This is the Open Write, a place for educators to nurture their writing lives and to advocate for writing poetry in community. We are here every month. In May Jessica Wiley and Erica Johnson invited us to celebrate the place they call home (and our own places) with this series: Homage to Arkansas, the “Natural State”. Our next Open Write will be June 20-22.
Our Host
Jessica lives in Conway, Arkansas, “The City of Roundabouts,” with her husband, daughter, and son. She has been an educator for 16 years, teaching special education and alternative education. Currently, she works in a school district in Morrilton, Arkansas. She serves as a board member with Arkansas Hands & Voices and as a Parent Ambassador with Arkansas Community Connections. She is a fresh author, an avid reader, a poetry lover, and a dedicated Burn Bootcamp member.
Inspiration
I bought a new bike and will one day lug it into my vehicle to expand my travel on Conway’s nature trails. While joyriding in my neighborhood, I was disappointed. I want to avoid the traffic, strays, and loose balls. I want to see the naturally flowing water, instead of remnants of overgrown yards, broken fences, and garbage juice. I want to hear birds swoop, see squirrels scamper, and feel the breeze kiss my skin. Wanting to escape to hear my thoughts, converse with the strangers, and show off my bike, Charbreezy. But in the meantime, I will be walking.
Process
Spring is in full swing, and so is the rain. Go to a park, your backyard, a playground, a zoo, or anywhere you find flora, fauna, and other interesting things. Take something to write with and paper, or record on a device. List all the things, people, and animals you find. Think of their actions, colors, sounds, and features. Create a “Found” poem about what you see. You can use any poem style you choose. You can write as much, or as little, as you want. Use your senses to help develop your poem. Think of all the sights, sounds, smells, tastes, and feels you experienced. Take us with you to your place and experience the same things you wrote about. I found it difficult to choose just one thing to write about because there were so many things that interested me. Classroom ideas include descriptive writing and imagery activities.
Jessica’s Poem
Found at Kinley Bike Trail
by Jessica Wiley
One of many spaces where bikes, nature, pets,
and people collide.
McKinley, the name of the trail, mile markers plastered
to metal poles in wide open spaces.
Army, forever etched in metal at Veterans Plaza,
in Pompe Park, dividing Tucker Creek and Kinley Trail.
Along the way, “The Walking Man”,
embossed on a bench, memorializes
Al Wallace-Christian, Patriot, and Friend.
“Insert an image of a mouse smoking” in bubble letters,
kisses a pole above a sticker with cherries and ribbon.
Fallen trees I see, blooming blossoms,
frolicking dogs in a drainage easement,
wispy ribbons, and creeping vines.
My favorite find standing tall is a Little Free Library,
planted along the trail like it has always belonged.
Erica’s Poem
A Poetic Sketch of a San Antonio Encounter
by Erica Johnson
A tale — or a joke — often starts:
a poet and painter walk into a park.
A pair of friends exchange
sweet cream and flaky crusts—
sugar rains and sprinkles the pavement
remnants of a pastry shared on a bench.
Reflected in the mossy pool
an old man perches with paints
shaded by a white hat and grey clouds.
Our eyes do not meet, but
I wonder if the painter sees the poet
Capturing in words a reflection
of the sketch he works on
before rain forces both to pause.
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.
Jessica,
It is good to be back. I look around my room and realize how many tagonists I will be leaving behind for the summer. I tried to sorta capture this. This is my first try, which will get revisited. Thanks for the prompt!
FROM THE SHELVES
Pip, General Zaroff, Magua,
Harrison Bergeron, Scout,
the Old Timer at Sulphur Creek,
Tony and Maria, Romeo and Juliet,
dripping off the shelves of 119,
humanity honey from the comb of pages…
The conflicts,
elation,
tears and tragedy,
bringing me back to meaning,
and the struggle of living.
The needing,
the learning,
…the teaching,
the perfume of potency,
potential,
dormant for another summer…
waiting.
Today, my seniors
had to bring in a
poem on something
other than paper,
so we had clocks
and light bulbs,
mirrors and pillows,
a favorite and well-used
aluminum baseball
bat, running shoes
and, today, today, we
had an axolotl and
a tiny adorable
rescue puppy,
so, yeah, today
was a good day.
______________________________________________
Thank you, Jessica and Erica, for the engaging prompts and wonderful mentor poems this month!
Oh my goodness, Scott. This is so adorable and human and kind and compassionate and brilliant first in the idea of a teacher suggesting this end-of-year activity or any time of year and second in the writing of this list poem. I can imaging a picturebook of this with kids bringinging in the pillow and baseball bat and rescue puppy confusing the crossing guard and principal only to reveal a parade of poems. Wow. Love this. It was a good day for me to read this poem.
Scott, it sounds like a wonderful day–so great to see kids writing about things they love. And an axolotl, an adorable puppy–what a treat!
Love this!!
Scott, this is a perfect poem! What a memorable and good experience for all involved! An axolotl! Wow!
Scott,
What a blend of a day with a favorite baseball bat and a rescue puppy. It makes me wonder of how their imagination showed on all the variety of surfaces. I might steal the running shoe idea!
Love the idea of going back to pre-paper, in times when messages were inscribed on other surfaces. The students probably thought they were being innovative!!
I went to JTNP with my dear daughter and her son. He is so curious!
Conversation Between Mother and Child at Cap Rock
What Does This Sign Say?
Even when it dies, the Joshua tree becomes a habitat for other animals.
What does this sign say?
It’s about the desert needlegrass. Do you see it?
What does this sign say?
It tells the two kinds of cholla cactus.
What does this sign say?
About how the desert is dry and animals and plants adapted.
What does this sign say?
There are edible plants in the desert like buckwheat.
What does this sign say?
That’s lichen, like we have in Washington.
——————-
Thank you, Erica and Jessica, for hosting us this weekend! It’s been great to be back.
Oh Denise,
I love the neverending questions of a young child and the ever-patient answers of his Mom.
Simply beautiful.
Lol, I love the capturing of this exchange, Denise! Patience and care and love and curiosity all on display! So good!
Denise, I just watched a video of a couple traveling the US, a stop in JTNP. I felt like I had been there already from your poetry. The curiosity of the child in this poem is just the sort of wonder and wander the world needs. Let’s not walk by a sign or a grass or a cactus without wondering what, indeed, does it say. What of all these signs in our way, on our way in this world. And to have a loving guide to listen and encourage and respond is a witness that we also all need. Love it.
Sarah
Denise, capturing these conversations in a poem is precious. You have such a curious grandson, and it gives us hope. What surprised me is buckwheat growing in the desert.
Denise, love the way you captured the curiosity of your grandson in this: just adorable, and the question and answer format was perfect for conveying it. ❤️
I love this, Denise. It captures the parent patience and the child curiosity simultaneously. AND, it gives me the progression on the trail as well.
What a sneaky way to have kids practice their reading!!! Love it.
Jessica and Erica,
Thanks so much for this prompt. I had so much fun riding and writing it.
————————————————————————————————
Biking Home
biking home
from my new mobility class
I stopped to look at
a giant fallen tree limb
a bed of prickly pears
new green growth
orange blossoms not yet open
oh wait there is one open
with a sea of yellow stamens
white honeysuckle on a fence
like we had on our backyard fence growing up
a yard growing cactus in Democratic blue pots
alongside Gina for Texas
Talarico for Texas
sprinklers that sent me a cooling mist
on a mid-May day Mayday that reached into the 90s
a street sign of demand
altered by a like-minded citizen
One Way / Stop / All War
white clouds above the gray
purple prickly pears
with a delicate yellow bloom
echoing line art
on the food truck behind
sunflowers blowing in the wind
reminding me of the one I pinned
on my husband for his law school graduation
the month before we married
a discoball in an apartment across from campus
as I rode the last mile
the streetlights came on
I stood up on my pedals
rocked my bike from side to side
heard the voices of all the kids
on my block growing up
I said goodnight
to the slightest sliver of a moon
—————————————————————————
Photos and poem here at my blog, Pedaling Poet.
Sharon, what a a beautiful bike ride you had and share with us. I feel like I am there with you–moving quickly from one site to the next, with the clipped words and fast pace. Then those sweet, sweet young adulthood and childhood memories before you returned with “I said goodnight / to the slightest sliver of a moon.” I really enjoyed your poem!
Sharon,
I love that all of this is on the way home from a mobility class and the the class, then, become the moving through and among the scenes of community. Love it.
Sarah
Sharon, what a lovely picture of life and hope this is. ❤️
Sharon, I wanted you to keep riding. it was so enjoyable to follow you and everything you saw, the honeysuckle, the orange blossoms, purple prickly pears, and sunflowers–so many colors and memories. Love the ending that brings you back to your childhood and echoes mine.
Jessica and Erica, thank you for hosting us and for the new ways of approaching a found poem. I am a lover of the traditional found poem, but welcomed the chance to find something new. I found a Golden Shovel poem while also finding some joy in what I’m giving. 🥹
What is Found and Not Lost in Giving?
This is my season for giving
everything in my classroom away
I have more books about teaching
writing, math, and history than other materials
Purging tells me that my focus is
about to shift away from that which is harder
to manage, and move towards something greater than
I ever imagined. This season of my giving
books and treasured “teacher things” should also include school clothes
I ironed every Sunday! But I pray my memories of 40 years never fade away
©Stacey L. Joy, 5/18/26
Oh. Stacey, I cannot imagine how it feels. I hope the thoughts that your teaching materials will help teachers teach and students learn will make this giving a bit easier. Forty years is a legendary experience – such a long ride. Thank you!
Oh, Stacey, love your found poem today! Love, love that last line. You know how to hold things loosely in your hands and memories securely in your heart. Your poem is beautiful. It was nice that my ironing was cut by probably 95% after I retired!
Stacey, I love your found poem! I’m a few years out yet, but I’m already dreading the “purging” of my classroom materials. I’ll need to keep remembering that “my focus” will, indeed, need “to shift” when it’s time! Thank you for this reminder!
Oh Stacey, what a life is told in the collection gathered by a teacher. The materials that make a teacher, but a specific teacher, is the poem here. As you have seen, not all teachers are the same, and what they carry is a telling of that. And this purging is fascinating to me. I purged going from junior high to college, but I didn’t feel so free. I wondered, what if I return, and maybe I will need this, but to be consciously shifting away and to be moving toward deliberately is so important for making space for what is next. And to iron every Sunday. May your clothes forever be wrinkled and loving it.
Sarah
Stacey! Are you retiring this year? I’m so excited for you and for your next chapter. I’m retiring next year, and I feel every word of this lovely poem. Leaving is bittersweet!
An Ode to Ascelpias exaltata
We are closer to summer than to winter now.
Daylight lingers a little longer.
The lavender, rosemary, mint, basil, and tarragon
Have not yet reached their potential,
And the tomato and pepper plants
Are barely in blossom.
The diva of our little patio show is
The poke milkweed.
For the first time, we did not cut it
Down but let nature take its course,
And you know, it really is eye-catching.
Linnaeus himself named it after the
Greek god af healing, ascelpias exaltata.
Even butterflies recognize it for its healing properties.
Some people eat it in early spring, though we wouldn’t dare.
At over six feet tall now, it has earned our respect.
Woah, Katrina! Six feet tall milkweed? I’m so excited milkweed seeds I planted last year are about a foot tall.i really adore your second line.
The monarch butterflies love the milkweed in my yard. Even though they eat it all, I love watching the larva go through stages and finally crawl away to make a cocoon. Nature is the best!
I like this place where you are growing things, Katrina. My comment below Mo’s is for you. Didn’t know the Greek connection. Don’t you love it when the milkweed pods open with a fuzz?
It should read, “Asclepius.”
Love, love, love your ode! These two lines dance with sophistication. It must be such a beauty!
Katrina,
I feel such peace reading your poem.
I especially feel your contentment, appreciation and pride in these lines:
Katrina, what a beautiful garden! I learned a lot about the poke milkweed, Asclepias exaltata. What a beautiful name too. “Even the butterflies recognize it for its healing properties.”
Katrina,
Welcome. I know you’ve had a ton of new preps this year and that you are writing poetry shows you are on the other end of it shifting toward summer. I love how you take the turn in this poem to Greek god of healing and then the next line is of butterflies. I’ll take the butterflies for their healing, only I hope the healing is in seeing them fly rather than some crushed wings salve.
Sarah
What a tempting prompt! A perfect reminder that a writer needs to be attentive to all the details around them. So does a painter!
A long time ago when I was a little boy I used to accompany my mother to pluck tea leaves in fields a few miles away from where I lived. I have tried to dredge from memory what I observed during this long trek before reaching the long undulating fields.
The Tea Plucker
Two leaves and a bud
Two leaves and a bud
Pluck ‘em when they are tender
Catch ‘em when they are younger
I recall the long walk to the tea fields
A never-ending trudge for tiny feet
Mama’s one stride spans two of mine
Dawn’s faint glimmer slips through the night’s grip.
In front of the old bakery we pass
The smell of bread sweetens the morning air
Leavened delights, hot and crunchy
That fill the bags of a dozen sellers.
They hang bulging gunny sacks on rusty bikes.
To deliver in villages near and far:
Alma, Dagotiere, L’Esperance, Camp Thorel.
Two leaves and a bud
Two leaves and a bud
Pluck ‘em when they are tender
Catch ‘em when they are younger
The streets are now alive
With hordes of tea labourers
Pouring from every house in Vuillemin Tea Village.
Heavy boots stomping on hard asphalt.
Ungloved fingers crisscrossed with scars
Battered straw hats cover dreamy faces
Plastic raincoats flutter in the wind.
Men on bikes rattle past on pot-holed road
Portable radios blare Hindi songs
The frogs croak louder and louder
The first sunlight kiss the branches
Now abuzz with the clapping wings of noisy birds.
Two leaves and a bud
Two leaves and a bud
Pluck ‘em when they are tender
Catch ‘em when they are younger
Night has now lifted its veil
From the tea plantations.
A green sea stretch to the lone peak Piton du Milieu.
Dappled with the sun’s earliest rays.
Down a shallow ravine we disappear
And climb up slippery steps hanging to bent reeds
We walk the last mile to our dew-drenched field.
Around my waist I wear an apron
Cut out of a plastic fertiliser sack.
I wade into the tea bushes squeezed between two leafy rows.
Soon I am soaked and with wrinkled wet fingers
I begin filling my bag which I drag along the undulating plants.
Two leaves and a bud
Two leaves and a bud
Pluck ‘em when they are tender.
Catch ‘em when they are younger.
Kris, loved this song-like memory with its lovely, meaningful refrain. 🙂
Thank you for bringing me to the tea fields to walk alongside you as you learned from your mother.
I love the rhythm of your poem–the repetition of your refrain balanced with long stretches of description.
I adore these lines:
Thank you for sharing this beautiful journey.
This is so beautiful. I am right there with you, as you walk twice as many steps as your mother, your “wrinkled wet fingers” and this image, which so clearly shows the scene as your bag “drag[s] along the undulating plants” The refrain is a whole lesson on tea picking. Great job harvesting this beauty from your memories of those times long ago.
krishboodhram
I loved the rhythm of the refrain, and it created its own sort of mantra for the process. I liked that it gave a balance to the other stanzas that were more explorative and deep in terms of detail. It’s almost like the refrain marks the completion of a row walked.
Jessica,
Thanks for this fun prompt! It took a while to cook, but here it is:
May 18th, 2026
Summer sun, a warm spring day, a chance to get outside and play:
My deal to class: write poetry, then spend some time footloose and free.
The phone ban (introduced in fall) casts more a spell than any pall:
And as I watch, in warm spring sun, the kids engage in wholesome fun.
Their Concept Albums songs now done, the hack comes out and off they run:
Six senior boys, both tall and short, excited to partake in sport.
Some drift in and some drift out, and now and then, they give a shout
as hack surprises everyone, and I, elated, watch their fun.
Nearby, under separate trees, Nate and Collin hold on knees
guitars they’ve begged from band room teacher – they play together, double feature!
Dueling “banjos” ring from fingers, Collin praises Nate as singer
As Nathan warbles “k-pop” songs (the lyrics couldn’t be more wrong).
Lex’s fingers tap their keys; inscrutable, examines trees
Then stops quick to examine shoes – fights, perhaps, with words to choose.
In back of Lex, four girls in line – Amara, Ellie, Snowe Devine,
Elizabeth – they rise and flee when threatened by a wasp or bee.
Chris, his hoodie over head, remains so quiet, a word not said
(I know him better – razor wit – he sat in Study Hall a bit)
Capacity for talk far greater, here, working on his “calculator” –
And, finally, two hangers-on: Syd and Mina wandered on
to this our stage, this soft spring day (I’d never shoo those two away):
They rounded out our day of rest – and those days are among the best.
Wendy, today is your class sounds so wonderful. I’m sure it is a day they will remember for a long time. You almost make me want to get back in the classroom! I can picture each of your students so clearly.
Wendy,
This is pure delight.
I love the sense of well-earned lightness and the way you know, see and love your students.
Wendy, you were on fire this weekend! What a great story about the fun and uniqueness of each of the students mentioned here. I love Chris’ “razor wit” and your telling “I know him better” Beautiful!
Denise, this comment warmed my heart, as I did really like my three poems this weekend and felt more “on” with them than I had for all of VerseLove this year. 🙂
(Nevertheless, I persisted.)
Neighborhood Walk
Old newspaper rustles as I wrap old flowers and throw them away.
Starting my walk, I hear the sounds of my feet going toward the street
away from the white noise – traffic on the freeway.
A dove calls as the wind caresses my ears.
A car alarm beeps as someone prepares to go.
It’s trash day.
A neighbor flips down the lid of his empty trash bin and hauls it inside.
An American flag flops in the breeze.
A jet rumbles overhead while little red bugs crawl on the ground.
A ripe grapefruit drops from neglected tree full of fruit not picked.
A rooster crows.
The sun heads west and warms my back.
Small birds sit on a telephone line and twitter
at a grand Jacaranda tree that is slowly dropping its purple blooms while a red bougainvillea climbs an overhead lattice.
There is life, color and peace on my hill.
I love that the first line is about taking old newspaper and repurposing it well before you get to the statement about trash day. It puts everything before into a new light and everything after as well. I love the juxtaposition of all of this imagery.
Sue, What a cull from the neighbourhood walk! Lovely images in all the lines and I love the way it ends with “life, color and peace on my hill”.
Susan, it seems more peaceful the more you walk. Your hill sounds lovely!
Sue, I am impressed by every little detail you notice–traffic noise, car alarm, dove calls, flipping of the trash can lid, and so much more. I love this line:
“A ripe grapefruit drops from neglected tree full of fruit not picked.” The consonance with “r”s creates such a movement that I want to follow you all the way to the place where “There is life, color and peace on my hill.”
Thank you!
So much to behold and savor in this walk of yours! These 3 lines resonated with me because the Jacaranda blooms cover the yard each morning as I walk from the parking lot to my classroom. I will miss that gorgeous reminder of summer coming!
Sue,
Thanks for this beautiful and calming walk.
My favorite lines:
Jessic, this draft in fact and fiction, pulling together a variety of “scenes” I see outside my windows in the Spring. It was fun to pull together. Thanks for the nudge. I’ll let the words generate the AI (Anna Images) today. Ha!
Found in My Head
Sitting at my desk looking out the window, I see
Turquoisy-blue neck ducks, scrawny brown wrens
And majestic squat waddling turkeys scamper in the wind
Wish I had that energy working inside of me.
Sitting at the dinner table, looking out the window
Fluffy-tailed squirrels and bright red cardinals
Squabble over who gets to nest in the tree this year.
I get to have a lovely dinner, cooked by my Honey in here.
Being inside, I see, and also imagine the sound
Quacking, chattering, squishing in the mud
Waiting for the thunder to thud all around
As Spring rain splashes across the deck.
The sun peaks out aside a seven-color arc
Imagining rain streaming down the crinkly tree bark
What fun to see the creatures run from the rain
But return for the food, skittering and scattering
The toads are competing for space.
What a joy to live in this place!
Anna, I would love to pay you a visit and see this scene. I believe you overlook a lake? l remember the poem about your “honey” sitting on the veranda with a hole in his sock.
Susan, thanks for the confirmation that poems can paint memorable images in the minds of readers!
Actually, we live in a condo that was built “outside” of town and the builders added a stream between a long narrow oval layout of condo units. There still are small wooded area and shallow ravines where the deer, squirrels and turkeys still winter. Birds of various kinds flock here in the Spring and summer and drop in their way to and from the warmer and colder areas of the Midwest.
Not quite as varied as Safari Park in San Diego. But fun!
I try to imagine the “fluffy-tailed squirrels and bright red cardinals/squabbling” to make the tree their own. Your poem is alive with delectable sights and sounds.
Anna, my friend, you have a ton of entertainment from nature! You crafted a beautiful scene. I especially love the last stanza! ☀️
Jessica and Erica, thank you for sharing your twist on a found poem. Jessica, I enjoyed notes from the trail and the highlights you shared. And Erica I enjoyed reading your description of the meeting of the poet and the painter.
here I go!
Meeting morning
First stop, the curbside library box
To take or not to take that is the question
Commonwealth, The Nightwatchman, hmm
Nudged on by the sky’s rumblings
Along sunset boulevard more workers than dog walkers
A few soft good mornings, a hi how are you?
A construction worker planning to bring in couple more workers to pour concrete
Too big houses, along an unbeatable view
2 griffs with an owner not willing to engage
Was it my pup or the owner’s earphones?
Then met Anna’s owner, who asked if my pup was friendly
We moved together allowing our pups to meet
And shared words of our love of pups
One more pass with the yard sign –
Radicalized by Human Decency.
Onward home.
Jamie, I was absolutely enjoying the walk and felt as if I was beside you appreciating the morning, then your last line is a powerful statement that challenges my relaxed state and respect for kind humans! “Radicalized by Human Decency should be a tee shirt slogan or a bumper sticker!
Thank you for sharing your poem and your walk with us! Your images leapt off the screen as I traversed the neighborhood with you. It amazes me how a poem about a familiar walk elevates the familiar, making it powerful for the reader.
I absolutely love the first stanza — book titles and then the “nudged on by the sky’s rumblings” serve as a fine opening and continuation for the rest of the day’s engagements and interactions. I especially love how you ended this poem — almost as a reminder of what all of these interactions really mean.
Jamie, I love the curbside little libraries. We don’t have any around here, but when I go to visit my daughter, they have one close by and a gazebo where we can just sit and read for half an hour with my grandkids.
The rest of your walk seems enjoyable with greetings and conversations about the pups. The yard sign is epic! Thank you for sharing!
Jamie,
Thanks for a lovely walk. I love the mix of what you see and what you wonder about.
Favorite lines:
and okay, a few more…
Midnight Grasshopper
Cross legged in a field of lions,
Eyes closed, praying and dying,
Dragonflies circling my thoughts,
There is no peace, I am finding.
Only me seeking what is not sought.
The Lion’s pappi tangled in my beard,
As blackness appeared,
A grasshopper perched in the dark.
The answer became clear,
Embedded in walnut bark.
Subtle rattles of his words,
Enraged an ancient Firebird,
Of times burning fast,
Not dwelling on what has occurred,
But, that I shall outlast.
A moment without a hop,
In my bottom, showed a top,
His notes in the black,
My heart did not stop,
Yet, I did not come back.
_ Boxer
Clayton, I am right along with that grasshopper and your powerful rhymes.
Boxer, I’m digging the rhymes and the ending with its mysterious feel.
This made me think immediately of The Second Coming by William Butler Yeats — not necessarily a one-to-one comparison but definitely the vibes are the same in my opinion.
Jessica and Erica, I am not sure how you could know that way up here in NJ, yesterday was the absolute first hot day after a very cold spring and everything as well as everyone was outside celebrating as the sun set. I could have taken so many kernels from your wonderful poems, like the little free libraries and the old painter next to the mossy pool as they are all potential poems about the beauty around us. I decided to formalize the thoughts running through my mind as I sat outside for the very first time yesterday evening. It was a symphony of sounds and images and I was unable to even concentrate on my book as the sensory overload was real.
The great oak’s potential offspring drifted
Hopefully through the late evening sky, while
Dark red helicopters floated excitedly
In the gentle evening breeze while a
Cacophony of birds called to each other from
New-built homes, celebrating their potential
Offspring in a rainbow of colors and sizes while
I nestled into a worn rocker, noticing the need for
Porch mucking, pollen eliminating, paint repairing and
Solar lights flickering, joggers and dogs celebrating.
Neighbors, of all species, appreciating sundown,
Proclaiming spring’s arrival.
Anita, I feel a couple of months ahead of you. Love, the view of the oak tree, particularly the dark red helicopters. Also the cacophony of birds, from their new-built homes.☺️ Don’t linger on the things to do list. It will be there in the tomorrows.
What a celebration of the first warm spring evening! I love all the sights and sounds you captured.
Anita, the spring cleaning commences, and I love it. It is like a breath of fresh air with the birdsong, the sky, the people milling about. Perfectly spring!~
I love the evolving colors in this poem and how everything is happening simultaneously with the repetition of “while” in most lines.
Anita, your poem preview is poetic too with “the sensory overload.” The spring’s arrival is bustling with sounds and movement from the first line to the final.Enjoy the porch time and spring celebration!
Believe it not, my favorite line is “. Neighbors, of all species, appreciating sundown”
reninding us that we share this planet!
Romeo and Juliet are so emo and impulsive. What a way to end our school year by reiterating what I’ve been trying to tell these 9th Graders all along.
“All slain, all dead ‘Romeo is banished’-
There is no end, no limit, measure,bound
In that word’s death; no words can that woe sound.”
Do you remember one of the things I said on the first day of school?
Take a deep breath. Think before you act. It’s all going to be easier than it feels in the moment. You will get yourself hurt even worse and get in even more trouble if you act in the moment. You will do something you regret.
“Hadst thou no poison mixed, no sharp ground knife,
No sudden mean of death, though ne’er so mean”
No. It’s not that bad. Look. You are young. People make mistakes. People all go through hard things. Is this girl right for you? I know you are hurting now, but you have a long, bright future ahead of you.
I guess I’m the Pastor Larry of the scenario
counseling the players in the drama of the 2025-2026 school year.
Luke, your real today life connections with those enduring words really is a reminder of Shakespeare’s wisdom, so long ago. As you say, 9th graders will make mistakes but need to heed your advice to stop and think before they act.
I love your format and your words of wisdom today, Luke. Amen!
Luke,
Loved the “Pastor Larry” in the last stanza. Really creates a modern visual. I like how your voice runs the horizontal stretch with a level of comfort. As someone who cuts lines short, I found that your running wide came across as more conversational than I’d anticipate. Noice.
Thank you, Erica and Jessica, for sending me on a treasure hunt for a poem today! I have enjoyed this open write session and appreciate you both for your thought-provoking prompts and beautiful poetry. Imagine my surprise this morning when I found two words on the loose.
Lost Words
I searched for words this morning,
looking
around trunks of trees,
up at the blank,
blue sky.
Finally,
I found the perfect pair,
halfway ’round the block,
scrawled on
index cards,
buoyed
by the tips of shorn grass
near the middle school bus stop:
sycophant
tenacious
Written in fine-point Sharpie,
vocabulary words
in the wild.
Having freed themselves
from a binder,
then a backpack,
and soaked up the morning dew,
curling slightly.
Too heavy to billow,
but still buffeted
by the breeze.
“You will put us in a poem!”
Tenacious intoned with his dotted i
and crossed t.
“You know best, poem hunter,”
Sycophant demurely deferred.
Here they are…
one word,
another word.
Two words lost;
a poem found.
Lori, I love your poem and joining you on your walk this morning. I especially love you sharing your process-jotting down the words for your poem. And then the personification that accompanied them in your poem. A writer’s trick I hope to remember. Thank you for being my teacher today.
Lori, I love your found words put into a poem this morning and am particularly fond of your last line, Two words lost; a poem found.
Lori, those end-of-year backpack clean outs, and I have to wonder about the book or topic of study with those words…..maybe current events vocabulary. What a perfect plan to have two words come out of the blue and inspire you to write a found poem! That’s the universe speaking!
Lovely treasure found!
I love the journey the words make:
“Written in fine-point Sharpie,
vocabulary words
in the wild.
Having freed themselves
from a binder,
then a backpack,
and soaked up the morning dew,
curling slightly.”
And I got. chuckle out the ending, “Two words lost; a poem found.”
Lori, I love how you found the words and the way to include both into this poem. Love how you took them on a journey as well:
“Having freed themselves
from a binder,
then a backpack,
and soaked up the morning dew,
curling slightly.
Too heavy to billow,
but still buffeted
by the breeze.”
Just amazing!
Good Monday morning! Thank you Jessica and Erica, for hosting this May Open Write for us. Sorry, I wasn’t able to write on Saturday–graduations, parties, final grades, reports–but I managed yesterday and today. I like how you brought us in connection with our places and nature this month. I loved to follow Jessica’s bike ride and end up by a Little Free Library and to observe the poet and painter’s meeting. I, too, wonder if one is able to recognize another.
Everything Is in Place
Late spring mornings are the best:
I am not rushing
to get ready for work
or to be at a Zoom meeting.
I walk outside
and make a slow pass through my kingdom—
our front yard with flower beds:
roses, mums, lilies, gladioluses blooming,
gifting us shades of white, red, orange, yellow.
The magnificent magnolia opens
its magical white ceramic cups,
holding morning dew
for birds and insects.
High on the telephone pole,
a pair of slender-bodied mockingbirds
pour all their energy
into morning conversation:
“Here! Here! Here! Here!”
“What? What? What? What?”
“Never mind! Never mind! Never mind!”
I smile and walk toward the back
where our hundred-year-old oak tree
is lit by the morning sun.
Our squirrel Sally is on duty,
running up and down the branches,
checking bird feeders and water baths—
everything is in place, no worries.
I, too, feel satisfied
and head back inside,
briefly visiting my vegetable garden,
damp soil soaking through my socks,
picking two green cucumbers,
a few banana peppers,
and a handful of cherry tomatoes.
I need to get them before the bugs.
Now my mission is accomplished—
I can go inside
and write a poem.
Yes, late spring mornings are beautiful; and your poem captures all the intricacies of a lovely start to the day. I loved the details of the magnolia’s ceramic cups and Sally the squirrel.
This reads like an invitation to a lovely oasis. I just want to walk through there with you. I also want to sample those cherry tomatoes! 🍅
Leila, a totally agree with your words – a walk outside. The perfect way to slow down the gears to enjoy the moment. Thank you for sharing your kingdom of flowers. And the magnolia, my favorite. Mockingbird songs. I’d never get back into the house. And thank you for sharing it all for us in a poem.
Leilya, I love your poem leading up to the poem. Those early summer vegetables thrill my soul – I keep looking over at the produce stand on my way home to see what all is new, and today they had watermelons…..and I love banana peppers too!
Leilya, you have masterfully taken me with you on this early morning walk though your gardens. The image of the damp soil soaking through your socks as you grab fresh veggies and head into write is a wonderful one. Lovely
This garden is beautiful, Leilya! Where do you live to have flowers like that and vegetables already on the vine? Mine are not doing well. Too dry, I guess. I enjoyed the vision you created.
I am in Louisiana. It is quite hot here already.
Leilya,
What a sweet poem. Thanks for the tour of your kingdom. I’m glad I got to meet Sally and especially your tree.
Your ending made me smile.
Thank you for the prompt. I enjoyed your poem so much. I like nature from behind a window this time of year (pollen is the enemy) so I examined my indoor environment.
Found on My Desk at 7:17 a.m.
three stacks of books tilting tiredly toward each other,
multicolored pens, multicolored highlighters, multicolored sticky notes
a Shakespeare tea mug—Once more unto the brew, dear friends— with tea gone cold
beside the one from yesterday—To tea or not to tea: that is the question—
a paper clipped
to another paper clipped to a list titled
THINGS I SHOULD HAVE DONE YESTERDAY (or perhaps LAST WEEK)
sticky notes blooming neon along the monitor—
attend meeting / send feedback / buy cat food / breathe
student notes tucked between essays and projects:
thank you for listening
I liked the poem today
I LOVED the book. Got more?
I wrote this poem yesterday and wanted to show you
a doodled cat wearing sunglasses
on notes from the faculty meeting
outside the window—
dogwoods opening themselves into spring,
birds fighting loud over the feeder,
one orange cat folded in a tight ball
sleeping deep in the sunbeam stretching across the bench
down on the sidewalk,
three dogs walk two distracted women
staring hard into their phones
the dogs pulling toward every tree and bush and bird
because the outside world still knows how to get their attention
somewhere beneath the papers
my own unfinished poem waits,
half a line visible
just enough
to remind me
it is still there
beneath the to do lists
Love this scene of a life full of stories, students, to-dos, visitors/shared beings in the scene. It is lovely and a lot that shows such knowledge and generosity and community but also a reminder of the self who cultivated such a life, who needs a few lines of poetry to live that scene.
Peace,
Sarah
Melanie, I enjoyed following your narrated sketch telling a rich story of a teacher, a poet, a human with books, highlighters, sticky notes (which are not strangers to me either). My favorite was a nod to Shakespeare’s plays:
“Once more unto the brew, dear friends— with tea gone cold
beside the one from yesterday—To tea or not to tea: that is the question—”
The to-do lists are real, and I am finally scratching off (my favorite part) most of my end-of-semester items. I loved the students’ notes–these are the best rewards to teacher souls. Thank you for sharing!
Melanie, this poem is so filled with the language of living. I love so much about retirement, but I do miss those reading/writing interactions with students. The image of your poem-in-progress peeking from behind the other papers is a powerful reminder that our own work calls to us to keep on writing!
Melanie, I love this: To tea or not to tea: that is the question— that is clever and fun! Those dogs pulled by the women whose attention the world no longer captures is striking – – what a message those dogs are giving us. I’m glad you captured that in your poem.
Melanie, I love this glimpse of your desk covered with to do reminders and student notes that looks out on the busy street. It’s a busy scene with many things clamoring for your attention! Glad you finished your poem.
I found myself fully immersed in your desktop. And all the life it holds. How we know the meaning in those piles that appear to the world to simply be clutter. We know better… we know where the treasures are, the things we adore, the things we avoid. For just a moment, I felt a part of your world, instead of mine.
The buzzy drums
Of a hummingbird’s wings
Resurrect me
From my stupor
I’m humbled
By the world
I love the line “the buzzy drums/of hummingbird’s wings”–I just love it. This poem is singing to me today…there is something here that is just bringing me so much joy. The image is beautiful.
Lovely, Mo, I can feel the humming in every line, a rousing that promises to be worth it every time.
Sarah
I once attended a hummingbird lecture given by a local ornithologist, and wow was my mind blown. Your poem shines a beam of light on this amazing little creature. We all should be humbled by the beauty of the world. Thank you for the reminder today.
Mo, I love this delicate fluttering of sweet hummingbird wings that feels to the reader like the proverbial slapping awake of the world around us…..and yet the sweet hummingbird wings are far more powerful than any forceful jostling. Beauty!
Mo, “the buzzy drums” is such a precise way to describe hummingbirds. I see them from my kitchen window, and now I will remember your poem.
I came to sit on the porch and rock in my now faded and worn rocker and listen to the world around me. And see what was lost that might be found. As always, I constructed this on my blog and then transferred it here. I am super proud of my kids’ poetry writing that I posted far too late on Saturday. But if you want to check it out, here is the link.
This Space
Who is that?
Chittering in the tree?
I cannot see.
It’s not the cardinal
or the robin
whose song I’m well familiar with.
I catch a glimpse
from the corner of my eye
of movement on the sidewalk.
A toad.
Or maybe a frog.
I will only know for sure
if it rains a lot and I hear their song.
Currently I hear
the wind rushing through the green,
the trees, the grass, the newly headed wheat.
I smell rain
though the sun is bright and the clouds are high.
No foretelling
of disaster to come.
the calming drum
of the woodpecker
drilling away
as he seeks to build his home.
Quiet chirps of all types of birds.
And always the rustling of the wind.
Calling me.
Reminding me.
This is home.
-Carrie Horn
5/18/26
Carrie, your poem speaks to my heart. I’ve been under the weather, so I spent most of the morning in the screened in porch. I’m trying to get better, so I just did some weeding, but I just found myself back on the porch. I’m enjoying sitting and observing so much. I feel like you are right here next to me!
I feel like I would love to be right next to you! I have loved this poetry community so much!
Carrie, your words transported me to a place filled with nature’s song…all the musicians contributing their unique tunes. Your home seems like such a peaceful, melodic place, and I thank you for allowing me to visit through your poem.
There is peace and chaos and they intermingle. When you seek the peace, it is there.
Carry, I loved following you, the sounds and smells. I especially like the smell of the rain. For some reason, it brings me to my childhood and that cozy feeling of home. Thank you for that!
The smell of rain is such a unique and inspiring smell. Like everything is fresh and new.
Erica and Jessica, your prompt inspired me to go back to a walk I took on Saturday in a local park. There, they have cultivated native plants from the Cajun prairie. I happened upon a single that included art and poetry by a friend of mine. I didn’t know it was there, so I literally found some of her words to inspire my own poem. Those words are in italics.
Moncus Park Prairie
after Melissa Bonin
sugar harvest sky
lights speckles of goldenrod, cotton weed
tucked inside a worn pocket
a dragonfly wraps its wispy-thin legs
atop black-eyed Susan’s eye.
Your place is on the gravel path
listening to red-winged blackbirds,
catching buttercup pollen on the tip of your nose.
Stories smudged on rock
gather for the retelling,
the soft laughter of prairie grass
speaking to the wind.
Oh, the last stanza pulled on my heart! I love the line sugar harvest sky as well. But, the last stanza just grabbed me. I will be thinking about it all day.
This is gorgeous, Margaret. Your friend’s words are so lovely, and you’ve tied them so seamlessly with your own. Pollen on your nose is a wonderful image.
Margaret, all the images captured in this poem cause me to pause and think about nature and poetry and stories and beauty. Thank you for giving me a glimpse into this park where prairie grass laughs and dragonflies pose. I love it!
Margaret, I am loving this laughter of the prairie grass speaking to the wind. Yes to the gravel paths and the lovely creatures encountered along the way.
Erica and Jessica, thank you for hosting us this week. Your poems show how a found poem can be like a nature walk or a scroll back through a weekend trip. I visited my brother in NC this weekend, so I’m revisiting the pictures this morning. Thank you for inspiring us!
Welcome to North Carolina
Welcome sign greets us into the state
we pull into the driveway overlooking the lake
artist’s palette sunset, dock, pool,
a sloping hill for dogs to play
Mojave sun hat on the boat
tritoon power fast afloat
Ospreys soar and dive for fish
songbirds, praise chimes, fountain wish
boats on sandbar, toasting dreams
wallowing in warm sunbeams
but one more stop while traveling home
Malaprops for treasure-tomes
And then two more,
Black Rock Mountain, Tallulah Gorge
but back to work, a life to forge…..
I love the beat and the rhyme scheme. The ending is sad but true, yet it defines the moment. Only if our play and peace could last forever- maybe in our fountain wish!! Back to my life to forge…
Too bad you have that “life to forge” after such a wonderful road trip. You placed me right there with you with your specificity of place.
Kim, thanks for taking us on your trip with you!
Your natural imagery was beautiful. Love the rhymed couplet at the end, and the ellipsis was perfect to trail off into real life.
The rhyme scheme was so well done! I loved the layering of images in the lines and how you almost get overwhelmed with all of the colors, nature, pictures…beautiful!
Kim, it sounds like your visit with your brother was fun-filled in a place of natural beauty. And then…back to work. Those get-aways, with pictures to remind us, are critical for work/life balance, though; and your poem captures that truth. Now that I’m retired, I still have days where I’m my own worst boss. Your poem makes me want to get away for a bit and visit and wish and dream and spend time “wallowing in warm sunbeams.”
Kim, your magical rhymes and careful word choices, “malaprops for treasure-tomes” kept me smiling to the end when your had to go back to work! This is a really great tribute to a wonderful weekend, anyway!
Kim, this is a master class in rhyming! So delectable: boat/afloat; fish/wish; and so on. Your narration is like a wide brushstroke creates a holistic picture of a place so welcoming and peaceful that I want to camp there. Yes, if only life wouldn’t call me to my duties.
Jessica and Erica,
Thank you for hosting and sharing your found experiences this way.
throaty lung-filled croaks of frogs–raspy or musical?
stomach gurgles after all-night fasting
dripping, clicking organs of the house, does it need a check-up?
geese migrating from one grassland to a pond for the day
click-click, air conditioner already rising for the day
birds, endless chirps, seasonal chatter of cardinals, blue jays
coffee machine resetting, grinding, coarse beans flow into liquid
dog licks, slurps, cleaning its muzzle after morning hydration
branches hugging the siding of the house with wind gusts
murmured news and treadmill rotations–step, step, afar in the basement
non-alarm examples of sounds waking me to a new week
Stefani, your morning sounds are much like mine, minus the treadmill. I love listening to the “seasonal chatter of cardinals and blue jays” to wake me up (and, of course, coffee, too).
I love the layering of sounds here. I appreciate how you wove questions in to the listing of sounds. Your last line just made me smile.
Stefani, I could “hear” all these sounds as you so carefully and creatively described them. I, too, have wondered if my home needs a check-up based on all the creaks and cracks and pops. LOL! I enjoyed the juxtaposition of natural sounds as well as electronic and mechanical sounds. Thank you!
I heard a lot of real life in here. And the little blessings that are sprinkled into everything else… the croaking frogs, the chatter of cardinals, the sound of the coffee machine…. Thank you for sharing!
Parking Lot
we sit in the angle of a triangle parking lot, let’s call it
our bench: wooden, under a big leafed tree, waiting on the scene.
Roberto crosses the parking lot to his Fiat, we don’t know his name
but just go with it; he’s finishing his cigarette, we think “he can only back
out,” we are sure he will back down the hill, one way. we wait.
he waits and waits against the stone wall, engine still, time folded in idling,
we think he might try our street, the other way, too narrow for turning.
between apartment buildings and a piazza del vino with no wine,
a sliver of Umbrian countryside holds where we think the sun might set.
we talk dinner, pasta, lemon juice, a huge lemon already on the table of thought,
Roberto is still in his car, the decision of direction not yet made. Silvia,
we name her so, arrives on her phone, one hand on the call, one on the
car door handle, she pauses in motion, half in conversation, “oh, that’s
why Roberto was idling.” then another Fiat, 1970s blue with a tarp
roof, folds into the tightest angle, Camillo, we are sure that’s not his name,
steps out, cream sweater, jeans, aviator glasses at seventy years.
we remain seated; he slams the door twice until Elisabetta, his lady
friend, we decide, pushes the lock from inside. groceries in a plastic bag,
Camillo swings it like a small hug between bodies. we listen. now Roberto
is out, Silvia beside him, Camillo crossing the stones to meet them,
voices gather around the Fiat, the first, like a small system trying to decide itself.
my love says a bird sounds like a monkey, that call again in morning air memory,
birds lift from the cliffside, not bats, not the shape we tried to name. we
cannot find the sound, only its echo between walls and hillside turning,
the sky shifts purple above our bench, no clean edge where sunset should be.
Roberto is holding his voice box to speak we see; the cars do not leave, the
story holds itself open in conversation and delay, we can’t wait any longer
and so we stand and leave before knowing which direction they choose tonight.
we carry Roberto, Silvia, Camillo, Elisabetta like an unresolved map left
on our bench
Sarah, this is so fun and romantic. I love how you’ve created this scene for us and experienced a memory that is half designed by its audience–like improv people watching. Enjoy Italy this week!
I love this wondering and wandering about with invented names (my husband and I do this when we are out dancing). I can completely imagine the whole scene, like something from a movie with the sound off.
Sarah, I love the stories woven while watching strangers interact. Capturing the whimsy of watching and wondering…in a poem! I was captivated.
Sarah, I can’t decide which world I like better, the one where “a sliver of Umbrian countryside holds where we think the sun might set” or the world where “the story holds itself open in conversation and delay.” But then, they are the same world, right? The story must continue…
!! What?! Which direction did they choose? I was so invested in this scene from “let’s call it / our bench.” Your long lines pulled me in and your vivid and specific details — so beautifully cinematic — were also infused with poetry (“Camillo swings it like a small hug between bodies” and “voices gather around the Fiat, the first, like a small system trying to decide itself”) which kept me so engaged. And, ok, now that I think about it, it only makes perfect sense that you finish your narrative — so artfully (and transparently) imagined all along the way — with the question of “which direction they choose” unanswered. I love this snapshot, this people-watching narrative, this well-crafted poem, Sarah!
This sorta went in another direction. Last night, there were two musical experiences — one on the street, and the other, in concert.
Kevin
Outside, a man on the one-wheel gyro
plays his guitar, the amplifier on his back
cranked up to something close to heaven
as he cruises city streets
Inside, a man hunches over the Grand,
communing quietly with chords, his fingers
gracing the keys, as the bass and drums
follow his musical lead
Kevin, thank you for sharing this battle of the bands and battle of the sounds. I am visualizing the outside performer more!
I can hear the contrasts clearly in your poem. I want to imagine the two meeting and jamming together.
I love the two contrasting images. Both seemed so filled with joy. I appreciate how you captured them both!
The contrasting images make each stand out. Finding beauty in both styles emphasizes the fact that music and poetry are for everyone! Thanks, Kevin!
I love the contrast you create here and have nothing but admiration for anyone who can ride a “one-wheel gyro’ and play his guitar with ‘the amplifier on his back” and the man ‘GRACING THE KEYS.”