poured into a cup of “fine porcelain” made in Oneida
and trimmed in shades of sage, with leaves, rose
stems ending in petals dusted with pale pink
Holding liquid Sumatra, laced with flavours of
hazelnut and artificial cream, a second-half of life
addiction for my microwave, not me
Sitting beside a reheated biscuit from
Cracker Barrel, spread with apple butter
a comfort food from long ago
Surrounded by stacks of books, to-do’s,
and possibilities. All the while dancing to a tune
I almost recognize, while I write this poem
and ponder the next line for my
dissertation.
Shelly, I’m so glad you can be inspired. I never really thought about the microwave in a personified way until your lines: “a second-half of life / addiction for my microwave”. Isn’t that the truth?! Also, I find it so fascinating that you are the second person today that has books and possibilities written in the same stanza or idea together. More truth! Thank you for sharing your words and bringing us into your reality today.
Shelley, wow! The descriptions of the coffee, biscuit and all your dissertation work is beautiful. I’m glad you took a procrastination break from writing the dissertation. All the best to you!
Haha! Shelly, I have a friend who would soooo appreciate the dissertation allusion…
Loved the sensory detail and this:
“addiction for my microwave, not me”
Loved it!
I winessed an incident this AM and must write about it.
Driving to school thinking about the
Panorama picture at 10am
and a Narrative my culminating fifth
graders will write today.
On an elevated 2-lane transition road going
from one freeway to the next
Cars are stopped in the left lane
behind an SUV and are all attempting
to go around at once.
Eventually I’m right behind
him and its my turn to move to
the right lane
The driver side door opens
a man emerges in his late 30s/early 40s
wearing glasses.
He looks over the edge
“Oh, he needs to vomit. Not the
best place for it but makes sense..”
I thought.
He sits down, legs dangling over the
side, seemingly in contemplation
then immediately propels himself
over the edge
I now understand the words
horror, stunned, disbelief, unforgettable
nightmare and unimaginable.
I take a picture of his plate, finally move over
and see three other cars
stopped in front of him.
The people are out of their
cars, on their phones, in shock and reacting
Once I exit the freeway, I contact 911
and give the license plate, an
accounting of the events from my perspective
and my information.
I hope he left a note.
Seana,
OMG! I can’t imagine the trauma of witnessing this man’s untimely, horrific departure. That last line, “I hope he left a note,” leaves me speechless. Writing about the event is a necessary response, but I hope you’ll talk through what you witnessed w/ a qualified person. Sending peace and comfort to you and that man’s family.
Thank you and will meet with my zoom therapist on Wednesday.
How awful for you! I agree with Glenda. I wish you and his family healing…
Thank you
Seana, my heart is absolutely crushed. Your final line has pierced me deeply. I am so thankful you have this space to write through what you have witnessed this morning. I want the pain and nightmare of this to go away for you and everybody who is and will be grieving. But, I know — I can have no words, no actions, no things to help make it better. Seana, we are here with you. We will listen. We will sit in this unimaginable horror with you. I admire you for sharing this in this space.
Thank you.
Oh, Seana, I’m stunned by your experience. Just stunned. I’ll be sitting with this for some time and thinking of you, this young man, and that crowd of traffic… so disrupted by his pain.
Thank you.
Oh Seana, I’m so sorry you had to witness this, and I’m sorry for the man and his family. I wish you didn’t have to:
Peace to you and his loved ones.
thank you.
omg Seana ~ you have painted such a vivid but horrifying picture of an unimaginable trauma. Wishing you and this man’s family comfort and peace.
Thank you.
Siena,
Oh my God! I’m speechless. And maybe this is a weird reaction, but my first thought is, “Why would he put the people around him through having to witness this and live with it?” But desperation lends a strange logic to our thoughts and actions — and maybe he was simply mired in his own despair. Don’t know, can’t answer. But I’m sorry you had to witness it.
Thank you.
Seana, I’m so sorry you witnessed this and my heart goes out to his family and to all who saw this. I saw a man jump off a bridge when I was 15 and have never ever ever forgotten it. I hope he left a note, too, if it helps those he left behind move forward. This is so tragic!
Thank you. It hasn’t made the news but there was apparently another incident just like this yesterday near this same freeway exchange.
Seana, this is awful (the event, not your poem) I’m glad you have an appointment scheduled to talk with someone this upcoming week. I’m so sorry this happened and that you witnessed it.
I am so sorry that you had to witness this today, Seana! Thank you for calling 911. Peace to you, Leilya
Oh my goodness! So sad and so terrifying. I witnessed a similar thing a couple of years ago but wasn’t brave enough to write about it. I am still processing it. I am sorry you had to witness that and I am sorry the man did not get help in time.
Seana, honey, I am praying for you and that poor soul. I can’t imagine how hard your day must have been after that. I hope you take time to heal from witnessing something so tragic.
Sending my love and prayers your way. I’m glad you wrote about it. That always helps the heart and brain. 💞
Thanks Amber for a great prompt and poem!
Sorry that mine is a bit of a downer, but that’s how I’m feeling today.
Brother Love
I googled how to get to Fourth Recess Lake today.
Do you remember when we hiked to the top of the waterfall
With no trail
And little food or water?
I would have turned back
If it wasn’t for you,
My younger brother.
Always up for adventure,
Climbing with determination
Still.
Despite the diagnosis
Despite the scan that told the doctors
The cancers back.
That you won’t hike that trail again,
That you’ll be trailblazing
In a different realm.
And this time I might be much further behind you.
Emily— I have no words for you— only hope that your brother can beat this return. Strength to both of you…
Emily, it is my hope that one day you will never have to feel the urge to apologize for speaking your words through grief. Your words are welcome here in the way you want them to show up. Your final few lines speak to me in that they captivate the way grief encompasses so many different emotions happening all at once…hope, peace, love, sadness. I can definitely sense the grief and the love in this poem…which I think it is to be that way because grief will last as long as love lasts. I can see you love your brother very much.
Emily,
This morning I spoke with a past student reaching out–reminding me of the pages of her writer’s notebook. That was her way of opening up a conversation about her own diagnosis with uterine cancer. Your words illustrate for me the helplessness I am feeling for this beautiful soul.
When I don’t center myself in your poem, I can almost see the waterfall and feel the adventure of hiking off the beaten trail, and I can sense the depth of your love for this younger brother. Your ending lines are simply poignant.
Sending you and your brother comfort and healing.
Oh, Emily, your poem is so full of “Brother Love” that I am crying for you and yours and about my own brothers–one still alive and one gone too young. I’m so sorry. “that trail” “that you’ll be trailblazing / in a different realm” is beautiful.
Emily, the images presented here capture the fullness and ache of your love. Your last line is beautiful and I will keep you and your brother in my prayers.
Emily, I’m so sorry to hear this. Know that you’re in our thoughts! I’m glad, though, that being here with us has given you a forum to express your feelings. <3
Oh, Emily. I am so sorry. I am sending healing thoughts his way. Your last line coming after his strength pulled you on during younger adventures only to find that he will be moving much further ahead of you is truly heartrending. Hugs.
Emily- thinking of you and your sweet, adventurous brother today. I love this poem
Oh I am so sorry. I wish there better words to express my empathy.
Emily, this is beautiful, and not a downer at all. It’s inspirational. I love this set of lines:
Amber – thank you for hosting today! Thanks for the reminder in your mentor poem to remember the sweetness! Literally and metaphorically. You managed to get all sorts of sensory experiences in there. I also love the challenge inherent in your prompt to get concrete.
Overwhelm or Unfinished things on my kitchen table
instant oatmeal with frozen blueberries
nuked, now cold, but
i’ll eat it anyway.
The Happiest Baby Guide to Great
Sleep book, opened to Chapter 7.
my reply to a text from my brother asking “When
are you visiting? Can you organize that ASAP? My son
needs to plan. ~Scott” (as if I forgot my first roommate – sorry, bro-
i need to organize 17 things before that so
i am writing poems instead.)
my husband’s piles of unopened mail, opened books on carpentry, Vikings, the January 6th report, baking bread, Quickbooks for Dummies, Delmar’s Standard Textbook of Electricity, a lantern for emergencies with batteries sitting next to it, reading glasses and Sharpies Easter-egged within nests of power cords, a power drill, a bible from his Noonie, stickers from breweries, a Northern Lights portable laser show.
I love him, I remind myself, and his many interests. Really,
I do.
cold coffee in a mug from which Leslie Knope declares
“waffles, (even though aforementioned oatmeal)
friends (I am currently alone with a sleeping, sniffly baby)
work!” (on leave)
Wow, Emily!!! I am definitely getting a sense of the feeling of overwhelm you must have. Until now, when your poem kept going with the list of things on the kitchen table, I didn’t fully factor how a physical space can be an indicator for how an individual may be feeling. I hope I will cue into those details so that I can lean in and ask my friends and family members how they are doing and if there is something I can do to help when I see the overwhelm that they might hide inside, yet how it could show in the physical spaces. You even captured that digital pile up with texts from family members giving to-do tasks, too. Thank you so so much. I admire your bravery in putting this out there for us to see. I believe in you…sending all my encouraging energy your way, friend/sister/wifey/momma.
Emily—I remember these days, and I admire your vivid, wry presentation of your life right now. It will be worth it. Save this poem to look back, remember— and smile.
Emily, wow, you have managed to add so much sweetness to the overwhelmed and unfinished business at hand. Look at this sweet nugget that jumped out “Sharpies Easter-egged within nests of power cords” I feel like I am sitting right there with you. All the best! That text message from your brother, and that you are “writing poems instead” really made me smile.
Emily,
Great detail in this that gives such a snapshot of your life! The “Easter Egged” sharpies was my favorite part!
Amber,
This is a cool poem and a great exercise in paying attention to details at hand. I definitely have a case of the Fridays today, thinking about being anywhere but in the classroom!
I really enjoyed your poem and the focus on specific details–right down to the grumbly tummy and blurred vision of a groggy morning!
Within Reach
The brushed stainless steel contigo sits within my grip
I raise it to my lips, giving in to caffeine’s tight grip.
Period 1 is almost done and while no one speaks my tongue
I know my help is needed when my shirt is tugged by a slight grip.
Period 2 is time for grading so I arrange my pens, and stapler and papers
but the period’s almost done by the time I escape my wandering mind’s grip.
Period 3 and students tumble by my desk, to their triangle toast point tables,
hopefully ready to work, but probably fighting the pull of their Friday night’s grip.
Period 4 slogs toward the end of the day, and the students that chose to stay
wistfully watch the the clock or gaze through the open window, captured by time’s grip.
Dave – I love the repeated use of the word grip and that caged in feeling of Friday’s – you’re almost there! Enjoy that coffee (also an inspiration for me today).
I especially love the triangle toast point tables – a fun take on classroom furniture!
Dave, you are not alone! To me it seems there must be a “to be continued” or a second poem on its way — it’s gripping!
Ah, you are all gripped with the weekend coming! I love that. I want to know more about Period 1! “triangle toast point tables” puts a picture right in my mind. And I can see Period 4 watching the clock or looking out the window. Have a great weekend, Dave!
Dave, love these vivid and poignant moments — beautiful depictions.
Amber….inspired by the Friday challenge (and by your name…that is the color I was looking for). I had one ‘hangry’ student write to Kwame Alexander once, ‘as in’ it helped me to learn a new word. I’ve been hangry ever since
This line is everything. I feel sad for those who don’ know the flavor of this delicious line. And 27+ years teaching, I still have difficulty labeling concrete and abstract language. I am a cinderblock when it comes to that.
Clever
~b.r.crandall
It began when I tripped
over braided
nylon bones
chewed for
comfort –
Zoloft for dogs –
before arabica beans
could be steamed
into caffeinated mud.
This is the ritual.
And I’ve been taught
to read between the lines –
that #@$#! might
actually mean $&@!*!
Today, it was a squirrel
dangling from her mouth,
limp like cotton candy.
Not as cute
as yesterday’s Bunny Bufu
or Wednesday’s pigeon….
(I still want to see
field mice
getting bopped
on the head).
But I was in time for
her parenting skills
trotting across the street,
tail bushed by spring
(must be salon day)(no Ogilvie)
So amber.
Grandma’s ceramic frogs
sit beside me.
When I flip them over,
I see the genitalia
she sculpted,
and miss the Feen-a-mint
rose gardens
she made for flies.
Bryan, there is so much imagery here, it definitely pulls me into your world of recognizing cleverness. Getting away from the abstract is difficult. And perhaps its one of those things in life that is not a one-and-done skill, but one to hone until the very last day. Your stanza about reading between the lines had me chuckling…especially with the rearrangement of the characters. How true is that! Thank you for putting this out there for us to read…I’m particularly fond of the use of “amber”.
Oh, my goodness, Bryan! Abstract or concrete, who cares? Your imagery is magical. So many things to love, like the squirrel, Bunny Bufu, the pigeon, and why not the field mice. Very Clever!
Bryan, this is graphic concrete-ism at its finest. That’s quite the array of gifts your dog is bringing in (we used to say Bunny FooFoo!). So many find their way to coffee to start their day and have made it uniquely theirs. Caffeinated mud is one of the more descriptive!
Bryan, your imagery is so vibrant and full of life.
This picture:
is playing in my head.
Bryan,
Clever title (I can’t help myself.) given all the details in this poem. I love the phrase “Zoloft for dogs –“ and “that #@$#! might
actually mean $&@!*!” Ifvyou read Susan’s poem yesterday, you’ll know she’s sworn off swear words, but I have not! I’ve also received the squirrel gift, one time when a student was at my house preparing for NSDA nationals. And who doesn’t need ceramic frogs w/ hidden genitalia. I’m sure I speak for all in the room when I say, we need pictures! Fun poem.
Today, my 5 year old proclaimed that she did not want to go to school, and instead, wanted to go to the bookstore. She is definitely my child. I almost couldn’t argue with her.
Comfort
Fat rain drops drum across our tin roof.
An April Friday plunged into gray puddles
Past our ankles. Drips into the coffee pot
Echo the rain, beckoning us to forsake
Work, school, the computer, to take the
Winding drive across highways to spend
Hours winding through a maze of bookshelves,
The weight of printed pages pressing into
Our hands. We inhale fresh ink, words that
Spiraling into stories read aloud at bed time,
Sometimes three times, to avoid impending
Slumber. We comb through stacks, make
Wishlists on phones and in our minds. Whiffs
Of brewed espresso and chocolate mingle
With poems, stories, and conversations,
Warming our bellies and limbs, inviting us
To stay longer, to forget those impending
Responsibilities, the dreaded to-do lists,
And instead embrace new possibilities.
Oh, Jordan! I am right there with the both of you. I can’t argue that. I can relate to “inhale fresh ink, words that spiraling into stories read aloud at bed time…impending slumber” because as both of my boys have grown up (they’re 7 years apart), I have usually only let the bedtime go longer than scheduled from reading and reading and reading with them. I say we all take a break from responsibilities and “embrace new possibilities”. Sounds great to me.
Jordan, this is lovely and bring back bookstore memories with my once 5 year old. …The weight of printed pages pressing into our hands...words spiraling into stories…expresso and chocolate…this is the perfect description of comfort! Thank you ~ and enjoy your little one!
Jordan, I share you love for bookstores–your poem reminding me of trips to Borders (dating myself) when my son was six. So many great lines: “the weight of printed pages,” “We inhale fresh ink,” and the whole spiraling into bedtime turn put me back into my own memories. Thank you for your beautiful words and this lovely poem!
Amber! Oh, things we remember we forgot! Well, since you asked us to pick up and write about something nearby, I haven’t forgotten after all. BTW, The picture below is of a gift from a student atop a desk mat woven by a special needs student who loved sharing her colorful creations. Her mother shared these mats at the funeral of this granddaughter, reminding us of her generosity. But it’s about something else that I wrote today. Enjoy!
Fragile Strength
Last summer, on a cool day on the beach
In a small town in western PA
We had a glorious time.
Because of Covid, we met outside
To celebrate my sister-in-law’s birthday.
And what I picked up is the subject of this rhyme.
Walking along and watching waffling waves
I thought of other relatives, their bodies now in graves
And then saw a big bird fly by and wondered.
Did the spirits of these relatives fly to the sky?
Would I really get to be with them by and by?
What brings these thoughts to mind?
It’s a buff bird’s feather I found on that beach.
I brought it home to remind me of the quills
With which our ancestors probably wrote.
They had inexpensive tools within reach.
That didn’t have to be imported on some merchant’s boat.
Fluffily there in the sturdy ceramic mug
Next to ballpoints and pencils, and a blue iPad stylus,
It stands strong among those modern writing tools.
That fragile feather says,
“Be true to yourself, even around fools.
To fly, this fragile feather needed lots of others
To carry that big bird that day
We, too, will find we are better together
As we continue with tasks on our way.
Fragile strength is strong when it works along
With others who share the same mission
Of getting us from place to place.
Oh, yes, reader. I see that smile on your face.
Keep smiling. You don’t need my permission. 😊
Anna, I am loving the alliteration in the line “Walking along and watching waffling waves” and the use of your rhyming. It’s effective for me reading because it gives me something to look forward to in your next lines. I connect to the wonder and curiosity you express about togetherness in your poem.
Anna, such sweet thoughts about “fragile strength” I love:
And I love that you talk to the reader about the smiles on our faces. Lovely!
Greetings, Amber! Thank you for your inspiration today and for guiding us in writing about some thing abstract. I love this prompt and your poem. I think I’ve said that every day. I didn’t want to risk posting late because of another busy Friday so I chose a nonet to avoid going into my rabbit hole.
Have you ever watched the video on Learned Helplessness? The moral is we have the answer to our problems, but some prefer to stand on the broken escalator (not elevator) waiting to be rescued. I show this to my students because too often many like to remain on the broken escalator.
Learned Helplessness
A child holds laptop without charger
Waiting for something to appear
Out-of-the-sky, “A CHARGER!”
Turns around in circles
“Ms. Joy, I need help.”
“Solve your problem!”
“How do I?”
“Search brain!”
Stumped.
ⓒStacey L. Joy, 4/28/23
Preach it!! love it what an awesome way to put technology into perspective!! very cool!!
Stacey, you are speaking MY language here! I do remember seeing that video and giggling about it a long time ago. I appreciate so much that you brought it up. I’m definitely going to be showing my students. This is a great tool for starting and supporting that conversation of me always pushing them into figuring it out on their own. But once they do make that leap…the celebration is huge! Keep leaning in, keep allowing them to be in that uncomfortable situation to find a way. One day it will click…even if we aren’t around the day that happens. It’s worth it.
You’ve capture these moments so well with your nonet. (I, too, have been leaning on structure poems lately to keep focused and help me to write in order to not put it off any longer. Well done, Stacey!)
Fabulous nonet, Stacey! I can hear the plaintive plea, in ‘Ms. Joy, I need help” and I got a shiver on my neck, remembering this faux helplessness of so many. Loved ones aren’t immune to this either, lol – I need to find that video…
Thank you, Maureen! I linked the video for you in the intro. ♥️
Stacey,
Preach! I see this struggle as I sub. Some kids will sit all period w/ out charging their chrome-books, even after I tell them to let me know if they need anything. “Ask yourself. Ask a friend. Ask the teacher” is a motto I like. A colleague had this on her walks for years. And that video is superb. I’m tucking it away to share and show. I know you’ve had a year. I hope these last two months whiz by. Hang in there!
Stacey, love the dialogue you use to capture this concept! This is my every day too, and I feel every teacher can relate!
Stacey – this is wonderfully relatable! I particularly enjoyed
“Waiting for something to appear
Out-of-the-sky, “A CHARGER!”
Turns around in circles”
This visual is so accurate and had a great light touch inspired by the video! Yes! Independence!!
Stacey, that video is hilarious! Thanks for sharing it. Your poem is sweet, and I’m sure your students will (one day) learn and appreciate your challenge to “Search brain!” I wrote a nonet today too. I continue to follow in Stacey’s footsteps. 🙂
Oh, that learned helplessness. A student came to me to ask the meaning of a word while working on her computer. I told her she could Merriam Webster it right there on her device and she told me it was too much work. Erg! (I didn’t give her the answer which turned out to be much more work involved for her). I love that you chose the nonet form as it takes what appears to be a huge problem and narrows it down (much like problem solving).
Stacey, the nonet works perfectly as you get to the point with your student “Search brain!”
“Stumped” defines the title “Learned Helpfulness.”
Poetry works wonders at allowing us to analyze the behavior of our students and our own behavior too.
tranquility
right there
in the nook of my ankle
right there
yes, just between the calf and the heel
oooh yes, you’ve got it
right there
dear ottoman
hold me
let’s just sit awhile
that
oh, that was so fun
unbuckle the car seat and run
into the backyard
to shoes off to sandbox to digging to laughter
to watering cans to rain barrel to worm hunt to squeals
to filling to dumping to mud to let’s water this
to slippery to slimy to wash this off
to get some more to back and forth to
over and over and over
moving so fast
on this
bright sunny afternoon
to
goodbye wave
dear ottoman
hold me
Maureen, how I absolutely love the way your poem circles back to “dear ottoman / hold me”. What a packed day that was — memory-filled for sure. This poem reminds me of the relationship between my mother and her grandsons. Thank you for sharing your words with us today. It has reminded me how blessed I am with my family of which I’m a part.
Maureen,
Sounds as though Bird and Frog have kept you hopping and flying after them. LOL! I love the infinitive phrases that keep us moving through the poem. You deserve to put your feet up on the ottoman and rest. Embrace the post-play tranquility—until next time!
Maureen, what joy in your poem. I love all the “to” phrases, like “…to slippery to slimy to mud…” Wow! What a busy day you recounted with “dear ottoman.” You did need it to hold you.
There is something soothing about sand between our toes and the suspension of weight, something holding us. I understand your title so well. Just to bask in Relaxation and allow the mind to drift. Weightless! Love this!
Maureen -I love this glimpse of your adventurous and bright afternoon, and that dear ottoman after. Oh, I know this sinking down to rest awhile after… my Micah (18 months old today) is coming tomorrow! I will have to go to bed now 🙂 – and I wouldn’t trade it for ANYTHING.
Needed comfort. Thank you.
Friends, if you read my post last Friday about the fire at my former school, here’s an update: Cause of the fire was a lithium battery that exploded on the stage in the cafeteria. There is a heavy smoke smell throughout the building, but little water made its way into other parts of the school. The district has moved admin and other support personnel into a recently purchased Allstate call center building being converted into a technical high school. Students at Highland will meet in person two days a week while students at Century High meet remotely. We have three traditional high schools and an alternate school in our district.
Rising
from the ashes is
prom the day after the
fire & a healing round dance
circle with Ghost Canyon
Singers performing.
Rising
from the ashes is
greeting learners in a
repurposed building
insuring access to
counselors, the bursar, the
registrar & administrators.
Rising
from the ashes is
hopping on a bus or driving
down I-15 Tuesday & Thursday to
a cross-town rival school
for time with teachers &
friends sans virtual learning.
—Glenda Funk
April 28, 2023
Glenda, I do remember you sharing about the fire. I have no words that can make it better. It’s a really hard and sad situation. I admire you entering this space to update us through writing. Young Author’s Greenhouse (mentioned in my inspiration bit of my post today) has a slogan about writing through it. And you’re doing just that! I’m so honored to get to be one of the people with which you share this with here, to be a part of you writing through it.
Your last stanza has me in awe. I wonder so much more about this learning at another school in order to not have to be virtual. There’s so much packed in there.
Glenda— rising from the ashes, indeed. Your students and your fellow teachers are doing just that. The prom, the day after—a time of regrouping and healing. My bought a are with you and your school.
Glenda, thank you for sharing more of this tragic tale. There is something so beautiful, I think, of rival schools offering space – a real life lesson for the students, how we come together as community. “Rising” is an incredible word, ‘rising from the ashes,’ yes, indeed; I am immediately reminded of Bruce Springsteen’s anthem, The Rising, honoring the firefighters at the World Trade Center. Here’s to healing for your precious community!
Glenda, thank you so much for the updates with this hope-filled poem. I love the formatting of “Rising” three times, like prayers going up from the smoke and ashes. Here’s to more and more hope and healing coming their way.
Glenda, what a beautiful name for this poem and for the bridge between the longer stanzas – a refrain! Teacher and education do so much rising you’d think we’d earn a ticket straight to the big show in the afterlife. I’m not certain we can keep it up, and yet still, we rise (Angelou has the best lines).
Oh, I read about this on the news, Glenda. SO sad. For all those students, and teachers. It seems that tragedies usually draw people closer together, and I felt that in your poem – imagining those students at prom (the day after!), and traveling further to be with each other. This felt reminiscent of covid times to me: “time with teachers & / friends sans virtual learning.”
Glenda, I love the theme of rising. Maya – still, I rise. Students – still, we rise. And I also love the rising above circumstance. Like a Phoenix. From
the ashes.
So glad to read that there is an alternative space for classes to meet for the remainder of the school year. If nothing else, students are learning to deal with change!
Glad, too, that they have you as a teacher. You’re in our prayers as you flex yourself to adjust yet one more time.
Glenda, this is a moving tribute to a community pulling together to overcome. My Grannie’s home burned on New Year’s Even when I was a young teenager; I know the heavy smoke smell. I couldn’t have imagined it would be repaired, but it was, and it was beautiful. I find such heroism here in your verse – the prom going on, the healing dance circle, the repurposing…your poem-chronicles are also part of this rising. I continue to hold the community in my heart.
Glenda, I prayed this tragedy would reveal a great blessing and I believe it’s coming. The prom the day after…wow. I can’t imagine how the school community felt. Healing is coming as you said here!
💟
Macaroni Salad
Barbecue Chicken
We gather together for a Casserole
No one is quite sure what to say
So we eat some more:
Flamin’ Hot Doritos
Blondies
Marble Cake with white icing
And we drink
Coffee
Cans of Country Time Lemonade
Diet Pepsi out of red solo cups
And we talk
About our memories
I barely know these people
But now we have an intimacy
For one soul purpose:
Honoring you
Jennifer, I am not sure where you live. I have lived in several places all over the world, and this poem definitely speaks to me about gatherings for birthdays, celebrations of life, retirement parties, baby showers, etc in Oklahoma. I can relate to this and almost feel as if I’m there with you. Thank you for sharing this with us today.
Jennifer,
You nailed the after the funeral meal, first with the silences:
“No one is quite sure what to say
So we eat some more:”
and then with the
“And we talk
About our memories
I barely know these people
But now we have an intimacy
For one soul purpose:
Honoring you”
These are such awkward events that can offer closure when grieving. We’ll don!
You have painted a picture of every funeral I have attended. The intimacy of shared memories, uniting you all for one reason. Your poem is moving.
“For one soul purpose:” – love your choice of ‘soul’ rather than ‘sole’ …a poignant choice. I am awed by how these foods – these concrete examples – take me right into the memorial service, I feel as if I am in the room.
Jennifer, thank you for this beautiful poem. I love the idea of feeling intimacy with those people who you barely know at the funeral. I also love your use of soul in “one soul purpose” / “honoring you”
That lemonade!! My favorite! And blondies, my grandmother’s specialty. I love this soul food to honor us all! I will dig in at dinner and raise my glass. To all of us!
Jennifer, isn’t it funny how we associate the need for food (“macaroni salad,” “a casserole,” and “blondies”) with the loss of a loved one. I am assuming that is what you mean here. Isn’t it funny that this tradition of showering people with food happens upon the death but not the birth of our loved ones. I wonder why?
Amber- thank you for this opportunity to think of concrete things. I smiled at your disappointment at the lack of maple syrup. Something so magical about that taste, right?
Useful
Once full of mysterious metal gewgaws,
important to the seamstress
who used them in her pedal-powered
Singer sewing machine sewing machine.
Complicated, specific in their appearance.
I wonder if they were ever used,
or if she (I assume it was a she)
ever used the machine for anything
other than a practical straight stitch—
for clothing, or curtains, or bedclothes.
Useful things.
The box is elegant in its simplicity.
Glowing golden oak,
dove-tailed corners,
inset catch.
It is lined with plum colored felt,
to protect its valued contents.
Tools of yesteryear;
of no use today.
Now, it rests on my coffee table.
I treat it with the deference it deserves,
dusting it, waxing it occasionally.
It has earned this respect—
this toolbox for mysterious mechanisms.
These days, it holds different tools—
my tools—
pens, pencils, and sticky notes.
The tools of the teacher.
Useful things.
Gayle Sands
04/28/23
Gayle! Wow! You have pulled me right into your world. The line “golden glowing oak” is so warm and endearing. Thank you for sharing your words with us today.
I love the beauty and mystery of the box. Beautiful poem!
Just noticed accidental repetition of sewing machine! Oh, well…
Gayle,
I love “gewgaws” and haven’t heard that word in eons. Your descriptions remind me of an old sewing machine we had that became a catchall when I was a kid. I love the way you’ve repurposed the sewing machine to fit your needs while honoring its past. Excellent poem.
I have a box of those old “mysterious metal gewgaws” from a sewing machine, that I have absolutely no idea what purpose they served. Love the way you write of these…and what a beautiful box,
You have a new treasure, filled with new tools of creativity. I love thinking about how ‘useful’ has changed through time. Wonderful poem!
Gayle, thank you for sharing this treasure box with us. It is beautiful and decorative, but holds useful thing for the seamstress once upon a time, and for you now. Lovely description of the box here:
Gayle, that pedal powered sewing machine brings memories of my mother and grandmother, who both sewed on one. Tools of yesteryear and tools of today – and they are the simple kind of tools that are timeless.
Gayle, you poem evokes memories of my mother who for years lived with limited mobility due to a roller skatin accident she had in the early weeks of pregnancy with by youngest sister. She was hospitalized for years, but, but, she learned to sew and we ALWAYS had a sewing machine in the house! Tools of yesteryear for sure!
My mother was the “seamstress” you describe in your poem and we never really appreciated her because we were teenagers before we got “store bought” clothes! We didn’t understand how special is was to have a talented seamstress for a mother! She even knitted our sweaters and embroidered pillowcases and table clothes!
The box sounds beautiful, Gayle.Love your word choices of “gewgaws” and “yesteryear.” The poem leaves me with a satisfied feeling, a gladness, for the old box having new and useful life.
Amber, thank you for hosting us today. Your overnight oats sound so good – – I was making them for a while, but I lost momentum and haven’t had them in a while. You’ve inspired me to get more ingredients this weekend and have them next week. There is nothing like the thought of pure Vermont syrup to tickle my tastebuds. I was thinking of two incidents I witnessed this week where if looks could have killed, I’d have witnessed mass carnage. Eyes reveal the abstract. This topic took me down a darker path today.
Cutting Eyes
post-ripple small talk~
reconnecting after a
hard conversation
but eyes tell the truth
might as well pass out peanuts
feed the elephant
which just grows bigger
eyes that will no longer meet
resentment sets in
Oof! You capture this so perfectly. Your metaphor of that elephant and the peanuts you are feeding it as the resentment sets in—genius!
Kim, I admire your way to bring even those darker moments to pull us into a moment of reality you witnessed this week. The phrase “resentment sets in” got me thinking about my own journey of having the courage to change despite the actions of others because cutting eyes hurt.
Also..I forgot to say: Enjoy your overnight oats this weekend. They definitely hit the spot for me and it sounds like they will for you, too. (Sometimes I use agave nectar instead.)
Kim,
You did go dark w/ this one. I hope putting these words to paper offers catharsis, my friend. I do think we’re seeing movement against that growing elephant. I remind myself that the storm ravages before it brings calm and the rainbow. It’s a sad reality that reconnecting is nearly impossible w/ some. You, however, will never be a peanut pounder. You will always find hope in these sad moments.
Just three short stanzas and packs a punch in meaning. I love the elephant in the room and the way you expressed it.
These sorrowful haikus, this morning – I am drawn into your pain, Kim. This “eyes that will no longer meet” – the raw hurt is so clear here. Your metaphor of the elephant being fed is just fabulous. Here’s to hopefulness of time and healing.
Wow, what a tangible beauty here describing the elephant in the room that lingered after the hard conversation. This poem is masterful, Kim. Peace to you.
Kim, so much depends on the word “but” here in “but eyes tell the truth.” And then the passing of the peanuts for that elephant (in the room)… weighty metaphor!
Eyes are the windows to the soul, as the old idiom goes…they DO tell the truth. And as I tell my husband: You can’t make anybody see. They see things as they will. The image of the image of the elephants growing larger is unnerving – and eyes no longer meeting, sad. Piercing haiku – seamless, as always!
Kim! Were you in my house 10 years ago? I remember when I could no longer look at my ex.
Your poem speaks volumes and in three short stanzas!
Amber— great prompt! The focus on the senses, and the emotions. The disappointment at the end made me smile.
Useful
Once full of mysterious metal gewgaws
important to the seamstress,
meant for her pedal-powered
Singer sewing machine.
Complicated, specific in their appearance.
I wonder if they were ever used,
or if she (I assume it was a she)
ever used the machine for anything
other than a practical straight stitch—
for clothing, or curtains, or bedclothes.
Useful things.
The box is elegant in its simplicity.
Glowing golden oak,
dove-tailed corners,
inset catch.
It is lined with plum colored felt,
to protect its valued contents
Tools of yesteryear;
of no use today.
Now, it rests on my coffee table.
I treat it with the deference it deserves—
dusting it, waxing it occasionally.
It has earned this respect,
this holder of worthwhile tools.
These days, it holds different tools—
my tools—
pens, pencils, and sticky notes.
The tools of the teacher.
Useful things.
Gayle Sands
04/28/23
Amber – you have my mind working early in the morning. Yesterday, we had our 10th Annual Women’s History Tea Party with 3rd to 5th graders who did research on female ecologists. The students were so excited. I decided to write about it here.
Congregation
Tea cups and fancy plates,,
assorted mini-sandwiches,
scones, shortbread, fruit cup,
steaming teas and honey.
Tables set with green linen,
Flowered napkins, gold cutlery,
Blue hydrangeas in the center,
of large round tables.
Children enter grinning from ear to ear,
They carefully take their seats,
Eyes sparkling with excitement,
They wait to be called one table at a time.
Silver tongs pick up
Slippery sandwiches,
Hands hovers over
Each sweet delectable treat.
Everyone is served,
We sit in community
Smiling, talking, laughing
Celebrating women who made a difference
I tell the children that one day,
One day in some elementary school,
They will be celebrated like this,
For what they will bring to the world.
Let us all share the joy
Of youth and possibility,
The world is wild and precious thing,
We can keep it safe together.
There is so much joy in this poem!! I can picture it all— the chatter, the excitement…. What a wonderful experience for all of you— one they will always remember. Wow.
Thank you!
Joanne, you almost have me in tears of joy. First of all, I can definitely picture the atmosphere and how honoring to be in a space like that. And what hits me most is the line “for what they will bring to the world.” That line and you tying it in with the celebration makes my heart sing to see so many children having the opportunity to be empowered and a little seed planted within them to go out and do amazing things in this world. It’s like giving them something to strive for on the off chance that nobody else has planted that seed for them. That brightens my soul.
Thank you. Those little hopeful faces are why we teach, right?
What a joyful celebration – a fabulous tradition! I have no doubt that students hold onto the memory of this occasion. I admire how you tell the story of the day/the party through these quatrains, they have a dance-like, festive feel.
Thank you!
Oh, Joanne, what a joy! This is magic and fun and honoring to the ecologists and more importantly to your able-to-dream-big students. Yes, here’s to “youth and possibility” Congratulations, teacher!
Thank you!
Joanne, your earlier stanzas made me want to be there for the elegant gathering, then the reason for it struck my heart.
I tell the children that one day,
One day in some elementary school,
They will be celebrated like this,
For what they will bring to the world.
And…even if your students never learn of such a celebration, your encouraging them to be and do something to be celebrate with such elegance will get many of them through tough day.
On behalf of parents who may not know to thank you, I will do so now. “Thank you, Ms. Emery!”
I so appreciate this, Anna. Thank you!
Teacher Moonlighting
Cara pours soft $erve,
cooks burgers and fries,
teaches 3rd grade, too–
both jobs 28 year$ now.
The teacher next door
crafts cocktails for tip$,
crochets mittens on Etsy, too–
for son Jack’s bra$es.
Down the hall, Chism
greets weekend warrior$
at Walmart, delivers Door
Da$h, too–for when
he’$ fired for his
classroom library.
So sad, that these second jobs are needed due to economics— and even sadder politics.
a frightening time to be a teacher…
Ah, the side hustle, so many of us are part of this economic process. Your use of the dollar sign then the firing at the end evokes so much more emotion. Thank you for sharing in this way.
My heart is there with them. It is bitter sweet. I live this life, too. I 100% love teaching and know it is my calling. And all my side hustles…I pour my heart into them and have reaped major joy from serving others either with yard work, pulling espresso shots at the local cafe, knitting beanies, or giving tours across America. I love what I do in and out of the classroom and I appreciate the pay off it has (my sons are worth it)…paying for my son’s braces, and having backup plans incase I’m fired due to the books that line the shelves of my classroom library with which I refuse to dismantle. Thank you, Sarah, for shedding light on this. I needed this today. I needed to know I’m not alone in this bitter sweet day to day.
Sarah,
This breaks my heart. Your title is a bit of an ironic commentary as I recall that old television show “Moonlighting.” Using the $ sign in place of Ss is brilliant. Teachers give so much only to face being “fired for his / classroom library.” Our world is upside down.
One of my absolute favorite poems of the day. So powerful and I love the dollar signs that add literal and symbolic meaning to the piece.
The unexpected repetition of $ for “S” reminds me of the surprise/shock of realizing money has run out. I am horrified at how little teachers get paid in so many parts of our nation (here in D.C. area, teacher wages are good). Teaching is demanding work, all-consuming; it feels absolutely wrong to me that one must work an additional job in order to support one’s basic livelihood.
Sarah:
The $ for s and soft c are so striking, and further drive home the point that being a teacher is often not stable economically. I have been thinking about this as we enter summer, wondering if I should busy my time with moonlighting in a different industry. The last two lines are chilling, and something I wonder about every day. A lovely, chilling poem.
Oh, Sarah, the teachers having to moonlight was enough of a sad story. But those last two lines add another layer to the difficulties that teachers face in this era. Oh, Lord, have mercy! Nice use of the dollar sign, too, my friend.
Sarah, it’s a tragic reality on multiple levels, but the way you let the poem unfold is so effective. That last line – it strikes deep, after all the sacrifice. I see so many colleagues in these lines.
Oh my, Sarah! Your poem gets right to the heart of the matter. Well crafted. Cuts to the heart.
Sara, thank you saying what needs to be said here. So many of us bring papers home to grade. We plan lessons, contact parents, and answer emails on our own time. It is a form of moonlighting for which there is no pay. Others of us moonlight at Tractor Supply or the local community college for needed income. Then so many of us have to worry about losing our job because of our classroom libraries or for asking students what pronoun they use. Thank you.
The TRUTH!! I remember when I was pregnant, teaching full-time, worked the after school program until 6, and did mani/pedis on weekends! It’s so sad that teachers aren’t paid more than any other profession. And let’s not even mention the teachers losing their jobs over books! What kind of world is this? Thank you, Sarah, for the honest and sick truth.
Amber, what a fun prompt today! I adore the title of your poem. Every image is so vivid; I can smell that warm woodsy cinnamon, my favorite spice. So, I did write about an object close at hand here this morning – every morning, in fact – but I must confess I cannot go COMPLETELY concrete; I had a little fun. Here goes and thank you again for the inspiration.
Cup of Courage
By my laptop sits
my favorite coffee mug,
a gift from my son.
On one side, it says
Courage, dear heart—the words of
Aslan to Lucy
(Narnia, you know)
just when she needed it most.
I sip the dark roast
piping hot, jolting
just when I’m needing it most,
bracing for the day
and all its demands.
But first I shall sit and write
a bit, savoring
this strong new coffee
bought by my thoughtful husband:
I’m drinking Death Wish.
Oh, Aslan, Aslan!
If irony had a taste,
it would be this good.
Fran— you had me at coffee, kept me at Narnia, and reeled me in with Death Wish! Truly irony at its finest. A perfect start to my day, as I drink mynot-at-all ironic coffee.
Fran, I love the coffee mug and mason jar murmurings this morning – Kevin’s mug, your mug, Amber’s mason jar…..the things they say, the things they contain, the things we consume, all of that which feeds our bodies and our minds and our memories…..your last stanza had me cheering (I can see you just melting in the satisfaction of the taste of irony).
Fran,
That must be a really dark roast to be called “Death Wish.” What a name. Favorite line: “If irony had a taste, / it would be this good.” Fun poem.
Fran!!! This moment you capture sounds just so wholesome! Your last stanza makes me want to sigh in joy with you.
Love that line from Aslan to Lucy – and I am laughing at how your poetry tale led me from this wonderful quote to ‘drinking Death Wish.’ Fun poem, Fran! Thank you.
Fran! Love, love, love the irony you found here today. I can only imagine, as I’m not a coffee drinker, what Death Wish might taste like and what might be happening that it’s the choice for the day! You killed the end of this poem (perhaps your drink inspired you).
Haha! I love the “if irony had a taste” What a funny name for a coffee. Beautiful poem and you while “bracing for the day / and all its demands” just whip this out. I’m so happy you chose to “sit and write / a bit” So, so beautiful, and of course, the Susan and Aslan references are wonderful.
You are another friend here who has made me question why I don’t own NOT ONE mug related to writing! This is so good! Love the connections between coffee, writing, and Narnia! Rich with sensory delights, Fran!
☕️
Amber, I’m still brainstorming…but it’s time to go shower & dress for work. I love this prompt. It’s challenging but very doable and really makes me think about word choice. Thanks so much for sharing it today!
Linda, I’m so glad you are inspired by the prompt. I look forward to seeing what moment you pull us into with you.
Amber, you capture hangriness with all of the senses so clearly, from white plastic spoon to the pop of the top. I appreciate how your poem caused me to really focus on each word, as if I were honing in on that first bite. Thanks for hosting today!
Thoughts
we are at a crossroads
my Thoughts and I
I want to go one way
and they, it seems,
don’t want to follow
one sees electrical lights
pulsing along the highway
the other stars
lighting the stormy vortex
one feels the earth’s scream, primal
the other its whimpering end
one wishes only to listen
while the only only to be heard
one smells skeletal seas
organic, uncontrolled
the other earth bound trees
roots delving deep
one tastes the freedom of a blank page
the other the escape of the final word
one says yes
the other no
we are at a crossroads, it seems
my Thoughts and I
Jennifer, you capture the feelings of torn self so succintly and sincerely here. The wrestling with self to come to terms, make sense of things. That stormy vortex is where I have lived the last few days of March and the entire month of April. I wish I were standing on the corner in Winslow, Arizona (such a fine sight to see), but here I am at the crossroads with you right smack-dab in the middle of the vortex. I’ll pour us a cup of coffee……
Jennifer, the contrast of a stormy vortex and the potential of a blank page has my thoughts racing. Thank you for sharing this topic this morning.
Exactly how I feel on a daily basis, our thoughts throughout the day take us on so many trips. Thank you for sharing a such a thought provoking poem!!
Jennifer,
This is the struggle, yes?
“we are at a crossroads
my Thoughts and I”
It’s a truth and a paradox. I love the framing that boxes in the push-pull nature of the internal fight.
I feel these words as we near the end of April, which for me and a few others here follows 31 days of blogging in March. These two months are disastrous to my reading life.
“one tastes the freedom of a blank page
the other the escape of the final word”
Jennifer, your words: “one says yes / the other no / we are at a crossroads, it seems / my Thoughts and I” really moved me because I have been here, at crossroads, a lot lately, too, with my thoughts. Thank you for putting these words out there for us.
Jennifer- as Bone Thugs N Harmony said- I’ll see you at the crossroads. I resonate so much with this today. Thanks for sharing your storm today- you’re not alone. I think you really nailed the brief to make every word count.
Gorgeous juxtaposition of thoughts here – you capture how illusive our minds are ‘at work,’ moving every which way. I love
*while the other only to be heard (dagnabbit!)
Oh, wow, you are on fire lately, Jennifer. These two ways your Thoughts and you are going. I’m sure it happens a lot, but maybe here while you sit and try to write a poem before a busy day even more so:
Beautiful!
It is exhausting, this crossroads, the dissonance, but you relay it in such clear images, Jennifer. There’s a vastness, here – something uncontainable yet somehow contained- alas. I know this pulling so well!
Jennifer,
Oh, how true this tug-o-war of the mind is for me! I love the way your poem brings nature, everyday things, and writing together!
Haha, Amber your poem spoke to me of disappointment and regret. Great imagery! Can’t wait to play — and have my Creative Writers play — with this today!
Wendy! I’m so excited to see what you and your creatives come up with. What a fun way to end a school week.
Amber, thank you for hosting and sharing who your mentors have been. I got a bit sidetracked with gerund-ing and not quite fully concrete, but I appreciate how this prompt can help our students make the distinction between these two elements.
Reflection
beyond absorbing others’ pain
before catapulting it back into
the world; it’s
poem-ing one’s thoughts
intra-sensing through words
on a legible surface or typed
cycling feedback received and given
over and over and over to grow
staring at one’s self in the mirror, making
first-person eye contact while contemplating
breathing in: one, two, three
and out: one, two, three
pausing with deliberation
beyond a tangible outcome for others’
self-ing
Poeming is a great word, even if it’s not quite
Kevin
Isn’t poeming a wonderful start to the day? You have caught so many bits of the writing process and what it does for us! Thank you for the gerunds!
I love how you defined gerunding by using it with the ing itself. What a great new teaching technique to show the meaning of the word. I think I like it better your way.
Stefani,
I love the before/after structure and the way you set us up for the possibilities of poeming with the opening lines:
“beyond absorbing others’ pain
before catapulting it back into
the world;”
Lord knows it’s easy to hurl that pain like a boomerang.
I love the italics throughout that takes us to the final why we write poetry: self-ing.
Stefani, oooo, how fun with the gerund-ing! The lines with breathing in and out: one, two, three really moved me because I have found this to be a helpful breathing practice in many aspects of my daily life. The deliberate pausing is something I’m learning to be mandatory for myself as I get older.
I like that you’ve given reflection so much more than absorbing and then “catapulting it back into the world” (Powerful description)
But it’s poem-ing, staring at oneself, breathing, pausing…so much more and that great last word: self-ing. Thank you for your reflection on reflection today, Stefani. It is rich!
Stefani,
Brilliant response to today’s prompt. I am dreading the end of April’s poeming with everyone.
We should all keep this close a reminder of the value of our feedback:
Morning sipping
Chico
out of a mug
coffee beans inside
seem
to wake me up
I’m remembering
now
the creative bent
of fellow writing teachers
and
how tech we went
I saw my coffee cup in front of me, a reminder of more than 15 years ago when I joined other National Writing Project teachers in Chico, California, for an event called Tech Matters, where we were early explorers of blogging, and the platform that became Google Docs (it was known as Writely back then), early audio podcasting and more. It all seemed like a new world of creativity was emerging and as a new teacher, I was pretty excited about it all.
Kevin
Nice! How quickly we’ve evolved since then, the changes come faster and faster.
Kevin— what a great memory this cup represents, and I am jealous of the club you belong to—look at how we have grown, and you were there at the start!
Kevin, you were on the cutting edge of the world as we know it today! I’m a fan of coffee mugs to step back into moments ~ there’s more than just the physical caffeinated awakenings in our mugs. There’s memory, and I’m glad yours stirred this way this morning.
Kevin, I am drawn to also reminiscing about my early “tech” learning with PowerPoint and how at the time it seemed revolutionary (just as a tool and not even considering the pedagogy). Your rhyming and form are powerful in this poem–thank you for sharing.
Kevin, your memories from Chico, California are invigorating and inspiring. What a clever way to put the name of that city in your poem today. May you always be excited about the tech that continues to emerge – like a pioneer!
Kevin, wonderful form here with each stanza’s one syllable middle lines. Sweet rhythm and rhyme too. Thank you for the back story about NWP in Chico those years ago.
Kevin, I love how your mug brought back a special time for you as a teacher/writer! I don’t think I have any mugs related to writing! I might have to make one. ☕️