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.
All,
Thanks so much for sharing your wonderful poems today! I wish I’d had time to respond to everyone’s — yesterday was crazy busy. But I’m reading them all now and want you all to know how much your words are appreciated; thank you!
I used to think forgiveness meant telling you it was okay, but now I finally understand it means telling myself I don’t have to carry that weight anymore. I hear songs we used to sing together in places we used to go. The words still echo, but quiet like rain fall. Weeks move like clouds in the sky. I wish that one day I could wake up and suddenly feel free and healed, instead I wake up and realize I haven’t checked your socials in weeks. Forgivingness is a slow brewing storm inside you and when you finally can forgive the strom doesn’t live there anymore.
Jayden, great prose poem. That imagery of rain and storms did a wonderful job of underscoring the emotion in this. And this was such a concrete and true line:
“I wish that one day I could wake up and suddenly feel free and healed, instead I wake up and realize I haven’t checked your socials in weeks.”
Beautiful.
A Lazy Poet’s Apology
I sm sorry, but I don’t want to think about this prompt really, it makes me think of my sister and I cannot forgive her yet not that she even wants it oe ever will but I am letting myself feel bad without fixing it and I find that revolutionary- it is an act of resistance to just hold space with reality- to not need to fix or control – to just be- so see my lack of forgiveness is actually a virtue- (just like my superfluous disregard of any punctuation rules ie run-on sentences) Like I said I am letting myself feel my feelings and my therapist would be proud and it’s so uncomfortable and then I guess I will be sharing this “poem” with beautiful people (I added “beautiful “ because I feel it and because it sounded rude without a positive descriptor so I picked a fun cliche) and yes I am off my adhd meds and yes I think I am actually crafting something clever. Anyways, please forgive this poem- or else.
Kasey
I try to circle back to the late-night writers the next day so you know you had a reader, a witness. There’s something so honest and disarming in this, the way you let yourself stay inside the discomfort without trying to tidy it up, and how that refusal to “fix” becomes its own kind of strength. I really admire the voice here, how it holds humor, resistance, and real hurt all at once, and it leaves me thinking about how what we carry doesn’t always need resolution to be meaningful or worthy of being shared.
Sarah
Kasey,
THIS:
“I am letting myself feel bad without fixing it and I find that revolutionary- it is an act of resistance to just hold space with reality- to not need to fix or control – to just be- so see my lack of forgiveness is actually a virtue”
From a member of a highly dysfunctional family (now trying to raise a healthier one) — I could have written these sentiments. This ended up an empowered prose poem. Loved the idea of “holding space with reality” being a virtue. Thank you for coming here today.
Thank you for reading my ramblings.
Thank you! It was a very vulnerability prompt!
The words “I forgive you” have been echoing in my brain since I read this prompt and your beautiful poem, Wendy, this morning. I thought my poem would be long, then I thought it would be unwritten and then, as I went to bed, this haiku appeared. Well, who knew?
Thank you for this gorgeous prompt.
Our lives intersect.
Can you forgive me because
we cannot be one?
and a draft that starts with forgiveness:
can you forgive me
because our lives intersect
and still we are not one?
I experienced something similar this evening- however I took a different track. Your haiku is so powerful; stunning job. I keep thinking of all the different ways that apology might come up. So good!
Amanda,
I’m really moved by how this arrived for you, the way something you expected to be long distilled itself into such a spare, resonant form, and how the haiku holds that tension so gently without trying to resolve it. There’s a quiet ache in the question itself, and what lingers is how you frame forgiveness not as closure but as something that exists alongside separation, two lives touching and still remaining distinct.
Sarah
Amanda, I love that you shared the draft AND the rewrite. The effect is so different with each!
There are so many different directions one could go with the idea of forgiveness. Such a cool idea to explore…I chose to write a definito poem, which ends with the word it’s defining.
Letting Go
,
Unclenching fury-filled claws
to open, soft palms
pulling in an impossible amount of air,
slowly filling your entire torso
Only the next step is visible
but that’s all you need
Blanketed in grace
Transformed wholly
aphiemi (Greek for forgiveness, used in the New Testament)
Julie, I am finding these poems today really difficult to read. There’s something in every one that is stirring. And I think this form is a clever way to at once make intimate and distant this process. Thank you.
What fabulous word choices are here, Julie. I am captivated by the unclenching, blanketed on grace Transformed wholly. Seems to really get to the heart of forgiveness and turning loose.
What a lovely word choice – and then the form that follows. I was gripped by “fury-filled claws” and found myself breathing in with “slowly filling your entire torso.”
Julie, the religious imagery in this is so striking and apparent from the first image of the “open, soft palms” (which also struck me as a reference to palm branches). Loved this!
I will be back to respond tomorrow. I am knee-deep in prep for a group of visitors to my school tomorrow and a panel discussion later in the evening. April is April-ing in a cruel way. 🤣
Thanks for the prompt, Wendy. In my poem, I tried to explore the difficulty of self-forgiveness.
A Mother’s Apology
I gave the dresser drawer the extra
shove it always needed to close,
and then my little girl was wailing,
holding one hand in the other.
When she quieted, she told me:
“I never wanted that to happen.”
And, oh honey, I never wanted
that to happen either, that or
so many things that have happened
since: all the little and big hurts that
I learned not to tell the other mothers,
for they are yours to share, or not.
And yet they feel like mine, too,
the way they resound in my body
and the way I trace them for
remnants of my fault, some thing
I could have done that might have
led to only sunshine and bloom. Even now
when you call with a trouble, I sometimes say,
“I never meant for that to happen,”
and we both smile at the summoning
of your freaking adorable toddler self.
Only I know it is more than a joke;
it is an apology for the inevitable pain
of the life I gave you. I am making
an offering, ringing a bell, telling the eternal
you eternally, I am sorry. I am sorry.
I am sorry.
Kate, you have captured much of what was running through my mind today – the way we unintentionally hurt our children simply because life is life. These lines, “an apology for the inevitable pain/ of the life I gave you” made me draw my breath in sharply. Yes, this. Yes.
As a mother, this just hit home. The grief of motherhood and aging – it’s shocking and it’s so hard to see your babies hurt. It breaks my heart. Your poem was exquisite and I loved the tones of longing and love and laughter you shared.
Kate,
I’m so struck by the way this moves from that small, physical moment into something vast and ongoing, how the gesture of the drawer becomes a kind of doorway into all the ways a mother holds both memory and responsibility in the body. The repetition at the end feels like a bell you’ve been ringing all along, and what stays with me is how tenderly you reveal that what we carry as parents isn’t just love, but the ache of knowing we cannot shield our children from pain, even as we keep offering our apologies across time.
Sarah
OMG, Kate: this made me tear up. I have two daughters, and I read this from both my perspective and my own mom’s — both readings had me in tears. The flow is just gorgeous. And that ending:
“I am making
an offering, ringing a bell, telling the eternal
you eternally, I am sorry. I am sorry.
I am sorry.”
This was masterful!
Oh, Wendy, I love your poem and the repetition of darkness and light. Yesterday, we had our annual Easter dinner and it took a turn when my son and daughter had a disagreement. He’s been holding his tongue with her a lot lately and he just couldn’t hold it any longer. She’s stubborn and has tunnel vision, and sometimes I just shake my head and remember she is half her father. 🤣 So, this nonet is for my son who’s feeling very frustrated.
Siblings
Don’t
just say
you’re sorry
after throwing
daggers at your bro
your apology reeked
of unaccepted harm done
when will you learn to consider
other points of view different from yours
SHUTTING YOUR MOUTH OPENS YOUR MIND AND HEART
and gives others a chance to be heard
seems you fear showing your feelings
masking them with barks and bites
your apology won’t
fix what you did wrong
after you left
the air stood
still as
stone
©Stacey L. Joy, 4/6/26
Stacey, those family dinners around holidays can be rough. The nonet is such a good form for this story as the action escalates and the consequences unfold. “After you left the air stood still as stone” really captures the lingering hurt that we can leave in our wake in moments like this.
Oh, those last lines. I’ve been on the giving and receiving end of sibling fights & I am grateful that my participation is now limited (mostly) to the position of the speaker in this poem: parent. Not that “parent” is easy: whew, those moments of “unaccepted harm done” are hard to be part of.
Oh I hate the unharmonious interactions of my children and how it stirs up my soul. Your words hit home. Thanks for sharing.
Stacey,
My mom heart is nodding and feeling all the things moms feel through your words. Yes to “SHUTTING YOUR MOUTH OPENS YOUR MIND AND HEART.” I hope she’ll listen and offer a sincere apology and a change in words and behavior.
Oh, Stacey. Took a turn is the story of my family gatherings. There’s such a raw, immediate energy in this, the way the nonet form carries that tightening and release, like breath held and then let go, mirroring the tension between siblings. I’m especially struck by how you hold both frustration and care at once, and it lingers with me how what we carry in family isn’t just conflict, but the hope that beneath it there’s still room to listen, to soften, to find each other again.
Sarah
Stacey, I’m so sorry that happened. Family gatherings can be so, so fraught: I’ve had my share. This beautifully-shaped nonet with its emphatic middle really captured the moment in all its frustration.
Forgiveness sounds fabulous in the abstract
Like in a Bible verse or a Sunday school lesson
It’s kind of like those goals we make to be healthy:
Drink lots of water
Don’t eat processed foods
Be sure to exercise every day.
But then it’s time to, you know, actually forgive someone.
Then it gets hard,
Especially when my forgiving doesn’t result in the apology I was sure I deserved.
It’s like I want a gold star for being extra righteous.
(Is there such a thing as a forgiveness martyr?)
I remember a story in a sermon about a person being bitten by a rattlesnake
And then, instead of going to the hospital to get the venom removed,
He stomps on the snake to make sure it’s dead.
In the time he took to stomp, he could have been healed.
Not a happy story.
So I have to make a choice.
A hard choice.
Do I want an apology?
What I consider justice to be done?
Or do I let the hurt go?
I can’t control someone else’s choices,
But I can control mine.
I’ll choose forgiveness.
Or at least try to.
Your poem really got me thinking about how we’re taught that forgiveness should be non-conditional, but it feels so darn conditional sometimes. That anecdote in the poem’s middle does so much work in the poem! And I love the voiceless of “Not a happy story.”
Sheila,
Love your first stanza and your comparison to healthy goals. I agree, too. Forgiveness is made out to be easy, but it isn’t always.
The centering of the choice—and how hard it is to choose forgiveness over what feels righteous—really makes your poem compelling. And I love the narrative voice. I really feel like someone’s tugging my collar giving me some good advice when I need it most.
Sheila, loved this. That rattlesnake story! Never heard it before — it was such an effective shift in the middle of your poem. And the the shift back to the reflective in the last two stanzas. Reminded me of Mel Robbins’ book Let Them that a friend just urged me to read.
Seeking Forgiveness
The busyness is all-consuming.
We tell ourselves there’s no time.
Tomorrow
Tomorrow
Tomorrow — we’ll visit.
Tomorrow we will come for dinner,
bring the grandkids — Yes, they’re getting big.
But we are filled with lies and excuses,
and it’s all regret now
because we let the busyness consume us. We told ourselves that there were more days, more tomorrows,
Just more.
But there wasn’t.
There was only today
and we let it slip away,
sand through our fingers
Now we cling to whispers of yesterday and unspoken words
Now we talk to angels and seek forgiveness
Wow. What a lovely, albeit sad, poem. Such a beautiful reminder that we don’t get to pull time back for do-overs.
Heartbreaking in its truth – an important poem…
I’ve just spent a really long time writing and revising and deleting and writing this comment, having *just* returned home from forcing myself to visit my elderly mother at the end of an exhausting day and having trouble figuring out where I am on the map of prospective regret. I’m left just thinking that this time of mid-life is so hard, especially with a parent’s dawning dementia. Sigh. All this is to say—thank you for this point of connection.
Oof, it’s telling how so much of forgiveness is coming back to time, time spent angry or ambivalent or unthinkingly. Your last three lines—clinging to “whispers of yesterday” and talking to angles to seek forgiveness are so sad and such a prescient warning.
Verselove Day 6: Forgiveness
In honor of William Carlos Williams who wrote the ultimate ‘sorry not sorry’ poem.
This is Just to Say
I have penned
the poem
that dawdled behind
just beyond
your reach
and which
you were probably
pondering
for Verselove
Forgive me
it was insidious
so baneful
and so sinister.
This is such a great tribute to a wickedly good poem! I love your last stanza and wonder about that poem that was pondered over! The verbs here are so good.
I love that final stanza, too! I wasn’t thinking the poem was going in a sinister direction until I read it . . . hmm . . .
Tracei,
I love your nod to William Carlos Williams and the movement you create in your poem with “penned,” “dawned” and ” pondering.” The poem feels alive.
Wendy,
This is a most timely prompt, especially as it is the season of forgiveness. I loved where you took us with your poem and your refrain of “this is the hardest poem to write” carries so much weight.
When small things are big
”No, I don’t accept,”
turned our heads at the table
—“But he apologized,” I said
”I know,” came the calm reply,
as he glanced at his younger brother,
condemned as a small criminal,
”but I don’t accept.”
There was ice in the air
and a cold, still silence fell over the room.
The small offender skulked out, seeming smaller,
eyes downturned, cloaked in guilt,
already sorry but now shamed.
And the older adjudicator stood stiffly
in his position, pridefully defiant,
wielding a sort of mean, petty, power.
Forgiveness would come eventually,
but what was lost in that rift?
What scars rendered from that cutting
condemnation?
Where is the wisdom in feeding enmity
when we could choose grace?
Dave, your closing stanza shows the damage of not forgiving . The hurt in the moment and the pain guilt for years afterward. The use of the hard consonants for cutting condemnation add weight to your message. So you get a plus for both message and method.
Dave,
Your poem is so relatable. Sometimes forgiveness is hard, especially for siblings. I hope they worked it out.
They did, with some minor intervention, and time.
Wow. I’m sorry to say, I’ve witnessed similar scenes…been part of them myself. I love your final question.
Oh, boy! What a keen moment you’ve captured with the narrator’s small offender and older adjudicator! I can feel the icy silence, the shame, and stubbornness in this relatable familial scene. But your closing questions are provocative and reveal the beauty and power of grace. Stunningly beautiful poem!
Yes, this prompt is so timely. I spent the weekend deep in conversation with one loved one finding it very hard to forgive another. Choosing grace can feel so hard when we feel our enmity is in defense of others. But oh the weight of that stance. You’ve got me thinking: when is enough enough? How do we keep sorry from getting to shame, for that serves no one?
Dave,
”wielding a sort of mean, petty, power.” emphasizes the language as weaponry ethos here, and makes me ask: Whose crime is worse? Indeed, “Where is the wisdom in feeding enmity
when we could choose grace?” Choosing grace is what we do for ourselves.
the time to forgive
and be forgiven is now-
time is a dear gift
Mo, when I grow up, I want to be you–wise, eloquent, understanding. You are so right “time is a dear gift “
Like time, this poem also is a gift.
Mo, this is perfect and honestly what I wanted to write. Our time can and often does pass with unsaid words of forgiveness that will forever eat away. This is perfect and now in my poetry book where you will forever have a place in my heart.
Mo,
Time really is a gift and so fleeting too.
I feel like this needs to be cross-stitched on a couch pillow. So, so true and beautiful!
Wow, Mo! You nailed the essence of why it’s important to forgive and move on! Time! Outstanding poem!
Mo! You are a master of concision. Now is the best time for grace.
Forgiveness…
The grudge is a weight
we pick up and choose to carry;
it is a parasite,
the carcass of our hopes;
it crushes us, draped over our skin
as we walk.
But we carry the grudge
happily and
with purpose and
with some kind of love
for the way
it warms us, they way it licks our ears,
the way it makes us feel…rightegous,
focused,
like the energy we expend
matters because we chose it
and it is spent.
But how many heart beats
have we wasted, carrying
the grudge?
How many do we have left
to pick up the weight of
I’m sorry?
And I love you?
And…
Jonathon, your poem and Mo’s haiku right above your post have similar messages: why carry grudges if they are heavily weighing on us. So much truth and wisdom in your poem. The second stanza is profound. Thank you for sharing!
Thank you! Mo’s haiku is wonderful
“…the way it licks our ears…” What a line! We do love our grudges to our detriment.
Jonathan, as Leilya just said, you and Mo have tugged at the heartstrings of forgiveness with your poems today. I feel the weight and struggle to carry that grudge that wears you down, and….
Jonathan, your extended image of the weight of unforgiveness adds weight to your message. In fact, your use of Italics could visually show how bent over one could become, carrying the wounds of being hurt and also the memories for failing to extend mercy. I can visualize two folks who must spend time together, leaning down for each reason. See the graphic I used today. It could illustrate your poem for different reasons. What are your thoughts?
Mahalo this feedback and question. I do not often think about visuals apart from extremely purposeful line breaks but I see your point
Jonathon,
Your description of a grudge is stunning! “The carcass of our hopes” is a perfect metaphor, and I love how you connect it to pride and righteousness. Your last stanza perfectly describes the losses we incur when we make those choices. So good!
Jonathan,
Your word choice is perfect in that it conveys the heaviness of carrying a grudge so well.
“The grudge is a weight
we pick up and choose to carry;
it is a parasite,
the carcass of our hopes;
it crushes us, draped over our skin
as we walk.”
I love this description. And then the next stanza that shows how much we love the weight of a good solid grudge, like it’s a puppy licking our ears, making us feel justified. When we could just put that boulder down and love and forgiven instead. Love your poem very much.
Wendy, wow, I love your prompt today and your gorgeous lyrical poem. Absolutely loved “This is the hardest poem to write”. I wrote a hard poem today, but then I thought I need to at least try for something a little bit lighter.
It’s a Crime Scene
Don’t turn on the lights ’cause I don’t wanna see from “Mama Told Me not to Come” by the Three Dog Night.
Traveling across town
is a study in dodging landmines—
potholes have been known to destroy a car.
like this morning, looking into the mirror—
I see a war-torn country, blasted by age spots,
its hair turning grayer.
I can’t forgive this insufferable
slide into invisible hood,
the constant battle to hold back my tears.
yesterday, to make matters worse,
my sister sent me a photo. I’m twenty-two or three,
posing on a bamboo chair.
I no longer recognize this
once-upon-a-time this was actually me girl—
smiling, glowing—so fresh and shiny.
Barb Edler
6 April 2026
Barb,
The juxtaposition of your youth with the images of those potholes and this gray-haired destroyer of lives is so elegantly and expertly crafted. It’s seamless and complicated but deceptive in the easy flow from one scent to the next. I’m always amazed by your ability to mold words and ideas this way. Brilliant poem.
I feel you, Barb. I wrote another poem, too, but couldn’t share it and couldn’t finish it even. So metapors helped me. But here, here, you offer us such a gathering of scenes that feel like a piling, maybe suffocating. It all does feel rather impossible to even consider forgiveness today. While curious, I don’t need to see this picture of a once-upon-a-time Barb. I love this one. The poet who can comment on fresh and shiny and blasted by age spots in the same verse. Love her. You.
Sarah
Barb, it’s a day for hard poem I guess. Yours starts with that playful song lyric and then moves so honestly into the tougher stuff–such a natural, human turn. The way you describe the reflection in the mirror as “a war‑torn country, blasted by age spots, / its hair turning grayer” is such a striking metaphor. It seems sharp and tender at the same time. The way you bring in that old photo adds to this before‑and‑after feeling without ever sounding self‑pitying. I just love how you write through these moments. I’m really grateful to know you and call you a friend.
Barb, loving the way you linked lyrics of Three Dog Night to not wanting to see a photo blast from the past, and the honesty of how the tears come so easily these days. I have always admired your reflection on photos of the past from your posts and poetry – – and one of my favorites was I Saw Your Ghost on Facebook. Your love of art shows through in your love of the art center and your photos, and your poetry is an art unto itself.
Barb, this is clearly a day for hard poems; yet yours is also a journey through holding on as the landscape and image in the mirror changes, ages, and becomes unrecognizable. Your use of words to create powerful images is magical.
Barb,
I feel this poem and totally adore you in your honesty & beauty. You truly have a way with words. Your generosity in noticing and supporting writers in this community is very appreciated.
This poem is like looking in a mirror for me. I felt every word.
Barb,
Stunning poem. The metaphors of potholes and landmines and a war torn country correlated to aging are devastatingly good. And the juxtaposition to the girl in the photo amplifies it all.
To add to the chorus of commentators, I very much appreciate the Barb that I encounter in your poems and in your always thoughtful, supportive comments.
Barb, wow, This made me smile throughout because like Sarah said, I love this Barb who can write this poem. The fresh and shiny one wasn’t such a poet.
highway reflections from a car window
swamp cypress can grow so tall, hardy, and tough
rot-resistant heartwoods
adapting to whatever’s thrown their way
yet see how some trees begin with a flourish
rising up out of marsh
then suddenly stop, knocked off at the knee
i hope the stunted are pausing, steadying themselves
trying to understand
forgive another who hurt them so deeply
in time they too will rise up with thickened trunk
seeking the sunlight
their spanish moss swaying in the breeze
maybe all beings experience moments of drowning
the simply shallow
this twisted journey of submerge or sprout
—
Wendy, thank you so much for this prompt.
Maureen, I love the extended metaphor. Forgiveness does seem important if one is going to sprout or stay twisted, “knocked off at the knee”. Provacative poem!
Maureen, thank you for this poem. I love the concrete image you use to start, “swam cypress can grow so tall…” For me, the best poetry works with these concrete images
Oh, “maybe all being experience moments of drowning.” Wow. I am holding onto this and thinking about the ways it manifests; and when we need someone to pull us up and when, perhaps, we want to simpy submerge for a bit.
Maureen, your message is really taking me to a deeper level than I have been before and, “maybe all beings experience moments of drowning…on…this twisted journey of submerge or sprout.” This is a poem that will replay in my heart.
—
I went to the website Wendy suggested, and found a form called the dizain. Here are the basic rules of the dizain:
Some have said that to forgive is divine—
That each and every human makes mistakes.
Seventy times seven, or maybe nine
Is the amount to overlook the aches,
No matter what caused each of the heartbreaks.
You have caused several and I’ve caused a few.
We argued, talked, and tried to see it through,
But forgiveness doesn’t work by itself.
It’s not too difficult to forgive you;
The hardest one to forgive is myself.
Very cool form! Thank you for introducing me to this, Julie. Your rhymes were fabulous. I smiled at the line “Seventy times seven, or maybe nine” – thinking, yep, there’s no limit on how many times we must forgive. You are so right – “The hardest one to forgive is myself.”
Julie, your last line resonated with me. Thanks for sharing the type of poem and its format, too. I love how this structure lends itself to a particular cadence. Really enjoyed the third line, “Seventy times seven, or maybe nine”.
Oh, I love learning a new form, Julie. You have captured a tension that I had this morning when I was writing and researching forgiveness; that there is a relationality there in understanding how it works. Here you take readers toward the self, and that is relational, too. Lots to consider here.
Julie, thanks for this poetic form! And for the final truth in your last line: “The hardest one to forgive is myself.”
Hi, Julie, thank you for trying out a new form and sharing it with us. You crafted an amazing poem following it, and your rhyming is on spot. The final three lines are so relatable:
But forgiveness doesn’t work by itself.
It’s not too difficult to forgive you;
The hardest one to forgive is myself.
Thank you for writing and sharing!
Julie, the format of your poem strikes me as secondary to your powerful message that makes me feel like I just left a therapy session! Yes, for all, the “hardest one to forgive is self.”
Thank you, Wendy! This prompt reminded me of one of my earliest apologies.
Mother’s Day Apology
On Mother’s Day, when I was six-years-old,
I made my mother the loveliest bouquet.
Fetching grown-up scissors
from the junk drawer next to the fridge,
I snuck away to the neighbor’s house
while my mother put my baby sister down for a nap.
Carefully, oh so carefully, I cut every flower
from the neighbor’s flower bed.
Armed with a bouquet so large
I could barely see above it,
I made my way back home to our front door.
There, I knocked with my foot,
having no free hand to turn the knob.
The horrified look on my mother’s face,
as she recognized the neighbor’s flowers,
severed from their cultivated bed
and carried lovingly in my arms,
was my first indication
that my gift was not to be well-received.
As my lower lip trembled
and my eyes pooled with tears,
my mother explained that those flowers
were for looking
not for cutting
and not for taking without asking.
She arranged the stolen blooms carefully
in her best cut-glass vase
which she carried with both hands
to the neighbor’s door.
I lagged behind her…
dreading the apology
that my mother and I had practiced
in the safety of our yellow kitchen.
Since my hands were now free,
I was the one to ring the bell,
standing on my tiptoes to reach it.
“I’m so, so sorry.
I cut your flowers without asking,”
I said as soon as our neighbor opened the door.
No doubt, she was surprised to see my mother,
standing behind me,
familiar flowers in an unfamiliar vase.
“They were for me…for Mother’s Day,”
my mother explained.
“Please accept our sincere apology.”
I do not remember what the neighbor said;
but I do remember my mother,
as nervous as I was,
standing behind me,
returning her gift.
I also remember my mother,
proudly taking my hand in hers,
as we walked back home together.
Oh my. Six years old is such a tender age – I can feel the love you had for your mom – and I can imagine the anxiety your mother must have felt, returning those flowers. What a story! Love this wordplay especially “familiar flowers in an unfamiliar vase”
What a tender moment to remember ❤️ You painted the picture perfectly.
Lori, you’ve crafted a beautiful poem from a definitely the narrator’s first apology. Each emotion is clear, and I was there every step of the way to the neighbor’s house.
Oh my, I am sitting here in my classroom crying now. What a beautiful poem.
What a beautiful gift you are to your mother, a was invested in every word of your poem. The last three lines stand out to me the most, your mother proudly taking your hand…
And the way she stood behind you holding the flowers really said to me that your mother always had your back and she was there to support you especially when you made a mistake.
Lovely.
Phew. This is the Mother’s Day story of all Mother’s Day stories…one not to be forgotten (innocent, pure, and well, sort of mischievous, eh?). Make me want to randomly plant flowers this Mother’s Day in the yards of a few neighbors who don’t have such blooms. I’m happy I read this today, because it’s one of those tales too true to ever make up. Precious. Pure. Beautiful.
Lori, what a beautiful story! I was only waiting the neighbor’s response at the end–I hope she understood and forgave you right away. Loved the poem from the first word to the last. Thank you so much for sharing!
Oh, that ending image of walking back home hand in hand with your mother! So beautiful.
Wow! What a tender and touching narration within the poem. So rooting for the 6 year old and her mom. Absolutely amazing!
Lori,
The way your mom handled your gift is itself a precious, tender gift. Hoe kind a teaching moment can be makes all the difference in a memory. Lovely poem. I hope parents of young children see this. It’s simply beautiful.
I often have the hardest time forgiving myself – and my poem didn’t quite reach the forgiveness part, so maybe I’ll have to try again. 😆 I chose a Cascade Poem from the list.
Mom Guilt
I’m hard on myself – most days
I’d award myself a solid B minus
on my job performance
which comprises quite a lengthy list of criteria
some scored high but more scored low, so
I’m hard on myself, most days
because, see, the kids are exempt from judgement
so even when the chaos does not stem from my direct actions
I still award myself a solid B minus.
We are a machine and I am the engine,
the gears, bearings, and oil – it all comes down
to my job performance.
“We are a machine and I am the engine,” this line really drives home your perfectionism, how hard you work. One mom to another – don’t be too hard on yourself!
Oh, Rachel, that metaphor of a machine in the final stanza clearly explains how you view yourself and how high your expectations are: “I am the engine, / the gears, bearings, and oil.” I know how hard it is to follow this advice–I haven’t learned to do it yet, but I offer it to you: give yourself some grace. Thank you for writing and sharing!
“We are a machine and I am the engine…” Perfect line. This poem takes me right back to the days when my boys were young and at home.
Sometimes I don’t follow directions, no matter how well Wendy provided them. Thanks for allowing deviation and rabbit holing.
Unspooling
Ask anyone older and they’ll say
time
passes faster
and faster and
we age, unlearning things we accepted as fact
spring flowers bloom earlier and
are covered with unprecedented snowstorms
Tornado Alley is expanding farther east
heat domes displace polar vortices
“I would never” becomes
“maybe I might”
loss lingers
as humanity reaches
farther into space
to the moon’s darkness
hope for the future
a spool long left lingering
in a grandmother’s sewing kit
So many layers in this poem, and I can tell it stems from some deep thoughts. My favorite line is “unlearning things we accepted as fact”. And I appreciated the nod to Artemis II. It can be so unnerving when things we accepted as fact somehow alter.
I love this, David. Loved your intro comment about not following directions, hahaha. I think that’s part of this community poetry writing process – things just come up in our minds and we need to run with them. Creativity is “a spool long left lingering” I think.
The last stanza—love that!
“I would never” becomes/”maybe I might”
Wonderful phrase.
David,
The way your poem unfolds (unspools) is such a perfect representation of what it feels like as the things that seemed certainties are now within the realm of the uncertain. And your last couplet is so good!
Crazy wisdom and insight in this poem, David! Love it.
I especially love
Wendy,
I love the prompt. Love the villanelle you’ve given us and the repeated line. The prompt is timely as we visited the Khmer Rouge genocide museum and killing fields Monday. Our guide and I talked about forgiveness. We met two survivors who have forgiven Pol Por. I said, @Forgiveness is not forgetting. Forgiveness is what we do for ourselves.” Then this prompt!
after seeing Tuol Sleng
genocide museum i
have a question
we have heard this evil
refrain—
the despot’s redundant
script—
encore performances
staged—
a revival mounted
tours—
never a new
denouement—
never old scores
settled—
always the same
reviews, so
i ask:
What good is forgiveness if
the guilty never change?
Glenda Funk
April 6, 2026
*Canva photo at the museum. It was a high school before the KR turned it into a concentration death camp.
What an extraordinary site to visit, Glenda – and the synchronicity of this prompt with your tour, wow. “this evil/ refrain—” – yes, exactly, it is a refrain, again again again. We do not learn from history. Too many are not interested in learning from history, if it reduces their individual power. The faces of the guilty change, but guilt goes on and on. Sickening. Excellent poem. Enjoy your travels!
Glenda, I share your concern and feeling that while forgiveness helps some of us, it does not change or impact the other party unless they, too, acknowledge the event or in this case the genocide. This is a reminder of man’s inhumanity towards man.
Oof, Glenda, the closing question resonates. I love how your poem flows, builds and moves to its gut-wrenching closing. I love your poem’s title, too, which immediately helps set the stage. Compelling and provocative poem and the Canva image is particularly moving!
Glenda, I just responded to someone today that we may forgive, but not forget. My heart aches just at the sight of your Canva image. Your question at the end is crucial, brutally honest, and, unfortunately, mostly rhetorical–we’ll never get answers to some questions. Thank you for writing and continuing to expose the world’s injustices.
Glenda, your trips and travels take you more than the places on the map and you do a great job sharing those connections. How wonderful to have the conversations and everything relates and creates poetry. And I love the ending question – did the offender change or ask forgiveness – wow!! Safe travels to you!
I loved reading about how this prompt intersected with your current travels. Your final question is haunting.
Whew . . . what a question.
Oh, wow. Having just visited the Killing Fields and then to write about forgiveness. What juxtaposition. I love the Never…never…always…so i ask” set up. Powerful!
Forgiveness, a word, but more than that too.
Forgiveness.
One little word.
Looms large.
Never small,
knowing that forgiveness
is not a word at all!
An act,
action,
gesture,
event.
Forgiveness requires
my heart to be humble,
and my contrition
to be complete.
It is seldom a feeling,
but an ongoing
purge.
Of hatred of old,
and resentments brand new,
that smolder and grow
and make life
a messy goo.
I purge and I render
my feelings
all better,
different, brand new.
But soon those old voices,
aches, and heartbrokenness
will build again.
I’ll talk to God and tell him my plight
and how I forgive
and that I’ve set things a’right.
But I know that the work
is never done.
Forgiveness is a verb,
an action,
a battle won.
-Carrie Horn
I like the image of purging that messy goo, and the idea that “the work is never done.” Forgiveness is not a one time thing but a constant process. Beautiful!
Yes, forgiveness is a verb and it does tend to circle round and round again.
Forgiveness is a gift
a show of letting go
but also a sign we grow.
No need to feel adrift,
forgiveness is a gift.
And just so you know,
it may come around slow.
You may need to make a shift
’cause forgiveness is a gift.
There is no towel to throw
or explanation that you owe.
Just try not to be miffed.
Forgiveness is a gift.
© Jennifer Kowaczek April 2026
Wendy, this was a great prompt for today. Thank you!
I chose to write in the form of Dansa
The Dansa form is neat, I’ll have to try one! I appreciated your lines: “You may need to make a shift” and “no… explanation that you owe.” Sometimes forgiveness can simply be a redirection of the heart.
Jennifer, your repetition of the phrase, “forgiveness is a gift” is shouts your focus loud and clear, I think it is a good way to look at forgiveness and appreciate your recognition that you do not need to throw in the towel.
Best friend, sister of sorts, marrying my brother,
my responsibility, my brilliance for including you in our circle.
I know you need me,
although you might not hang anything too heavy on that hook. (Lest it make you feel less than you are, unforgivable, and the hook falls, gone forever)
I know we share so many things:
music,
a need for order and for matching bowls, seasonal linens,
for inside jokes and fresh hair,
not wearing pajamas to the mall or anywhere else
unless it is our excellent idea and they are extremely fetching,
walking, moving, being outside.
I know we are tied for life because of that wedding band, the one I watched him slide on your finger, beside you in my deep pink maid of honor dress, forty years ago.
I know that we might be tied, regardless of that ring,
for we surely did so much growing together, and singing,
before he even knew you.
I know.
But how many times and why do I have to forgive your blatant questions that suggest my own ineptness and question my own ways? Oblivious questions. You have no idea what your unconcealed, black and white opinions do to me.
And my forgiveness is the unconditional replacement of my own feelings with your involuntary lack of tact or forethought. You don’t even know.
This is, sometimes, how I love you.
Because it just doesn’t matter.
A good excuse to share some short thoughts on a really important relationship. Thanks for this prompt, Wendy. Couldn’t we all just write reams of words – for people, for leaders, for ourselves – on forgiveness.
Ohhh, that last stanza!! Unconditional replacement and involuntary lack of tact, brimming with the opposite of what we expect…this is sometimes how I love you, breathtaking use of thought and words!
Marla, although not the same relationship, I have someone like this in my life, too. I can really relate to those questions of my ineptness.
Maria, I too have people in my life who focus on my differences perceived as “ineptness” that causes strains, again and again on our relationship. It is hard to focus on our common loves and shared passions, but like you, “sometimes, how I love (them)” and .because I try to remember the source.
Wendy, I like the way your poem aligns itself with nature so that April light assists your begrudged lament for the times when we spend in darkness. Your prompt offered lots of possibilities but I finally focused…
How can I forgive you
who stole the stars children wish upon,
leaving the innocent to wander
the wreckage without light
to lead them home;
who mock the laws of humanity
and trample tender sprigs of peace;
who viciously stone the stillborn dove
and dance in stolen streets.
I’m afraid I cannot— I have wept
and marched and written poems,
but I cannot forgive your deadly cancer
that devastates the land.
Thanks so much for sharing this piece of your heart.
Ann, YES, YES, Your description of the profound losses to our society and the world that “mock the laws of humanity” fills me with despair – one that I feel in the morning and at night and that pulls at my heart when I think of my grandchildren- just starting their journeys in a scary new world.
I think the first time I learned I was an empathic fellow was watching an afternoon school special. No idea what the show was, but a girl brought her pet bird to school for show and tell. On the way home, boys took the bird out of the cage and threw rocks at it until it was dead. It crushed me – those ‘who viciously stone the stillborn dove and dance in stolen streets.’ That line resonates with me, as does the memory of this clip in something I have no name for. Just the absolute feeling of disdain for human beings.
Oh, Ann, this is such an honest and heartbreaking truth of our reality. Love your carefully chosen words and phrases that create the tone of destruction and hopelessness: “the wreckage without light,” “mock the laws of humanity,” “trample tender springs of peace,” and many others. I am mourning this country with you. Sending hugs.
Thank you Wendy for hosting. This particular prompt brought with it some tears that should not have surprised me.
If I’d known then
What I know now
I’d have given you a long hug
Instead of saying I was sorry
You felt abandoned.
If I’d thought it was
My presence you wanted
Instead of space to do it on your own
I’d have driven whatever
Vehicle you wanted
No matter how uncomfortable.
If I’d known you wanted me along
Instead of feeling expected to step in
I’d have enjoyed the ride
Asked the questions
And cracked more jokes.
I’d have treasured the laughter.
If I’d known how short
Your time really was
I would have forgiven faster
Chatted more often
Set aside our differences
And remember “us” sweeter.
Jeania,
This is a tender poem that makes me want to hug you. The repetition of “if I’d known” is a universal refrain, a reminder of how short and fleeting time is.
Jeania, the way you repeated “if I had known” sent chills down my spine and made me feel the depth of your plea. I feel your remorse and hope that your plea is heard and accepted by the universe. I pray you can feel my hug for you.
There’s a lot of melancholy in your nostalgic rememberings of times you’d have done something differently “if you had known.” This touched my deeply.
Wendy, your repetition of the phrase of “this is the hardest poem…” drew me in and brought my own holiday-induced torment to the surface as I watched those I love endure the pain of a mistake that grew into a cavern of despair. Your prompt drags emotions that I try to suppress to the surface.
Intense anger gnawed at my soul until in an ocean of despair,
I found a human power to forgive, and watched a sun emerge;
I wonder if the torment will continue until you forgive yourself?
Anita,
”ocean of despair” illustrates the vastness of both the anger, and despair. Profound, universal ideas here and no need for the minutiae for us to relate.
So much to think about in such a short poem, Anita. Your ending question is one that will stay with me.
Anita, thank you for the poem; so much is packed within these three lines. I am so glad you found a way to forgive after drowning in “an ocean of despair.” I have been at that place, too, but being able to swim up was such a relief.
Anita, I’m so glad Wendy’s prompt brought this poem to the surface for you. It is easy to suppress our emotions, and I’m glad you wrote today. “Intense anger gnawed” oh yes, The last line is such a commentary on forgiveness. Forgiving oneself is perhaps the hardest to let go.
Mom
Forgive my hurry
Didn’t mean to disconnect
I value your words
Melissa, the brevity of this verse is it’s super power! Maybe it’s a great reminder that we all could slow down and value the words of our elders.
Love haiku. And I love this one, Melissa. I think we could write many of these to our mothers, especially as we become mothers ourselves… or aunties or mother figures to the littles in our lives.
Melissa, your words are powerful and a reminder that a mistaken or vrushed disconnecting from a call may be misinterpreted.
Ah, Melissa, I can understand how that is. “Didn’t mean to disconnect” can have multiple meanings. For me, it was an accidental disconnection of a phone, but also a larger and vaguer disconnection that happens sometimes when I’ve been too busy.
Look, ok, ok, I’m sorry,
I didn’t really mean to
call down curses upon
you and your progeny,
your legacy, the fruit of
your loins, everyone
and everything that you
know and love. I was
just angry and, and,
I didn’t really think it’d
work. So, again, I
apologize greatly for
calling down some
Eldritch Horrors upon
you and yours, Tanner.
I was just trying to be
poetic when I wished
for your fingernails
and toenails to grow
at a faster rate and to
become impenetrable
even to gardening shears
or tin snips, I didn’t actually
wish for you to become
some Lovecraftian
monstrosity because you
kept my wife on hold for
over four hours, Tanner.
(Four hours!)
So, again, please accept
my apology; I should have
called down curses upon
the heads of AT&T Incorporated
and not some mindless customer
service drone – no offense – but
I let my anger get the best of me
and now, here you are, poking holes
out of the toe boxes of your shoes
and unable to successfully work
the call switch (so now, silver lining,
you’re unable to transfer future calls
to a limbo of hell filled with 70’s porno muzak)
So, yes, I’m sorry, but I now really
believe that you’re “working quickly
to get to [my] call” and you “look
forward to speaking with [me] shortly,”
as the pre-recorded messages promise.
______________________________________________________
Wendy, thank you for your mentor poem and for your prompt today! “[D]arkness hides the light” more and more these days, it seems to me. Oh, and thank you for reminding me of Joseph Bruchac; I’ve only read a handful of poems by him, but I’ve enjoyed them! I’ll need to explore his essays now.
Scott, this gave me a laaaaaugh, and I’m in the middle of class while my senoirs are putting together lessons (on a favorite 80s band!), so now they’re giving me the side-eye, wondering why I’m giggling to myself…also, I had no idea that a “toe box” was a thing! The more you know…
Highly entertaining poem with great visual imagery! 🙂
Oh my gosh, Scott! You took the words right out of my mouth. Honest to goodness…I’ve wished the same thing…and on ATT at that — the rats! Holding and holding and getting “forward[ed] to…” and then hung up on…. Can you feel my BP rising!? I feel bad for the “drones” indeed, but the way ATT (in particular) does business is just infuriating. I dumped them about 3 years ago after hanging with them for two decades!), and I have NEVER looked back. Your poem, with it’s apt “curses upon…progeny…” Ha! Yes! I also feel bad for the poor folks standing there in front of the ATT kiosk at Costco, there assigned to sell ATT products. I want to scream at them about what a crappy company they are working for, but I staunch myself, smile, and pass that golden opportunity now until forever. Such a funny poem. Yet maybe more real than just funny. Ha! Okay…this poem is cathartic! Clearly, I needed it! LOL! Hugs, Susie
Scott—I feel your pain. But are you really sorry??!! Excellent!
I love this prompt! Thank you so much because I needed it today. I’ve been in awe of all these poems I’ve read today and wish I had time to respond to all of them!
I carry my hurt like a protest
Banner waving high
Words painted in angry swipes across its canvas
The thing is, I can only carry it so far
Until my arms grow too tired to hold it
I am spent.
Offense is exhausting
And soon, I must un-wear it,
This heavy blanket
Of anger.
You were the one who offended me and you didn’t even know.
Now I must say I’m sorry.
More for me than for you.
Emily,
Lots of power punch in this poem. The first line really sets up the stage for what follows.
I especially love how you chose to end it.
Emily,
I loved this line:
“And soon, I must un-wear it,
This heavy blanket
Of anger.”
I can imagine what this is about and what precipitated your poem and don’t want to hypothesize wrongly, but if you are referring to 3/28, I’m right there with you.
I just posted a poem about forgiving my sister-in-law for offense she doesn’t even know she give. Your poem above speaks so well to me today. “This heavy blanket” and “more for me that for you”. I get this and thank you for putting it so well.
I knew this was going to be great when I read the first line: “I carry my hurt like a protest / Banner waving high”
Thanks for sharing
Your poem is so true!!! People can only carry anger so far before it becomes exhausting. I have also learned that holding anger inside also affects everyone else around us. It’s a ripple effect. Thank you for sharing your words of wisdom in your beautiful poem.
Gosh, this is powerful! It IS exhausting to carry hurt.
I find your most powerful line to be
Wendy, Thanks for your rich prompt and poetry this morning. This topic is opening a lot of portals… immense gratitude for your guidance.
A Coincidence
The curved fissure of lightning
a deep wound drips long after the initial hurt
How do we mend these skies?
unexpected lights–thunder bolts–gashes from the sky
the power struggle broods
everything about this rage is unearthly
it takes the delicate air of twilight
to ruffle your skin softly
it takes the sheer light of glimmers
to remind you this breath is a gift
Do not waste away
Do not waste away
Let nature show you the way
watch the tremendous ripple
forgiving human frailty
being rewarded by the sight
of your own poverty
begin to recognize the impermanence
nature is now-you-see-it or now-you-don’t
What do you choose to see?
as you ascend into the heavens
as the swallows reveal
their grace, their glide, their dance
while unveiling a choreography of life
The beauty and imagery of your first line really draw me in to the rest of this breathtaking poem. I’m seriously impressed, Darshna. You have really killed it several times this #verselove already. Are you published anywhere? Where can I read more of your work? Again, wow!
Thank you, Luke. You are very kind. I am not published yet but thinking about a chapbook and coupling it with a podcast project.
Darshna, this was so elegant! Your choice of words and imagery, your stanzas breaks — all so impactful! And that refrain/mantra in the midst of it all:
“Do not waste away
Do not waste away”
Loved this!
Darshna, I am moved by your opening question, “How do we mend these skies?” I love the metaphor, the active verbs, and “rage is unearthly”. I feel the rumbling of emotions throughout this and the transition beyond is compelling!
Not wasting away because of anger or hurt is important advice. I love how you help the reader walk through the choices and the results of those choices.
Darshna, your rich imagery drives this poem from the first line to the final. I am drawn to a metaphor of the skies with “unexpected lights–thunder bolts–gashes” signalling the power struggles. These lines remind me of Mo Daley’s haiku today: “itakes the sheer light of glimmers
to remind you this breath is a gift.” You both recognize how short life is and wasting life/breath on holding grudges won’t bring peace. Thank you for your beautiful poem today!
Darshna, what beautiful metaphoric images here. So many beautiful images “it takes the sheer light of glimmers / to remind you this breath is a gift” Sigh!
Oh, my goodness, Wendy, what a topic on this good day. Like yesterday’s prompt, I’m going to come back to it when I’m in a better state of mind. This morning I woke up and wrote another letter to my congressman. Are some things unforgiveable? Never mind, I know the answer…I just need time.
A Found Poem from an Easter Monday Letter to My Congressman
War is the subject
You justify
bombing in our name
unforgiveable
Easter messages:
“Open the Fuckin’ Strait” vs.
“Happy Easter to CA’s 23rd”
Disconnect
He is ill, but you will be judged
as one who allowed this.
Addendum after my letter:
Maybe after you lose in November,
I can say, “Forgive me for any wrong
I may have done you.”
Denise,
I appreciate your engagement and activism with the current state of affairs. The proof that you offer, the examples you cite, and the plea to forgive has me feeling so much… and then I am reminded we definetly need an addendum. Wonderful closing.
Denise, loved this. I am in awe of all of today’s wonderful contributions and have found so many of them that tend toward the political in myriad ways. I love your strong language, especially the words that begin and end your lines. This motivates me to sit down and write a letter of my own.
Denise,
Send the poem to that pos who calls himself a representative. He may not see it but an aide will. It will be a necessary gut punch. You are an activist queen, and I admire your tenacity and strength. Love the roundness i. this poem, the use of “unforgivable,” the provocative question. You and I are channeling the same-ish ideas today.
Denise, I almost wrote a poem today similar to yours. I cannot understand the way our country’s leaders are behaving. The “We’re all going to die” comment from Iowa’s Ernst for example. The Easter messages in your poem perfectly illustrates the current issues. I love that you are always fighting for others and bombing in our name is unforgiveable. Compelling and powerful poem!
You so eloquently sharef what so many Americans and people around the world are feeling right now. “But you will be judged
as one who allowed this.” I cannot tell you how many times I have thought this.
Denise, you are such a fighter, and I love it. The strong language solidifies your position, and forgiveness… well, you know )) I especially appreciate the Addendum with its almost innocent: “Forgive me for any wrong I may have done.”
Denise, this is the written with both kindness and conviction. I hope those who are so eager for a moment of fame that they lie and deceive themselves into a dark world of hate are already facing turmoil as they try to turn off the noise in their heads. it is not yet time for forgiveness.
Truly appalling! I’m glad you are advocating for decorum and decency.
Forgive me
“ Forgive me, my heart is so full of regret “
These are the words I yearn to hear
From the one who just made me feel fear
And seemed to be a threat
You were meant to be my king
The man every little girl first falls in love with
For me it was not the same thing
You made me writhe
“ Forgive me, my heart is so full of regret “
These are the words I yearn to hear
When I think of the 4 year old me
Sobbing after not being able to draw an box
And that increased your fury
“ Forgive me, my heart is so full of regret “
These are the words I yearn to hear
When I think of the 15 year old me
Weeping before a major exam
Because coming home late was to you a crime
“ Forgive me, my heart is so full of regret “
These are the words I yearn to hear
When I think of the eighteen year old me
Wailing because you held a chair to hit me
As an adult I was not too old for you to correct me
“ Forgive me, my heart is so full of regret “
These are the words I yearn to hear
When I think of the 20 year old me
Whom you assaulted with a metal ruler
The scars remind me of the moment I could not make peace
With you or myself
Whimpering I laid on the cold floor that night
For you, it was just one more fight
“ Forgive me, my heart is so full of regret “
These are the words I yearn to hear
When I think of thirty two year old me
Getting married and leaving your house
Bawling at the thought of leaving my precious ones with you
But for you I had to leave with a smile
“ Forgive me, my heart is so full of regret “
These are the words I yearn to hear
Each and every day when I tell myself I forgive you
When I try to understand circumstances
There are days I understand and there are days when I question myself
You’ve tried your best
But does that mean I forgive you?
Kratijah,
What a brave poem you have written. I especially love the line “ Forgive me, my heart is so full of regret “ and repetition. The chronology within the poem creates an impact and solidifies how somethings are just so hard to forgive. Thanks for sharing.
Wow, Kratijah. You made me feel like I was right there with you as you grew up in such difficult circumstances. My heart broke a bit while reading your poem. Thank you for sharing it today. I really appreciate your honesty in the last stanza especially.
Oh, dear Kratijah, your poem is so raw and honest. It makes me so sad that in XXI century girls and women are still treated so harshly by the dominant males in their lives. I believe that your heart is big enough to forgive, but you’ll never forget. I am just glad you are out of that man’s control. Thank you so much for opening up and sharing this story. Sending kind thoughts your way, Leilya.
Kratijah, my gosh, I so want those words to be heard by you, “Forgive me, my heart is so full of regret.” Thank you for sharing your brave heart. The pain comes through in the stanzas at age 4, 15, 18, 20, 32…it may seem impossible, but I hope someday you will hear those words. Have you considered sharing the poem?
Thank you so much. Not really to the person that I wish to hear it from.
Our Father in heaven,
forgive us our debts
as we forgive our debtors.
(please pause here and think of those deepest debts, those most humoungous hurts)
If we forgive others,
You forgive us.
If we do not forgive others
You do not forgive us.
If we do not forgive ourselves?
Where do we stand?
Oh, Luke, I should have read your poem before I posted my own. “humoungous hurts” is so powerful to think of. So much truth in your poem. Those last two lines are very powerful.
Luke,
I appreciate the inviation to take a stand and why forgiveness matters within your poem and in life. Thank you.
Well Luke, you’ve posed a question I’ll need to turn in my mind a bit…
The not being able to forgive oneself is so common. I try to tell myself that it’s an insult to Jesus to not forgive myself, but that’s easier said than done. Thank you for adding that layer of forgiveness into your poem’s power.
Wendy, thank you for offering us to write about forgiveness. love your villanelle, and the lines ” This is the hardest poem to write” and “As darkness hides the light” you chose to repeat are so relatable. I am also grateful for the opportunity to choose a form because my poem today comes in prose. It is the first memory that came to mind after I read the prompt:
So She Would Travel Light
After my Mom was bathed and wrapped in her white kafan, I remember how the mullahs gathered around her to sing old farewell songs braided with sorrow and tenderness, the ones that sound like hands smoothing the path before a traveler. Their singing filled the room with tears and trembling care for each other.
Then the lead mullah stepped forward and addressed the crowd—relatives, neighbors, friends who had known Mom through every season of her life. His voice was steady, almost ceremonial, as he asked:
If Zoré ever hurt you without meaning to, forgive her.
And the crowd answered as one: I forgive her.
If a harsh word ever slipped from her mouth, forgive her.
Again: I forgive her.
If she owed you something and did not have time to return it, forgive her.
Once more: I forgive her.
Each response rose like a small mercy, a lifting of weight from her shoulders as she crossed into the next world. And then the mullah asked Allah to forgive her too. I saw it as a final blessing.
He turned back to us and asked three times, as tradition requires:
Was Zoré a good woman?
And three times we answered: She was a good woman indeed.
It was simple, this ritual, simple and immense. A whole community offering forgiveness, so her soul could travel lightly. A whole community affirming her goodness, so she would not walk alone. Even in my grief, I felt something ease inside me. I loved that we had this way of helping the dead on their way, a shared mercy that comforts the living, too.
Leilya, you’ve described such a beautiful ritual to us this morning. I can see how this memory gives you so much comfort. What a beautiful story you’ve shared. Rest in peace.
Dear Leilya,
May your mum’s soul rest in peace. May Allah Forgive all her shortcomings and elevate her.
I really connected with your poem. It reminds you of the simplicity of farewell and the need for forgiveness so that one may have peace in this life and the hereafter.
Thank you for sharing.
Leilya,
The title invites and lures us into a journey of love and compassion. I love this tribute to your mom and the memory that you’ve described for us. May rituals in community comfort us all and may we learn to forgive. The pacing of your writing carves a reflective space while inviting us to embrace the spirit of goodness. Thanks for sharing.
This is beautiful Leilya…so soothing… each response rose like a small mercy…what a beautiful line! what a beautiful image!
Leilya,
OMG, what a beautiful tradition, what a blessing for the living to be unburdened by the wrongs and slights they may remember after her passing. I am in awe of this tradition and want it for myself and those I love and who love me. I love the code switching and the sense of culture it brings to this amazing poem.
Leilya, your poem brings tears to my eyes. Lovely, concrete and spiritual. I adore your closing stanza. Thank you for sharing such a moving poem with us today!
What a beautiful ritual. Thank you for retelling it fully.
I hope you continue to feel peace.
Leilya, wow, what a story to share on this forgiveness poem day. Perfect. No wonder you thought of your dear mother’s traditional ritual. The songs “that sound like hands smoothing the path before a traveler.” Beautiful! What a meaningful tradition to say “I forgive her” three times and “She was a good woman indeed.” So lovely. Thank you.
Apology Accepted
I’ve listed things I will not say
To you or anyone
For most faux pas committed were
When I was ever young
I see them now and cannot make
Amends for things I’ve done
But I know that forgiveness of myself
Must first be done.
I have carried far too long
The guilt of times gone by
And nothing will erase the hurt
Of memories that lie
Between the first and last of it
The most, the less, the least
I will hug myself today
And start my inner peace.
By Donna JT Smith ©️2026
Donna — You speak some important truths here… forgiving oneself. It’s an invisible, yet mighty, burden to carry long lost guilt. I appreciate the strong reflective voice here. Well done! Peace, Susie
Donna, your poem reminds us all to forgive ourselves–such a needed message today. I can relate reading these lines: “I have carried far too long / The guilt of times gone by.” Certainly, hug yourself and have a wonderful day! Thank you for sharing your wisdom today.
Many thanks, Wendy, as your prompt this morning has me chanting for a.m. serenity. We are sharing the darkness in hope of light, indeed. Wishing you a fantastic Monday with hopes ‘this, too, shall pass.’
Vergebung Vagabond
There won’t be a hug, Crandall,
just a right foot on the accelerator
and an Ibram X. Kendi’s cadence
reading Chain of Ideas from
car speakers.
An internal dialogue will begin, too,
I suppose.
You’ll imagine an Alvin Ailey performance
across highway roads as you drive,
recalling his chapter on Colorism
in How to Be an Antiracist,
which caused an email
where you shared
you’re writing needs
to be performed
as a dance..
Only 276 miles to go,
the panting wing-dog
shedding hairs & creating
Rorschach noseprints
on clean windows…
the great reckoning
of guilt
that comes
with departures
journeys
movement
age.
You’ll watch your eyes
for several hours
in the rearview mirror
telling you the same ol’ stories
with ever-changing, varied
angles (angels).
A victory over sin & death,
is always a good time
for serenity prayers…
or at least the wisdom to know
the difference.
Wow. I don’t know how in such a short time you write something so good! “The great reckoning of guilt that comes with departures” and all the images you invoke.
Bryan,
This line!
“the great reckoning
of guilt
that comes
with departures
journeys
movement
age.”
Loved, too, the structure — the imagined conversation with yourself, anticipating and setting the scene for the departure. Made me want to know the context for this — but great job revealing just enough to keep us wondering and engaged at the same time. The title, too, was just gold. Thanks for playing today. 🙂
Bryan, wherever you are heading, good luck and safe travels! I, too, am amazed as how easily words come to you, or this is how you make it look. This is teh salt of the poem for me:
“the great reckoning
of guilt
that comes
with departures
journeys
movement
age.”
I also like the play on angle/angels. You are wise all right, my friend. Thank you!
Wonderful, I don’t know where to point out a favorite line or technique other than just to say the whole piece is expert level. I need to take a few hours, and come back and re read it a few more times and take it in. Thank you.
Bryan, those long car rides with guilt of departure in needing to be both places and never fully in one can be medicinal salve for the serenity or a torrent of mind battle, and I’m glad you are choosing the serenity prayer and time for meditation and reflection. I like the way your poem shares the tugging of leaving and the emotions associated with it, a chapter of the journey that often gets overlooked in the most wearying part.
Love the entirety of this, but the image
is brilliant
“the panting wing-dog” and “the great reckoning of guilt” – love those lines!
I appreciate and relate to the car ride as a setting for deep, true thoughts. I’ve cried rivers of tears on the familiar route from my hometown to the town where I currently live.
Thanks, Wendy, for hosting and sharing two such beautiful mentor texts. Lots to think about in both poems. I love the idea of asking forgiveness
Your lines
and
resonate. I like how they are braided throughout your poem.
I wrote a tricube,
————————————————————————————
Ghosted
Where were you?
My mom died
You ghosted
Year later
I see you
A party
So what’s new?
You ask me
My mom died
I don’t say
You say you’ll
Text but don’t
——————
Forgive me
I was cool
Seeing you
Forgive me
Holding hurt
Silently
Where were you?
Dealing with
Own issues?
I love your last line here. Isn’t that often the truth? We screw up sometimes when we are so enveloped in our own issues. Your poem is a great reminder to give people a little grace. It reminds me of a quote I once heard that said something about how if you think everyone around you is suffering, you’re right.
Those three lines that begin your poem today, Sharon, are haunting…the brevity of each line, too…brings an out-of-breath quality to the moment, as well.
A poem not only for your processing of a mother….but for understanding the ugly within humanity, too.
Sharon, this really hit home and fit the prompt so aptly. Twice in the past couple of years I’ve dealt with situations like this, and I would bet that I’ve not acknowledged (or under-acknowledged) others’ losses, too, that I didn’t even know or think about. This poem really made me ruminate on how complex and multifaceted this kind of hurt can be.
Sharon, as I read your poem, I think about how often we (people in general) “hold hurt silently” and lonely, I’d add. I also think about how “dealing with our own issues” may often be the case. We are just human after all. Thank you for sharing this poem that made me think.
The 3 syllables per lines is very impactful since it makes you think that life is also short. At times there are things that we are dealing with and yet we try to understand the other person who may have been a source of hurt to us.
Wendy, thank you for the prompt and for the reminder of Bruchac’s writing.
forgiveness is a mountain
forgiveness is a mountain I did not mean to climb—
it rose the moment i was hurt, silent, unavoidable.
that keeps growing while i am still climbing it.
at first i circled it, naming every sharp edge yours,
tracing fault like a map i refused to fold.
the path is not marked, loose stones remember each misstep.
some days i sit halfway up, and call it enough.
i thought it would be simple—a steady path, a clear ascent,
but the ground shift with every memory.
There are ledges where anger rests like snow—
bright, blinding, slow to melt.
anger lives here, not as fire,
but as ice—slick, persistent,
refusing to melt on command.
hurt is the altitude, the higher i go,
the harder it is to breathe without remembering.
I have slipped here, gone down on the same old words,
picked them up again as if they were proof.
and you—you are not standing still at the top
waiting for me to arrive.
the mountain changes because the story does.
new stones fall, old wounds reopen
like cracks in thawing earth.
what i forgave yesterday
asks again today.
there is no single summit.
only ridgelines i mistake for endings.
some days i climb.
some days i sit with the weight of it,
hands cold, rehearsing the same release
i haven’t quite meant yet.
because forgiveness is not a moment—
it is choosing, again and again,
to loosen my grip on what still hurts
even as it is still happening.
and i am not above it yet.
i may never be.
The mountain does not ask
who was right.
It only asks if I will keep going.
but i am still here, somewhere on its side,
learning how to carry less
while nothing gets lighter.
Melanie,
I love your extended metaphor.
This is what the struggle to forgive feels like!
Brilliant!
Thank you for mapping this for us.
“Learning how to carry less/while nothing gets lighter.” I’m going to be thinking about those lines today. The entire metaphor here of being hurt is like a mountain you didn’t mean to climb is really interesting. I love how you hike us through forgiveness in this poem.
Melanie, what a beautiful extended metaphor! Much language to love in here — my favorite was that last stanza:
“The mountain does not ask
who was right.
It only asks if I will keep going.
but i am still here, somewhere on its side,
learning how to carry less
while nothing gets lighter.”
So many small truths in this poem (that second-last stanza!). 🙂
Melanie,
The struggle is real and you have truly mapped out what it feels like to forgive. I applaud your linguistic prowess, the extended metaphor, and the climb you provided the readers. Kudos!
Melanie, this is what hit me as I read your poem. I will tuck this thought into my memory and turn to it when I need a reminder:
“because forgiveness is not a moment—
it is choosing, again and again,
to loosen my grip on what still hurts
even as it is still happening.
and i am not above it yet.
i may never be.”
Thank you!
If Only…
I am sorry for so many things—
small hurts given unwittingly,
larger ones well-aimed in anger.
I remember some;
I have probably forgotten many.
But the ocean between us
is unmeasurable.
Its depth is cold and dark with history.
I am not sure we can navigate those waters today.
There are too many holes in both of our hulls.
We took precise aim so often
that our vessels are no longer seaworthy.
They were not built for choppy waters, anyway.
I am sorry.
I am sorry.
GJSands
4-6-26
Gayle,
I’m amazed at your extended metaphor combined with your simple repetition.
Sometimes that’s all we can say.
This one made me cry because I can relate. (And also, I am a sailor.) The holes in the hulls image is sadly, for me and someone I really love, how it feels right now, too. Thank you, Gayle, for this beautiful poem today.
Not being built for choppy waters seems to resonate with much of today’s poetry, Gayle. I love how you worked within the fluidity of complex seas…relationships…histories. Success!
Gayle, this was beautiful! Love the metaphors of seaworthiness, naval warfare that you sustain so aptly throughout this. That shift in the second stanza. The refrain at the end!
Gayle, this honesty and acceptance of responsibility in the apology and the holes in both the hulls compromising the seaworthiness is just absolutely stunning. The poem you have written is raw and real, and so many of us play this real life game of Battleship until we feel the sinking. And that is what I feel here, and I know the ships I’ve hit and the ones that have hit me. And so we forge onward to calmer waters without the raging currents. Beautiful, Gayle. There are poems being written this month that could fill a volume, and this is one that would make prose readers fall in love with poetry and see why.
Ooooo, the boats with the holes in their hulls. I really like that, especially in the greater metaphor of an ocean of hurt.
Gayle, oh, your poem today shows how difficult it can be to mend irreparable harm. Love the repetition of “I am sorry”. It’s filled with sorry and echoes. Poignant and powerful poem!
“There are too many holes in both of our hulls…” I will think of this line often. The truth of it leapt off the screen.
Gayle, this is very powerful: the repetition, the extended metaphor, the sentiment. All of it. So, so good!
Thank you, Wendy, for this surprisingly deep challenge. As always, I post what I write here, and today, here’s today’s offering, inspired by Octavio Solis’s Mexican Apology.
“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.
Joel, I love the internal dialogue that is part of this poem and the way that you highlight what is valued and important. The language play in this poem is lovely. The line “I was raised by a man with good reason to feel deeply” just grabbed me and made me pause. It was a lovely moment in the poem–a place to pause and think.
Joel,
What a beautiful tribute to your dad (and mom).
So much beauty and wisdom in your ending. Thank you.
Love the translanguaging and cheer it on! Lo siento. Adding that ‘o’ to ‘God’ for good. This poem, a role model, too.
Joel, thank you for this gift. I just loved the story, the nod to your mom who “deserves…her own poetry.” And those lovely final four lines! This was a gem.
Joel, I think the Mexican apology is what we should all be aiming for – – to not just be sorry for a thing, but to feel it too and bear the weight of the burden we caused. In that way, we show remorse, where just an I’m Sorry does not cut the mustard. I love this honoring of the parents who raised you as good humans, full of all the right stuff that makes us caring people. I, for one, am put off by macho-ness, because there are so many other words for that and I shan’t say them here but they hang in the air like heavy figs on a tree, weighting down the ability to get to know someone because the macho-mirrored self-veil clouds the vision. I’ll take the kindness, the unmacho heart any day and twice on Sundays. I hope you share this with your dad.
This is fantastic, Joel. I love your parentheticals. The translation is powerful . . . “I feel it.” Hmmm. That’s going to stick with me for a bit.
Feeling deeply is a blessing. and to be raised by someone who feels (felt) deeply an even bigger one.
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.
.
Anna, I loved how the reader was able to take this in different ways — prefacing it with an appeal to our “team” is just a reminder of how dependent I am on Verse love in April. And loved the spiritual shout-outs. 🙂
Anna, your topics and rhymes always draw me right in, and your thumbprint of style, so uniquely and wonderfully you, are signature moves I wish I had. I wish, wish, wish I could rhyme and make any sense whatsoever, and it seems to come so easily for you, like watching an Olympic Quad God do a move that defies physics.
Anna—love your truth here!!
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.
What a cool emotional topography! The stunning imagery aside, you’re really getting me rethinking something I’ve always found annoying, namely, the advice that we should always move on from our errors. Maybe it’s the Catholic upbringing, but carrying the lesson not the poor choice is worthwhile. Thanks!
Oh, yes. My Catholic upbringing has deeply shaped how I understand guilt, forgiveness, and shame.
Sarah, this was a poem I had to read aloud. The emotional threads of the poem grabbed me, the topographical language of the poem resonated and added weight. There was something so powerful in the line “I carry my hurt like altitude” that I am not sure how to put it in words. It was a line that made me stop and breathe through it. It was a line with weight.
Sarah! This was just gorgeous. From the first stanza to the last, the metaphors that you built pulled me in and along so effectively. Loved the structure of this, too and the juxtaposition of ideas in the last two couplets. Just lovely!
Your poem is an answer to my own heap of need to forgive and accept. It’s wise, instructive, answering question I have about how to accept–“You step inside it, or you step out./It asks: what is here, whether I stay or not?” And the delineation of the the two, the difference between forgiveness and acceptance, added clarity in a way that made me decipher a deeper meaning–tending to the “same ground, again and again;/the other learns the sky and finds the sliver of sun.”
The “you” throughout the poem felt essential. Some poems speak like a mother to her child. This is one of those. I needed to hear these words. I appreciate the gentle imperatives. It will help me peel myself from the shame I’ve been feeling and help me to breathe. (That line: “I carry my hurt like altitude–thin air I’ve learned to breathe” was a stunner–talk about speaking truth.) Thank you so much for sharing this. I walk away from it feeling like I’ve received a gift.
My word, Sarah. This is prophetic – One tends the same ground, again and again;
the other learns the sky and finds the sliver of sun. So true, such sources of life, both of them. I love your use of metaphor and then the elements guiding the further imagery of understanding. Your form is so unique it is like you have created a new form that could be named as a duplex or a tricube would – metaphor, imagery, instructions, question, metaphor, imagery, instructions, question, directional difference for the coping and maintaining, and then application and admission, forgiveness and acceptance. The Sarah. We’ll call it The Sarah.
How on earth?? How on earth did you come up with these two metaphors? They are so perfect. And I love the way you address both forgiveness and acceptance each in its own stanza then having a very strong short stanza about each. Then, the best . . . the personal lines where you take bits of the comparisons and apply to you. This is one of those poems that makes me feel envious . . . that makes me wish I was this good.
Sarah— so much here! The stone vs the cloud…. I hope to find that sliver of sun and listen for the echo. Beautiful.
Sarah,
My reading is complicated by knowing this geography is situated in Machu Pichu and maybe other terraced ruins in Peru. I’m walking these spaces as I read and thinking about what the land carrie’s: memories of harm against people and cultures. I’m asking what the landscape forgives and how. Maybe the mountains challenge our ability to breathe so we remember. The two metaphors in the first two stanzas are the things carting all of this weight and releasing it. “One tends the same ground again and again” is the line echoing my own thoughts through this prompt.
Sarah, this is so beautiful. It recognizes that damage that can happen and simultaneously gives space for the option of healing. These lines, “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?” were visceral for me. I am feeling them, and contemplating.
Sarah, wow, what a remarkable use of metaphor to define both forgiveness and acceptance. I love the concrete differences between the two whereas acceptance is light, but forgiveness is made of stone. The last two lines resonate. So much to love here.
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?
This Catholic school boy is grateful for the vocabulary. the ritual of looking bravely at our choices, at what we’ve done & failed to do. Thanks for welcoming the reader into that act, and for directing the reader so often, so maturely, to questions that arise from looking at oneself rather than answers. Reminds me of AA’s step four: Conduct a searching & fearless moral inventory. That’s not something that happens transactionally or quickly. Thanks!
I was struck by the idea of forgiveness as a transaction, a sacrament of consumerism. The weight of that line…oof. And the last line has stuck with me for a while. I am not Catholic so there is a certain distance from some of the ideas but, still, there is something here that speaks so powerfully to what it means to be human, to need and give forgiveness. Such beautiful work.
Jennifer, your poem drove me to some research — interesting reference to Deuteronomy! I had no idea that this was a practice. Love the metaphors of transaction and spirituality that run through this poem. Beautiful job with this!
Jennifer, these repeating lines stay with me and remind me of Ada Limon’s masterful questioning ~ what must that do to a soul?
the weight of it going forward?
what must that do to a soul?
what weight is carried in a world of instant gratification?
Oh, friend, how I need that forgiveness every day, probably every hour the closer I get to 60 with the bitter old lady tongue trying to wrestle out truths I don’t normally spit or speak. I need the wafer hourly for sure. I like how you have brought in Meijers and the seasonal decor – -yes to the frequency comparison. You have written a masterful poem today!
Oh my, do I love the teaching you did here! To think of former practices really helps put things in perspective. And then there is your metaphor of forgiving being a transaction. Of course. Duh. And your elaboration following it certainly gives food for thought. What a wonderful poem~
Jennifer, your poem today is full of striking images that carry a heavy message. I was particularly moved by “nowadays, we ask for forgiveness as often as we’d like
as often as Meijers changes its seasonal decor –” Your closing questions resonate. I will sit with this one for quite a while. Thank you!
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.
Oh, wow, wow, wow. I love what you have done here. And those last lines–the weight of them and the reality of them. This is so powerful.
Margaret, gut punch here as a reader – – (I have ignored and lied when I was past the point of kindness) – thins brings so many memories of not addressing the obvious that needed saying, instead opting to not straighten the crown and let them go out in their unique version of side-smacked royalty. WCW is your powerhouse poet this week, and with each change of the color lens you are on fire!
Margaret—those last three lines. I feel them…
The familiar frame of this poem makes it seem innocuous…but the bite of lie at the end. That is a great ending.
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.
I le this poem. the idea that you feel the weight of being sorry but being unwilling to say it. worried that you will bring back pain. So tender and so poignant.
Phew. Now this is a punch! Perfection for the assignment (even with its elephants). And that last line. WOW.
Susan, I also rarely think of the wrongs I don’t mean and fixate on the ones I do know I caused. Your poem blankets so many possibilities, from parenthood to marriage to friendship and work. The way I have read this can apply to so many instances – and that is the hallmark of amazing poetry – the specific but universal fit. You have perfected it! And the elephant in the room is the weighted ending that we can all relate to!! I love how you have crafted it with that last line falling like air confetti that takes it up a notch.
Susan,
Yes. Sometimes we let sleeping dogs lie, to borrow a cliche. I think we can all understand this conundrum.
ooooof. The truth of this is powerful and so, so, so human. The “can’t” and the “won’t” are two tough obstacles but I love how you portray them.
“and put the elephant between us
again”
Wow! It speaks so much truth about the lingering effects of damage done—even if/when we forgive.
Susan, I love your use of repetition in this poem. Each word carries weight and I can feel the tension. Your closing line is provocative and i can imagine that weighty elephant! Powerful!
Oh, wow, Susan, the “elephant between us” is such a powerful image. Your poem shows the nature of strained relationships because of something/someone that is needing forgiveness.
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.
Diane, I like the tricube for the change in the words – intentional and stinging, repeated and hurtful, kind and healing. The tricube form was absolutely perfect for the weight of words and their power to harm or heal.
This form fits your content perfectly! Your word choice in each stanza reflects what is happening . . . the sounds of the words get so much softer in that last, healing stanza!
lovely and true…something to think on.
❤️ 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.
Love the line “As sparrows bless marigolds,” and the way the rhyme leads back to them in the end.
Clayton, I’m with Wendy on the song – this one begs for music because it has the rhythm and pull of a hit song storyline. I think Sarah knows about Suno and could help you hear it – I think you would drink it up to put the lyrics in and see how it creates a melody. I love as they run through the town, far away, into the marigolds. When two hearts together flow, that’s where they want to go!
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.
Have you written the tune for this? This is story-song waiting for a chorus!! I love the red mud…
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😀
What a gift, Kim, to see your full hearted complex relationship here. I haven’t felt this specific loss, but I know thanks to your poem that it is an eye-opening thing — cleaning & clearing, prayers & chores, gratitude & time outs, the heavenly & the mundane. May his memory be a blessing : )
Kim, this made me gasp more than once while reading it — with recognition, with a laugh, and with sadness. Nice job capturing emotional complexity with this. My mom is elderly and has accumulated much stuff over the years, so I can very much relate to this. Loved the imagery and the very stream-of-consciousness lack of punctuation.
Kim,
What my big takeaway from this put dad in time out address comes down to is the monumental harm our literal stuff can cause those we love. Jesus needs to put your dad’s hoarding ass to work cleaning the pearly gates and polishing those streets of gold. No feast. No chocolate bunnies for him until he cleans all the messes. Breaks my gear that his hoarding has ensnared your life like this. and “then he up and dies
with all this unfinished business”
thats the heart of all this not ready to forgive, mingling hoarder he’ll.
Kim, I love how the narrator shares her anger and frustration. The lines “after all the trying
to make things right”
clear his hoarding
clean his messes
he curmudgeonly says NO on repeat” are particularly moving.
Hugs, Kim! Forgiveness doesn’t end after a soul has passed that’s for sure!
This poem stirs so many emotions. Your details…the “Reese’s cup rabbits,” “the stool in the corner of Heaven,” add so many layers. It broke my. heart, made me laugh, broke my heart again.
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.
Linda, loved your personification here, and loved how this made me wonder exactly how sorry the speaker is. Beautifully done!
oooooo, Linda. Such power. I love the somewhat misdirecting start. But the simile you create is so perfect. Sky is in such control, I guess, of what it creates and gives off, but that doesn’t mean it wants to inflict pain or is aware that it’s going to. There are so many factors that create the “war of rain and wind” just as there are so many things that lead to doing something that calls for forgiveness. Huge kudos!
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.
Kevin, I loved the (cummings-esque, to me) use of parentheses — and appreciated the sentiment within it. Loved how the embedded apology underscored the meaning of the poem as a whole.
Love what you did with the parentheses and I am sorry for my unkind words. You rocked this. It’s cool and playful on multiple levels.
Kevin,
This is WOW! Its yearning for change is powerful and the embedded clear statement of apology is clever and reminds me of a fave poet of mine, ee cummings. Most of all, I love the metaphor of spice and palette and forgivenes. So well done!
The beautiful humility in this tells me that you are more like the man you hop e to be than you give yourself credit for. Keep opening up, even when you have to tell it in parentheses.
This, absolutely, works, Kevin! Thanks for “going with it anyway” and sharing it with us!