Allison Berryhill is hosting February’s 5-day challenge! Allison lives in Iowa where she advises the journalism program and teaches freshman English at Atlantic High School. She is the chair of NCTE’s Public Language Awards Committee, which selects the recipients for the George Orwell and Doublespeak awards. She also serves on the board of the Iowa High School Press Association and is Publications-coordinator for the Iowa Council of Teachers of English. Her first published poem was awarded first place in the Lyrical Iowa sonnet division in 2019. Allison is also an accordion player and a wedding officiant. Follow her at @allisonberryhil for photos of #IowaSky and schoolblazing.blogspot.com for random musings.
Welcome to Day #4 of February’s writing challenge!
Here is my next tip for grinding on!
Be generous to others. As you read and respond to the poems here, remember that we are vulnerable as we share our hearts and minds. No one in this space tells others how to “fix” or “improve” their writing. Instead, we celebrate the words that touch us. In this community of positive support, poets thrive!
Allison
Inspiration
What have you lost? I’m guessing you’ve lost little things–that favorite hairbrush, a ticket to the spaghetti supper–as well as things that have left holes in your heart: that journal from high school, an opportunity, a loved one.
Here are two poems about loss. One is a haiku, and the second is one of my favorite by Elizabth Bishop.
By Taniguchi Buson:
The piercing chill I feel:
my dead wife’s comb, in our bedroom,
under my heel
The art of losing isn’t hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.
Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
… (Read the entire poem here.)
Process
Take a few minutes to make a list of what you have lost. Make a list. Let your mind roll through both insignificant and heavy losses. Which one tugs at you as you prepare to write?
Consider writing a haiku about that photograph you lost. Or the frustration of misplacing a credit card.
Or use this invitation to explore a more complex loss–in which case I invite you to BEGIN a poem here, share it, and return to it later. I believe in the power of processing loss through poetry, but it might take more time than we have today.
Elizabeth Bishop’s poem uses a parenthetical (Write it!) command in its final stanza. I used that model for the parenthetical in mine below.
Allison’s Poem
What I Have I Lost
I did not lose a breast.
I lost my passport.
I lost the diamond from my engagement ring.
I lost the photos of the trip to France
The summer I was 16.
The same summer I lost my friendship with Ann.
But I didn’t lose my breast.
The right one
No longer here
Tissue disposed as
Human waste
Burned in the incinerator at the University of Iowa.
It’s gone, to be sure.
But I gave it, willing sacrifice.
Not a loss
My soft and tender cup
Of motherhood,
womanhood
Identity.
Its loss (not loss!)
Is as precious to me
As the breast itself
Ever was.
Write
Your Turn
Now, scroll to the comment section below to write your own poem. (This is a public space, so you may use only your first name or initials depending on your privacy preferences.) Not ready? That’s okay. Read the poems already posted for more inspiration. Ponder your own throughout the day. Return later. And, if the prompt does not work for you, that is fine. All writing is welcome. Just write something. Also, please be sure to respond to at least three writers. Oh, and a note about drafting: Since we are writing in short bursts, we all understand (and even welcome) the typos and partial poems that remind us we are human and that writing is always becoming. If you’d like to invite other teachers to write with us, tell them to subscribe.
Ignore this. I posted in the wrong day and month. ?
Lost by Seana HW
I’ve lost my origin
the couple that gave me life
I look for them in others
and my eyes fool me
my heart wants healing
but my brain knows they’re with God
Was fooled once at the beauty shop
saw her hair, her teacher shoes
her tapered haircut dripping
with black dye to hide the pretty gray edges
almost said “mommy” but knew better
Saw George Jefferson on tv last year
and got teary cuz I remembered
people comparing him to my dad
i miss being his favorite and only daughter
I move on because I need to
I focus on my present and look ahead
to my bright future
but I realize one day
my babies will miss me and count
me among the lost.
Seana,
Thank you for sharing what’s in your heart because I feel many of the same emotions, but you put words to them so well.
“I’ve lost my origin” I love that. I’ve referred to myself as an orphan, but I like your working better.
And, that ending . . .
“but I realize one day
my babies will miss me and count
me among the lost.”
wow.
Oh, what a gorgeous expression of life and loss! Seana, you took me into imagistic moments (“her hair, her teacher shoes
her tapered haircut dripping
with black dye” and “George Jefferson on tv.”) and invited me to experience our life/loss in a personal way.
Your poem’s conclusion is powerful. WOW,
Seana–this is s lovely piece of truth–the seeing bits of the ones we love in random places. And the fact that our children will do the same (we hope). Bittersweet. The detail of your mother in the beauty shop brought tears to my eyes. So real.
Good morning Seana,
This poem is hitting hard and I am sorry I didn’t get to respond last night.
Love this because it is familiar to me and seeing my mom in other little ladies at the salon:
Was fooled once at the beauty shop
saw her hair, her teacher shoes
her tapered haircut dripping
with black dye to hide the pretty gray edges
almost said “mommy” but knew better
Oh, to be able to love and hold our moms again. Your special love you had with your father is admirable to say the least. Always wished I had that kind of father.
Then the end, “my babies will miss me and count me among the lost.” WOW, this is the best ending EVER.
So happy I didn’t miss this poem. Better late than never.
Sean’s,
The mournful, grieving tone is strong in your poem. I’m particularly touched by the image of the woman in the beauty shop w/ “
“her tapered haircut dripping
with black dye to hide the pretty gray edges.”
Peace to you in these memories and in the writing about them.
What Have I Lost?
I did not lose my toys
I lost my balm
I lost my time
I lost my childhood faith in love that would last forever
I did not lose my grandmother
I lost my first friend
I lost endless weekend sleepovers
I lost the carefree days of summer watching the rain blow through pine tress as the sky menaced
I did not lose my best friend
I lost my laughter
I lost my smiles
I lost countless adventures told as loudly as possible in a little red car driving too fast on a highway
I did not lose a student
I watched a family lose a son
I lost a quiet soul who was mine to protect
I lost a part of my heart that hardened as a silver casket was lowered into cool mahogany soil
I did not lose myself (not yet)
I lost my wide eyes wonder
I lost the innocence of death
I lost the divisions of a Before that I will never regain and never comprehend
Laura,
Thank you so much for this poem, for allowing us to bear witness to your life in this way. The word “balm” always gets me but the last line and that one capital letter:
I lost the divisions of a Before that I will never regain and never comprehend
The “B” in before is something that reminds me of temporality and impermanence that defines our being.
Peace,
Sarah
Laura, this is beautiful. I read it slowly, absorbing each line. I love how you began each stanza with “I did not lose…” and then explored your losses. This is such a powerful way to juxtapose our losses o our “not losses.” Wonderful!
What I Have Lost
I didn’t understand until
I was parked outside your house
my car keys cutting the ignition
and you ran from your front porch
Your eyes were wild,
your voice symbols and sharp edges.
“Hi! Sorry! It’s just not a good time.”
Even in a manic episode,
you could read me well
enough to apologize.
You grabbed my hand,
twisted my ring,
and for a moment
you returned.
“Love you.”
“Love you too.”
And just like that,
you ran up your
front stairs
and were gone.
You took me so clearly into your poem that I am left worrying about your friend. The enigmatic ending leaves so much unsaid. “And for a moment, you returned.” There is a story in those two lines. Few words, a grand story.
Lauren, I’ve read your poem several times now, and I realize I am drawn further into your experience with each line. The first stanzas use longer lines, more explanation. The next two use shorter lines, as the urgency of the situation grows. Your last stanzas, so brief, are dashed in the narrowing moments before “you” is gone. I love that progression. The imagery (cut the ignition, the twist of the ring, running up front steps) is Lauren-Stephens sharp as flint! Beautiful poem.
Lauren– The sense of urgency palpable here, and then… “gone”… I’m on edge here! The “grabbed by hand,/twisted my ring,/ have me steeped in loss….wanting to know more… where, how… what a ride your poem is! Susie
This feels like an excerpt from a verse novel or memoir — there are layers of story here, suspense. This is narrative writing in verse at its best. As nonfiction, though, I am wondering and worrying about the “you” that grabbed your hand and the meaning in the twist of the ring. I hope it was tender and not sinister.
Sarah
It’s still Tuesday! And, I can make it! I usually write early in the morning…but couldn’t do that today. Allison, I did read your poem early this morning and it has stayed with me today. The strength of the speaker owning the loss but not giving into it is an inspiration. Thank you for sharing that.
a cherita of loss from me:
women in my family die first
memories of them pressed and preserved
by Grandfathers, uncles and my Dad
one by one, stories glory, fade and fall
told less and less in the flicker of cable news
a vernal pool in autumn
I love your alliteration in “pressed and preserved” and “fade and fall”. Even when we do take care to keep our stories in tact, time has a way of chipping away at them.
One by one, stories glory, fade and fall.. what an elegant line in a powerful poem. It is quiet and beautiful and complete. Thank you.
Linda, Thank you for your kind reading of my poem. I’m so glad you squeezed us into your day! I did not know what a cherita was, and now I do! I love short poem forms: “joy and urgency in tiny spaces.”* Your opening line is a powerful hook. Then “pressed and preserved” pulls me in into your poem alliteratively. Your word choices (stories glory, fade and fall, flicker) are sharp and true. I love the contrast of vernal autumn in your last line.
*Jacqueline Woodson
So much loss in today’s poems. Your first line says so much. Love the fall imagery in your words –
“…stories glory, fade and fall” And I looked up cherita to learn about this form. You’ve given us a lovely mentor cherita.
What have I lost?
At one time or another, probably most things,
Some become un-lost
I live a Hansel and Gretel life,
Constantly leaving things behind
To show me the way back home.
Coffee mugs, papers, books, keys…
Inconsequential things
float back to me like flotsam on the tide.
Names drift in and out, lost and found again
My mind can’t keep them in place.
These are inconstant path markers.
Some things remain lost
They mark no path home, just away…
My innocence, long gone, to a boy
Who didn’t deserve the gift.
My waist, to children and chocolate chip cookies
Opportunities that passed me by,
or that I passed by in a daze of possibilities.
My youth…
And time.
So much time.
Some things are not meant to be found.
Breadcrumbs on the path
Are meant for others to enjoy.
My losses
Their gains.
that line….”Who didn’t deserve the gift.” is extraordinarily powerful.
So clever to weave in the repetend of H&G and the breadcrumbs symbolizing what is lost but not so far gone that you cannot find the memory in the trail of breadcrumbs.
If we could all be so honest with ourselves…”who didn’t deserve the gift.”
There are so many lines in this have me smiling and wordsmith swooning. “I live a Hansel and Gretel life…” I absolutely adore this line and wrote it down in my own journal to use 🙂
I felt the same way about this line! I WANT to live a Hansel and Gretel life! Lauren, do you see why I’m such a fan of this Ethical ELA monthly writing challenge? I’m wordsmith swooning :-)!
Yes! You’re doing an amazing job with these prompts! ?
Gayle, I love the Hansel and Gretel analogy and think it’s beautiful that you thought to include opportunities and possibilities as losses. Beautiful words and deep thoughts here.
When I read this line “Opportunities that passed me by,
or that I passed by in a daze of possibilities” I was reminded of “Gone Forever” by Barriss Mills. It concludes with these lines:
Gone forever,
like the girls I never kissed,
and the places I never visited–
the lost lives I never lived.
Going to read this poem right now!
This is incredible, Gayle!!
I love so much about it.
The Hansel and Gretel allusion
“My waist to children and chocolate chip cookies”
And the entire last stanza
The way you distinguish items lost from more important “things” lost.
I will read this over and over.
I love this: “a Hansel and Gretel life,
Constantly leaving things behind
To show me the way back home”
This is an utterly delightful poem, both melancholy and joyful. I love the lost waist to children and chocolate chip cookies!
You’ve written a mini essay in poetry form here, examining aspects of loss, temporary and final. I’m just tickled the prompt elicited this beauty!
THE Line “My innocence, long gone, to a boy who didn’t deserve the gift” is true for so many of us. Also, I leave a trail of coffee cups as well. My husband always responds, Please bring it home,” especially when it’s his favorite mug. Keep leaving your trail.
“My waist, to children and chocolate chip cookies” so familiar. Some lost reveal new gain.
Litany of the Lost and Found!
Sunday-Buzz Lightyear
Monday-earbuds, Tuesday-butter dish
Wednesday’s loss still concealed
S.A.D.* Lost, Joy Found
Days and weeks and months
of dreary grey and mist and damp,
Sunshine beams, hearts rejoice!
*seasonal affective disorder
Ramona, I knew this so well and appreciate you raising our consciousness of SAD for us and for our students who feel the pull.
Little things and big things get lost everyday. I appreciate the movement and positive note you end on.
Your litany of things lost and found made me smile.
Oh, sister! I’m wishing you and the speaker of this poem a big burst of sunshine! Well placed words make me feel for this speaker.
There is energy in this poem, especially in the first stanza. I especially like the Wednesday’s loss still concealed— what a great line. And then the switch—SAD was a perfect turning point for the poem..
That SAD is real today. I need an amphibious vehicle to go anywhere anymore. This is just perfect for today.
I can’t even fathom it. I’m such a California girl that I don’t even like morning overcast or evening marine layer.
Love your poem and I needed it because I have to stop whining about the ugly mornings.
Litany of Lost and Found is a delicious title!
I love the daily listing…Losing the butter dish! Misplaced or shattered?
Your second poem, haikuesque, pulls me from one mood extreme to another in three mere lines. I love your word-crafting!
It’s a funny story. The lid to the butter dish was on the counter. Husband had unloaded the dishwasher and I asked him where the base to the butter dish was. He replied that it wasn’t in the dishwasher. I assured him it was. I distinctly remembered repositioning it in the top rack as the rack became more crowded. We checked the dishwasher, not there! We both looked in the kitchen for awhile. Just before bed last night, he found it in the dishwasher, all the way back under a basket on the top rack!
I should have explained that my offering for today was two separate haiku. Both reflect my current reality. The first , a humorous recounting of the lost items we’ve looked for this week. All were found!
The second haiku – the joy felt in our area over the presence of sunshine, finally!
Lost Things
Once upon a time
I believed I lost my mind.
When I gathered the remnants
Of recovered thought,
I realized that they weren’t lost,
Only misplaced
Much like my time, wasting away in the Sahara
Of unproductive mirages
Slipping the sieve
Of uncorked intention.
Once upon a time
I believe I lost my chance.
When I second-guessed my decisions,
treating the past as an unwanted guest,
the present as an accidental overdose,
And the future as unstable as an avalanche in Colorado.
Once upon a time
I believe I lost my sleep.
When I tossed and turned,
signaling My loss of control,
awakening to stare blankly
at the ceiling fan,
spinning around and around
with the REM cycle
down the drain of futility.
Once upon a time
I believed I lost credibility.
Only to realize
Ethos is never lost,
But steadfastly gained.
My mind, my chance, my sleep, my credibility
Have all been exposed.
Once upon a time.
Jolie, I love the repetition of “Once upon a time” to set a dreamlike mood. I also love how you use “I believed” to let us know you never really lost all of those things.
Oh, Jolie, the repetition here is beautiful. The phrase “I believe” offers this tension of the past within the present tense. The metaphors through of spaces and places grounds the abstract in concrete locations. So masterful in craft.
“treating the past as an unwanted guest,
the present as an accidental overdose,
And the future as unstable as an avalanche in Colorado.”
This is just an amazing set of words, set in a wonderful poem. The repetitions, the flow, the ENDING! Wow.
Jolie,
The structure of this is as powerful as the content.
The “0nce upon a time” anaphora really works.
And I LOVE how the line “ My mind, my chance, my sleep, my credibility”revisits the main idea of each stanza.
Bravo!
Wonderful words, images, flowing feelings all the way through!
I adore this:
“Much like my time, wasting away in the Sahara
Of unproductive mirages
Slipping the sieve
Of uncorked intention.”
Some descriptions just make me say, “How in the world did she do that so effortlessly?” It fits perfectly together.
Jolie, line after line fills my mind and senses. What a beautiful poem. Each stanza tells a story of struggle, yet the ultimate feeling I get from this poem is one of victory. Maybe this is because the “Once upon a time” line tells me (reader) the “I believed…” have since been rectified.
Thank you for such an original take on loss. Lovely.
It’s Okay!
I lost my son; he was thirty-four.
Who would want to live anymore?
But then I remembered, I’m not in charge
I wanted control, but God said, “Don’t barge.
He’s in a better place.
“You still have life to face.
Get on with life, my dear.
You still have children here.
You have lots of family and many a friend
They’re here for you. On them depend.
Live now. Don’t worry about that loss.
“Yes, he’s okay. I’m the Boss.
I’ll take care of things. Just trust what I say.”
So ever since that day,
It’s become my goal to live God’s way.
So when my life on earth is done,
I’ll go to Heaven to be with my son.
Anna, I’m so sorry for your loss. What a struggle it is to try to understand why things happen. I’m so glad that you are able to find some peace and comfort. Hugs.
Thank you, Mo. It’s friends like you that this poem honors! One of my other poet friends urged me to write a poem about the loss of my son, and that experience helped so much. In fact, I included that poem, “Visits” the recent poetry collection EXPERIENCE POEMS AND PICTURES.
Writing poetry forces us to find words to describe our feelings. Once I saw what I wrote, I realized, “It’s Okay”. and the poem written earlier in this cycle probably unearthed this one.
These challenges are a challenge!
Anna, I love what you say here about “poetry forces us to find words to describe our feelings.” Like you, I frequently write in forms that demand rhythm and rhyme. When I push my feelings/thoughts through the strait of rhyme and rhythm, I discover what I REALLY meant!
Finding meaning after such a huge loss has to be hard. You can find solace in your poem and your love of God.
Thank you, Margaret. As others are finding, it is friends who see us through such loss. Yes, I mention God, but friends are the fingers on God’s hands of love. Though we’ve met few of you in person, we’re getting to know your hearts. Equally as much in the poems you write and share here, but through the kindnesses you express when loss, shame, and hardship are unmasked in our poems.
Oh my, Anna. What a beautiful tribute to your beloved son and to the power of our Almighty God. He’s definitely taking care of you well because I can’t imagine what a journey this has been for you. I have nothing but love for you and pray that God continues to “Take care of things” for you.
Thank you, Stacey Joy. As we’re learning through our writing and posting our hearts, others here have either shared similar feelings or care enough to say they appreciate our trusting them to be vulnerable here. I appreciate you!
I cannot fathom this…this worst nightmare of every parent. What an amazing determination to live the speaker in this poem shows.
Thank you, Linda. As others are finding, it is friends who see us through such loss. Yes, I mention God, but friends are the fingers on God’s hands of love. Though we’ve met few of you in person, we’re getting to know your hearts. Equally as much in the poems you write and share here, but through the kindnesses you express when loss, shame, and hardship are unmasked in our poems.
Anna, my heart goes out to you. Your tribute to your son is so touching, but even more than that – your steadfast certainty that while goodbye is hard, it is temporary and you’ll be with him again in the future. I know you are a rock to others who have lost a child, and that your son is very proud up there knowing that he has a mom who is able to be such a strong spirit for others in this life.
Thank you, Kim. Some days are tougher than others. Thankfully, groups like this one help me keep the faith. When I don’t have to pretend to be strong, I am. Sounds paradoxical, but it’s true.
Faking is a heavy weight to carry. Here, I can be me.
Sarah, thanks for welcoming and encouraging us all.
Allison, the prompts this week have been evocative, and healthful. Yes, I made up that word, taking poetic license we are allowed here. 🙂
Ah-ha! YES! As I like to tell my students, “If your English teacher says it, it’s a word!”
Anna,
Your faith is so strong. You are a true example of love and mercy. My mama’s heart broke again reading your poem, but out of tragedy you find hope:
“It’s become my goal to live God’s way.
So when my life on earth is done,
I’ll go to Heaven to be with my son.”
I don’t think I could find such strength and endurance. I would be bitter. You, my friend, are a model of god’s grace.
Thank you, Glenda. It is a daily challenge to remain faithful. But, worth it to me as I enjoy today with hope for tomorrow’. Other poems here encourage me, too.
My husband Ken lost a son years ago. He died in a tractor accident when he was six. One of my best friends also lost a young child. We talk about it often even though it was thirty years ago.
Glenda, contrary to what we often hear, TIME DOES NOT HEAL, but we can’t let sorrow steal our joy today. In this case, as others have expressed, hope for tomorrow helps us deal with each day. My hope is in the promises in the Bible. Others find solace elsewhere and I respect them for that. Joy for me is being able to share with others. This community of writers accepts that we each handle things in different ways, and that’s okay, too.
Dear Anna, You have managed to write about unthinkable loss (“who would want to live anymore?”) with an answer of acceptance and hope. I also admire your poetic dexterity here, using rhyme between stanzas. Thank you for sharing your journey with us through this heartfelt poem.
Allison, you are an attentive reader! I did intentionally pause, to end a stanza and begin the next with a line that rhymed to demonstrate that pausing to reflect and regain strength is vital before we can move on. Dealing with loss is not without its starts and stops, even with faith. Often, it is during these pauses that friends remind us of reasons for keeping going.
Using the layout device for this poem gave me a way to show that….and you noticed!
I love the layer of analysis you provide here!
Hi Anna, you are at a good place when you accept the things you cannot change. It reminds me so much of the journey I had to take to get there. Thanks for sharing
The Art of Living, Losing, and Loving (six haiku poems in one)
Stacey Joy
The art of losing
A presence without warning
I can’t master that
The art of waiting
While sickness finds its way in
Until all cells die
I can’t master that
The art of taking a stand
To gain peace of mind
I mastered that well
The art of aiming to be
happy when it hurts
To wait for life’s joys
I work on that every day
The art of finding
My peace and purpose
Since I lost them long ago
I will master (SAY it!) me!
(I don’t know if that parenthetical part works because I’ve never done that. I felt like it may have been forced, but I was forcing myself to say it so there you have it. )
Stacey,
I like the parenthetical. It emphasizes the “you” about whom you’re writing. I also really like the haiku approach, especially “The art of taking a stand/To gain peace of mind.” This is the firm ground to own!
Stacey, I saw that parentheses in the Bishop poem and was not sure about how to use it either. It is a mini intrusion that is a nod to the reader that I love. And i did say it out loud when I read your verse!
That’s okay, Stacey Joy! It seems as though these writing challenges are becoming therapeutic for many of us as we work through feelings, emotions, and experiences that some may not have addressed in the past. It’s okay to tell us you’re working to master yourself, and you have to tell yourself to “SAY IT”. Once said, you’ve made a commitment….and eventually will have victory.
OOOH, well done! Beautiful reflection of the mentor text including the parenthetical at the end. Have you read/heard of the book, Death Coming Up the Hill? It’s a COMPLETELY different topic that this poem. But it wowed the socks off me. It’s a novel written in haiku about The Vietnam War…each syllable represents one death in the war. Incredible writing.
Thank you Linda. I don’t know about that book but will definitely look into it. Appreciate the suggestion! ?
I’m dashing to my Amazon cart right now…
Stacey — Your haikus lead me though an internal monologue sort of reckoning with yourself….this opens you, slicing into that battle to master what is overwhelming… I so understand the “without warning” and the “waiting.” I LOVED that “taking a stand” you “mastered that well.” YES! The whole business of working your way through these losses is like a march with very heavy boots in cold rain…the form of haiku-3-lines reinforces that steady marching to “master … me.” You are a powerhouse, girl! And I love that. I loved the parenthetical “(SAY it!)” … especially when I read this out loud… it’s just the kick at the end that rings loud and clear… “master”-full. Hugs, Susie
Oh wow, Stacey. I’m the wrong one to ask “Does it work?” because I am STUNNED by the way you have combined both the haiku and Bishop poem prompts to create this poem. (So, of course, I love the parenthetical!) As I read–and re-read–your poem, my mind and ear were thrummed with your pulling of words from previous stanzas into the next, adding layers of meaning. One more thing: “a presence without warning” is an extraordinary way to describe a loss.
Signed,
Your biggest fan
I’m impressed with your attention to the mentor poem and the reflective nature of your poem. I like how your “The art of . . . ” lines are placed in different places throughout the haiku stanzas.
Social Security Blues
I’ve lost it…again.
I always put my little, sky-blue, crinkled, wrinkled,
Social-Security-Administration-issued card,
with the fading black digits imprinted by some ancient metal machine,
in the same black wallet.
It’s not there now.
I’m sure I moved it, but I can’t remember where.
That goes for a lot of things.
If I decide to replace it, how long will the line be?
Do I really need to replace it?
I have a passport. That’s usually enough.
I’m not taking on any new jobs or applying for retirement.
Will there even be any Social Security checks when the time comes?
I’ve lost my little blue card, but will I ever need another?
I am sure that after I spend several hours jumping through hoops,
dog tired and people sick,
I will rearrange some pile somewhere and I will find it again.
Oh my . . . I love a lot about this poem, but the lines that stand out to me are
“with the fading black digits imprinted by some ancient metal machine,”
and
“dog tired and people sick”
Shaun — I so enjoyed the reality of this sort of half-hearted search. You’ve paralleled the tone of the poem with the “dog tired” as you wonder if any of the fuss is even going to matter. Gee, I sure hope so! But I get the sense that some old, worn gov “issued card/with fading black digits imprinted by some ancient metal machine” seems so not what you need in an already exhausting day. The “jumping through hoops” is wearying on so many levels. Very real moment in our daily lives. The unspoken and interesting thing to me is that as wearying as the SS card business is, it is the crucial piece of validity for so many and the target of scams across the global. Weird, that little card. I really liked thinking through your poem. Susie
Shaun,
This is relevant on so many levels. The birth certificate, the social security card, the kids’ immunizations, tax records, blah blah blah… allllllllllways disappear unless you don’t need them. I love this in particular:
“with the fading black digits imprinted by some ancient metal machine,” because if we know how ancient all these forms of identification are, then why must we have to continue to keep them young and useful? LOL. Really appreciated this poem today.
Shaun,
Having had to procure a new Social Security card, I know the personal nightmare awaiting you ic you step into that fray. The lines I love most: “I’m sure I moved it, but I can’t remember where./That goes for a lot of things.” Definitely who I am. I’m paranoid about losing my passport.
Oh, dear….what a sad state the speaker of this poem is in…isn’t it crazy how those little important bits of paper get shuffled around our digital lives? Ugh! If your ssc is really lost I hope it’s found soon. In a way, this poem made me laugh…not funny ha ha laugh but a “yeah, I get this” kind of laugh.
I resonate to this! I put things away “safely” only to forget where that is. I loved your rationalizations, and the ending was perfection. You will Find it when you no longer need it!
Oh, I so identify with your words. Wouldn’t it be glorious to have all the time we’ve spent looking for things given back to us for writing? Your last line resonated with me since I’m a master pile arranger as well as a frequent loser of things.
Shaun, thank you for this grin of a poem! I loved “dog tired and people sick”–what a great line of rhythm, contrast, and humor. While your poem is ostensibly about your SS card, you have explored mortality through your questions. I loved this. So glad you are here!
Hmmm… where do I begin?
too much to ponder on
to sort out in this heart of mine
these gaping wounds undone
how often I do question
these feelings so sublime
infusing all my anger in
paradigm divine
you think this is ironic
my emotions all displaced
but I have lost not one
but three brothers to violence and crime
yet in my simplicity
I wait on no reply
from justice to humor me
from time to time
So, these feelings I have bottled
and stored them up with time
for as long as hope can stretch
my victory will be mine
Melissa,
I marvel at the rhythm and pace of your writing. Your musicality is a signature of your style. I am so sorry fo your loss. These lines hit me….hard:
your think this is ironic
my emotions all displaced
but I have lost not one
but three brothers to violence and crime
Your loss and what is lost when these men were not able to live their lives is tragic.
Peace,
Sarah
Holy Mackerel, Melissa — This is profound loss… a “gaping wound” indeed. I am so so so so sorry that this has fallen on your family. The lines: “I wait on no reply/from justice to humor me…” Oh man. Brutal. I so completely understand the “bottled/and stored” and am amazed there is still “hope” and “victory.” You are one strong person. Thank you for sharing your loss and your strength. I’m glad you could share this with me today. May “hope…stretch” always in your favor. Hugs, Susie
Melissa, your lines
yet in my simplicity
I wait on no reply
from justice to humor me
from time to time
remind us that our attitude determines our altitude. As you find hope, you cease worrying about what can’t be changed for your brothers, but you also may be inspired to do what you can so that others can experience justice in the not too distant future. It seems you’ve come to understand that what you may not be able to have for yourself, you may be able to help someone else have it and that’ll be okay.
Keep the faith!
I just finished listening to Stamped, read by Jason Reynolds. The lost of “three brothers to violence and crime” reminds me of this book and the history of racism.
I like the personification of Justice. Justice will humor the speaker….maybe…from time to time.
Oh, Melissa, your openness is a gift to your readers as you process your pain through poetry. You begin with “too much to…sort out in this heart of mine” and yet you then bravely do just that (or at least a part of that). Again and again, I turn to poetry to make sense of, and find beauty in, life’s anguish. You have done that here.
Allison,
These prompts you have set for us just bring out so much emotion and sharing to the group. Thank you for your beautiful poem. I’ve now had to go back to reread:
“It’s gone, to be sure.
But I gave it, willing sacrifice.
Not a loss
My soft and tender cup
Of motherhood,
womanhood
Identity.”
This stanza is bringing me to my knees. Not a loss. Thank you and thinking of you!
Thank you, dear Emily! As host this month, I am loving the posted poems as a mother loves her children! Thank you for letting me know that you are appreciating the gifts our poets are offering as well! <3 <3 <3
Elaine got married
Once soul sisters, now strangers
She looked beautiful
Oh, I am loving this economy of words in this. The space in what is not said or uttered in syllables allows the reader to fill in the story and imagine the beauty. Friendship changes with time and new soulmates.
Peace,
Sarah
Oh, how I envy how well you tell an elaborate story with so few words/syllables. Sarah uses the word “economy,” which I love. I just can’t ever get there. I ramble.
I’m sorry for your loss of friendship. That happens a lot with marriage, sadly.
Emily — In eleven words you brought a raft of loss to my senses…so effectively you’ve connected to my own loss of “soul sisters.” Quite striking! The last three words are such a perfect turn of attention from the deep emotional loss to an image that remains and a heart that remembers the beauty. I love that juxtaposition. Neat poem. Thank you, Susie
Emily, this is such a familiar loss to so many of us women who have been the friend who got married or were the friend who felt the estrangement from another. It hurts but then I often think, was that a friendship or a soul sister meant for me? I hope you feel love from other soul sisters who don’t leave.
Such a sense of loss in your few words. A world of friendship lies in your five words – “Once soul sisters, now strangers”
I am roiling in the pleasure of these 17 syllables! You move from neutral, to loss, to accepting (??) in three condensed lines. Your poem reminds me of Ernest Hemingway’s 6-word story challenge. You invite us to fill in all the spaces.
Emily,
This poem says so much in so few words. Why do we lose friends when they marry? That doesn’t seem to happen to men! And the fabulous alliteration in “soul sisters strangers” hisses to underscore the loss.
I’ll return to today’s prompt another time and write from a different place of loss. I admire those who self-disclose so much, who lay their tender lives open. I struggle to be that brave, so today I’m taking a safer path. I try to follow the inspiration that tags me first so I don’t lose the idea, so it does not abandon me. Elizabeth Gilbert’s book “Big Magic” influences my ideas about where ideas come from and why they leave us.
“My Lost Books“
I like to think of a lost book
Like a lost friend who moved to distant shores.
Its pages folded into its bindings
Packed tightly between leather covers
Awaiting reshelving and greeting new reading friends.
I like to think of a lost book
Whose empty space gazes from my shelf
Like a little bird that outgrew it’s mother’s
Tender mercies and soared on spread wings
To southern regions of the hemisphere.
I like to think of a lost book
Not as an abandonment or rejection of me but
Like a once lost treasure whose words fill other eyes with
Shiny baubles, insights illuminating darkness,
Giving birth to Wonder and Delight.
I like to think of all my lost books (they number in the hundreds)
Like children in my care a brief moment
Words demanding freedom, syntactical structures searching,
Insisting their confinement be reduced.
Read it! Not lost words but found syllabic souls.
—Glenda Funk
Glenda, this is a treasure! “Lost” books can be so hard to deal with. I’m getting so much better about it as I get older, especially with my books that disappear from school. I try to think about how much a student may have wanted, or needed, that book. Your viewpoint breathes new life into those lost books, which is wonderful. Another great outlet for me has been making and stewarding six Little Free Libraries. It’s so much easier to pass books on now. If I could only stop buying so many, now!
Glenda,
I feel like one of your lost books when I read these lines:
Like a little bird that outgrew it’s mother’s
Tender mercies and soared on spread wings
To southern regions of the hemisphere.
We never know where the ideas will soar or in what ways the book will take shape in the imaginations of others. I love thinking about how books and their readers go places.
Peace,
Sarah
Hi Glenda, I really enjoyed your poem today. There’s something special to me when I read about someone who has deep love for their books the way I do.
This is magical:
Like a once lost treasure whose words fill other eyes with
Shiny baubles, insights illuminating darkness,
Giving birth to Wonder and Delight.
Love the capitalizing of Wonder and Delight giving them so much more power and importance after birth!
The ending: Not lost words but found syllabic souls. Ahhhhhh.
Just curious if you ever feel like books you’ve given up on or books you feel you should be writing are also lost? I do. Makes me sad.
Yes. I feel guilty about those abandoned books, their plots lost to me, their characters strangers w/ whom I could not click even though I wanted to love them.
Your poem is divine. I love the idea of books that were like migratory birds and lost friends and lamplights for others – and even children, because I treat them with that kind of care and love. Somehow, the idea that they are all where they are supposed to be gives me comfort. Thank you, my friend. I love your comparisons as well as your alliteration – syntactical structures searching, syllabic souls, personification of the book’s gazing…..it’s all there, so captivatingly written.
On any given day, there is a needed confession of a new book that I have brought home to hoard in this sparse-but-for-books house. Today’s find was a copy of Edna St. Vincent Millay’s Sonnets…….There, I confessed……….I bought it for $1.91 at the Goodwill. But I forced myself to put 2 other books back and settled only on that one. All because she was such a good friend of Mary Oliver’s.
Glenda — I’m betting all the wordy folks here today can feel this poem… all of us losing books by the scads and scads over the years. The most fun part of books taking flight is that they “fill other eyes…giving birth to Wonder (love that capital letter) and Delight (ditto).” Yes! The logic of my keeping books on my shelf is sort of crazy….you bring reality to that… they’re just “in my care a brief moment” and freeing them to move around like migrating birds is a marvelous notion. I embrace your message today! Thanks! Susie
Glenda, Your poem’s response to/interpretation of loss is exquisite. I love how you use lost books to explore layers of loss.
I immediately highlighted these lines: “Like a little bird that outgrew it’s mother’s
Tender mercies”
Line after line, you offer your readers sensory gifts. Thank you for using your (our!) books as a metaphor for response to loss.
I have surrendered
control, and yet, the world spins
without my guidance
I can relate to your biref yet powerful poem. How often do we try to control what we can’t control. It takes strength to surrender and let the world spin.
Oof! I feel this, Mo. The economy of words is as powerful as the surrender.
Oh man, Mo, teach me how to “surrender…” — I want not to have that need so anchored in my being, yet I just know that sense of “spin” will hurl me over the edge. If you hear me yelling, throw me a life raft! LOL! Perfect little poem for this finally sunshiney afternoon in STL! Thank you! Susie
Mo,
Such a profound thought in a few lines. Yes, the “world spins without my guidance.” Have you read “Let the Great World Spin.” I love that book.
So funny you asked this, Glenda. As my thoughts were swirling around in my head this morning, that’s the exact book that popped into my head!
Glenda and Mo — YES! That is one of the most artistically constructed books I’ve ever read! Super! Susie
I read LtGWS in an online discussion w/ Carol Jago. What a gift that was. She’s my teaching idol.
Wow! That had to be super!!
In another case of What a Small World, Carol Jago is my neighbor’s sister!
I love this. We are so arrogant, believing we have actual control. And then, things just go on… your sparse words say it all.
Surrender is a powerful word. Why are we so unwilling to do it? Kudos to you!
Your haiku is a shot of espresso. That’s what I love about condensed poem forms. I’m with you, girl. The world is spinning (out of control?) without my guidance. Damn.
SAHM- a family of haikus
Five year-gap CV
Academic networks gone
One-eight-zero days
Seventy and sun
Adult communication
Mental stimulant
Five years of bonding
New experiences, firsts
Children three-six-five
Snow days, four seasons
Patience and intuition
This time was not lost
Oh, Stefani! I so love what you’ve done here. The passing of time coupled with your growing and changing family is lovely. What a beautiful tribute to them- and you! Time spent with family is the most valuable time.
Exactly what I needed to read today. Being home with my boy this year has me super anxious about “losing” time for everything else. But really “this time was not lost”. Wow! Your writing takes us through the amazing time you spent as a sahm. Thank you for sharing!
Very clever! I, too, was a SAHM once. The decision left a gap in my network and CV as well. What did you lose? Eh? Not much. What did you gain? Irreplaceable memories and connection (more than that too). What have you found? Timing is everything. Thanks for sharing.
OMG. Bless you, Stefani, I did not know what a “SAHM” was until I googled it. I was a SAHM for fourteen years. After teaching for five, I stayed home for 14 and have now been BITHC (Back In The Classroom) for…hmmm….17?
I couldn’t help reading your poem through my own personal perspective.
I love this poem as an exploration of loss. I indeed lost/found myself during SAHM years.
*** I really enjoyed writing the first three poems in a more leisurely setting as we had a four-day weekend. I was able to process more and focus more. I just typed this up on prep period. Quickly and without much thought but maybe that allowed the feeling to bubble up without vulnerability stopping it.
My peace of mind
tumbled in dust and debris
with the Twin Towers.
Something broke inside of me
never to be regained.
The mother of three young kids
four, two, and newborn,
I wondered what kind of world
I was bringing them into.
I couldn’t function.
When I would go outside,
I scanned the sky,
convinced that the
Midwest with its
seemingly anonymous
landscape
would be a perfect target
after the notable ones.
Freedom and security
and even ease of breathing
felt unattainable.
Felt gone.
I muddled through life
focused on our kids
going perfunctorily
from one task to the next
trying not to think of the
danger around every corner.
I was uptight.
I was unnerved
unbalanced, unable,
un . . . everything.
My raw nerve endings
failed me
never to recover.
My peace of mind
became chaos
never again would
I relax and just be
My peace of mind
was lost
Make that IS lost.
Wow, Susan. This is very powerful and honest. You’ve captured so many emotions and feelings here. I’m in awe of what you did on your prep period. I’m home sick and the most I could do was a haiku!
Susan, this is so packed with emotion – like it was yesterday. I often wonder what the world will be like for my grandchildren. LIke you I have “muddled through life” and tried not to think about “the danger around every corner.” It certainly isn’t easy. Thank you for sharing.
Good morning Susan,
I have no idea how you can get so much done in such a short amount of time. I’ve literally read your poem 3 times and felt everything down to my core. I hope you were able to get some peace after writing so that your day can run smoothly. This poem is powerful to say the least. It’s like a volcanic eruption of 9/11 and also a deeper dive into the side effects that many never even consider nor acknowledge.
Thank you for sharing this tender spot inside of your soul with us.
Wow, this brought back some memories. I love the description – anonymous landscape, and the uptight, un…everything. Very powerful.
Oh, Susan – I am so with you in every line of this poem. The day of that loss was profound and remains that way for me as well. You walked me right back to the sky on that day… I “scanned the sky” with you — it was brilliantly blue in STL and so not right with what was “tumbling” down my tv screen. The building where I worked that day was in the flight path of the STL airport, and the deafening silence brought all of us onto the parking lot staring at the sky in a sort of “chaos/never again would/I relax and just be/” Susan, one of the most healing things for me, and I offer it to you as a teacher, was an oral history effort that I participated in with other teachers who interviewed others about that watershed moment. We discussed and wrote up those interviews. Those shared stories became chapters in our communal memory. The key theme through it all was the very sense of our communal loss of peace of mind that you shared with us here. Sending you as much peace as I can muster. Susie
Susan,
I think your poem resonates so honestly w/ this community because we are still in the chaos you name here. We are still mired in the mess, and now the NYC leader who rose from that rubble has revealed himself to be something altogether different from the man we saw in the aftermath of 9-11. My husband and I visited the 9-11 memorial and museum in September, and it was a virtual reliving of that day. Thank you for saying so beautifully what so many of us feel.
Susan, Your poem brought back such strong memories for me. The losses of that day were layered. You have expressed so much here, and so eloquently. Thank you.
I commend you for hanging in here on Day #4 (and #5)! I began participating in this challenge in June, so I had three leisurely summer months under my belt before I faced my first school-month challenge. I’m glad Sarah moved the challenges to weekends, when we have (a few) more discretionary minutes!
Allison, I’m in awe of the loving feeling and sense of dedication to SELF-CARE/LOVE regardless of the breast that was taken. Love that you didn’t LOSE it. You are a special soul who is blessing so many with your words.
This part landed right in my heart:
My soft and tender cup
Of motherhood,
womanhood
Identity.
I’m so thankful to know you, even though it’s only here, because I have a compassion for those who’ve battled cancer, whether it was a win or a “taking” it’s courageous either way.
Hugs! Looking forward to writing today, maybe between recess and lunch and dinner and before wine! ?
Oh my, Stacey! Your response to my poem means so much to me. We just want to be heard–and you heard me! Love, Allison
I lost my stay-at-home partner today.
One cup of lukewarm coffee in,
I stare at the black TV screen not
broadcasting your CNN wittisicm.
I lost my conductor today. And look!
my bird-watcher, tea-maker, foot-shuffler
went. The chorus has gone silent.
I lost my city today. Sidewalks,
cafe chats, browsing books, railway tracks
into sunsets. What is this place?
— Even losing you to a profit gig,
I worry the grind will sour your spirit,
silence your wit, blind your wonder.
Sarah, I’m so glad you wrote this poem. I was looking at a photo of the deer outside in your backyard (cows, turkeys) and wondering about your adjustment from city life to the wildlife (actually, which is which?). Your conductor and your city losses – against the backdrop of the black screen, and the silence of nature. Do you love the quiet writing time, or do you prefer the chattiness of the cafes? The poem makes me want to come over and sip tea and share the silence!
Thanks, Kim. My husband has been out of work since we arrived 6 months ago, so he has been keeping me company and finding distractions for us both. He started a new job today, but in OK, the options are slim. I have been looking forward to having the routine of us both working (and the quiet) but I worry that he will not be as fulfilled in his work as I am mine. Cheers (I am lifting my mug to toast you).
I love this Sarah, the possibilities and the perspective. It’s a snow day here in MI today but the Blue Jays are chirping and showing signs of spring–right?
I love your lines: losing you to a profit gig/sour your spirit. This stanza is depressing and yet provides potential for the future. I hope his spirit is too drenched and good luck with your new schedule.
“The chorus has gone silent.” This line says it all.
Hope your transition is not too difficult and that the profit gig will somehow appreciate his spirit, wit, and wonder. Think what he can bring to them.
BTW, I’m an OSU alum and grew up in southeastern Oklahoma (the pretty part of the state)!. Are you teaching at the university?
Sarah,
I’ve read this poem several times. I love it. I know that feeling of loss and gain from relocating, and you’ve made a huge change. The lost conductor, the stay/at-home partner, the lost city—all these things are a part of you, and leaving is a tremendous loss. I’ve watched your FB posts these intervening months, and I admire the way you look for all the good where you are, the way you have chosen to build and set down roots and find the blessings in Oklahoma. I know this most be hard, and I think about you often knowing the loss and the grind. Your poem today is everything that eloquently articulated this loss.
Sarah, I love that you wrote this to your husband. Maybe you even shared it with him? (I sometimes do/sometimes don’t 🙂 I rejoice in knowing you used this prompt to examine/experience this day’s losses/gifts. I love how poetry nurtures both the poet and the readesr. <3
Thank you, Allison. I did not share this with him, but I so enjoyed thinking about him as my conductor and city. What a joy these past few days have been!
Allison,
“One Art” is one of my all-time favorite poems, I love its structure, the progression from small, more trivial things to those substantive ones. I see this movement in your poem, and I see the paradox of “Its loss (not lass)” that makes us examine how we think about breasts, the social and personal implications.
You are correct: I will need time to think through and process this prompt. Likely, it will force me to dig deeper than I’m comfortable doing most of the time.
Glenda, I know you will accept prompts as invitations, not assignments. I love finding people who love the same poems I love! Thank you for your kind response to my poem. <3 <3
THE NERVE
North and west of Sheridan,
I-90 undulations
slyly shifted,
steady scaling
mountains pressed around me
before me,
pulling me to the edge
till tumbling into my brain-abyss,
mind-weaseling and careening
then airborne
in a mind lost
that had no railings or banisters or handles or hands
to hold,
and tears welled
when I could not stop my leg from quaking,
my foot from retreating
from the accelerator,
till turning back
in defeat,
guaranteed the Rockies won
again.
Yet, every summer
an unspoken vow,
I return to set my jaw
grit my teeth, steady my leg,
sing myself off the phobic ledge,
stare down
and mile by mile
face west —
lost nerve
never my endgame.
by Susie Morice ©
My nerves were flinching and my breath was short, too, reading this one! Susie, you took us there – I was so fearful that we were absolutely going over the edge there for a minute and the poem was going to be about a lost car but not a lost you…..something like that. I’m so glad you are here – car and nerves and all – to have lost only nerve and not endgame! “sing myself off the phobic ledge” – I am so there with you. When we go to Tallulah Gorge, I can’t sleep afterward, for images of coulda-been-lost footing and coulda-having-fallen in the gorge. I love the scenery but not all the “what ifs” I have to live after being on the edge.
Susie, I love the “phobic ledge” phrase–I have multiple interpretation in my head. I also appreciate the imagery and emotion of this poem, thank you for sharing.
Susie,
The alliteration in the lines “sly shifted, steady scaling” hum like the tires touching the road. I feel the nerves. I have them, too, living here in the mountains. At first I read part of the poem as a literal going over the edge of the mountain:
tumbling into my brain-abyss,
mind-weaseling and careening
then airborne
in a mind lost
that had no railings or banisters or handles or hands
to hold,
But now I see it’s fear driving the car, controlling your shaking legs, navigating the road. And now I recall the first drive up Trail Ridge Road with my grandfather behind the wheel and my grandmother who never learned to drive yelling at grandpa to “keep your eyes on the road.” I sat in the middle, a child of 12, gripping the dash. What memories you’ve given me today. I’m on this journey with you.
As my friends Candi and Sheryl plan our road trip this summer we’re determined to take a hot balloon ride, even though I’m afraid of heights. Still, as with you heading for those mountains that are calling “every summer” we press on and face “an unspoken vow” and confront our fears and “sing myself off the phobic ledge.”
I have a deep fear of heights, bridges and all. The paralysis of my foot on the gas peddle— your description took me back! ( I once coasted over the mile-long Bay Bridge in Eastern Maryland—it was a loooong ride. I have never tried it since)
What I Have Lost
I have lost that “normal” feeling.
The feeling of having just a few
aches and pains.
I have lost my ability
to walk long distances,
to stand in one place.
energy and
a clear thinking brain.
I have lost the ability
to plan trips that require
walking….because
my legs and hips
may not hold up.
I have lost these
to fibromyalgia
and spinal stenosis –
ailments no one can see.
Yet,
I am hopeful
that I will find them
again one day.
That,
little by little,
baby steps,
exercising my body & mind
selfcare & prayer
will bring me back
my joy.
Rita, thank you for sharing this. I appreciate the hopeful ending and the earlier line “a clear thinking brain.” The idea of ailments that are hidden is a challenge in itself. Good luck with your day-to-day improvement!
Thank you for your beautiful words. The glimpse we all got to see these precious moments of loss with you is emotional and inspirational.
“ selfcare & prayer
will bring me back
my joy.”
Rooting for you!
Good morning Rita, thank you for sharing this poem today. I have deep compassion for anyone suffering, whether it’s from something seen or unseen. I applaud your courage for showing us all the limitations placed on you due to your ailments. Thank God, it hasn’t taken away your strength to write. Your brain is definitely clear here, so give yourself a hug. I love the end because I always believe the scripture: weeping may endure for a night but JOY comes in the morning.
“selfcare and prayer/will bring me back/my joy” STAND ON THAT!
Rita,
First, I am so sorry to read about your pain. I know it’s real. I know it’s more than physical hurt. I know it steals experiences, saps energy. I hope “self care & prayer” heal both mind and body.
Allison,
You have been so generous these past few days and then to offer this poem, to allow us to bear witness is such a privilege. You show us the paradox of life and loss. And you complicate womanhood for us, too as so many of our poems this month have done. These lines:
My soft and tender cup
Of motherhood,
womanhood
I often think about how my identity is bound up in my body and yet the body I use in this space is by hands without any one of us ever looking at one another’s physical presence. I love that about this group. Our worth here is not dependent upon how we look or our physical parts. And what we write in this space is in part due to what we have, what we have had, and our precious losses.
You are a gift,
Sarah
Sarah,
You are so right . . . we share sacred writings with each other yet none of know the physical presence of one another (well, except for Leigh Ann and me who accidentally found our way together on here even though we went to high school together and live fairly closely).
I treasure each writer and would love to meet everyone. But, maybe the intimacy through here is just right. 🙂
Lost a Gem to See the Real One
I lost his GrandMa’s ring
the precious one, not just the size but for the sentiment
the one GrandPa got on 25th anniversary
’cause he can’t afford the wedding ring
Now the ring is gone just like both of them
What a loss!!!!!
I lost the ring
And know I have a Gem on my hand
When he said,
“Its OK. You don’t meant to loose it, I know.
You lost the ring, but we still have us”.
And, I knew, I will always know,
I lost the ring but I have him. Forever.
Purviben, I love the accent of a different language in the quote and the malapropism of the words that draw me in. I hear the accent and absolutely adore his heartfelt expression: “You don’t meant to loose it.” You indeed have a rare gem on your hand…..and in your heart. I hear his words through yours and just want to hear more and more of this love story!
Thank you Kim for being so graceful.
The story is simple.
I have the best husband in this whole wide world for me who is salt of the earth. Lucky me 🙂 He always sees the best in me and supports me.
As Whovarians says, He is the fixed point in my life.
Best wishes
Purviben
Purviben, thank you for this poem. I love thinking about of how often material possession take control of our emotions. In this short poem you bring this to light and remind us of the importance of human connection.
Thanks Stefan i for your beautiful comment 🙂
Yes, I was awed by the material possession (and everyone admiring the rock & story behind it was fueing my happiness); It was my better half who was the one championing the connection and my steady rock.
Best wishes.
Purviben
This connected with me. I also lost a ring once. The gut-punch of it still lingers. I like the dialogue and the reminder about priorities.
Shaun,
Yes, as the ring was a gift from grands, it was special & the lost was keen. I still hope one day I will find it (from where?)
It was couple days after my then boyfriend gave it to me and I was showing it off all over.
After hanging out at the mall, driving around with windows down & my hand hanging down, I was so so happy.
I even don’t know where I lost the ring. But I know one thing, I may have lost the ring, but have the real one with me.
Thanks for your graceful comment.
Purviben
Purviben — This is such a sweet piece. The words of “GrandPa” were so tender and so …. so grandpa. Totally cool man. He would have loved that you wrote this. Thank you for sharing your GrandPa… my own grandfathers were gone before I was born, so this helps fill a bit the gap I’ve felt. Susie
Susie,
Thank you. You brought a smile to me. 🙂
The HE in the stroy is the my better half. The GrandPA had passed away before I met my husband and so after couple years of knowing her. She wanted e to have this ring as we used to take see her every week & I used to take her shopping, chatting with her, just be with her. It was my now husband who said not to worry.
Purviben, Your lines
I lost the ring
And know I have a Gem on my hand
When he said,
“Its OK. You don’t meant to loose it, I know.
You lost the ring, but we still have us”.
show us that you truly have a Gem who values you more than a “thing”. Keep him safe! 🙂 No, not in a “safe”, but in your heart. 🙂
Anna,
Thanks for your kind comment.
Yes, He is the true Gem.
I always knew he is a keeper but him saying “Its OK” was confirmation, his never reminding me of it for 30 years afterward is affirmation.
Oh, he is mot going anywhere. We are together in this life and next 7 (Indian marriage we take wows to stay together for 7 lives :)) and then we will renew the wows for next 7 🙂
Best wishes.
Purviben
WOW! That’s commitment. I thought being married 53 years is a long time! Thanks for sharing that it is possible….with a good man!
#Let Loose #Let’s Lose!
The key to gaining what’s been lost is found
in loving food and sharing it around.
Such logic follows principles of eating:
that loss just gained last week is ever-fleeting.
What is our strange obsession with the pound?
We over-do ourselves into the ground.
We oversleep and overspend as habit.
We see a bauble and take off to grab it.
But when it comes to food, we’re self-defeating,
our forks to lips so hesitantly meeting.
I say we stop not eating: it’s not sound!
Let’s liberate ourselves and be unbound!
For one full day, let’s let loose and indulge.
Let’s lose all fear of Battle of the Bulge!
Amen! Why are we so hard on ourselves? I have finally come to a point in my life that it’s about answering the question – Am I healthy? Are my bloodwork numbers good? Then the number on teh scale does not define me. It only took me 61 years. LOL.
Kim,
I love everything about this poem. The rhyme is wonderful. It creates a cadence that sings to me. Love that last line: “Let’s lose all fear of Battle of the Bulge!” Yet I know that battle will march on. It is the obsession of all obsessions. Some losses are worth celebrating. This obsession with weight and physical appearance is surely one loss that is a gain.
Kim — I read this early this morning before I had to zoom off. It made me chuckle…as here I am on Weight Watchers, trying to re-lose the same 11 pounds I gained in the last 18 months. You have so much fun phrasing in this…the rhyme, the rhythm… totally cool. My favorite lines: “…not sound/ Let’s liberate ourselves and be unbound!” And the truism “…the loss just gained last week is ever-fleeting.” Dang! Don’t I know it! You were channeling my conundrum today! LOL! Susie
Susie,
I hear you.
My husband makes pizza every friday and bakes bread (you name it, he will make it) all the time.
I know to shed 15 # to stay healthy but how an I?? The smell, the yummyness of food is so devine.
Best wishes.
Purviben
Kim,
What an empowering thought, “lose all fear of Battle of the Bulge”
At my current work, we are having weight loss challenge.
Guess what???
I am loosing a # one week, gaining another next week and the cycle continues. Do I care to win? Maybe, may be not. Besides, how can I refuse the yummy home made bread and pizza?
Yes, we do need to stay healthy and not be obese but why deprived us of fine meals?
Best wishes.
Purviben
Purviben,
Maintaining is winning. One pound up and one down is maintaining. You are winning the battle, friend!
Your poem reminds me how much I love baking and sharing food, often to get it out of the house so I don’t eat it. I’m so impressed with the rhyme you employed. It’s not easy, yet you make it look effortless. I’m a Lifetime member of WW who likes to say that I was at goal weight ONCE (for about ten minutes). Ha!
I don’t want to go to school today! I want to sit in this cozy chair and read–and feel–your poems. Oh my. You poets have done some powerful work here. On day four, we are trusting each other. I can’t wait to respond to your heartfelt words.
Allison, Sarah, and everyone else… this group has become the a high point of the month for me! I used to write frequently, but had fallen away from it except for college papers. This has rekindled a love I didn’t know I had! The prompts, the opportunity to read works of such variety and skill…everything! thank you. I wish we could get together in one big room and I could meet all the friends I am making in this virtual room.
Dear Allison — Your poem is absolutely beautiful and takes me to the very thoughts I was having about loss and lost…I’ve been sitting here scribbling notes (pretty much always the way I begin) about these two words. Then I read your poem (I didn’t read it right off, as I tried just to think about the prompt first). You have shared such an intimate yet profound understanding of how we define ourselves through all that happens in our lives,,, as we realign ourselves through so much that unfolds. You’ve touched me with your strength in the line that almost jabs (only three words) with a real sense of owning the definition of who you are: “not a loss” puts you in charge … we slough cells every second we are alive and it does, in fact, keep us alive and bold in this world. Thank you for crafting such an artful poem, such a statement of strength. Through this forum, I feel like I’ve come to know you and genuinely love you as a friend. Thank you for that. Susie
Honesty, Susie, your responses are in themselves poems. Thank you for feeding the insecure poet that lives inside me. XOXO, your friend, Allison
(This is definitely a work in progress…)
Losing Benjamin
It’s never been easy,
sweet boy of mine–
just you and me
for your first ten years.
Me, learning to be a mom;
you, all jagged edges,
battling the world
as it came at you.
I always saw (and still see)
that sweet-boy innocence–
wide-eyed wonder
that others didn’t often get to see.
I always knew that you
would either blaze gloriously
a conflagration
set the world on fire
or
burn yourself to ashes.
Now I watch, helpless,
as the flames burn.
Julie, this poem gutted me. You beautifully describe the difference between what you see and what the world sees. I know this too well. That parenthetical (and still see) is perfect.
This poem set my heart aflame. I cannot imagine, but you helped me feel your emotions by sketching a word picture of your sweet-faced boy. The “helpless” feeling of watching the flames burn overwhelms this reader. Hugs to you. It reminds me of TobyMac’s lyric in his song “Twenty-one Years.” Thanks for sharing a piece of your heart with us.
Julie,
My heart goes out to you – that helpless feeling that you describe at the end is so real. I appreciate the honesty and courage in your sharing this with us. I also like the beginning – – that it’s still a work in progress. Every person, every poem is still a work in progress – including Benjamin!
This is such a powerful story, so lyrical. I love the image of the glorious blaze, conflagration, set the world on fire – such strong imagery.
Julie,
One of the things I like most about this community is the way poems such as yours evoke empathy, tap into our commonality, and in this case the heartbreak of losing a child, both literally and existentially. Both are tangible losses. Most poignant lines for me:
you, all jagged edges,
battling the world
as it came at you.
I cannot imagine this loss of a son, but I do imagine it, what it would be like. Yet I also know it both in having grown sons and in feeling certain losses that have come my way via their lives. This duality of fire at the end says it all for me.
Julie — This kind of loss leaves me breathless. The first two words (losing Benjamin) slap with reality… we don’t get to wheedle away from the loss… we see so clearly a young boy with “jagged edges” and “wonder” …we see through your eyes. The ending “conflagration” and “ashes” give us the heat and burn of your loss. I am so so so sorry. It took brave writing to lay this out for us today…thank you for giving us a piece of Benjamin and you. Susie
Julie, so glad to read your lines
I always saw (and still see)
that sweet-boy innocence–
wide-eyed wonder
that others didn’t often get to see.
knowing that your view of your son is one of love. You saw/see him as he is and love him still. That’s love!
Julie, this poem hit me so hard. I know what you mean. I, too, have watched the flames burn, helpless, as I remember the boy who was so angry, but took water into his room so that the cats would always have a drink. All jagged edges, battling the world. That was-and still is- my son. I send comfort your way.
Allison, this is what binds us – – what you shared today gives a different perspective of loss/not loss. I love how you described things that were lost that didn’t “take” the bigger idea…..you lost your passport but not your love of travel….you lost the photos of a trip but not the memories and the experience……you lost one friendship, but not all of your relationships…..you lost an engagement ring, but not a marriage. You lost a breast, but you sure didn’t lose your self. Your breast never wrote moving poems, but it sure did inspire this fantastic one! I also like the way you were specific about its end – – the scientific-ness of the breast, to show us that you are still YOU – – almost as if had been a bonus breast that you gave willingly, like a spare kidney or something, that had served its purpose and is longer weighing you down as you travel more lightly with greater mission and purpose now. Thank you for exposing your feelings by sharing such a beautiful piece of yourself with us today!
Riffing on a line from Bishop’s poem.
Elizabeth said lose something every day
as if loss is a practice
like Zen yoga.
I’ve lost the names of children,
not their voices, their voices
speak to me in dreams.
I’ve lost friends
to anger or illness breaking
the spirit of kinship and love.
I’ve lost parts of me–
a disc at C-5, the comma on my cheek–
parts of me do not complete me.
Today, Elizabeth, I’ll lose
my patience, surely, at least once
to a distracted driver easing into my lane.
I can’t count my losses
like loose change. Loss is loss.
Gone. Immolated by the sun.
Wow, Margaret! I love this! The two pieces that really stand out to me are the specific detail of the parts of you–“a disc at C-5” (that one took me a minute…for some reason, I was thinking compact disc, and that didn’t make sense!), “the comma on my cheek” (that is a GREAT image in so many ways!). I also love “I can’t count my losses like loose change.” What a great retort (is that the right word?) to Bishop.
Margaret, your answer to Elizabeth is a great example of how we can take words of disagreement to task and share profound thoughts using beautiful imagery. I, too, will lose my patience today with someone or something – – and I agree that losses can’t be counted like loose change. I love that simile! And the end – BAM – Gone. Immolated. It just doesn’t get more gone than being immolated.
Margaret,
Riffing on Bishop’s line is a wonderful way of examining the ordinary losses we experience. Your log of losses reinforces this notion. And we’ll soon look at today as yet another loss. Way to take the power out of losing.
Margaret, Your lines
I’ve lost parts of me–
a disc at C-5, the comma on my cheek–
parts of me do not complete me.
bring to mind the TONI MORRISON biography, TONI MORRISON: THE PIECES I AM. It takes so many pieces to make us, but loss of a piece need not break us. You’ve shown, it doesn’t!
I love that line, “Today, Elizabeth, I’ll lose” . How neat to address Elizabeth Bishop. I mean, I could too…but it seems kinda like a sacred thing to do. Your last line packs a punch too. immolated!
LOVE THIS POEM!
“I’ve lost the names of children,
not their voices, their voices
speak to me in dreams.”
These words speak to my heart as a teacher.
This is a marvelous response to Elizabeth’s poem. Loss is loss. gone. Immolated by the sun. The final statement is a marvelous end to a marvelous poem.
Allison, this is such a powerful piece, Your loss (not loss) hits hard with its clinical description in the second stanza, a sharp separation from the emotion of the stanza that follows. That contrast is clear, pointed, painful. The line, “soft and tender cup of motherhood, womanhood, identity,” is beautifully written. You have placed us there with you with great honesty, baring it all this morning. Thank you.
Allison, I agree with Jennifer. Your poem sets up well with “I did not lose a breast” and continues to draw me in with “soft and tender cup…” So powerful and real and heart wrenching. My prayer is you are on the other side of this loss, not loss.