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. The next Open Write is November 15-17.
Our Host
Fran Haley is a K–12 literacy educator who coordinates elementary programs centered on a love of books and the joy of reading aloud. She helps young writers find their voices on the page in creative ways. A pastor’s wife, mom, and Franna of two spirited granddaughters, she savors the quiet rhythms of rural life near Raleigh, NC. The pre-dawn hours are Fran’s sacred writing time; you can find her there in the stillness, seated at the kitchen table with a sleeping puppy (a miniature longhaired dachshund named Jesse) in her lap. She authors the blog Lit Bits and Pieces: Snippets of Learning and Life.
Inspiration
Today is the third Saturday in October, which happens to be National Sweetest Day, according to the National Day Calendar. Originally “Candy Day,” the recognition began in 1916 with American confectioners encouraging high standards in candy-making and the patronage of candy shops and bakeries. The observance was suspended due to sugar rationing in World War I. “Candy Day” eventually resumed; historians note that it was also meant to be altruistic, a time for buying sweets and distributing to those who could not afford them. The holiday later evolved into “Sweetest Day” and the giving of notes, cards, and gestures of love.
Today, Poets, I am thinking: What “sweet things” might we celebrate and share?
Process
I adapted the list of suggestions on National Day Calendar for our purpose today:
- Write a poem about your favorite candy or dessert
- Write a metaphorical “sweet” recipe
- Write a poetic note of love to a neighbor, co-worker, friend, or family member
- Write a poem based on song lyrics about candy (think “Big Rock Candy Mountain”), or any “sweet” song you love
- Write a sweet memory or gesture made toward you
I choose the last option, in narrative free verse.
Fran’s Poem
The Gift
Late in the evening
my husband aims the remote,
presses a button,
banishes flickering ghosts.
All is still
and silent in the lamplight.
He turns to me:
“You know I love you, don’t you?”
That timbre—
that deep, low note in his voice
—my brain translates to
Mayday! Mayday! Mayday!
Prepare for impact!
Even as I answer, Yesss, I am guessing:
The doctors have called. It’s his heart again.
Or worse. What now. What now.
We’ve spent the last decade—
a quarter of our marriage—
skidding to sudden stops,
pressing the pause button,
resuming in altered states,
patched and scarred.
I can’t even summon a prayer.
I brace for the crash.
The shattering.
But he’s just scrolling on his phone.
He holds it out:
“What do you think of this?”
A photo of a red-gold puppy
lying on a blanket.
I can’t process.
I’ve missed a cue
—how early does dementia begin?
“Precious,” I say, confused.
My husband looks at me for a long moment,
then: “He’s ours.
I put down a deposit
three days ago.”
What am I hearing?
Is this real?
A dream?
My heart had given up hoping
for a dog, in light of his battles…
yet this man, so valiant
in suffering,
begins to sob
with the magnitude
of his own sacrifice,
offering me
new life.
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.
Fran, your poem truly brought tears to my eyes: how sweet, indeed! Being from Buffalo, we grew up celebrating Sweetest Day, which was big there, and your prompt inspired me to reach out and wish my mom (who still lives there) a Happy Sweetest Day — but my poem is about my daughter. 🙂
The fall leaves tremble
Shades of gold
Cling to branches,
Hard to hold
Winds tear clingers
From their home
And drives to rest
On mud and loam.
Daughter creeps
Into my bed
Two bleary
Sunday sleepyheads
Clings to me
Like autumn leaf
Times like these
In our lives, brief.
Grown, the world
Tears her away
But Sunday snuggles
Keep at bay
Vicissitudes
Of life and time
Inspiring my
Reflective rhyme.
Wendy, I am awed by the rhythm and flow of this poem. It pulls and lulls. The word “vicissitudes” felt like a sharp edge in the softness…a blade that caught me by surprise. Thank you for this beautiful autumnal offering.
True story
I finally have some quiet,
and that sugary rush still pumping through my veins
as I finally sit, today has felt like 57 hours
way too much cake and too many cookies (when I was on a vegan/gluten free streak too. Not anymore)
but it is my oldest child’s 23rd birthday celebration
and her new husband, and her new in-laws, which I have known since I was in high school,
we’ve had some ups and downs,
the sugary high and sweet laughter of my living room filled with
let’s count;
my wife,
all three of my kids (at 23, 20, and 17 and living in different locales, having all three together is another gift I’m not taking for granted),
my amazing mother and father in law,
sister in law,
my daughter’s mother and father in law,
her brother and sister in law,
so that makes 13, oh yeah and 2 dogs
everyone 23 or younger is shoved together on my couch, kareokeing to Frank Sinatra, Whitney Houston, Africa, and Natasha Bedingfield (you can’t make a list like this up)
at the top of their lungs
sweet indeed, how did we come upon this scene? Did we ever think we’d be here?
silence is overrated
Luke, what a joyful scene! How well you used sugar as a symbol for the “rush” of the occasion and all who gathered, like layer upon layer of rich sweetness. I can hear the joyful karaoke – that “list” has me laughing, and somehow there’s an order in it. Happy birthday to your daughter and cheers to the whole family… your last line is golden.
What a fun narrative here, as Fran notes, with all the ‘layers’ going on. I love the naming of all the family roles – those words we created to show how we are connected to others, that we ‘belong’ to one another, and the way you moved from the idea of sugar overload to family overload, but that it is all part of this experience, this ‘sweetness.’ Sweetly done, indeed, Luke!
Preheat the oven to 450
Simple ingredients
Flour, milk, eggs
So much that is delicious starts like this
Whisk until smooth
Maybe the magic is in the mixing
Add a bit of vanilla, some sugar or syrup
Perhaps anticipation makes it sweeter
Pour the batter into a hot pan
Let the children sit on the floor, facing the oven
Heat will make the pancake rise
Their faces will brighten with excitement
Remove the puff pancake
To laughter and clapping
Sweetness fills the kitchen
I love this, Amanda. I picked up my grandsons last night and they said, “We know what’s for breakfast! Chocolate chip pancakes!” They love when my husband cooks for them. Memories and food- what sweetness!
Sounds magical to me, Amanda! Now I am going to have to try making this delight for my granddaughters. Love the image of children waiting for the puff pancake to rise and how they clap when it comes out of the oven. Thank you for sharing this with us.
This is such a lovely memory capture – as Mo and Fran also comment. I can definitely remember standing or sitting with my face right at that brown stained window, watching whatever sweetness we were waiting for. Awwww… I also LOVE these lines, which I could see borrowing as prompts: So much that is delicious starts like this. Oh! What a great start line that could be! And: Maybe the magic is in the mixing. Always with the magic – ! : ) Nicely done here, Amanda.
Amanda, your poem exuded sweetness with its sensory detail! Loved it.
Im running out of time on this hectic day!
Why Sweetest Day when
each day with you is a fine
wine- deeply nuanced
Bam! – well-done, Mo! What a celebratory poem. Your words – wine, deeply-nuanced – are sublime choices.
I, too, ran low on time. I love the enjambment here the way fine/ wine is separated and then whatever the opposite of enjambment is where wine gets connected to deeply. It works!
“deeply nuanced” is the best two words together ever here – as someone who also appreciates a long and deeply nuanced relationship! Nicely done, Mo – sometimes coming in under the wire forces a brevity that reveals what all of time never would have.
Mo, love this haiku, and the sentiment was so lovely.
Sweet!
The sweetest treat there every was,
the gooey chocolate brownie.
It takes me back…
The birthdays I got to finally enjoy,
because my mother noticed that
cake never made the cut.
The afternoons sitting on a stool,
watching my mother and waiting
for the magic words,
“would you like to lick the spoon?”
The lessons my mother taught me,
when I finally gave it a go,
and burnt the pan to a crisp.
The heartaches and pain
my mother knew were too much,
relieved by their warmth and comfort.
The to go contanier I receive at school
when my mother visits.
Her knowing I need a taste of home.
The realization that these were more.
More than just a brownie.
The sweetest treat,
it not the gooey chocolate brownie.
But the women who made them for her daughter.
“Her knowing I needed a taste of home” is like the key to this sweet poem of memory, Grace. You confirm it in those last lines – longing not for the brownies, but the mom who made them for you.I.e., “home.” Such a lovely story told through the brownies. Thank you for sharing them here with us today!
Grace, that taste of home is so special. Your poem made me smile as I recalled how much my kids loved my brownies. How sweet!
What a lovely series of gooey memories, told in verse. I especially liked the moment you burn the pan (who among us hasn’t been there?) and the final realization that the sweetest treat is “the woman who made them for her daughter.” Mmm… now there’s a sweet truth.
Grace, I love the imagery in here and the memories it brought back for me, too — so relatable! Each stanza seemed its own little vignette of sweet memories. Loved it.
Sweetest Day: By the Numbers
They say, a sycamore tree
can live up to 600 years,
so, I guess it’s all relative,
but since trees are plants,
when I say we’ve been
planting our roots and
watering our garden
for 16 hundred weeks
or so (11, 690 calendar
days to be precise) I
feel as majestic and
towering as that tree,
knowing our love is as
perennial and strong,
as enduring, as ever.
____________________________________________
Fran, thank you for your poem and prompt today! Your poem is so tender and lovely. I’m so glad the “gift” turned out to be a furbaby and not more “news” from the doctors! (Oh, and I love the picture!) For my offering, I started thinking of a particular Sweetest Day many moons ago when my wife and I began to date. And then I stumbled upon a Date Calculator online and the rest, as they say, is history. (I’m not sure why it turned so arboreal, though, lol.)
I hope you shared this with your wife. It is lovely.
Scott, your poem of love as told through the numbers and relativity to trees is just beautiful. I hear your hallmark, vibrant wit in your observations and turns of phrases…and the majestic feeling at the end has tears blurring my eyes. So powerful, yet so quietly celebratory. I am thinking how the shared watering of the garden symbolizes the mutual watering of souls in people who love each other deeply and who are truly committed to each other. Love how you brought “perennial” in to tie gardening and love together. This is an absolute gem of a poem. Share with her 🙂
Scott, this IS the sweetest love story of the day, no week, no month, no year, no decade…..lovely
I feel majestic is such a powerful image for me. Thanks, Scott.
beautiful, I love this ode to your enduring love. Perfect.
This is really beautiful and I love how it fits the prompt in so many ways. Thanks for sharing and congrats on your roots.
Scott, this was so romantic — just lovely.
Sweets
(or the Lack Thereof)
This world needs more sweets.
We have become Sour.
Bitter.
Soulless.
I put on my flowered t-shirt (see? Sweetness!)
Saying “radicalized by basic decency”
and join the No Kings protest.
It is peaceful.
The sun shines.
The people (too much gray hair; not enough youth)
hug old friends they haven’t seen for years,
sing, wave signs and dance.
Small town pleasantries
and signs of protest.
Car horns honk.
People wave.
Somewhere in another town—
maybe in ours
children are being zip-tied.
GJSands
10/18/25
(Re-posting because I think I forgot to hit “send”🤦🏻♀️
Gayle, I heartily agree with your opening lines.We do need more sweets. Yes, we have become sour, bitter, soulless…we can apply this to humanity at large and to more than one side of the American political divide. How masterfully you move from the pleasant scene of small townspeople greeting each other to that sudden, stark stab of an ending line. Magnificently rendered.
Gayle, I second the sweets charge! The world does need more sweets – – and sweeter people and kinder gestures. I think mercy and grace are part of that sweetness – – the ability to forgive, to consider others, and make the world a better place. That’s what those of us with gray hair know. Beautiful sentiments!
Gayle, this is so powerful! This world really does need more sweetness and this poem encapsulates that perfectly.
Gayle, you are so right in your depiction of our world as “bitter and soulless.” We do need sweetness and kindness and as you clearly note, more young ones protesting. There was a sea of gray locally as well
Gayle, I love the lines, “Small town pleasantries / and signs of protest.” We need to support (and protect) democracy every where! And you’re absolutely right: there’s “too much gray hair; not enough youth” for my liking!
Sweets
(or the Lack Thereof)
This world needs more sweets.
We have become Sour.
Bitter.
Soulless.
I put on my flowered t-shirt
(see? Sweetness!)
Saying “radicalized by basic decency”
and join the No Kings protest.
It is peaceful.
The sun shines.
The people (too much gray hair; not enough youth)
hug old friends they haven’t seen for years,
sing, wave signs and dance.
Small town pleasantries
and signs of protest.
Car horns honk.
People wave.
Somewhere in another town—
maybe in ours
children are being zip-tied.
GJSands
10/18/25
I love what you weave together here, Gayle, succinct and powerful. I suppose if the reader doesn’t catch the reference in the last line to our modern reality, it may not hit as powerfully, but for all of us who do, wow! Nicely done.
Ugh. A gut punch at the end. Love the use of different tastes that so perfectly fit the theme and your message here. Thanks for sharing
Thank you for showing up, Gayle, to witness and to be. It is hard, exhausting work – and I continue to hope that younger energy will find its way, but until the loss hits a person directly, it’s easy to just keep on cruising through. Sadly, something once lost is ten-fold harder to regain, let’s keep encouraging and hoping. That last line – wooftie. Hardcore true.
Fran,
What a sweet inspiration for today! As a person with a huge sweet tooth, I look forward to reading the output.
I love your sweet poem about the sweetest gesture and gift! Dogs offer such love.
The Way to His Heart
I’m fourteen
and learning the way
to a man’s (my man’s) heart…
through his stomach.
I’m in the kitchen
of my childhood-playmate-
turned-boyfriend
with his mom
learning how to make
his favorite sweet…
cherry pie.
I’d never been taught
to bake, so I’m a rapt
student during this lesson.
Cold butter and cold shortening
in equal measure
are knifed into salted flour
until pea-sized balls form.
“The butter combo makes it flaky.”
A little ice cold water added in
to get the right consistency.
Shaped it into a disk, wrapped
in Saran Wrap, we let it rest
in the fridge for a few hours.
In a bowl, we mix pitted cherries
and sugar and tapioca.
The flavors mingle
as we chat.
She shares tidbits about him
I hold in my heart still today,
knowing I was getting
the best of him from the source.
A few hours later,
we roll out the dough,
using flour sparingly
”so it doesn’t get gummy.”
She wraps the thin circle around the pin
and delicately nestles it in the pan.
In goes the filling,
with the top layer of dough covering.
Nimble fingers crimp
the top between the bottom
and the sides of the pan.
“All you need is your thumb
to flute the edges into
artistry.”
And with deft movement,
the circumference is transformed
into undulating mounds and valleys
of what would become buttery
flakiness to perfectly complement
the sweet tang of the filling.
After an egg wash is brushed delicately
over the top,
a few strategically pokes and drags
of a knife create beauty
but also vents the steam
to prevent soggy crust.
Into a hot oven for a bit
to create the flakiness
then temperature
lowered for a stretch to
thicken the filling.
After an hour,
hands sheathed in
Miami Dolphins oven mitts
pull out the finished product…
the perfect combo
of tart and sweet and flaky.
The key to his heart
made by the four hands
that love him most.
~Susan Ahlbrand
18 October 2025
Susan—this could be part of a lovingly written cookbook! I can practically smell the pie baking. “The four hands that love him most”—wow.
This is lovely Susan and the last stanza gave me goose bumps. 💕
Susan, I was completely drawn in to this pie-making experience, marveling at your young self’s determination and the willingness of “your man’s” mom to guide you so carefully through the process. Love is woven through it all – sweet, deep, and rich. Thank you for this.
This is a love story in a recipe. The perfect blend of hearts and love and sweetness.
Fran,
What a sweet inspiration today. From person with quite a sweet tooth, I love the topic and look forward to reading all the output.
I love your poem about a truly sweet gesture. Dogs offer such love.
The Way to His Heart
I’m fourteen
and learning the way
to a man’s (my man’s) heart…
through his stomach.
I’m in the kitchen
of my childhood-playmate-
turned-boyfriend
with his mom
learning how to make
his favorite sweet…
cherry pie.
I’d never been taught
to bake, so I’m a rapt
student during this lesson.
Cold butter and cold shortening
in equal measure
are knifed into salted flour
until pea-sized balls form.
“The butter combo makes it flaky.”
A little ice cold water added in
to get the right consistency.
Shaped it into a disk, wrapped
in Saran Wrap, we let it rest
in the fridge for a few hours.
In a bowl, we mix pitted cherries
and sugar and tapioca.
The flavors mingle
as we chat.
She shares tidbits about him
I hold in my heart still today,
knowing I was getting
the best of him from the source.
A few hours later,
we roll out the dough,
using flour sparingly
”so it doesn’t get gummy.”
She wraps the thin circle around the pin
and delicately nestles it in the pan.
In goes the filling,
with the top layer of dough covering.
Nimble fingers crimp
the top between the bottom
and the sides of the pan.
“All you need is your thumb
to flute the edges into
artistry.”
And with deft movement,
the circumference is transformed
into undulating mounds and valleys
of what would become buttery
flakiness to perfectly complement
the sweet tang of the filling.
After an egg wash is brushed delicately
over the top,
a few strategically pokes and drags
of a knife create beauty
but also vents the steam
to prevent soggy crust.
Into a hot oven for a bit
to create the flakiness
then temperature
lowered for a stretch to
thicken the filling.
After an hour,
hands sheathed in
Miami Dolphins oven mitts
pull out the finished product…
the perfect combo
of tart and sweet and flaky.
The key to his heart
made by the four hands
that love him most.
~Susan Ahlbrand
18 October 2025
Susan, your memories of “four hands” creating something such a “perfect combo of tart and sweet and flaky” are carefully recorded here with details that could only come from a truly seminal kind of experience. Lovely
Awwww! That is SO sweet, Susan! What a great memory to hold in this poem. The way you capture making the fluted crust is a gem in here. I loved “She shares tidbits about him / I hold in my heart still today,” and LOL at the oven mitts! Showing the family colors there. I also appreciate picking up a few pie baking tips, as I’m going to brave an apple pie this year. It seems such fussy business, but so so so worth it when it turns out. I grew up on cherry pies since they grew in our area, and there is something special about them. Thank you for reviving some of my own lovely pie-making memories with my mother.
Oh, Fran, how sweet and kind of your husband to gift you both such a precious puppy! I love this so much. I was bracing for impact and hoped for something other than bad news. What a sigh of relief! Whew!!
I chose lyrics from Sammy Davis Jr.’s song, The Candy Man, to inspire my poem for a better tomorrow.
Who can take a sunrise
breathe in every ray
behold peace and calm
Stand in the morning light
plant a seed gift in the grass
sprinkle it with dew
Who can take a rainbow
place it in a pocket
and hold its golden promise
Seek earth’s deepest truths
cry for the world’s healing
wrap it in a sigh
Oh, who can take tomorrow
build new possibilities
and believe in love
Work together for change
give humanity a chance and
dip it in a dream
ⓒStacey L. Joy, 10/18/25
Stacey, how I love these borrowed lines from The Candy Man and what you’ve done with the Canva for presentation. It has me humming as I read – – and I love the final stanza. I hope we can give humanity a chance and dip it in a dream…..what a beautiful image!
Stacy—we need this—the dream, and the rainbow, and the Hope…
Stacey,
I love what you’ve done w/ this song. I always loved it and had it on repeat as a kid. I love the idea that we can all be like the Candy Man and “make the world taste new.”
Stacey! I played with the Candy Man song too (it jumped into my head first). It’s amazing how in sync we are across country. This is so lovely. I am drawn to every bit but most especially to the rainbow stanza. Holding a promise while crying for the world’s healing feels so true right now.
Stacey, I LOVE this, for the hope that’s in it! The need for healing, building new possibilities, believing in love, and, most of all, working TOGETHER “for change” and “giving humanity a chance”…you are singing my song! All this is my hope, too. I confess to singing along as I read – the lines you wove in work like a dream. Thank you for this and also for your sweet words about my poem.
Stacey, your use of the long ago happy song as a format makes your poem one of hope for humanity at a time when so many feel hopeless. As you say, we need to give humanity a chance and dip it in a dream.” I’m smiling
Oh this is so neat- it’s as if it was meant to be the lyrics. Beautiful and something peaceful here too. Thanks for sharing.
I shared a sweet experience I had this week putting into practice what we “preach” here in OPEN write. Use poetry to teach and reinforce concepts across the content areas. Well, this week, working with pre-teens in 7th grade who were reviewing vocabulary, I asked to them to HANDWRITE their poems because
Writing helps me think!
Writing helps me to remember
What I need to learn!
Writing stimulates my brain!
Helps me keep what I am learning
Stored within my brain.
Here’s link to portion of slides: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XRdmD0XKFG4
Here’s link to them singing the jingle!
Kids singing. https://www.facebook.com/groups/
Anna, the joy of the students as they share about writing in song fills my own heart with joy – sweet moments, indeed! I rejoice that you had them handwrite their poems. Brain research backs this up, handwriting stimulating the brain. Makes me remember a graphic I saw wherein all lobes of the brain are engaged in writing. Worth the time and labor! Thank you for this today.
Yes, they wrote an acrostic based on key words in book title, using vocabulary words they chose from the list. Then a nonette, which I learned here on Ethical ELA.. The kids loved the choice of what kind of triangle!
Anna, this is amazing. You embraced their responses with the presentation and you celebrated their writing with song! WOW!
Fran,
Thanks for hosting. Thank you for your sweet poetry and gentle spirit. I’m touched by the love and kindness in your poem, the gentle tone of it, the sadness and generosity. I’m deeply sorry for those struggles you’re facing and for your husband’s suffering.
One of the sweetest things about living in a democracy is the right to free speech. Millions will exercise that right across the globe at NO KINGS protests. I’ll be at the Pocatello, Idaho march. My poem reflects the sweet reasons we protest. I hope you’ll prioritize taking a tangible stance against authoritarianism.
And We March!
because we love America &
believe in her promise of freedom,
because we stand for liberty &
against authoritarianism,
because we have the right to peacefully assemble & believe in lifting our voices,
because protecting democracy requires
citizens to hold power to account,
because our duty to country & constitution
demands we take to the streets,
because totalitarian policies are antithetical
to our constitutional republic,
because history demonstrates the
power of the people to effect change,
because we will bow to NO KINGS or
wannabe king leading the current regime, so
WE MARCH & PROTEST!
Glenda Funk
October 18, 2025
Glenda, I am so grateful for your poem today (and I am following along online, the events). Your repeated call to action—“because we love America,” “because protecting democracy requires citizens to hold power to account,” “WE MARCH & PROTEST!”—resonates deeply. Your conviction echoes all the way over here.
Yes, yes, yes to NO KINGS!!!! YES TO YOUR POEM!
👊🏽 👊🏽 🔥 🔥
Glenda, there is but ONE King I will bow to, and He is the giver of life who gave His for ours. Not the taker of it. As we drive home today from Tennessee, we are noticing the protests at overpasses and towns. We are not meant to be blind sheep of any human shepherd. Amen.
YES! “because we love America &
believe in her promise of freedom,”
I marched today. It felt good…
Glenda, thank you for shining a light on what is truly the sweetest focus for this day. I’ll be cheering you on from the rally in Lansing. Love your image too.
Glenda, this has been a long day and I confess to being overtired from the emotion of the day, but this poem made me cry—because you said it all. All I’ve been holding in my heart.
Glenda, I logged on tonight as I recover from my own marching, to find your poem tonight, knowing on some level that you would have written about today’s events and hopes. It was a long day and I am really hoping it represents “the power of people to effect change.” I hope the collective voice of so many was heard.
Glenda, thank you for your gracious and caring words in regard to my poem. I appreciate them more than you know. I also appreciate your powerful voice and stance in your own poetry. “Believing in lifting our voices” – “because we love America & believe in her promise of freedom” – yes indeed. I am deeply grateful for the freedoms we the people have in this country,
Glenda, your poem begins tears to my eyes this bright evening after protesting for all these sweetly articulated reasons. I was touched today by all the love for country, the flags flying proudly, the honking for democracy and now at the end of the day by your poem. Thank you.
Always a baddie, I love the flow here. And messaging. Rock on. Thanks for sharing.
Glenda, your powerful poem and voice resonates. We cannot sit back and let abuses be ignored. Love the repetition that sounds like a drumbeat. Keep fighting the good fight!
What a sweet and lovely prompt. I’ve been reflecting on these kind of short and sweet moments in life. Drafts went in many directions, hard to pick just one-
savory
“I would never have this,
if I didn’t have you,”
she says about
the beer,
the scone,
the hat,
the trip,
the hug,
the kiss,
the past,
the present,
the future,
[…]
C.O. — This is super sweet in form and content. The “the’s” flowing down in what appears to be a simple list but as a collection is anything but.
C.O. Maybe not the beer, scone and kiss, but this is a metaphorical poem many of your students will be writing about you! Consider poetic devices you teach. Even the youngest students will be able to see ways that inspiring and empathetic teachers were like your sweet poem!
C.O. You have told us a beautiful story with few beautiful words. Wow.
C.O. I love this approach to the prompt! I think we should save this as a new form. The diversity in your list and the way it leads to the future bring all the feels!
🩵
C.O., the format of so many savory/sweet moments is clear in this powerful format. I would love to try this with students.
C.O,, few words, but what an impact! I love the title and how it celebrates these savory moments of life.
I’ve just been teaching my 12th grade writing students about list poetry, and they’ve been marvelling at how a list done well can be poetic. This list, the way it swells in meaning as we read, would delight them, I think, as much as it delights me.
Fran,
Thanks for hosting and for your sweet poem. I love how you take us through your thought process and emotional rollercoaster. Glad your husband’s announcement had such a happy ending, I also like how your poem both gives us this specific moment and the deeper backstory.
So much love!
Thank you for sharing.
I wrote about something sweet I saw in the park yesterday.
———————————————————————-
Malin’s Fountain
Danish artist named Thomas Dambo
built a giant troll in Pease Park
repurposed ice-storm-felled limbs
Malin holds a basin
to gather water
for thirsty birds
art teaches
reuse share
__________________________________________
Here are some photos I took when I visited yesterday Malin yesterday and some more information about the art project and the Pease Park Conservancy.
I love this idea of a repurposed troll and how it can/might be such a commentary on social trolls. This is where my mind went, but more practically and beautifully — holding a basin to gather and for… is just the sort of offering we need to be making to one another that your poem condenses beautifully.
Oh I’ve seen these trolls in Maine. I love this idea of re-purposing. Thank you for your poem to bring attention to such sweet beauty.
Sharon, your images and description of repurposed branches is a powerful incentive to use nature’s refuse in the creation of art, when you can. It’s almost like the animals know this is for them, just nature in a slightly man-influenced format.
How fascinating, Sharon! Your poem painted the picture in my mind and when I went to look at the actual picture, I was amazed by the detail. How I love that those broken limbs became something so unique and artistic. Much life metaphor, there.
I love that moment you found out about Jesse. I hope he and Denis get along when they visit each other. He is the cutest, and I can see he brings both sweetness and joy.
Today
Today
is the day.
My husband said,
Saturday is your day.
It’s not my birthday,
It’s just a day for me
to do anything I want.
So incredibly overwhelming.
I don’t want a day, I said.
He looked astonished.
No attention on you, huh?
No! just let’s have a day
Let’s sleep in, have oatmeal
take a long walk in the park,
look at the leaves changing.
Okay, it’s your day, he said.
I smiled and kissed him.
It’s not my day,
just an ordinary day,
Today.
Word Dancer,
Love both that your husband wanted to give you a day and that you wanted
Sounds lovely! Enjoy!
I adore this for you and your husband regardless of whose day it is. 💚
Enjoy every moment!
What a beautiful way to spend a day – – and celebrate being YOU! Oatmeal and a walk in the park to enjoy the festive colors of the season sounds divine.
Your husband sounds like a keeper for sure. I love how you described his wishes and how they meshed with your own need for relaxation and time together. Lovely
Joanne, I believe that the ordinary contains the extraordinary, if we look for it…and this “ordinary day” of which you write is full of extraordinary love. And simplicity.- I think we all crave more of that.
“[S]leeping in” and “tak[ing] a long walk in the park” to see “the leaves changing” sounds like a wonderful way to spend the day! Thanks for sharing this with us!
The oatmeal line made me smile. I love this sweet “agenda” for a weekend of sweet, mundane but so important, moments. Thanks for sharing.
Awwww…you got me with that closing, Fran. Niagara Falls! I love how animals can help us bridge so many emotions in our lives. It’s sugar beet factory time here in Bay City, Michigan, so the idea of ‘sweetness’ takes on a different meaning.
What’s It Smell Like?
Every town has its smell
a friend once told me
no matter how awful it may be
just a whiff can unleash nostalgia
in Alpena it was the pressboard factory
wet wood and glue steam mingled with damp lakeside air
in Bay City it’s the Pioneer Sugar factory
holding pond rot in the spring, a gaggingly thick swampy sewer smell
but in the fall, trailer trunks rumble by at reckless speeds
sometimes doubly loaded to make deadlines
the air is thick with the chemistry of reducing
giant sugar beets into pure white crystal sweetness
imagine your favorite sweet treats
their flavors rolling across your tongue
not at all what sugar smells like
instead imagine the apple pie has run over
its lava thick syrup dripping over the flakey crust
onto the oven floor where it bubbles and burns into charcoal
that’s the smell of sugar
or as they say here, That’s the smell of money
Denise, I learned so much about sugar making with beets from reading your poem. I love the way you describe the smell because I could completely relate. Love the humor at the end because the smell of money in the Midwest is manure. Compelling poem!
Denise, it’s so good to have you back here this month. I love the sense of place in your poem. Absolutely mesmerizing. I couldn’t wait to hear the answer in your title, and you have nailed it. We know exactly that burned sugar smell on the bottom of the oven. I love the tease of “imagine your favorite sweet treats…” then “not at all what sugar smells like…” Very fine crafting here!
Hey Denise! Yes – I’m so hit and miss here when the weather is nice and there are so many distractions – but I hope to keep coming back. It’s always wonderful to see you!
I love traveling with you smelling cities and factories. I love these lines best:
not at all what sugar smells like
instead imagine the apple pie has run over
its lava thick syrup dripping over the flakey crust
Your poem gets me thinking so much about the smell of places – – the smell of the marsh where I grew up, salty and detritus-decay, and London with its smell of the bus fumes and old history in all the stillness of the air, and here as I travel through North Georgia, I have the window down for the crisp chill of the air in the changing leaves. You bring rich imagery to your poem today!
Phew. I imagine this is what the syrupy sweet that has crusted over in Langston Hughes’s poem smells like. You’ve described it with such intensity. This would dissuade even the biggest sweet tooth! Beautifully written.
Denise, your poem sent me off to research sugar beets even before I responded. I really have never thought about beets this way! Your last line about the smell of money is that clear reminder that everyone in every town depends on this harvest and the chemistry of the process. This poem really got me thinking.
What an intriguing idea for a poem, Denise – the smell of towns! In the city where I grew up, when the wind was right…it was the crab factory. Phew! Maybe only topped by a nearby town with a paper mill (I gagged and held my nose traveling through it as a child). I recall the particular bread smell wafting through New York…it’s unique. The descriptions you give of Bay City beet-sugar making are so sensory – I smell the burning and never would have thought of that in regard to sugar. What a fantastic ending line, too – the smell of money!
Fran,
I got up, saw the prompt, and had to write about this experience with my sweet grandson. I woke up trying to remember his words to me, so this was a perfect prompt today.
The story of how you got Jesse is absolutely precious, and the context makes it all the more special. The line about dementia made me smile. Thank you for hosting today, friend. (I forgot to write this earlier when I wrote the poem.)
Denise, thank you for taking this extra time to comment on the poem – you know your uplifting words always encourage me so! I loved your poem about sweet Milo. I thought of my own grandmother checking on me in the night and myself now checking on my little Micah when she cries out during dreams. All of it a gift. Thank you, my friend!
Fran, thank you for today’s prompt. I appreciate all you’ve capture within your poem about your relationship with your husband. The sense of panic is striking which shifts marvelously to the joy and the sacrifice. Amazing poem. I was working this morning in another generative workshop that inspired the following poem, a complete work of fiction.
Forbidden Sweets
We always met in secret places;
shared notes about new
hidden spaces.
Once at an abandoned barn,
where swallows swarmed,
swooping for wasps and bees,
we marveled at their intensity
savored green grapes, sips of red wine,
embraced the late autumn sun—
I never wanted to leave.
Yesterday, I heard the news:
a curve, an ice storm, a ravine.
Now I wander backroads,
photograph birds—their dark wings
a blur beneath the shadowed sun.
Barb Edler
18 October 2025
Oh, Barb, you are a storyteller. I love reading the snippets of these forbidden sweets. And that last heartbreaking stanza. Well done, friend.
Hello again Barb!
Love the mysterious, ominous sweetness in you poem. It has me visualizing and questioning – the sign of a well-woven poem. Thank you!
Barb, there is haunting beauty and pain, then grief and healing here in this poem. Those back roads and the dark wings and blur in the shadow of sun cast the gray hues but the last word is sun…..it is there. There is hope beyond what sadness we see. I feel the deep sadness at this loss of life, and I’m glad it is fiction.
Barb, this is just beautiful – the language, the pacing, the lyrical nature. And then there’s that news, followed by reality and all its shadowing imagery. Hugs.
Barb,
This poem is gorgeous. All the sounds create such ambiance. You are so good at setting a scene. Yes, “travel backwards” is what remembering is all about. I wish I’d thought of that phrase. So good. You e told a complete story in seven words: “a curve, an ice storm, a ravine.” This sparse language is the mark of a master poet. I learn so much from your writing.
Barb. First, I am glad this is fictional and that you shared this fact before I read this and shed tears. Second, it is carefully and wonderfully crafted in its depiction of stolen moments of love before permanent loss. Very powerful
Barb – fiction or not, this is utterly gorgeous. Your poem is a study on what to put in and what not to put in to paint indelible images and convey meaning… the swallows and loss and sun and shadow are all a part of me now.
Fran, thank you for this wonderful, happy, post and an opportunity to write about happy things. I am sharing about a wonderful and unexpected dinner with a cherished relative last night. It was a reminder that the sweetest memories have no sugar.
She had that very long week look that takes over
Your body, your face, your whole being as well
As the exhaustion that comes from getting up
Every day in order to work too long making too many
People happy, comfortable, peaceful and accountable
Planning for the future, getting through the days.
I’m guessing part of her would have been grateful and
Clearly would have understood if I had declined to get
On the road for the long trip when she asked about
Doing dinner. but I did not and so we talked,
Remembered, wondered, teared up, refilled
Our empty cups with reminders that
We are not alone on this journey
The sweetest moments are not sugar coated
Long after the feta and fries were history.
Anita, what a sweet reminder that these are the truly sweetest experiences, that deep connection you two have and the obvious understanding you have of her, and she of you. I’m glad you were able to meet up.
Anita, I love how your poem shows the reason why it’s important to meet loved ones. I admire how you show exhaustion.
Loved the lines:
“Remembered, wondered, teared up, refilled
Our empty cups with reminders that
We are not alone on this journey”
You’ve captured a powerful message through this precious moment in time. Marvelous poem!
Oh my gosh, Anita – I thought you were describing me at the beginning – but we don’t know each other. However, I think we must. I love your ending –
We are not alone on this journey
The sweetest moments are not sugar coated
Anita, the gifts of time and self, taking care to listen and be together, are felt so strongly here. Relationships are the key to strength in facing life and all that comes with it. I’m glad you were that one who did not decline the invitation to get on the road. Long trips make a difference.
It’s all in that refilling, isn’t it! It seems so often the case that we feel not quite up to it, but then the respite that comes from the togetherness and the being in touch and the remembering refills so much beyond what time is taken. This is lovely and such a good reminder that sugar isn’t at the heart of sweetness.
Anita, what a lovely poetic turn to show that sweet doesn’t have to be “sweet”. Thanks for showing how an apparent dichotomy can make a negative situation positive.
Anita, this is lovely! Having a sweet memory and filling up “empty cups” can be as easy as meeting with a loved one. The is no sugar needed!
Anita, these particular lines have such a musicality and depth to them –
Our empty cups with reminders that
We are not alone on this journey
The sweetest moments are not sugar coated
Long after the feta and fries were history.
Your poem is a reminder to savor the sweetness of time spent with loved ones…no sugar needed!
Anita, I’m with everyone else: this is lovely! I know this “exhaustion” that you’ve described so well! And I love that you had the opportunity to have dinner with your “cherished relative,” reminding each other that you “are not alone on this journey.” Thank you for crafting and sharing this!
I have so enjoyed reading the poems so far on this delightfully crisp fall morning. I am soon on my way to a funeral, but will return tonight to read and comment more.
Thank you all for the gift of your words.
The Sweetest Thing
Or, Grammy Gets to Milo First After His Wee Hour Scare in Finding Himself in a New Bed
After a brief cry:
“I just wanted to visit.
I love you so much.”
What a precious moment and poem, Denise. It’s also an excellent lesson in making the title do more work! The contrast of the long title with the brevity of haiku is powerful. The love is palpable – what a gift to have Grammys for unique comfort, and Milos to love so much. The “sweetest thing,” indeed.
Denise, your long title works wonderfully to capture this brief moment in time. The voice is everything here. Beautifully crafted poem!
This really is sweet, and i have no other adjective for it.
Denise,
There’s nothing sweeter than a pure declaration of love and wanting to spend time together.
The sweetest thing indeed!
Denise, such sweetness in Milo showing up in bed for a visit. He knew where to find comfort with Grammy. These are absolutely the sweetest moments.
Oh, how sweet, Denise. I used to love when the kids would climb in for whatever the reason. I love the title. The sweetness of the words Grammy and Milo, the depth of the wee hour, and the tension of the scare. There’s a whole poem right there!
O, yes…
Now that’s a sweet moment you can hold in your heart forever!
Denise,
This is precious. I feel Milo’s spirit and your loving care for him in your words.
Note: I use some profanity in this one.
Barking Dogs at Dawn in Love
Cracked door streams sound through the mosquito
screen, again, you’re telling neighbors your dreams
from Juliet’s balcony like you’re Shakespeare.
I’ve closed the door to your dreams, saying,
“Shut the fuck up, I’m writing here.”
which makes me laugh and cry at the same time.
My love turns on music to drown out your
barking verse, sipping his coffee like you
aren’t composing a best seller for the block.
I could steal your ideas for my book, yes,
or even ask you from where your relentless inspiration
comes, but as I step beyond the mosquito screen,
I see to whom you are reciting your songs:
another pup has heard your calls and wandered
to your balcony to become your Romeo from below.
So I pull up a chair and listen to you lovers
bark it out at dawn until I hear Luigi shout,
“Shut the fuck up.” And you both go back home.
Show’s over.
This had me laughing especially since I’m dog sitting right now and the lovelies like to wake me up at 4am! I’m trying to enjoy that as you found a way to. I love the line about stealing their ideas for your book and the relentless inspiration! Haha! Yes. (And energy!)
Sarah, the scene you’ve crafted vividly real. That “singing” dog struck by the inspiration like no other, alas… the intensity of concentration broken, the idea of stealing the ideas for your book, the quiet efforts of your “love” turning on music to help…Luigi’s shout being obeyed…a perfect balance of wry humor and frustration. I am most struck by wanting to laugh and cry at the same time (howe well I know this) and the enjambment, so startling with ‘sipping his coffee like you/aren’t composing a best seller for the block.” This show being over was surely sweet-!
Sarah, your title is the perfect opening for your poem. I love the conceit and how the balcony serves as the backdrop for the realistic desire to work undisturbed. The sequence of actions is clear and the “mosquito screen” is a marvelous detail. I also appreciate the last line being separated from the stanzas to effectively show that drama is over. Impressive poem!
Sarah, from your amazing poem I am sitting here imagining just how obnoxious their barking has been and would be if they were here. I love that the title let’s us in on who the you is in the poem. So many anthropomorphic lines just had me in stitches “composing a best seller for the block” and “reciting your songs.” Just so fun! I hope you get some sleep and some writing in!
Sarah,
I hear every howl—canine and human—in this delightful poem. The title could be for a picture book chronicling all the wonderful ways dogs serenade us. We have a new dog who barks at every person who walks through the front door. She won’t stop and recently barked seven hours straight when a former student came to visit. I love this poem, including the profanity!
Oh, Sarah, I’m hoping these dogs don’t keep on interfering with your writing time. I love the way you have personified these “characters” and alluded to literature in your verse, keeping the humor there in all the frustration. Nice that despite all their efforts to distract you, they at least inspired a poem. Prayers for peace and quiet.
Sarah, what a scene this is! Even in the midst of your paradise villages, things aren’t always smooth. At least your frustration can be tempered with the humor you can find in the midst of the howling. Your adventures continue!
Excellent! All the parts of a great story-the inciting incident, rising action, turning point, and denouement…. Love this so much!!
LOL, Sarah!! I needed this laugh!
Thank you for creating all the visuals and sounds I needed to be present in your poem.
What a beautiful poem Fran~ just exquisite. I felt every moment of it. Here’s mine —I’ll return later to comment on others.
My Mother’s Lava Cake
Before the deep brown outer crust
is cracked
and the warm
gooey
chocolate
oozes
down
its side
to oohs
and mmm’s,
there’s anticipation.
The gathering
of ingredients;
her voice singing
Moon River
or I’ll Be Seeing You;
the rich,
intoxicating
scent of vanilla,
sugar,
butter
and chocolate
melting together,
filling the kitchen
with such warmth
and love
that a world
where marching
against a fascist
regime
was unthinkable.
“Filling the kitchen with such warmth and love” radiates through every line—your sensory detail stirs memory, resistance, and hope beautifully.
This really makes me want chocolate! I love the images. I can not only see it, I can smell it too!
Ann, your poem is rich in texture, memory, and meaning; that lava cake sounds divine! The moment, the warmth, love, and goodness… these are thing things that carry us through, for sure. I can hear those peaceful songs your mother sang as she baked.
Your phrase of the “chocolate oozing out” reminding you (and me) of the times when today would have been unimaginable.
Ann, wow, I love the way your poem shifts at the end. I am inundated with glorious chocolate and then wham, reality hits. Your diction throughout this is precise and powerfully evokes the decadence of lava cake and the horror of the fascist regime. Masterful poem!
Ann, brava! I love how you brought back your mother’s world of baking this sweet treasure and then how you so craftily yank us back with those last lines to our reality of resisting the unthinkable. Thank you!
Ann,
“world
where marching
against a fascist
regime
was unthinkable.”
feels so long ago. I miss it and the food memories like the one you shared today. Can we ever get those moments back? I fear the answer is “no.”
Ann, this builds up like a warm hug – all the senses coming together in richness and yumminess. I want to return to that time when the worst was unthinkable. Loved the sound of your mother singing while gathering ingredients, such a soothing moment.
Ann, there is warmth and comfort in that kitchen, and I can smell the baking as it wafts right through the computer screen. Some places just hold us tight, forever.
And, you’re bringing this cake to Denver to share with us after we provide a sweet experience for those who attend our poetry writing roundtable session? You got the time a place, right? Three pm on Friday the 21st. You have it shipped to one of our hotels. Just message one of us and we’ll give you the mailing address. Okay?
That’ll be sweet and we may even write a poem about it! Wouldn’t that be sweet? Some will be pooped after marching here in the US where we still can do that!
Ann—all the ingredients of a fine poem and a fine dessert!
Love the pivot of anticipation.
And the ending.
Fran—I resonated to the story of your poem. Now I will write my own…
I am looking forward to reading it, Gayle!
Thanks, Fran, for the prompt.
Kevin
Something sweet
sounds like a cupcake
with licked white frosting
on our fingers, forever
in that remembered moment
of closed-eye deliciousness,
when quiet contentment
turns into loved laughter
As an aside but on the theme of “sweet” here, I recently was working on a new song called Sweet Sounds Coming (about writing a song). If you all wanna hear the (very) rough demo that I made to bring to some friends I play music with, you can.
Kevin. I am tapping my foot to your wonderful song as I write! You’re really good! As to your poem, the imagery of “licked white frosting on our fingers” is perfect! Thanks for the poem and the song!
Kevin, I am listening to your demo as I type this – to me, it hardly sounds “very rough” but wonderful. Reminds me of folk songs I loved as a child. Sweet sounds coming, indeed – the kind that stay with you all your life and bring you peace. I also savor the moment you capture with your poem – “closed-eye deliciousness” – magnificent. Thank you for this today.
Thank you for a poem about the sweet sound of connection; “closed-eye deliciousness” made me smile and remember shared joy together.
Kevin, your poem is lovely and your song amazing! It is playing in my head as I write! Your concept of sweet sounds coming is such a good feeling in this age when so much we hear, see and read is negative and bashing of others. I look forward to hearing it on the charts some day.
Kevin, the “remembered moment / of closed-eye deliciousness” makes me think of times when I tried something that delicious. It also reminds me of Will Farrell in Stranger Than Fiction tasting Maggie Gyllenhall’s cookies for the first time. Those last two lines are perfect too. I enjoyed listening to your “Sweet Sounds Coming” song too. Great timing to share this little treasure with us.
Kevin, I can see the eyes closed to shut out all other senses trying to compete with the taste buds for the ultimate enjoyment of this cupcake. The closed eyes tell the story.
Love the song and the frosted fingers! All kinds of sweetness to close our eyes and enjoy.
Gosh, so much talent, Kevin. The poem, the song, wow. Keep your “sweet sounds coming” Kevin!
Perfect to remind us that our eyes close with the best of times!!
I love forward to listening to your demo! As for this poem, it’s such a lyrical capture of a moment.
Fran, thank you for hosting us today and inspiring us to observe Sweetest Day with a poem! Your dachshund puppy is a bundle of sweetness – – and there is nothing sweeter than a little dachshund mischief in the blend of sweet and sassy. And sweetness from your husband, too, to know your love language and speak accordingly in his giving. I’ve been on a family gathering this week in Tennessee, and I couldn’t resist sharing my favorite sweetness – – grandchildren and Krispy Kreme doughnuts.
Pajama Adventure to Krispy Kreme
it was just after 7 a.m.
I was still in pajamas
writing at the kitchen table
on family vacation
when my son asked
you want to take a ride?
I reminded him: I’m still in pajamas
no worries, he assured ~ come on!
the HOT light came on as he pulled
into the parking lot
a couple dozen later
we were on our way back
with hats and hot glazed doughnuts,
creme filled and sugar-laden,
to share with the others
just as the good Lord
intended
Nothing like a good outing into the world decked out in PJs
Kevin
NOTHING better than hot glazed doughnuts! And this poem…💕
Kim, what is there to NOT love about your poem?? The HOT doughnut light at Krispy Kreme is completely worth the run in pjs! Years ago a friend took us and our boys on regular jaunts for these amazing, messy, otherworldly treats that we ate in the car (glaze flaking off everywhere) and we washed them down with ice-cold milk in styrofoam cups (that stuck to our fingers) — and you nailed it, just as the “good Lord intended.” They’re a foretaste of glory divine, are they not??? I was riding right along with you friend – carried by the power of your wordcraft. Sweet moment in every way!
Thank you for the poem about sweet spontaneity and mother-son joy; “just as the good Lord intended” lands with perfect humor and heart.
I was on that ride with you and your son as you pulled into that magical parking lot and the Krispy Kreme light signaled it was time. Long ago, I lived in walking distance to my local KK and clearly I turned softer as we walked to towards that light!
Kim, you completely pulled me into this scene. I wanted to be there with you. I love the dialogue, and the shared treats is marvelous. I can feel the love pulsing through this poem. Beautiful!
Perfect adventure with your son. I love that you both just went along with it. The “hot glazed doughnuts, creme filled and sugar-laden” sound so delicious!
Kim,
Haha! “Just as the good Lord intended” is one way to look at getting a donut fix! Even though Krispy Kreme originated in Utah, close to us, I’ve never had a Krispy Kreme donut.
Love it! There’s nothing like a donut right out of the fryer? (not even sure what they come out of!). And going in PJ’s makes it all the better. I’m craving donuts now. Tennessee isn’t all that far away.
Kim,
I love that I am always transported into your spaces with your poetry. I love the pajama-type adventures, especially when it’s for family fun like this (not for students fashion choices at school😖).
Clever use of HOT light because I was hoping the car wasn’t overheating so early in the morning. 😂
Enjoy your time with family!
What a snapshot of a special outing!
Kim, I love this! Pajamas and doughnuts sound like the perfect combo!
Fran, I’m not sure which to love more–that photo of you with your sweet, sweet dog or the story of how he arrived with you. What a cutie! I came across so many fascinating things while writing today and almost wrote about a motto-kiss because of the tiny scraps of poetry contained inside (maybe early hershey-kisses?), but landed here.
We gathered at the candy-pull,
glowing lanterns
carved in gruesome grins,
dumped our bags
of treats
Into the sugar scented air.
Blackness hung above
and swirled below
in a mid night kind of way
hands pulling candy
unwrapping treats
shoveling,
sugaring,
grinning
in gruesome goodness.
Gruesome Goodness — wowza!
Kevin
Jennifer, the feeling of movement is strong here – swirls and pulls lend to the darkness hanging above and swirling below. Your poem brings back all the memories of trick or treating and the fun of October sweetness. That gruesome goodness ending is just the perfect touch!
The alliteration, the imagery, and then there is the gruesome goodness of all that candy…
A motto-kiss! I will have to do something with that, for sure! One more reason to come write here in this vibrant community… the giving and receiving of amazingly sweet ideas.Now, as for your poem…the “midnight kind of way” pulls right at my core. As the weather has FINALLY cooled here (back to 80 today, though – sigh) – I have been remembering the delicious, dark, spooky pull of fall as Halloween drew near. In my mind I see a fire crackling and popping in the night…I smell woodsmoke as well as the sugar-air in your poem. I see the “gruesome goodness,” knowing just how excited the little hearts are at this candy-pull. Just magical, Jennifer – your words always are.
Thank you for the poem about Halloween joy and sugar-sweet chaos; “hands pulling candy / unwrapping treats / shoveling, / sugaring” crackles with playful, vivid energy. Fun. And I am loving your classroom adventures online!
Jennifer, your description of the pulling, shoveling, and oh yes sugaring brings back memories of so long ago when I was the one getting that Halloween sugar high as the blackness swirled outside. Powerful descriptors.
Jennifer, I adore the way you open this poem and offered this timely scene. I can feel the excitement of getting the sweet treats. Loved “Blackness hug above/and swirled below/in a mid night kind of way”. Very fun poem!
Jennifer,
Those last lines from “hands pulling candy” you have captured that crazy holiday so well. The “sh” and “gr” of those last four lines seem the perfect Halloween sounds. Well done!
Jennifer,
I love the sense of greedy giddiness:
Jennifer,
This is perfect for Halloween. Love the movement and sounds in your poem, especially
“shoveling,
sugaring,
grinning
in gruesome goodness.” 😋
Jennifer,
You took me back to some of my favorite Halloween memories with my sister and later with my children.
This is the best because I’m an “S” alliteration lover!