Welcome to Verselove—a space for educators to nurture their writing lives and celebrate poetry in the community. Each day in April, we come together to explore the power of poetry for both heart and mind. Write with care, for yourself and your readers. When responding, reflect back the beauty you find—lines that linger, ideas that inspire. Enjoy the journey.
Our Host: Wendy Everard

Wendy Everard is a high school English teacher and writer living in central New York. Her role as mother and teacher has given her plenty to write about since she started writing personal narrative and poetry, lifelong hobbies that were reignited when she joined a summer institute with the Seven Valleys branch of the National Writing Project a few years ago and began mentoring student teachers. Recently, she was delighted and honored to receive an Educator of Excellence Award from the New York State English Council. She teaches in Cazenovia, New York.
Inspiration
In his wonderful book of essays, A Year of Moons, writer Joseph Bruchac says this:
“It’s January here in our Adirondack foothills. The time of Alamikos, the Abenaki term for the first moon of the new year. In English, it’s the New Year’s Greeting Moon. It’s the time when people would go from one wigwam to another – nowadays one house to another – and speak the New Year’s greeting,
Anhaldam mawi kassipalilawalan.
Its meaning, translated into English, is, ‘Forgive me for any wrong I may have done you.’
“It’s a recognition of the fact that there is always more than one way to look at any situation, any human interaction, because it would be said not just to people you know you’ve wronged, but to everyone. Everyone.”
Process
Your poem can take any form you wish. Bruchac urges us to “think of the times when your own feelings were injured by a word or deed from someone who was totally oblivious to the fact that they’d wounded you. It happens more often than we think. We’re in a hurry and we brush someone off. We make a remark offhandedly or say something that we may think is humorous but in fact cuts another person to the quick.” Or think of a time that this happened to you. Or just write a general poem of forgiveness – giving it, asking for it, or struggling with it. Reflect, and write a poem that captures the spirit of “anhaldam mawi kassipalilawalan.”
Here is a great website that offers some poetic forms if you’re interested in experimenting with one today!
Wendy’s Poem
This is the hardest poem to write
At this unsorry moment
As darkness hides the light
As might insists that it makes right
Collective energy is spent
This is the hardest poem to write
A country sees our sorry plight
And evil enjoys quick ascent
As darkness hides the light
Bleak January eyes the fight
On tongues, apologies ferment
This is the hardest poem to write
But now, here’s April – month of light
And time assists begrudged lament
As darkness bows to light
Apologies to Savior, bright
Whose heart my hate must surely rend
This is the hardest poem to write
While darkness hides the light.
Your Turn
Now, scroll to the comment section below to write your own poem. (This is a public space, so you may choose to use only your first name or initials depending on your privacy preferences.) Not ready? That’s okay. Read the poems already posted for more inspiration. Ponder your own throughout the day. Return later. And, if the prompt does not work for you, that is fine. All writing is welcome. Just write something. Oh, and a note about drafting: Since we are writing in short bursts, we all understand (and even welcome) the typos and partial poems that remind us we are human and that writing is always becoming. If you’d like to invite other teachers to write with us, tell them to subscribe. Also, please be sure to respond to at least three writers.
Thank you, Wendy, for this surprisingly deep challenge. As always, I post what I write here, and today, here’s today’s offering.
“the measures of a man”
I’ve never fit the model of a man
some want to see in some of us — macho,
emotional only in love, anger.
I was raised by a man with good reason
to feel deeply (luckily, he is still
raising me), who modeled (models) for me
the complexities of calm, kind manhood.
I’m not saying he was unique in this;
I’m saying he was (is) a full-hearted
half of a marriage that sustains me still.
(She will have, deserves, her own poetry.)
Maybe something is found in translation:
Mexicans don’t say “I’m sorry.” We say
“Lo siento”. Literally, “I feel it.”
Feel deeply, mean it, y vaya con Dios.
You’re right, Wendy. This was a hard poem to write, but one I needed to tackle, honestly. Here it is! Ethical ELA Team, this is from me to you, with a bowed head.
Acknowledging Pride
“Pride goeth before destruction!”
Seems hypocritical to claim to “team”,
When I take so much credit when the team is winning.
Please accept my apology when that’s the way it looks
I want you to know I know I need you
I thought acknowledging that was humility
But today, it seems it ain’t.
Just the thought of not teaming makes me faint.
I need you; you may need me
But now I see, we really need three.
Our Father’s the one who really makes it work!
So from teaming let’s not shirk.
Forgive me for my pride.
But, please stay by my side.
.
Hurt Landscapes
Forgiveness is a terrace—
stone fitted to stone along a steep mountain,
built to hold what would otherwise run off.
Water returns in rain, maybe tears.
You guide it, soften it, let it settle
so something can grow where it once washed away.
It asks: what can we keep, here, together?
Acceptance is a cloud—
mist moving through the high valley,
arriving without asking, leaving the same way.
It covers the mountain, then reveals it, unchanged.
You do not hold it, or answer it.
You step inside it, or you step out.
It asks: what is here, whether I stay or not?
One tends the same ground, again and again;
the other learns the sky and finds the sliver of sun.
I carry my hurt like altitude—thin air I’ve learned to breathe.
And the hurt I caused—I carry what it teaches, like an echo I still listen for.
Not writing yet, but wow, Wendy! Powerful poem. You set a rhythm that feels right for the asking, and that last stanza!
Wendy, you have given us one amazing poem today! The repetition mimics the forgivenesses that are likely needed as one lives a life, sometimes more carelessly than we know. And it adds a circular feel that follows the randomness of these offenses and how they become a part of you.The ways indigenous peoples show respect and honor life are worthy of our attention. Thank you for sharing this today.
(your will be done)
forgive me father for I have sinned,
the words begin the act of reconciliation
of finding oneself cleansed and cleared
freed of a smudged soul
the people once believed in forgiving debts
every seven years, wiping clean the slate
and only offering the sacrament once
in a lifetime, likely near the end –
imagine, cleansing the slate of a life
only to find oneself continuing on
living beyond the expiration date,
with no hope of another forgiveness –
what must that do to a soul?
the weight of it going forward?
nowadays, we ask for forgiveness as often as we’d like
as often as Meijers changes its seasonal decor –
if we’d like
forgiving is a transaction
a sacrament of consumerism, if you will
with returns as likely as purchases,
for those carrying remorse over wanting, taking, hoarding, consuming
consumering
what must that do to a soul?
what weight is carried in a world of instant gratification?
Today as I slowly enter another week, I’m turning to the familiar William Carlos Williams.
This is Just to Say
I have seen
your weakness
and rolled into the muck
of ignorance
The mirror of doubt
is revealing
so clear and critical
I should say something kind
but all I muster
is a lie.
Ohhh, Margaret! There are times when this is the way it is. Especially those last three lines.
Thank you for introducing me to Anhaldam mawi kassipalilawalan and the concept of asking for forgiveness for wrongs you don’t even realize you’ve done. I think I’m so hung up on wrongs I know I’ve done and do that I don’t even pause to think about ones I don’t realize I have done.
I love your phrase “unsorry moment”
I’m Sorry
I feel it every day
every day
every single day.
But I don’t say it
can’t say it
won’t say it
I think doing so
would bring it to his mind
and put the elephant between us
again
As if it’s not already there.
~Susan Ahlbrand
6 April 2026
Susan, love this poignant poem! The repetition really drives home the speaker’s sorrow over words unsaid.
Susan—that last line, “As if it’s not already there”—so sad and so very true. And the proverbial elephant—wow.
Susan, the movement from declarative to adamancy is revealing, as is the reasoning behind it, turning this from perhaps a stubbornness to perhaps a kindness. Until that last line. And it’s revealed to us the full extent of the difficulty.
This is a tricube poem: 3 verses of 3 lines, each line 3 syllables.
What You Say
Hateful words
Blurted out
Sting sharply
Untrue words
Rumors spread
Hurt deeply
Gentle words
Whispered soft
Heal a heart
Diane, I love the shift in the third stanza, enhanced by the soft consonants in that stanza.
Diane, I can relate to these stanzas and hope at best I can provide the soft, healing words.
So much thought in this… – how our words can change someone’s day, but most of all our day! Wow! Thank you
Diane, there is a shift in your words, almost as if the reader goes on the journey with the writer, moving from a hardened heart to a softer one. The tricube works brilliantly here, setting up the stages, separating the moments, offering a soft landing.
❤️ 2sparigolds
Country boy heart rocking,
sunflower girl sweetly sways,
As sparrows bless marigolds.
Mountian chest thunder tocking,
Scent swirls neatly stay,
Red mud squished in Mary’s toes.
Closed eyes, faintly locking.
Gentle swirls, peck and play.
Two hearts, together flow.
parents dissed, tried blocking,
Sunflower cried in a painful way
Country embraced a let’s go!
Through town kinfolk mocking,
so, they ran faraway
Deep into the marigolds,
So,
say the sparrows.
Boxer, loved this! A country song in poetry. Loved especially the title and:
“Mountian chest thunder tocking,
Scent swirls neatly stay,
Red mud squished in Mary’s toes.”
and
“Closed eyes, faintly locking.
Gentle swirls, peck and play.”
Lovely story!
I love this short tale of love leading the heart. I can imagine the sparrows gossiping.
Wendy, your prompt today is so needed. As I read your poem, I found hope in the repeating line – – the hardest poems to write are often the ones where we bare our souls and take to the page as we stand in the darkness, hiding the light. Thank you for this inviting prompt today that compels us to shed the baggage we carry and forgive as we are forgiven. And as we are working on it.
Jesus, Take the Reese’s Rabbits
His first Easter in Heaven yesterday
and here I am
his child,
His child,
recipient of God’s
ultimate sacrificial forgiveness
~ in the forgivingest season of all ~
and yet I struggle
after all the trying
to make things right
clear his hoarding
clean his messes
he curmudgeonly says NO on repeat
I hum Jesus, Take the Wheel on repeat
I cuss on repeat too
even in the midst of prayers
….and then he up and dies
with all this unfinished business
no U-Haul behind the hearse
like a final take that!
and I hope to good gracious
he gets none of the feast
of the blessed Easter lamb
or the chocolate bunnies or
especially any of those Reese’s cup rabbits
until we get the rest of his stuff
cleaned up and that may
take a few more Easters
but if he’d just listened
to his children
we wouldn’t be praying he’s
in time out up there
having to watch all the angels
who weren’t so stubborn
eat of the lamb and the chocolate
licking their angel fingers
at him on his stool in a corner of Heaven
Oh, Kim..your poem made me alternately laugh out loud and well up. Simply spot on…I think many of us can relate to the challenges of “parenting” a parent. So many lines I absolutely adore… “no U-Haul behind the hearse” is so brief and poignant, laced with humor, much like your entire poem. I think my favorite part, though, is the last…”licking their angel fingers at him on his stool in a corner of Heaven.” Perfection.
You handle your continued mourning–and aggravation–with such poignant humor in this gem of a poem. I feel like your dad and my dad are similar souls hanging out up there in time out. I had never ever thought of Heaven having a time out, but now I can’t un-think about it. I have such a crazy mind movie going right now! Kudos to you for making that happen . . . the sign of great writing!
Kim, your frustration comes out solid as a chocolate bunny in this poem. It’s that humor tug that makes it all so relatable. I want to say on repeat “I’m so sorry.” Parents and their stuff are always complicated.
Kim—sorrow plus frustration plus a wonderful dose of humor. I love this poem (having done some cuss-ful cleanup myself!). All those good angels licking angel fingers—what. Wonderful image!!
No U- Haul behind the hearse! Absolutely love reading your poems!! You have a twist like no other😀
Wendy, thank you for this prompt. It sent me into a torrent of free-writing that feels pretty cathartic. Your pantoum is lovely…and to call upon Joseph Brucha’s wisdom is comforting to me. I so appreciate that today. “This is the hardest poem to write” is such an emotional line. I love it. I love how I read this poem the day after Easter. It’s so much more meaningful to me.
Despite my words and words and words of free write I have a simple haiku.
as sky is sorry
for this war of rain and wind
i ask forgiveness
Linda, yours is the poem I wanted to write today. Haiku is one of my favorite forms for the power in brevity but the force of earth, wind, and fire. And yours holds the universe of emotion in three small lines of seventeen syllables. The asking of forgiveness as the sky is sorry is moving, because it shows the need for repetition of forgiveness every day we live….there will be wind and rain, and we need forgiving as daily as the sky sends wars of wind and rain.
Oh my, that line using the word war bites as war continues to rage in our world. Your prayer for forgiveness feels desperate and necessary. I’m happy to have you back here writing alongside me.
Even as I was writing this, I wasn’t sure it made much sense. But … um … I’m going with it anyway.
Kevin
For(I),
give this a
thought –
forgiveness(am)
is an odd spice
(sorry) and my palette
remains passive(for),
but I was never taught
to open(my) up
and become(unkind)
the man(words) I hope
to be
Kevin, I rarely read the poems of others before jotting something down. But today is different. I read Wendy’s beautiful pantoum and scrolled to this poem. It does make sense…there’s a current in the words in the parentheses that give energy to the lines. I’m a bit in awe of how lovely and humble it is.
Kevin, it took me a moment, but then when I recognized the poem within the poem, it all clicked. So cool. I love “forgiveness is an odd spice and my palette remains passive”…what a lovely, intriguing choice of metaphor.
“I’m going with it.” A brilliant move this morning. Your poem is so effective. It speaks to the undertone of I’m sorry that we so often cannot humble ourselves enough to say out loud.