Welcome. The poem writing inspiration is part of VerseLove, our celebration of National Poetry Month.
Our Host
Corinne lives in Detroit, Michigan, teaching in Detroit Public Schools Community District. She is an Education Specialist Student at Wayne State University. Corinne is a member of Alpha Kappa Alpha Sorority, Inc., Eta Iota Omega Chapter and the National Sorority of Phi Delta Kappa, Inc. Chi Chapter.
Inspiration
Somewhere between a two-voice poem, a found or cento poem, and a contrapuntal poem. This method of poetry weaves found words, research, and creativity together. As I finish my EdS, I am learning more about research and data analysis that are more creative and cultural.
Today’s poem is meant to give creativity to research and research to creativity. It’s intended to give a voice to the voiceless while being written for the eye.
Inspired by the works of Claudine Rankine, Semaj Brown and Brittney Rogers, this work addresses critical issues with a local flavor and flair.
Process
While watching Katrina: Come Hell and High Water I realized the connection between the documentary and Dr. Thomas Pedroni’s Issues in Urban Education.
I took three themes from the class aligning them with words I’ve discovered over the years. Finding quotes from books and articles read for the class and through a process of editing and revision, poetry emerged. Writing less for the ear and more for the eye allowing the page to indicate the research through right justification.
Perhaps, with today’s poem you will find a second voice, say something you haven’t been able to voice yet, or something you’ve pondered for a long time. Maybe with your poem you will reframe a critical issue that affects you or your students. Maybe you will experiment with form and structure, writing for the eye. Or maybe, you will weave together beautiful words you love into something your own.
Corinne’s Poem
Corinnes-PoemYour 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.
Getting to know Doug Wilson
Before Pete Hegseth was quoting Samuel Jackson–
(“The truth is you’re the weak.
And I’m the tyranny of evil men.” or something like that.)
He was quoting Doug Wilson, his spiritual guide,
so–call me intrigued–I wondered what Wilson was all about,
being that he had the ear of the head of the world’s foremost
military force. What were his views on women for instance?
“Women are people that people come out of…”
Oh, well, I suppose that’s true, but what other nuanced views of gender
roles do you have that we should know about?
“Men are created to exercise dominion over the earth; they are fitted to be husbandman, tilling the earth; they are equipped to be saviors, delivering from evil”
Huh. So men exercise dominion, in a sort of savior role;
and women are, checking my notes,
sort of like easy-bake ovens.
You say that you know the Secretary of Defen–I mean, War, that’s right?
Well, maybe I’m being too quick to judge, but what about, you know, issues of sovereignty?
“You’re not going to scare me away from the word Confederate like you just said “Boo!’”
That escalated quickly! I never even mentioned the Confederacy, but since you brought it up, there IS the issue of sla–
“Slavery produced in the South a genuine affection between the races!”
That’s a hot take! I’m wondering if you shared that idea with Secretary Pete,
cuz when he started firing Black Generals all willy nilly, it’s almost like he
got some of those ideas from–
“Beware of anyone who claims to be neutral, for they always have an agenda.”
Now, there we can agree, cuz MLK said,
“If you are neutral in a situation of injustice,
you have chosen the side of oppressor.”
And Desmond Tutu said,
“If an elephant has its foot on the tail of a mouse,
and you say that you are neutral,
the mouse will not appreciate your neutrality.”
You do know that you’re the elephant, right?
I love how you also went into a deep dive of quoting a crazy man. A fun yet scary and sickening proposition. This is a cool piece that you have shared with us though
Yikes! Doug Wilson is a real piece of work, huh? I love your narrator’s voice here, Dave. A touch of humor — “and women are, checking my notes, / sort of like easy-bake ovens” — to offset (some) of the absolute batshit craziness of all of this. Thanks for giving my more insight into Doug Wilson (and Hegseth, too)!
Group Home Kid
trying to figure it out—
how to get by,
how to become a grown up
who she can respect
because she sure has met some
whom she can’t
She asks questions,
She advocates.
Group Home Kid is told
“You have an entitlement complex.’
She objects.
She is Subject
She is no object.
To herself, her life
Her plentitude (Freire, 1970/2000).
Sometimes she wrestles
with herself,
her hopes,
her dreams,
her fears
The Rules,
the lies
the walls,
the barriers.
She cannot count on someone to rescue her.
nobody can do it for her, however,
somebody can meet her in “comradeship” —
not fighting for her,
but with her.
Her story is
“Minha vida. Minha luta” ((Freire, 1970/2000)
To become fully human
is to risk an act of love.
Julie,
The fourth stanza and the last stanza really drive home the point of agency and the partnerships that need to happen to truly support learning and growth–especially as a relational thing. The philosophies of Friere really resonate in your poem!
Thanks for the prompt and the poem.
My poem today is based on anecdotal research- what I observed from young students in my school after cursive writing was taken out of the curriculum. I’ve heard reports on the news about research showing the cognitive benefits of cursive writing and questioning whether a mistake was made in dismissing it. (It may not seem like a weighty topic, unless you consider the bigger issues of how decisions are made in education.)
Here is my poem:
I wanna grow up
Wanna write my name in cursive
Like the big kids do
Diane, I just love a haiku that can say so much, just as yours does. What an interesting topic to ponder.
Diane, bravo! There are so many good reasons to teach cursive. It’s good for brain development and studying primary sources. I love your “anecdotal research.”
I’m with you, Diane! Love the conciseness of your poem and how it cuts to the heart of the matter.
Short, sweet, and lovely!
Pretty Serious Stuff
Today in 1962, Neil Armstrong
reached an altitude of 63,250 meters in the X-15,
considered the threshold of space.
Since then we’ve won and lost
battles in the race to conquer space.
But did you know
eleven aerospace engineers
are missing or dead?
On June 22, 2025,
Monica hikes with a friend
smiles, waves, then vanishes—
her body’s never found.
Michael and Frank both die
but no one is told the reason why.
Carl is gunned down on his front porch.
Amy, a self-inflicted gunshot wound,
after sharing she and her team were tortured
to stop their work with anti-gravity.
Nuno is shot, too.
Jason disappears,
found three months later in a lake—
no evidence of foul play.
In the past year
Neil, Melissa, Anthony and Steven
all disappear.
The government finally launches a “holistic review”
concerned about the nation’s risk.
Eleven aerospace engineers
missing or dead.
Barb Edler
20 April 2026
Barb,
Wow!That’s is crazy stuff. I had no idea. I am intrigued.
Barb,
I had no idea about so many of these losses and tragedies. It really makes me wonder how folks have sacrificed their lives in the name of advancement. Thanks for sharing and paying this tribute.
Barb, you made it! I loved that you shared this information, but I am not surprised. The first Soviet cosmonaut (astronaut) Yuri Gagarin died several years after his successful flight to space that made him the first human in space in 1961. The exact circumstances remained a state secret for decades. Isn’t it suspicious?
Whoa! This is crazy to hear about, Barb. I love how you have laid the information out for us to draw our own conclusions. Amazing.
Barb,
Holy Hannah! This is provocative for all it doesn’t say, the unanswered “why?”! I had no idea! Now I want to learn about these forgotten souls. The repetition works well as a frame.
What? I didn’t know this either. You did some fascinating research today. What percentage of the total number of aerospace engineers is that? I think it must be a a high one! How did the “holistic review” turn out? Sorry. Lots of questions. No need to answer! Haha.
They just started the probe.
Barb, I just heard about this the other day! Something is definitely going on here! Thank you for crafting and sharing this!
Hi Corrine,
Thanks for today’s inspiration and challenging us to think about research, language and poetry in such deliberate and intentional ways. Your poem really highlights so many important issues that deserve care and attention. I appreciate how you have identified and named the research and created your own poetry.
I am thinking about some of the recent tragedies and injustices that continue to be on my mind. I continue to wonder about the state of affairs in our country and how we grapple with the current events or are we all becoming a little numb.
Renee Nicole Good
The discomfort is real.
Quick fixes are prevalent and pervasive.
Our society gets off on quick fixes.
Are you running toward or away from these?
What do you actually want?
What are you manifesting?
What are you actually doing?
Renee Nicole Good was in her car.
She was shot and killed by ICE agents in Minneapolis.
She was a poet, a mother of three, and a U.S. Citizen.
She was all this and so much more.
The discomfort is real. It is visceral.
What if she wasn’t a poet?
What if she wasn’t a mother?
What if she wasn’t a U.S. citizen?
Would it matter?
Let’s be real.
The weight of what has happened is real.
If this happened in Minneapolis, it means that it can happen on our streets too.
These things should matter and there are no quick fixes.
Let’s not get off on Good; Let’s not run away from the truth.
Darshna, your poem weighs heavily on my heart. Good’s murder is unacceptable. I appreciate how your poem emphasizes the need to face this truth. Your poem’s questions are also important and provocative. Powerful poem!
Darshna — I agree! “The discomfort is real. It is visceral” and “These things should matter and there are no quick fixes.” What happened in Minneapolis is so horrible and I still have trouble wrapping my head around how this could happen in the U.S.
The weight of what has happened is real… Let’s not run away from the truth.
Yes, the weight is heavy.
Darshna,
I wrote about both Good and Preeti after their deaths and the false narrative constructed by the regime. You pose important questions. We tend to value some lives more than others. And we should not forget the victims of government overreach.
Darshna, well done! What a great subject for your poem. I like all the questions, especially that second set and the answer, “Let’s be real.” I like that last line with the double meaning of “Good.”
Like Sheila, I had to do a shortie today. I’m chaperoning our Academic Decathlon’s trip to Nationals in L.A. tomorrow, and today was a whirlwind of preparation.
”The Split”
”As something resembling my teen identity began to coagulate, there was a cavalcade of female archetypes to consider, and each, in her own way, embodied a reaction against the identity with which their mothers had been saddled.”
(Douglas, Susan J., Where the Girls Are)
When was the moment,
the precise moment,
that whispered to me
that I didn’t want to
be like her?
Did it scream in my ear?
Was it a quiet, insistent thrum?
A shocking, sly,
insidious hiss?
A quiet, firm assertion?
A bitter conviction?
Ah, well: the moment
remains lost, a mystery.
I only remain
in possession of a feeling
of loss, of wanting,
of yearning to be heard
and seen.
There’s a lot to consider in your poem, Wendy. I’m wondering about the possible mother-daughter dynamic here. The yearning to be heard and seen is poignant.
Oh, Wendy, What a quote, and your questions about your feelings about your mother are WOW! Have a great trip to LA–Academic Decathlon sounds exciting. Hope all goes well.
I’m currently reading The Secret Life of Groceries: The Dark Miracle of the American Supermarket by Benjamin Lorr. It’s really interesting so far.
The Secret Lives of Groceries
By Mo Daley 4/20/26
We have a term ‘groceries.’
It’s an old term but it means basically what you’re buying, food, it’s a pretty accurate term but it’s an old-fashioned sound
but groceries are down. Donald Trump must not know coffee is $24 and butter is $9
The supermarket became my window to understand our world Benjamin Lorr
and the world is an exhausting mess
we are all tired of trying to clean it up
the costs are so high
We spend only 10 percent of our budget on food, compared to 40 percent by our great-grandparents in 1900, and 30 percent by our grandparents in the 1950s. Benjamin Lorr said this in 2020,
but I wonder what the percentage would be today
the costs are so high
The Great Big Beautiful Bill also slashed taxes on millions of Americans, small businesses, including restaurants, dry cleaners, corner stores…What is a corner store?
Don’t worry about it, Mr. President
by the time you learn what corner stores are,
they’ll all be out of business
Mo, the end of your poem is a gob smacker! I am intrigued by this issue and now have a new book to put on my list. The world is an exhausting mess! Wow, ain’t that the truth. Very compelling poem and I love the straightforward voice!
Mo, you go! This is so awesome. I love the facts you shared from Lorr’s book. Fascinating. The beginning and ending with the trump quotes is so telling, and perfect additions for the Lorr quote and your poem.
We visited the prison where John McCain was a POW during the Vietnam War. Its history is provocative. Many Americans complain about it.
Prelude to Hanoi Hilton
French colonizers built
Hỏa Lò Prison in 1896.
They displaced Phu Khanh village,
Vinh Xuong canton,
Tho Xuong district,
Hanoi.
The French created an autocracy.
They moved all villagers—
old pagodas,
all communal houses,
Chan Tien pagoda,
Phu Khanh communal house,
They destroyed Bich Thu & Bich Hoa pagoda.
The French demolished
an ancient village
practicing a time-honoured craft to
build Hỏa Lò Prison/Hanoi Hilton.
The French warehoused political prisoners,
up to 100 in a cell built for 40.
They propped the sick near the door.
They kept the cell cold, so
prisoners slept in the fetal position.
The French grew the Communist Party from
the men they imprisoned.
They called them prisoners of war.
They housed rule breakers in a dungeon.
They tortured the prisoners.
The French built Hỏa Lò Prison,
where the Viet Cong held
John McCain over five years,
during the Vietnam Conflict,
where a Bang tree bears witness to
causes & effects….
Glenda Funk
April 20, 2026
Glenda, your poem clearly illustrates the horrors of war. I can only imagine the stench, the suffering, the thirst these prisoners endured being caged in a cell with 99 other men, cold and tortured. Your straightforward delivery emphasizes the actions and history of these prisons. Powerful and deeply moving poem. Thanks for sharing these harsh truths.
Thank you for this history lesson, Glenda! What is astonishing to me that the first thing colonizers usually do, they build prisons and establish cemeteries. When the English settled in the New World, they did the same. So it is always expected that people will be imprisoned and die–a horrific reality.
Leilya, you’ve resurrected the first page of The Scarlet Letter!!
Glenda, how heartbreaking. This detail is so heartbreaking…”They kept the cell cold, so
prisoners slept in the fetal position.” It has made me stop and consider the tragedy of this prison. The fascinating, matter-of-fact details with all the place names, like a documentary, make your poem even more hefty and important.
Corinne — Thank you for your prompt and powerful poem! Combining research and poetry is a fantastic strategy to strengthen critical thinking and writing. I decided to use information from a recent bookstudy I participated in.
Sketchnoting
Quotes from Ink& Ideas Tanny McGregor
Big ideas percolate—
gather, bead,
become
Students “leave tracks of their thinking”
in the margins—
white space fills with
“New information that
does not rely on language”
And
“Only the thinker decides what
appears on the page”
“Choice leads to discovery”
memory deepens,
thinking sharpens,
the mind quiets
put the screens away—
hand the kids crayons!
Tammi, your poem’s questions also is like a window into my own teaching philosophy such as choice leads to discovery. Hand the kids crayons is right. I just listened to an expert say that learning declined after technology became more prevalent in the classroom. I think we need more writing in those margins. Very compelling poem. Thanks!
Hand the kids crayons- yes!
I love the idea of this poem form, but I just don’t have the time or mental stamina to tackle it today. Instead, this:
I made the mistake of thinking, “Hey, I’ve written a poem every day for 19 days! I’ve got this! Only 11 days to go.”
But today I taught solid from 10-3, not counting the 30 minutes I rushed home to walk the dog,
Eating my peanut butter sandwich en route to class from the parking lot because I was running late.
And before 10 was stamping out fires from fall classes not making required minimum enrollment,
With class followed by what was supposed to be a relaxing walk in the bluebell meadow with the dog.
But . . .
There was road construction on the way over to the meadow,
Which put me about 15 minutes behind schedule,
Which meant that I rushed in the door at 4:27 for a 4:30 Zoom meeting.
That’s okay. I have the whole evening ahead of me.
Until I remembered the phone call to return,
And the student essay contest entries to grade before Wednesday,
And the dog wanted another walk right when I sat down to eat dinner.
I will try again tomorrow . . .
Thanks for dropping in to share your day. Even tired teachers ae welcome! Rest well tonight.
Sheila,
I felt the rush “Eating my peanut butter sandwich en route to class” and stress “road construction” of your day in your poem, and I can relate. Life has kept me from poetry for the last three days. There are only so many hours in the day and we do what we can do.
Hi Sheila,
Wow! It sounds like a super-juggle of a day. I am so glad that you are writing the poem you need and letting us all in. I hope you get a little bit of respite tomorrow. Thanks for sharing.
My poem tonight was inspired by Jennifer Guyor Jowett, who used the word “amble” in her poem and gave me an onramp.
How dare you call it lazy eye!
My squinting precious on the left
Works harder than either of yours.
(Cleveland Eye Clinic)
The Romanian Journal of Opthamology
Confirms my doctor’s explanation:
My sweet brain–
Working overtime to compensate,
Convincing me I could read–
Has weary grown, as have the muscles
Restraining my beloved eyeball from its wanderlust.
Breaking the Age Code
Means loving this body
As it declines–
I lovingly pat the old dog
Who has served me well.
Good boy.
Allison — I love the lightheartedness of your poem and your humor in tackling the “lazy eye” and aging “loving this body/As it declines-“
Allison, I am deeply moved at how you’ve crafted your poem to show the eye condition and weaved in the doctor’s comments and journal’s details. The eyeball’s wanderlust is a unique and engaging phrase that shows the narrator’s attitude. I love the connection between loving one’s aging body to living a faithful companion. Fantastic poem, dear friend!
Corrine, your poem is one I plan to share with my grad students. Your prompt has called to me all day! I was absolutely thrilled to read this invitation to think and write about a “research” a topic near and dear to my heart because we often overlook what we don’t like and pick tidbits out of context that distort what we do from what is researched to be best practice.
I am using recent research from Gary Troia, Michigan State, who considered how teachers varied in teaching writing practices and comparing his findings to my practice in this community. I’m not sure what kind of poem it turns out to be….but it is a draft!
Whole-class instruction, individual practice (93%); small groups used very infrequently.
Who comments on their ideas?
How do they talk about and get ideas?
Where do struggling readers get their scaffolded support?
Focus on planning, drafting; teachers conventions where they feel less competence.
How do they learn to make their own work better?
Who holds them responsible for spelling, grammar?
Are we expecting spell check to be everyone’s editor?
Teachers with higher writing skills gave less consistent writing instruction.
This does not make sense to me!
Do the teachers write every day?
Can we make them join this group?
This may just be a reminder that taking research
Out of context yields squirrelly answers!
Love this, Anita! This is my favorite question: Can we make them join this group?”
Anita — I love the way you structured your poem in the form of questions. They are great questions too! I find it interesting when writing teachers don’t write and reading teachers don’t read. It makes me worry and wonder why they chose to teach those subjects.
Thanks for sharing, Anita! So many important questions you raise here that are on my mind and I imagine other educators. I think you’ve landed on important research and poetry.
Oh, Anita, I love the conclusions drawn at the end of your poem. I also appreciate the poem’s questions which captures an educator’s love of analyzing data and developing key questions. Fantastic poem and topic to delve into.
Anita,
I’m calling bullshit on “Teachers with higher writing skills gave less consistent writing instruction.” What’s the methodology? How many teachers were assessed and how. That claim is not my experience in 38 years teaching. I’ve really come to think much so-called education research is nonsense and harmful. I think education needs a Coming to Jesus moment about what is research and the preconceived conclusion outcomes and self-referencing nonsense in much education research.
Do the teachers write (or read) every day? (What about every week or even every month??!! I think we’d be hard-pressed to find those who write (or read) every day.)
Thank you, Corinne, for hosting us and teaching me something new. I read the prompt and your powerful poem this morning. I hoped to follow the suggested format, but I was not able to give it the proper time. However, I did borrow a line from your poem to write another golden hinge poem since Angie has intrigued me with another golden form.
I borrowed the golden hinge line from Corinne’s poem:
“So language is my art and this is my declaration; I’m both the heartbreak and Hope…”
Language is life’s fluid, the way a word
is like water flowing from
my page to become a river poem or
art on display. A canvas
and sunshiny colors inspire a golden hinge like
this one I’m writing.
is language the most creative art?
my stories speak in spices and sonnets, my
declaration of identities and journeys
I’m marinating in haiku and nonets
both the written and spoken verse steep in
the waves joy and sorrow
heartbreak and profound love.
and if this poem speaks to you, I
hope you’ll write, paint, or sing me a response.
©Stacey L. Joy, 4/20/26
Oh, Stacey, so many beautiful lines here! I love the idea that “language is life’s fluid.” I also love the idea of “marinating in haiku and nonets.”
Stacey, this is both clever and profound! Every line has me wanting more but your line “I’m marinating in haiku and nonets” is the way I feel on this 20th day or poetry immersion! I love the way your took this line and made it your own!
Stacey, oh my! As Sheila noticed, you have so many lines that are beautiful. Love these:
“word
is like water flowing from
my page to become a river poem”
The final two lines also touched me deeply:
“and if this poem speaks to you, I
hope you’ll write, paint, or sing me a response.”
You’ve lifted up Corrine’s line and rooted it in love, hope, and tomorrow. Extraordinary!
Stacey, I am so taken with the this form which, like it’s name, opens so many doors – marinated haiku and nonnets, identities and journeys, waves of joys and sorrow. Well done!!!
Stacey — This is beautiful! I love the flow of these lines”my stories speak in spices and sonnets, my/declaration of identities and journeys/I’m marinating in haiku and nonets”
Your poem speaks to me!
Stacey, another amazing golden hinge. Love that you used one of Corinne’s lines. Beautiful. “my stories speak in spices and sonnets” so so good. Heartbreak and profound love, yes, give me both because the former makes the latter better. And that invitation at the end. Someday I will write a response to one of the poems shared here!!
Stacey, this is beautiful! I love how you put your own spin on this.
Corrine – Your poem is fantastic. I love how the citations add another layer–a poetic element I have not seen before. You made me think. And you made me feel. That’s what I want from a poem.
We are finishing up portions of The Odyssey in class and I was thinking
Odyseus said “Much have I suffered, labored long and hard by now
in the waves and wars. Add this to the total—bring the trial on!”
Trump said “I’m winning a War, BY A LOT, things are going very well, our Military has been amazing and, if you read the Fake News, … you would actually think we are losing the War.”
Odysseus said “You, you’re a reckless fool – I see that. So,
the gods don’t hand out all their gifts at once,
not build and brains and flowing speech to all”
Trump said “Quiet, Piggy”
Odysseus said “All the rest of you, anyone with the spine and spirit,
step right up and try me – you’ve incensed me so –
at boxing, wrestling, racing; nothing daunts me.”
Trump said ““I’m the only president that ever took a cognitive test. I took it three times. It’s actually a very hard test for a lot of people. It wasn’t hard for me.” and also that his approval ratings are at 100%, never seen before (actuality is closer to 37%)
Odysseus said “Cyclops –
if any man on the face of the earth should ask you
who blinded you, shamed you so – say Odysseus,
raider of cities”
Trump said “Kennedy Center to Be Renamed Trump-Kennedy Center:”
Odysseus said “Calypso the lustrous goddess tried to hold me back,
deep in her arching caverns, craving me for a husband.
So did Circe, holding me just as warmly in her halls,
the bewitching queen of Aeaea keen to have me too.”
Trump said “I moved on her… I did try and f*** her,I just kiss. I don’t even wait. When you’re a star, they let you do it. You can do anything. Grab them by the p****”
Zeus said “Ah how shameless – the way these mortals blame the gods.
From us alone, they say, come all their miseries, yes,
but they themselves, with their own reckless ways,
compound their pains beyond their proper share”
Trump said “Trump derangement syndrome”
Trump also said “All Americans need a Bible in their home, and I have many. It’s my favorite book”
but the actual Bible (not Samuel L. Jackson) says “Pride goeth before destruction, and an haughty spirit before a fall.”
can he please read that part, along with the hundreds of other parts that he very clearly and openly doesn’t even attemp to adhere to when he reads the Bible for this big event called America reads the Bible?
But don’t take it from me,
I’m just woke, not asleep.
I loved the comparison–but what an insult to Odysseus! 😉 Half way through I started anticipating the Trump quotes…I was right on “Calypso the lustrous goddess tried to hold me back”
Hang in there.
Luke, I came here tonight dog tired and ready for the sheets; however, your poem has me both smiling and crying with the absurdity of the deranged dialogue we are supposed to believe. Your comparison to Odysseus makes this piece memorable.
And with this poem, you are capturing EXACTLY why history matters. Literacy. Literature. Classics and newly born modern texts. We need readers to connect today to yesterday, so that some storytelling doesn’t get taken over by ignorance, rejection of the beautiful world we share, and an exhausting quest for power at any cost. A good dog will recognize any genuine teacher when he/she/they come home. We’re all hoping for a better time that what has been delivered these past years (this is not the adulthood I anticipated)
Luke, Wow! The comparison is so stark–even with a hero whose ego is as big as Odysseus, Trump is more self-aggrandizing. The Trump quotes are devastating and the comparative quotes are pitch perfect. What a timely poem!
Luke, what a great comparison of voices you compiled in this poem! Bravo! Quotes from Odysseus seem so relatable in the light of Trump’s narcissistic and/or delusional statements. The man “won” 8 wars and “invented” the names of some countries, what else can we expect from him? Thank you! This is a lesson in history and literature.
Wow! This is an unbelievable list and comparison. We need teachers like you to bring on the critical literacies with the creativity.
Luke — A fantastic comparison that is so true and so frightening. You’ve captured our misogynistic, narcissistic, bully to a T. Ugh! Lord, help us!
Thank you all!. I’m much more sad and nagry than happy with this. But I agree it is important to bear witness to our present day
Corinne,
Thank you for hosting. I love the depth, openness and power that you’ve created by combining poetry and research.
Your poem has so many beautiful and strong lines.
I especially love:
Thank you for challenging us to think deeper by combining poetry and research.
———————————————————————————
Indifference
This morning Matthew McConaughey’s reading
the first stanza of W.H. Auden’s
“The More Loving One”
to New York Times readers
“But on earth indifference is the least
We have to dread from man or beast”
strikes me so wrong that I
mishear misread misunderstand
I flip in an extra negative
so that Auden’s lines match the essays
of Namwali Serpell’s On Morrison
which I discussed with friends last week
“In Morrison’s writing
a crack
of negation
can creep
even
into
a single word—
with profound
ethical
reverberations”
Serpell catalogues indifferences
in Morrison’s The Bluest Eye
the indifference of the Breedlove’s furniture
“the complete
indifference
with which
a rusty nail
was met”
as it slid into Pauline’s foot
“Capitalism
is indifferent
to those
it skewers.”
“What I find
striking
about this Morrisonian theme
is that disinterestedness
in particular
is often thought of
as an ideal
of Enlightenment philosophy,
an ethical good
when it comes to both
justice and art.”
and yet
the teachers know
the children know
the novelist, professor and critic Namwali Serpell knows
what Morrison knew
–––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––
Quotes on the right side of my poem are from
Namwali Serpell. On Morrison. Hogarth, 27 Jan. 2026, p. 37-38.
––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––-–––––
My properly formatted poem is at my blog Pedaling Poetry.
Beautifully done, Sharon. Opening with the Auden quote set the stage perfectly & pulled me right in. “And yet / the teachers know / the children know.”
Ohhh . . . the capitalism skewering quote right after the nail sliding indifferently into Pauline’s foot . . . well done!
Sharon, this had me reading again and again, Yes, the teachers and the children know.,
Sharon, there are things I don’t (or refuse) to understand because they, as you clearly vocalize it, “strike me so wrong.”
This is so true:
“Capitalism
is indifferent
to those
it skewers.”
But so is any other “-ism,” as once it becomes an ideology of a certain group of people, it is indifferent to the rest. We learned it firsthand in the USSR. Thank you for this poem that made me think today.
Existential Crisis (of sorts) at the Container Store
So, apparently, Erasmus effed up
and mistranslated Pandora’s
container as a box instead of
a jar, a misreading corrected by
Jane Ellen Harrison, the British
linguist and scholar, but the missteps
don’t stop there; apparently, the
Greek myth from Hesiod is, as a
whole, misread to mean hope that’s
left in the box/jar is a good thing,
a beneficial gift from the gods,
or, if we’re to believe Nietzsche,
it’s the worst evil imaginable, so
now I’m not sure what to believe,
standing here in this long checkout
aisle googling, (who knows why),
Pandora and Hope and Boxes (which
happen to be jars) wondering if these
bins will have a hope against hope
(a fleeting one at that – with feathers
maybe?) that these bins are, indeed,
airtight and will help keep future
incidences of gray water at bay.
(And, maybe, more importantly,
I’m left with the question, would
Pandora and, consequently,
the rest of the world have fared
better if she had a snap-fit or draw
or sliding-fit latch on her “container,”
like they have in aisle seven?)
________________________________________________
Thank you, Corinne, for your powerful mentor poem and your prompt today! I love the line (and hate the sentiment and truth of), “I’ve committed educational malpractice / With random acts of scholasticide”!
Oh, I feel a poem anthology about water damage in your future. So relatable. Will these bins keep future (let’s hope not) gray water at bay? And oh, yes, so clever and also infuriating to consider snap or sliding, which only works if the user did indeed snap or slide properly. Serenity now!
I wish I was in line with you at the container store sharing these musings out loud. Clever, pointed, fun, yet tinged with exetential dread. I’m loving it
OMG. Perfection, Scott. As a lifelong hope optimist (with way too much pessimism), I’m thinking of Pandora on the regular. You always write with such voice….a search of ‘higher ed’ contemplation, with the silliness/briliance/intensity/development of K-12 schools. It makes your contributions a treasure to read.
Pandora’s box might have been a jar? The image is ruined for me forever . . . or not.
See attached! Lately I’ve been going down the rabbit hole of watching pop star documentaries & researching what happened to these icons, so that’s where my brain went with this prompt. I pulled quotes from news articles announcing their deaths. (I chose to go with the 3 I’ve most recently researched – but there are so many others who would fit the same theme.)
Rachel, I’m guessing Michael Jackson, Freddy Mercury, and Amy Winehouse–your quotes capture the way we make sense of the lives of the folks that we push into stardom. I really appreciate the reflective counterpoints to the obituary quotes. We “play their songs on repeat/ as we drive with our windows down”–yes we do! And they become an indelible part of our lives.
Corinne, what a wonderful prompt. I like the research weaved in with poetry. Your mentor poem is so powerful, and I will keep it in mind when sharing with my students– “I’m both the / heartbreak / & hope.”
This morning, I saw our poet-friend Mo Daley sharing via Facebook a blog post from Kenya Connect. I used it for my poem today. Here is the link to Birds, Trees and Bees! A Field Trip.
I hope the formatting will stay intact with the research portion indented to the right.
A Field Trip: Where Learning is Breathing
We say education needs fixing,
systems redesigned,
outcomes measured.
Yet, somewhere
“students…rarely leave the village,”
and still
“first-ever exposure to birding,
nature exploration,
hands-on learning”
We teach observation
from pages and screens.
A child pauses, following
a bird’s wing across sky,
“My first time learning
how birds keep nature balanced”
We search for engagement
With made-up activities—
“the walks were engaging, therapeutic”
Not everything needs measuring.
“I am happy to see birds, trees, and bees…”
We assign writing,
We hope something stays,
Not just knowledge
“aha moments…
responsibility and care”
The world is heavy, we know,
but somewhere
students left inspired,
motivated to take action
We do not solve everything.
But we can begin here
planting, not cutting,
trees protect birds
And maybe that is enough,
not fixing everything,
not solving the world,
but making space
for one moment
where learning feels like
birds, trees, bees
Well, it the formatting shift in a couple of places, but italics make the shifts visible.
Gosh, how did you figure out the formatting? Fantastic. Love the birding and observation connection. And how we can begin, maybe return to the literal and metaphorical planting. Not fixing but making space to observe and make something together, alongside. This is so beautiful.
“We hope something stays, not just knowledge” is such a great line. This is all great . Thank you for writing/sharing
This is great, Leilya! “We teach observation from pages and screens” – but do we watch the birds fly and the plants grow?? There is so much learning that cannot happen on screens and paper. This makes me feel validated in my plans to check my daughter out of school tomorrow to take her to the zoo 🙂
Leilya, you drew me in with your “education needs fixing” reference and the wonderful nature inserts! Then you wove in profound and memorable statements like, “students left inspired, motivated to take action,” just like Corrine’s model!
Oh Leilya,
I love your ending:
These are indeed the moments that students remember and the moments where perhaps the longest-lasting learning takes place.
Leilya, I am captivated by your poem’s final stanza. Love, love, love this message about learning when it feels like birds, trees, bees! Phenomenal!
Leilya,
This is really good. It flows so well, and I know that’s because you know how to integrate research into your commentary well. Love the virtual nature learning and the critique of “authentic” experiences. Well done!
Leilya, good job getting most of the research shifted to the right! That was better than I could manage. I love the sweet ending of “birds, trees, bees” Maybe it is that simple. I especially liked the child quote: “I am happy to see birds, trees, and bees…”
The Secret
we sat in broken lawnchairs
coral rose sunset kissing the horizon
spilling out in a spotlight over the ocean
waves rocking the shoreline
wind whipping our hair
in unsightly ways
Life will break you
(Louise Erdich)
unexpected
tempest of words
rained down
a confession, truth,
this throbbing pain
hobbling them
Most of us
are looking for
ways to survive
(Shannon Martin)
tossing their burden
some twisted version
of hot potato
hitting me full on
knocking the breath
out of me
I have to hold this?
You are here to risk your heart
(Louise Erdich)
pain and grief
in serpentine tides
washing over me
can’t cry
can’t speak
can’t release
————-
Corinne, this is a creative and challenging poetry prompt and I look forward to writing additional poems in this style. It is a fabulous way to merge research with one’s thoughts. Thank you, too, for your powerful poem – I got chills at the lines “I’m not fighting for freedom/I fight for life.”
Well, I feared my formatting wouldn’t hold – and my fears came true. This was a two-column poem and the quotes/names are supposed to be on the right-hand side. Enjoy!
Oh that question/statement I have to hold this? I am rereading the way the hot potato hits me full on. The way it is a kind of assault washing over, maybe paralyzing. Am I reading this? The confession that rocks a world.
Maureen, you created such a moving poem interweaving lines from Erdich and Martin. I am reading this “confession, truth,” and it is as if I am reliving parts of my life, when
“pain and grief
in serpentine tides
washing over me
can’t cry
can’t speak
can’t release”
Such a relatable description of grief.
Corinne, thanks for this prompt. It gave me a chance to return to something that impacted me recently and turn it into something creative.
A few months ago I decided to read Silent Spring by Rachel Carson for the first time. One of the parts that I copied down for later that really gave me pause came out of chapter 14 where she detailed how humans had served as guinea pigs in the 50s as a pesticide was allowed to be utilized for 2 years until they could determine if it caused cancer. Today’s prompt led me to do some more digging–the name of the pesticide, the company that petitioned for approval in 1955, and what the status is now. I think regularly about the food we eat in the U.S. and how it can’t be trusted anymore now than it could be in the 50s.
About the poem: See screenshot in first comment as the right align and centering wouldn’t work. In the first section, anything left-aligned is the U.S. Rubber Company, right-aligned is the FDA, and the center column represents. The second section contain quotes that highlight the danger.
Capitalist News Headline:
Humans Serve as Guinea Pigs for U.S. Rubber Company
1955, U.S. Rubber Company vs FDA
We petition today for approval of Aramite, a pesticide.
Tests have been conducted on lab animals
and reports submitted with this application.
Request to allow small residues on crops sprayed.
Petition reviewed. Zero-tolerance recommended
due to possible cancer-causing tendency.
Appeals Committee Decision:
Petition approved.
Tolerance of 1 part per million.
Produce to be marketed for 2 years
at which time lab tests will determine
if agent is a carcinogen.
1957: pesticide is a confirmed carcinogen.
April 26, 1958: NY Times “The Food and Drug Administration moved today to make illegal the interstate shipment of fruits and vegetables that bear any residue of the pesticide aramite.”
May 2000, Hazardous Substance Fact Sheet, New Jersey Department of Health and Senior Services: “Aramite is a PROBABLE CARCINOGEN in humans. It has caused liver and gall bladder cancer in animals.”
I couldn’t get the right align and centering to work. Here’s a picture of what it should look like.
Cherish, Wow, wonderful. My dad, a proud environmental engineer, was a Carson fan. We heard about, talked about and read Silent Spring. I even met her once, as a young child. We never wasted water or electricity and were label readers before it was cool. Cancer still invaded our family again and again.
This is a disturbing and powerful poem. That we were guinea pigs for this pesticide!
Cheri, I love this collage of voices and even genres of writing that thread a story of agents and agents, and uncover with space between that questions truth and intention and values. I learned a lot.
Wow, Corinne! This is such a creative–and challenging–inspiration, but there are various options that make it more accessible.
Your creation is incredible. I especially love
Public Queen, Private Monster
She sends cards for all occasions
She has a laugh that fills the room
She buys people gifts all the time
She always looks like she walked out of a magazine
She never misses church on Sunday
She loves family deeply
She creates beautiful tablescapes for every holiday
She redecorated our living room without asking
She is incredibly generous but makes sure everyone knows
She parks in No Parking zones
She thinks money salve can heal all
She is the town gossip
She acts like we are all here to serve her,
She navigates all situations as rules don’t apply
She talks behind everyone’s backs; no one is safe.
She tweaks the truth to fit her needs
She can’t handle any criticism; she’s the victim
She demands our time while giving none of hers
She moans, gripes, and complains ALL the time
She never spends quality time with anyone
She’s there but she doesn’t show up
I’m supposed to love her, but she sure makes it hard.
~Susan Ahlbrand
20 April 2026
Susan, whoa and wow, this is hard but often too common. Your line, “She’s there but she doesn’t show up,” also gets me thinking about those who are on their phones but not present. Thank you for sharing.
Oh my, Susan. This has all the colors of grandiose narcissism, and I’m sorry you are having to deal with someone who does not respect your boundaries. There but not showing up shows the invisibility of emotional investment that brings healthy relationship. Oh, goodness, you illustrated the classic textbook personality so well I can see the face. That shift is perfect.
I am struck by each line beginning with “she” – this is a powerful technique for this writing I think, emphasizing the self-absorption of “she” and your frustration … she sounds like a very difficult person. I’m going to hope this is creative fiction!
Mmm this was a creative way to take the prompt, Susan, I like it. And I’m sorry if this is not fiction 😆 But I think many of us can relate. Interesting how someone can look so perfect from the outside (as your first section represents) & then so opposite once you get to know them more. “She talks behind everyone’s backs; no one is safe. / She tweaks the truth to fit her needs / She can’t handle any criticism; she’s the victim.” The worst!
For whatever we lose (like a you or a me)
It is always ourselves we find in the sea…
Epeli reminds us to rethink
the way we size the world.
He points out that smallness
is relative.
He reminds us
that the ocean is not emptiness.
We are not not islands
in a sea, but we are
a sea of islands…and our worlds
are immense, they contain multitudes,
we are our ancestors and our descendants
always.
And we are the stories of the stars
and those beneath the seas.
Suns will set, conquerors will leave,
tides turn, but
the ocean remains,
mother to all of her children,
those lost, wandering, treading water, drowning, swimming, sailing, sunning,
and this mother has a big heart,
adopting anyone who loves her.
Jonathon, I love the ocean and your poem makes my heart grow for it even more. The line “ocean remains,” is reminder of this this powerhouse!
Lots to think about here Jonathan ~ I love the way you expand on your opening lines so that we realize that the ocean is not emptiness… that we re not islands/in the sea, but we are sea of islands,..with immense worlds inside us. I am always struck how the sea remains and appreciate how you honor her!
Exquisite. I’m totally taken with
This is an ode to our oceans.
Jonathan,
This is so beautiful.
Your last line is so poignant considering how poorly we’ve treated our oceans, our earth.
Oh, wow…I love this! I can see so many ways to use this form with students! Your poem was incredibly powerful.
I’m not entirely in a research frame of mind today (I have no desire to write about what I’m actually researching, which is assisted-living facilities for my mom), so I went more toward a two-voice kind of thing.
(Un)trouble
You cannot wait
for an untroubled world
to have an untroubled moment
Trouble follow, shadows, hounds
like a fearsome dragon
no matter how you twist and pull,
you cannot break free from
its clutches.
The terrible phone call,
the rainstorm,
the sinister knock
on the door–
they will all come.
And when they do come,
when trouble slinks out and
grabs you in the dark of night,
Soon enough arrive the
treacherous villain and
the unfair trial
and the smoke and flames
of the suspicious fires to
burn everything away.
And then…what’s next?
What do you have left
after the blazing conflagration
decimates all you held dear?
You stand in the wreckage
of a completely changed landscape
and you realize
you have a choice:
dig a hole in the backyard
and bury yourself in it, or
grab whatever wonderful moments
you find
lying around
and hold on
with every ounce
of your remaining strength.
(with thanks to Lemony Snicket, Shouldn’t You Be in School?)
I loved Lemony Snicket as a kid! Also, I empathize
with you about your mom. Maybe you could return to this form to help you process.
This is beautiful!! Makes me want to go read some Lemony Snicket! You build up the wreckage so expertly and then the switch: “you have a choice / dig a hole in the backyard / and bury yourself in it, or / grab whatever wonderful moments / you find / lying around / and hold on / with every ounce / of your remaining strength.” Your words blend so well & add so much to Snicket’s!
Urban Education
I never had to teach
in a densely populated area—
no crowded hallways humming
with a thousand untold stories.
My school wasn’t very diverse,
faces familiar,
backgrounds echoing one another
like a quiet refrain.
There was not chronic underfunding,
no constant shortage of teachers,
no sharp edge of little poverty
cutting through the day.
Yet we were trying—
always trying.
To engage all cultures,
even the ones not in the room,
to stretch imagination beyond
what we could see.
To provide scholarships
to those without money,
to build ladders where
there were barely walls.
To prepare our students
for the best positions
in American society—
a future polished, promised, possible.
But I wonder now,
standing in that careful absence:
Was that urban education?
Hi Corinne and thanks for todays prompt. It got me thinking asking about urban education in the context of teaching in a private school. I wrote my lines and I must admit, this time I decided to ask AI to make the poem.
I teach at a PWI (primary white institution) which is very different from the urban schools where eI spend most of my time. I am always telling students in the PWI that there’s always tremendous heterogeneity in the homogenous setting, too. I want us all to see that diversity is a superpower. Perspectives matter. There are multiple ways to get to beautiful answers if we allow them to enter our teaching spaces. You are writing about education, Susan, and I love what you are giving the rest of us.
Corinne, thank you for your poem and perspective! I enjoyed reading it. You inspired me to write in a similar way, but instead of using research, I used quotes from my journal entries. I used these entries to display the idea that writing and living our experiences helps us to realize the wisdom we have gained. In a way, I would say this is research, as our whole lives are searching for truth, hope, and joy!
“Sometimes, I simply want to write. It gives me clarity in my own thought life” (10/01/2025).
At times, I write my thoughts
While in other moments I write to-dos.
Regardless of either, writing saves my mind
In action and in thought.
“Wisdom is only gained through a person’s lived experiences” (12/21/25).
Another reason I write–
Parse out my thoughts.
I’ve lived.
I’ve learned.
I grow in wisdom.
“Sometimes, my life feels so meaningless” (01/05/26).
“I am so at peace now that I know where I am going” (03/23/36).
“God, in his providence, caused all of this to happen so perfectly” (03/30/2026).
Through lived experience;
By writing them for myself,
I now know,
Joy comes to those who wait.
Joy comes from the LORD.
I agree, Gabriel. Daily writing in a journal is saving. I have gone back to those written years ago and found inspiration for my poems and prose.
Love the way you used quotes YOU created! I enjoy how they appear chronological, and one can see development.
Gavriel,
I love that you researched yourself. Your poem is a testament to how we can understand ourselves and our lives through writing.
“War divides; hope unites.”
(this and all following quotes on the right margin are by
Pope Leo XIV, April 11, 2026, Prayer Vigil for Peace)
And yet, here we are in a war
that has yet to be declared.
War upon war upon war in
Ukraine, Sudan, Iran,
Lebanon, Gaza, spilling
over to peoples far and wide.
Is there hope enough to unite?
“Arrogance tramples upon others; love lifts up.”
And in words from Proverbs:
“It is better to be humble in spirit with the lowly,
Then to divide the spoil with the proud.”
“Idolatry blinds us; the living God enlightens.”
Light us up, Lord God of life and mercy.
“Nothing can confine us to a predetermined fate,
not even in this world where there never
seem to be enough graves,
for people continue to crucify one another and eliminate life,
with no regard to justice and mercy.”
never enough graves, people crucify, eliminate life
Nothing can hold us here.
Nothing can separate us from the love of God.
God is justice and mercy.
Enough of the idolatry of self and money!
Enough of the display of power!
Enough of war!
True strength is shown in serving life.
Here is Pope Leo serving up life
like a big bowl of Grandmas’ stew,
hearty and sustaining,
full of love and nourishment.
Brothers and sisters of every language, people and nation:
we are one family that weeps, hopes and rises again.
Weeping may last for a season, but hope will come again.
May the madness of war cease
and the Earth be cared for and cultivated by those who still
know how to bring forth, protect and love life.
Hear us, Lord of life!
Amen and amen,
Hear us, Lord of Life!
__________________________________________
Corinne, thank you for this powerful way to research and gather thoughts and react to them. You poem is so powerful–so much truth. “I am both the heartbreak & hope” and that frightening fact: “not fighting for freedom / I fight for life” Oh, for that day “where beloved community is held” Thank you for hosting today. I’m attaching a picture of my poem too, as I suspect the margins are going to change when I copy it here.
Here is another try on the image.
This is SO timely!
Such a powerful choice of topic. I like how your words comment on the Pope’s. When I was looking for my own topic today and looking through my notebook, I found a quote, from a work of historical fiction (Horse by Geraldine Brooks) that was commenting on the Civil War, but which was so timely for current conflicts. “It had seemed to him an evil fate, a geographical accident, that had forced them to take up arms in what was, to him, a war to secure the rich man’s wealth.” When I copied that down on December 31, we had conflicts in Syria, Nigeria, and Venezuela.
Oh, my Cheri, that is a great quote, “to secure the rich man’s wealth” Isn’t that what conflicts are about? We always have money for war.
What a poem! You mix and mingle the Pope’s words with scripture, your own words, and details of these horrid aggressions. This. Is. Magnificent.
I like that you have used more of the Pope’s words than just sound bites the news has played. Words from the scripture confirm the truth in those words, too. And we all need to join in the prayer.
Denise,
I love Pope Leo. He is everything the orange baffin is not. Love that you featured Leo’s words. He certainly feels called by god for this moment in time.
Not Burnout (a cento with interruptions)
they call it burnout
as if the mind
were a wick
gone dark
what gets measured…
so they look for absence
but thinking does not stop
it slips
into the body
into walking
into the space before language
i am still working
when i am not writing
i write to find out what i know
but knowing begins earlier
before the page
before the proof
they say rest
as if rest were opposite
of the work
but the mind keeps composing
in the quiet
in the watching
a slow hunch gathers
unseen
unfunded
unaccounted for
they say slow
as if time were the measure
as if speed were the problem
but i am not behind
i am inside it
attention is the rarest form…
and i am giving it
freely
not drained
not extracted
alive
they say boundaries
as if thought obeys them
as if meaning
waits politely
for office hours
but it comes
in kitchens
on balconies
next to someone
who lets it come
burnout names an ending
but nothing here
is ending
something is forming
even now
line by line
without proof
without permission
i am held here
in witness and words
where my mind hums
Notes / Interruptions:
Peter Drucker, “What gets measured…”
Donald Murray / Anne Lamott, writing as discovery
Jonathan Schooler, “slow hunch”
Simone Weil (attributed), attention
Sarah, I love the repetition of what society says and the response to the words. From the very first “burnout” and the comparison of the mind to a wick. I definitely understand the rest and boundaries. Rest is not the opposite of work, maybe it’s when we do our best “work” and I’ve never been really good with boundaries. Thank you for sharing.
Sarah! I am here nodding my head to each and every line of this. I love, love that opening metaphor. It makes me ponder and visualize. It shakes hands with my fatigue. These words resonate: but thinking does not stop/it slips/into the body/into walking/into the space before language. They explain why so much of the advice you explore doesn’t help. And you bring us back to the wick with burnout names an ending/but nothing here/is ending. Phew! So, so good.
Sarah,
I love this testament to how we are always writing. I find this is especially true when I have a daily writing habit.
Wow. I just love language and words! I love how you ponder true opposites of each of these and force the reader to think deeper into each pair. Your meter and flow are perfect here.
I want to stop at these lines (and cherish them over and over again).
I write to find out what I know, too…but that knowing…our knowing…that is what makes us who we are and I love how #Verselove allows so many of us to know a little more.
We are a collective witness to all that #Verselove achieves.
You put to words what so many of us thinkers/feelers/writers live. You’re on sabbatical and some probably think you are sitting on the couch eating bonbons. But that’s not the way your brain is wired. You are thinking and creating constantly. And further, you always analyze things too. You have such a perfect whole brain.
Sarah, you had me immediately hooked with the image of a mind being a wick. The pace of your poem is thoughtful and attentive to how the narrator finds meaning on her own terms. I am deeply impressed with the lines about meaning waiting patiently for office hours. Your poem’s questions also illustrate the way one naturally learns through first hand experiences and self reflection. I can hear the hum at the end. Kudos!
“What does it mean to belong? Everyone belongs somewhere. How do we choose where and what we belong to?” English 3D ISSUES Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company
I am not a “model-minority”. I rejoice when surveys allow me to choose Pilipino-American, not simply Asian-American.
I came when I was eleven. I thank God and my aunts back home, I am still fluent in Tagalog. It’s been 50+ years since I first left home. There were no fresh mangoes in Connecticut. I ate peaches with my eyes closed because it tricked my mind into thinking mangoes. I didn’t like math Mama had to teach me a trick to learn the nine multiplication facts. I enjoyed science experiments because first and foremost these were reading exercises and then you follow directions.
I am not a doctor, lawyer, or engineer. I am a proud teacher of English Language Learners. I am an immigrant like many of my students. I left my Nanay behind like many of my students left loved ones behind. I tell them “Huwag ninyong kalimutan ang language ninyo. Fifty years na ako dito, marunong pa ako’ng mag Tagalog.”
This is POWERFUL!
That line about tricking yourself with peaches really stands out to me. Food binds us to a place, and I hate that you couldn’t find fresh mangoes!
Cayetana,
Thank you for this beautiful poem. I hope you will share it with your students.
I especially love these lines:
YES. You are a communicator. You know. You create. Language is the vessel (as is art, movement, character, and performance). Kids need to see that the world communicates beautifully in a variety of ways.
Crabby Sage
The captain drowned at sea,
but I heard him call to me.
Every night at twelve,
when mind scavenges through hell.
“Wade into breaking shores,
live with me on the ocean’s floor.
To ride seahorses in coral,
anchored by starfish in floral.
rub a whale’s belly,
bounce off fish of jelly.
The sea calls for you,
clams with pearls of lightning blue.
There is no pain in the seaweed,
Forgotten gold for our greed.
All is a wonder,
in my life down under.
Join me for all your worries be gone,
Dolphin rides with mermaid songs.”
I pondered as I stood on the beach,
is there something beyond my reach.
A life, beyond life, a retreat,
as the foam covers my feet.
A life filled with glee,
a chance to be free,
offered at the bottom of the sea,
green waters cover my knees.
Salty revelations to taste,
tempted waves crash at my waist.
With the captain, to be blessed,
as Waves pound my chest.
I think of my shipwreck,
my life above, on this deck,
so many swirls to correct,
Waves swallow my neck.
One more step into the unknown,
to meet the captain and be gone.
Under merk, there is only green,
No captain or no lovely scene.
Darkness under moonlight,
I traded my life for -what might?
This sea of beauty or despair,
I created it, beyond repair.
The captain sings from above,
“Join me where dreams are dreamed of!
White clouds sweet as snow,
shivering winds and stars glow.
All is peaceful, here above,
fly with eagles, sing with doves.
rainbows form everyday,
all the colors will lead you this way.
The sky calls for you,
streaking lightning blue.
Join me and your worries will be gone,
Pelican rides and whippoorwill songs.
All is love
in a life above”
I pondered as I swam to the top,
small rays of light, blood vessels pop.
My eyes searched for the captain in the sky,
Out of breath, how hard should I try?
There he stood on a distant stratus,
between the gaps of rainbow lattis.
Though he was out of my reach,
Somehow,
I awoken on the beach.
A crab was before my eye,
and spoke,
” you did not die.
you searched for glory in a captain,
before you realized what was happening.
You can not design your own fate,
you must be present in the present,
as you wait.
There is no better plan,
only you, can be your own man.
And I am just a crab,
your destiny I cannot grab.
this day is for you to behold,
the captain is you,
when you are old.
your mind creates,
good and evil escapes.
Some say this vanity,
others say insanity.
but,
today is yours for sure,
there is no medicine for the mind,
no cure.
But i can tell you like a man,
You are talking to a crab in the sand.”
_ Boxer
.
Wow. I really loved the rhyme and rhythm of this! Great job! I have such a hard time using these elements but you did it so well.
What a lovely lyric poem about the sea
Thank you for the prompt, Corinne. This was quite the challenge! I very much enjoyed it.
Tongues / Texts
I learned story on a porch
I learned language in the academy
voices rocking slow, sing-songed truths
voices citing theory, naming discourse
my grandpa’s chair creaked meaning into air
my professor’s words pressed meaning onto page
I knew the rhythm before I knew the rules
I learned the rules before I trusted my rhythm
honey-thick sentences, drawn out, held
precise diction, tightened, controlled
I could feel when a story was right
I could prove when an argument was sound
we didn’t ask questions—we circled them
we framed questions—we answered them
language lived in bodies, in breath, in pause
language lived in texts, in claims, in citations
I was told to speak up, to say it clearly
I was told to slow down, to soften it
I learned to code-switch without naming it
I learned to name it—discursive, hegemonic
story was how we made sense of the world
theory was how we explained that sense
I held worn hands and listened
I held articles and annotated
I found truth in what was told
I found truth in what was argued
but whose truth counted?
but whose language mattered?
I carry porch-sound in my bones
I carry theory in my brain
I bend my voice to fit the room
I choose which voice will enter
I speak in story to be heard
I speak in theory to be taken seriously
I am learning
I am unlearning
to let them meet
to let them speak together
to write in a voice that remembers
to think in a voice that questions
to claim both as mine
to refuse to choose
between porch
and page
The back and forth in your poem mesmerizes me, draws me in to the two languages. I love your ending conclusion “refuse to choose between porch and page.” Excellent.
thank you! I appreciate it so much!
Your poem is so clever. I loved how you explored the different places you learned about writing–each valuable in their own way. The pattern you followed had a delicate rhythm that pulled me in.
Thank you so much. I appreciate your comments. Rhythm is so hard to create and it is nice when someone picks up on it, particularly when you are trying to be intentional.
Thank you! Your poem brought my grandma to mind. She didn’t go past third grade and yet she was the foundation not only of our family, but of the town!
Both have a place!
Right!?1? Sometimes it seems that people forget that.
Oh, Melanie. The pairings throughout the poem feel so intentional, especially “my grandpa’s chair creaked meaning into air / my professor’s words pressed meaning onto page.” That contrast feels like two different textures of knowing, each with its own authority.
I am holding onto this: “I learned to code-switch without naming it / I learned to name it—discursive, hegemonic.” That movement from lived experience into language about that experience feels powerful, even a little charged. It shows both fluency and the cost of that translation.
Sarah
Thank you! Your comments mean a great deal. The line you referenced is one I wrote/rewrote/rewrote/rewrote so many times. So, I really appreciate the comment!
The juxtaposition in your poem is beautiful. The bold typeface helps me focus on certain words as intended and think about them deeply.
I appreciate this. Juxtapositions of competing ideas are such a part of our life in the academy.
“I carry porch sound in my bones,
theory in my brains”
Lovely couplet
Thank you so much.
Melanie,
This is brilliant. I love how you carry the truths of the porch and of the page in parallel, even when they are in opposition, fully claiming both.
I could quote the whole poem as lines I love!
Thank you so much.
Melanie, I am reading and rereading your poem today, because I’m always in a battle with the playful-poet self, and the academic one that Robin Williams worked so hard to fight against with that society of dead poets. YAWP! This a poem to be taught of all becoming teachers because I believe it is a ping pong game between theories and simply living as a writer (which comes from the tales told on a front porch).
I think it is a battle so many of us fight. How do we find value in the verbal playfulness f what we grew up with when so much of what we learn in school tells us that there is something wrong with it?
Corrine, thanks for the prompt. I used the book title and chapter titles from The Confidence to Write: A Guide to Overcoming Fear and Developing Identity as a Writer by Liz Prather as my inspiration for this poem.
Confidence to Write
The confidence to write demands
forging a writing identity by writing
Being a teacher who writes is necessary
to examine writing experiences and
building writerly self-regard
Fear of the blank page
being exposed
being a fraud
Is all part of the process to find your writing voice
Pushing through writing obstacles, develops writer identity
I have held tight to this belief about the teaching of writing. We must push through the obstacles to truly be in the process that we ask our students to participate in.
Amen!
Would you believe I have heard more than a handful of teachers tell me they don’t like to write? I am afraid for the students they have.
Melissa, The vulnerability in “Fear of the blank page / being exposed / being a fraud” feels so honest, naming what so often goes unsaid but quietly shapes the process. It gives the poem a grounded center, where confidence isn’t assumed but built through moving with that fear.
Sarah
As a person who truly believe in writing AS thinking, I value the focus of this poem
Melissa, you’re right on target with this poem! No matter often one writes, new prompts remind us the
Fear of the blankmpage
being exposed
being a fraud
Then you remind that
“the process”
reminding to get it written, then get it right.
Thanks for hosting, Corrine,,, your poem is powerful and moving, heartbreaking and hopeful. I don’t think I do the prompt justice, but this is my reaction to what you wrote. I guess I always believed we were further along in our struggle to be a more just society.
Lincoln was a kind man/the kindest you could meet/when he saw a beetle on its back/he set it on its feet.
were my lines
in a first grade play
that I never forgot,
lines which forged
my life’s mission
long before I knew
anything of history
and its sins.
Kindness is the only service that will stand the storm of life and not wash out
is something I read
that lincoln
actually said.
He is right,
I want to believe
though today
the garment
seems ragged
and worn
and some days
it is hard to believe.
The image of a first grader bravely reciting lines about kindness instantly grabbed my heart and attention. The fact that those lines have stuck with you to share with us today gives me a glimpse into the hope you hold (and share) despite current circumstances.
The contrast of your child self reciting and believing to the adult who is more skeptical is evident in this poem. I want to side with the child but this morning read about a man who killed all of his 7 children. The world is full of hateful acts.
Kindness is such an important attribute–one that is often put on the shelf in our society today. I liked how you mentioned quotes about or from Lincoln and the other stanzas were responses to those quotes.
This first stanza pulled me in. I immediately started thinking back to lines I learned as a young kid. I think this is what makes the poem so great, because most everyone can resonate with this, and it quickly grabs our attention. Wonderful job!
Ann, setting the opening lines of your poem in a passive voice brings an unexpectedness, and I love the surprise of finding you as the young reciter, as well as how it formed you. Your choice to move the quotes from 3rd to 1st person with kindness as the bridge is equally as effective. I feel that garment (I might be that garment!).
How pertinent that those childhood lines have a rhyme to them; I can almost hear a tiny voice reciting them. Then the contrast to the heavier section, and I, too, find it difficult to believe.
I will forever place beetles back on their feet (as I will box turtles and friends who trip down the stairs, on rocks (yeah, I saw it, too), and because walking gets wobbly with age. Love your poem today, Ann.
Perfect intermingling of Lincoln ideas and your own commentary. So powerful!
Corinne, your powerful poem encouraged me to dig into some research about book access in my state. I wrote a poem inspired by information discovered. I love your lines: “I’m both the/heartbreak/& hope.” Thank you for hosting today. The statistics I used are from https://www.unitebooks.com/book-gardens/louisville-growing-readers.
Garden of Books
There is a garden growing
in a desert
in my state
(known for bourbon and bluegrass,
the Run for the Roses)
it’s a book garden
growing where once
there were too few books,
a book desert in fact,
where would-be readers
were parched
but now they can find
refreshment in their own homes;
quench their thirst for stories
“878,000 books were distributed
9,508 families participated”
an oasis
springing up
flourishing
nourishing
growing readers
like roses
well-watered
with words
Big ups to your state, first of all! A state that reads together : ) The turn you create after the statistics is so powerful. From the desert to not only the readers & roses & words, but that succession of discrete actions “springing up / flourishing / nourishing / growing”. The energy captures the action you’re commemorating perfectly!
Hopefully this can be framed and put up in some location in this “book garden…oasis”. So good!!
What a beautiful story. An oasis for stories to flourish.
thanks for sharing
Great! I love this metaphor you weave together here. Food Desert is so well known to us but I don’t believe I’ve ever heard of a book desert. You aced the test today, Lori.
Growing readers like roses! I love this hopeful, joyful poem.
In my state of Utah, we are creating a dessert of books instead of a garden. A lot of banned books–almost every week I get a new list from the district and state. It’s disheartening. Your give me hope that maybe the damage can be reversed. I liked your metaphor of a garden of books growing.
I love this Lori…your extended metaphor for books…from parched state to garden is exquisite and growing readers/like roses/well-watered/with words is beautiful. I will hold this thought in my heart…
I thoroughly enjoyed this poem. Not only was the poem great, but the research within it was so intriguing. This displays the power of this kind of poem in the interest it can bring the reader.
Bravo to your state to be distributing books! Knowledge from reading will nourish young readers. Love your metaphor with books and a garden.
Lori, your poem and Margaret’s are like a breath of fresh air with the gardening themes today. I love that the readers are growing and blooming in Kentucky – – that young readers are well watered with words, and that alliterative /w/ sound is like wow, wonderful and all the amazement sounds. Just perfect!
Lori, I have been thinking of the various forms of deserts lately (food deserts mostly) and ways to counteract them. Finding your poem on a book desert (one I hadn’t considered) feels fateful. I love how you dropped the quote into the midst of the poem – much like seeding or watering the desert. Those last lines are especially beautiful.
Yay for books! And the Read for the Roses that is currently underway in Louisville. I love those last two lines: “well-watered/with words.” May we all be thus.
I love what is happening in Kentucky, our neighbor to the south. Our daughter went to the University of Kentucky and is getting married in Lexington this summer so these lines stuck out:
But it’s the metaphors of deserts and oases and flowers that really make this gem of a poem come off the page to me. And the statistics worked in just drive the ideas home!
Corrine, I am awed by your poem and the truths you reveal. I love your moxie in the final stanza. “Language is my art!” You tell them. I wish we could meet face to face and talk for hours.
I was at an Earth Day event yesterday and had a chance meeting with a natural gardener. My poem is an attempt to capture our conversation.
A Chance Meeting with Eileen
What did you find?
A native buckeye
I have one, a gift from a friend.
I grow Turkey Tangle Frog Fruit for the pollinators. (I type it into my Notes app)
I only want to garden for pollinators.
I have passion vine popping up everywhere.
Maypop! Let’s do an exchange.
Phone to phone,
Eileen becomes a friend.
Returning to the dance floor,
we are both beaming
with the possibilities
of flowers
and butterflies.
Wow! Absolutely love- Turkey Tangle Frog Fruit for the pollinators! Such a cool poem! I would love to chat with you and Eileen!
I love this! Thank you for allowing me to be a (butter)fly on the wall for this conversation.
Margaret, I’m delighted by “Turkey Tangle Frog Fruit,” that moment where language itself becomes part of the exchange, something so specific and alive you have to capture it right away. And the line “Phone to phone, / Eileen becomes a friend” feels like a quiet hinge (thinking of the hinge poem from Angie), where a passing conversation turns into connection. How relationships begin.
Peace,
Sarah
I want that life of dancing and rubbing elbows with a natural gardner and celebrating the possibilities of flowers and butterflies. You are inspiring me to twirl, and I like that whimsical freedom. Maypop – – passion flowers, buckeyes….beautiful!
Well, Corinne, you asked for it. After doing some quicky research to determine if what I’d learned when I was a full time classroom teacher at a 7-12 school where I used music most days, I learned the current research supports such use, Next, using “I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings”, the title of of one of my favorite books that quotes the words from an earlier writer, I started a poem. Then using ChatGPT, I asked it to continue, generating a poem that pulled together all three: 21st Century Research on music, my words, Maya Angelou’s, and Paul Lawrence Dunbar’s, and finally with some revision and refinement, here’s what we have: quoted research, poem, and graphic for Research on the Beat!
Research: John’s Hopkin’s University: Research has shown that listening to music can reduce anxiety, blood pressure, and pain as well as improve sleep quality, mood, mental alertness, and memory.
Research summaries from NIH, WHO, and Johns Hopkins support themes such as reduced stress and anxiety, support for mood, pain relief, improved sleep, help with movement and coordination in some conditions, and stronger memory, alertness, and social connection.
Research on the Beat
I know why the caged bird sings
Is a title that rings, and rings and rings
Research shows that music helps
Turn it up—not just loud, but wise,
music helps minds organize.
Stress comes down, that pressure dips,
rhythm resets the breath and hips.
Mood gets lifted, pain gets room,
a song can brighten up a classroom.
Memory wakes when melody swings,
I know why the caged bird sings.
Beat helps bodies find their pace,
step by step, reclaiming space.
Sleep comes easier, hearts feel strong,
people connect inside a song.
Not fluff. Not hype. Not guesswork. Proof.
Music helps the mind stay loose.
In our lessons, labs, and out in the hall
The sound of music can steady, sharpen all.
I love the rhythm of this poem.
Beat helps bodies find their pace,
step by step, reclaiming space.
Sleep comes easier, hearts feel strong,
people connect inside a song.
This stanza, though, is one I read several times. I loved the sounds and the feel of it when I read it aloud but I also resonated with the lines themselves. the beat, reclaiming, people connecting. Love it.
I wholeheartedly agree! “Mood gets lifted, pain gets room,
a song can brighten up a classroom.”
Anna, What stands out most in my reading other than the beautiufl rhythm is “Memory wakes when melody swings.” Such a lively way to show cognition as responsive, as if the mind is waiting for music to invite it back. And the repetition of “I know why the caged bird sings” weaves in a deeper resonance, connecting research to something cultural, historical, and human.
Sarah
This worked out really well, Anna. I love the rhythm. I didn’t realize you used music in teaching. How did I miss that?
Susan, I used music to calm students down after lunch and gym and to wake them in the morning and before last period! And also to inspire writing or set the mood for a scene we’d be reading or discussing.
We even talked about the power of music to change the way plants grown in greenhouses. The kids were always teaching me!
Corinne, first of all, your poem is such an elegant blend of thought & passion. Actually it reminded me that thought at its best is passion. Here, the longing & the fighting & the sharks in the Atlantic remind us that there are real stakes, real deep histories in our spaces to which we are responsible. Thank you for that.
As it so happens, I read Montaigne’s On the Education of Children recently, so I leaned on a few images he uses there. As always, I post what I write here. Today’s offering:
“The Worlds of the Mind”
The mind is a volunteer.
Each idea, a vessel
to be shaped & fired,
and only with care, to be filled.
The mind is a collaborator.
Each paragraph, the record
of a compulsion, a fevered
other self in motion.
The mind is a gardener.
Each reason rooted & rowdy,
crude in its beginnings,
harvested in its time.
The mind is a commoner.
The thought is a king.
Joel…wow! The mind as volunteer, collaborator, gardener, commoner… You have given me so much to think about today. Each metaphor is powerfully developed in so few words.
I agree with Lori here. Each metaphor is so well done yet in so few words. Awesome job Joel!
The idea of the mind as a vessel, as a collaborator, and as a gardener–beautiful. The extension of those metaphors is so well done.
Joel. What stays with me most is the closing turn, “The mind is a commoner. / The thought is a king.” There’s a fascinating tension there, almost a reversal of authority. It makes me wonder about humility in thinking, how the mind serves, tends, hosts—while the thought, when it arrives, carries a kind of sovereignty.
Sarah
oooh. That first line. THAT FIRST LINE!!! That is so delicious.
Joel, your poem reminds us of the charge to inspire or to fire thinking! And writing by hand does just that!, Thanks for those clever closing lines of your poem.
Absolutely WOW! I love these lines:
Best energies to your research and writing, Corinne, and for fighting against the systems designed within the Chain of Ideas Kendi continues to name (and cite). Somewhere I have piles of poetry written to counter my understanding of the academy (and I was thankful some allowed me to be poetic in my scholarly writing). It is a dance between lived experience and the power play of an ivory tower. Your prompt prompted me to think back almost 20 years ago (phew) for a teaching moment that launched me forward with my own academic work.
Danańe
b.r.crandall
It’s 2008. This young man is
swallowed in an oversized flannel
and too-big-for-his-head
knitted winter toboggan.
We are being introduced.
Nottingham Bulldogs barking
in a hallway yelling adolescence,
overjoyed in cologne, Grippos,
and bottled sodas.
Because I’m 37, older,
I notice his hands, brown,
chapped by winter’s callousness,
fidgeting with a ballpoint pen.
He is telling me a war story,
bullets, scars on the inside of his leg.
A playful smile retreats behind
the puckering of his lips.
I think about teaching. histories.
15 years of Kentucky bluegrass,
portfolios, there is no learning
without a relationship – wisdom from
a mentoring friend.
The flannel is grey and blue,
his sneakers are torn, but important,
from donations his family received.
A Syracuse sky is chalk.
When he tells me of his mother,
Makagbeh, and how she helped
his family survive, I retreat into
shadows, privileges, the guilt
of a Western lie…a cartoon.
At home, behind a keyboard
I write his memories as if they’re
my own, tapping his truth into
a language I’ve never known.
And today, 20 years later,
Corinne’s prompt from a screen,
an April sun fighting a frosty night,
I write with lovers of verse
across a nation, poetry, history,
painting another story
of coming alive together.
Danańe – a city in far-western Ivory Coast, located near the Liberian and Guinean borders.
Bryan, the details in this poem are everything. Starting with his flannel and too big toboggan. To his shoes, to the Syracuse chalk sky in comparison to today’s “April sun fighting a frosty night”. You mention another story at the end that we are writing here, experiencing here, and as for the main story, I want to know so more. Thank you for giving us a beautiful glimpse.
I feel like each of your poems, Bryan, contains multitudes. Not just the places you take us & the images you reveal, but the tones & emotions. Originally I misread “the guilt / of a Western lie” as “the quilt“, which works well also given the weather hinted at : ) Thanks for ennobling the life & story of this young brave survivor.
Bryan, I could see this moment so clearly because of your vivid details and also because of the heart that beats from your words. I feel humbled to be writing with you and others this month…”coming alive together.”
I’m in awe of this narration and description. This is amazing. So, so good.
There is so much here–the richness of the description, the connection to the idea of relationship and learning, the retreat behind shadows, privileges, etc. that pulls me in. The story of hearing his experiences and then writing them down and then bringing them forward again in verse–so powerful. Thank you.
So beautiful!
Ohhhh, ohhhh, ohhhh, I am holding every line, detail, scent, everything!! These important sneakers speak to my soul! 🩵
I love your vivid details here, Bryan. So, so good! And your connection to this prompt, this moment, this connection with “lovers of verse / across a nation, poetry, history, / painting another story / of coming alive together.” I feel so grateful to be a part of this narrative with you!
Hi Corinne, I don’t think I’ve ever heard of a contrapuntal poem so thank you for sharing that. I appreciate the offering to incorporate research into a poem. That will need to be for a time when I have more time. As for your poem, wow. “I’ve committed educational malpractice / with random acts of scholasticide” such great lines. The move from fighting for freedom to fighting for life is so powerful. Thank you for sharing all of what is included in this prompt.
you had a momentary lapse of happily
had a normal human experience but in
a society that favored a monochromatic landscape,
momentary being anything other than content meant a
lapse in the kind of feelings that were allowed
of deep thinkings and colorful wantings.
happily, they told you to live in oblivion.
*“you had a momentary lapse of happily” taken from Claudia Rankine’s “Don’t Let Me Be Lonely”
*“a society that favored a monochromatic landscape” taken from “Black Dandelion” by Semaj Brown
First of all, thanks for that Rankine quotation. I need to dig deeper into her work (I know Citizen only). Really cool turn from “monochromatic landscape” to “colorful wantings”! I need to think some more about the “society that favored” line — I keep taking it literally right now (the luxury home aesthetic of beige & grey) and then I take it politically / racially, and then I take it to mean we should avoid extremes in emotion, and then … and then … Thanks for getting my mind moving this morning!
I love how you wove these lines together to create such a critique and statement. I appreciated the last three lines so much. The phrase “deep thinking and colorful wantings” will stick with me.
This is beautiful! And I love how you incorporate both Brown and Rankine. They are two of my favorite authors and you use their words beautifully!
This is like weaving a strand of gold using another line here, and a golden hinge to boot! So much rings true in your poem, the way the deep thinking points are silenced because it doesn’t fit the monochrome palette. Whao, this is deep and some thing to think about and read again and again and again.
Yay, my new best friend, the golden hinge! Angie, your poem uses the two quotes so well and your words bring a depth that only a poem can do. There’s something to this “lapse of happily” that makes me want to read more from Rankine’s work. Thank you, Angie!
Corinne, thank you for hosting today. Your work brought me back to my own graduate studies. I am happy to see that you have the space to mix academic-political-social-creative work into your practice. I really enjoyed your found poem placement of the quotes at the end, yes!
radical spaces of learning
engaged pedagogy for all to learn
education as a practice of freedom
possibilities of hope
hope as a discipline
intention as a curriculum
dissent as a domain
joy as a field of study
study with the students
not on, from, or at; co-learn
co-love collaborate toward
radical spaces of learning
inspired by the work of bell hooks, particularly Teaching to Trangress (1994)
“hope as a discipline” and “joy as a field of study” what if these actually existed? My students always ask to read things that are more positive (in response to reading Maus). I am trying to incorporate it more.
I appreciate your “co-learn, co-love, collaborate”. Life is a partnership. “No man (woman) is an island.”
I love this! I have bell hooks Teaching to Transgress on my reading list for this summa. I might have to return to this then.
Yes, Stef, yes!! Your poem embodies bell hooks from start to finish! 👏🏽👏🏽👏🏽
i love me some bell hooks! I incorporated some Freire in my poem, so of course I gravitated to “dissent as a domain/joy as a field of study.” Beautiful and on point!
Corinne, thank you for today’s prompt that inspires us to think of two voices, two perspectives, and decisions. I chose a tricube with italics to show voices, and a summary for the third stanza. Thanks for hosting today, and cheers for the degree program and the celebration of creativity in research.
Decisions
I doubt it…
I’m certain.
Let’s rethink.
I say yes.
I say wait.
Wait alone.
Cold feet stay.
Sure feet go.
Wait means no.
Kim, it’s always so interesting how words have meanings beyond their intended ones. Wait indeed means no. I’m especially drawn to your last stanza and the use of feet to signify action/inaction. (My own kids figured out pretty quickly that we’ll see also means no.)
Oh man, this kinda reminds me of some of my conversations with my husband. Sometimes I need a moment to think. He speaks easier than me. No waiting allowed. I know your poem is about more serious moments of indecision but that’s what I think of.
It’s not even 11:00 AM, and I’ve already reread your poem many times, thinking each time how doubt itself is, in fact, a decision. Thank you for sharing this poem today.
Short yet so much meaning is held in these words.
You say so much in this tricube! Lately, I’ve been noticing decision fatigue seems to be taking over my being. I’m getting cold feet (retirement) but I feel my “sure feet” saying GET THE HECK OUTTA THERE!!!!
Per usual, so clever! Especially love
Kim, I love the way you literally show the process of making decision in this poem. I like the fluctuating actions that are relatable but especially “wait means no”.
Hello Corinne. Thank you for hosting, for this great prompt, and especially for your awesome example. You have put your thoughts down in such an impactful way. Language is your art indeed. I’ll be back later.
We will be waiting!
Corinne, your poem was just fire. Can’t wait to write one later. Thank you for this prompt today!
Can;t wait to see what you come up with!
Corinne, I am in awe of your poem! It is powerful! I knew how good it would be as soon as my brain perked up with”so even though I’m licensed to teach and kill.” How could I not find out what that meant! What a great prompt (I’m already toying with where to use this with my 7th graders). I’m going to explore this (and tinkering further with my own poem) when I have a bit more time. For now, here’s where I landed (screencaptured because of the problems of spacing).
Jennifer, your poem is delicious! What a gorgeous tapestry you have woven here. I was especially struck by “their lure to permanent rest/nearly too great to resist.” At first, I thought “oh, pretty poppies,” and then I realized. Simply smashing!
“looking for the earth’s edge / only to return home after discovery” sums up wanderlust so well. Yes, I love exploring and coming home just as much!!
“Only to return home after discovery”…so one can return home again! This last line is very encouraging. But before returning, one needs to discover. Does it matter what one discovers? Perhaps not, discover your true self matters.
I love “a contagious epidemic of ambling!” Jennifer, your research and poetry made me want to get up and out today…to explore the woods and creeks and wonderlands.
I started looking at this form of poetry — the two-voice poem — with my 7th graders as well. I know yours will love it as well!
Jennifer – The word “amble” is one I love (maybe because of my tender acceptance of my amblyopia), and it fits the wanderlust so well. The phrase “looking for the earth’s edge” is a beautiful way to voice the desire to travel.
Jennifer, my goodness, this is a keeper!! I love the wanderlust vibes anyway. I think in my DNA is a wanderer, hopefully I’ll find her soon.
Oh, Corrine! You had me at “somewhere between.” I love how this is a woven thing bringing facts and feeling together. Oooooh, would I love to be your student. “Now the truth is….”all of it. I’m off to do some poking around for good research to mix in with some feeling. I’ll be back.
Can’t wait for your return!