Verselove is a community celebration of poetry in April—an invitation to write, read, and reflect together. You’re welcome to write a poem a day or to come and go as you need. Reading and leaving a brief note—a line you loved, an image that stayed, a feeling a poem stirred—is also a meaningful way to participate. This is a generous, low-pressure space. We’re glad you’re here.
Our Host
Linda lives in Virginia, where she teaches from a middle school library. As a school librarian, she tries to expect nothing while simultaneously being prepared for anything. Anyone can walk through the door of her library for tutoring, emotional support, the laminator, collaborative planning, space to hold an event, time to tinker at a maker station or a whole group lesson on how patchwork poetry can be good practice for citing sources. Linda also serves on the Intellectual Freedom Committee of her state’s chapter of the American Association of School Librarians. She believes in whole-hearted teaching, learning from mistakes, and creative play as a learning style. She lives with her husband, two sweety-boy brother cats, Dolly the dog and some of her adult children. Linda has published poems in various Ethical ELA collections and weekly on her ‘Another Word Edgewise,’ substack.
Inspiration
Translating life into poetic style. There is nothing that poetry can’t explain in a way that hearts can understand at least as well as the original.
I am fascinated with how poetry can make life real to me. I share this with students who are open to this as much as possible. I know that it’s not every student’s style. However, for the creative and sensitive types, it can be a middle school life saver.
Today’s poem is meant to be a translation in the style of poetry. I first encountered this prompt from Whitney Hanson. Hanson is a Tik tok phenom who has self-published several books. She takes a Tik Tok trend of translating something from English into poetry to her own level in her book, In Poetry We Say, (Independently published. 2024). However, there are many, many poets that write to the prompt; in poetry we say.
Here are some examples:
“In English, we might say, ‘I feel lost in the chaos of life.’
In poetry we say, ‘The heart wanders through the storm, seeking sunlight in shadows.'”
Source: Whitney Hanson’s inspiration found in her journal, “In Poetry We Say…”.
Source: Letters of Annawin. Facebook
Process
Take a sentence from English. Translate it via the phrase, in poetry we say… Some possible sources of sentences in English:
Idioms
proverbs
Folk expressions
Headlines
Quotes by famous people
Forecasts
Sporting Events
Reviews of concerts, plays, books
Once you’ve translated a few or many sentences poetically, circle back to one that gives you a nudge to go deeper with translation until you have written a full poem (in any form, any length) about a thing and what the thing really is.
I hope today’s writing will give you a chance to play in your poetic style. I chose to play with the golden shovel form. Use any form you like to create a poetic translation.
Linda’s Poem
In English we say, It is what it is.
In Poetry we say,
How can we know a thing? what might it
carry inside from long ago? Is
what
we see the end? Or, is it
resting? What stands, what breathes simply is.
Here are some phrases synonymous with, It is, what it is, if you’d like to play with that idea. But, feel free to take anything from English and translate it into poetry.
- It can’t be helped.
- You’ll just have to accept it.
- That’s life I guess.
- Such is life.
- Let bygones be bygones.
- That’s the way the cookie crumbles.
- It’s ok, it’s all water under the bridge now
- Just gotta roll with the punches.
- Que sera, sera. (Spanish for “what will be, will be”)
- C’est la vie. (French for “such is life”)
- So ist das Leben. (German for “that’s life”)
- Así es la vida. (Spanish for “such is life”)
- Così è la vita. (Italian for “such is 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.
I ran out of time today, but I still wanted to get a brief poem in.
Lessons Learned at McDonald’s
When time, free will, and
high expectations collide,
Duty always wins.
In English, we say, “If you have time to lean, you have time to clean.”
Fantastic haiku, Julie.
Fun to see it juxtaposed against title and boss’s mantra.
Out of context, could have many meanings.
Julie – I am glad you were able to get your poem in last night. The collision you describe is one we all know too well. Duty… It seems teachers have such strong senses of duty that leaning … that wonderful leeeeeeaning is utterly elusive. I hope your poem felt more like leaning than duty. Thank you for your poem. Susie
Thanks for an inspiring prompt, Linda!
They say time is a thief;
in poetry we say, life collapses.
Frames of the present blur
with dusky clips of the past
with premonitions of the future.
Reels of imaginations whir—
joy for what we hope is inevitable,
grief for what is here and now
yet already past.
They say time is a thief;
in poetry we say, life collapses.
My eldest swings, pumping his
almost-5-year-old legs
with might and pride; his younger brother
scrambles to the top of the slide
on his own for the first time.
Their play parallels, becomes
Our play:
Two sisters swing, pumping our legs
to touch toes to tree limbs
against a dusky sky.
Laura!
Lovely to see you on here.
Love the shift from your children to you and your sister.
Love all the movement in these lines:
Love hearing about your boys from your Mom. Sweet to hear about them from you in poetry.
Take care!
Hi Sharon ! 🙂
Thanks for reading and the feedback. I was worried the shift may not be clear enough…earlier drafts and such. Hopefully we’ll keep “bumping” into each other here!
Welcome back, Laura! I’ve missed you and your writing. Five year-old? Say that is not the child you were pregnant with when we last talked!! OMG.
Your poem is absolutely adorable. I love the way you used the phrase. Your first stanza explains every emotion I’ve had over this last year. To be in the position of not wanting the end of the school year to come, but also craving the ending to begin retirement is such a conundrum. All the emotions and imaginings every day.😢👀😒🤪
I’m excited to see what else you write this month.
🌸 🌸 🌸
Congratulations, Stacy!!! 🤩
I hope to hang around here more this month, and, hopefully, I’ll find out what you plan to do with your newfound time. 👀
And, yes, I also cannot believe that the baby who you met virtually, in utero is turning five in a few weeks 🥹and his little brother will be three at the end of August 🥹🥹
🫶🏻
In English we say, It was nice to see you.
In Poetry we say,
As soon as I noticed you, my heart
Raced a little faster. I could feel
The warmth spread across my face.
My cheeks still ache from the smiling
Even though we only had a few minutes
To chat and catch up, I feel a connection
With you
And I want more.
It was really nice too see you.
I mean it.
Beautiful! I felt the warmth as I read it.
Julie,
So much nicer in poetry.
I feel the warmth
I felt this today when I saw some old friends / former colleagues I hadn’t seen in a long time.
Ahhh, Julie, an emotion everyone deserves to experience at least once in a lifetime. 💜💜
Not sure why my mind went this way . . . maybe because I was just mailing a package at the post office earlier today. Here we go . . .
What the post office says: If it fits it ships.
What my cat says: If I fits, I sits.
What the post office means: You cannot smash the package contents into the box in such a way that the sides bulge out.
What my cat means: As long as some part of me is still smushed in that teeny tiny box, then I fit.
Other things translated from English to cat:
English: Get off my chair
Cat: I was here first. Not moving.
English: I am wearing black. Do not settle down on me.
Cat: You are now a cat fur magnet.
English: It is only 1 pm. I will not feed you dinner now.
Cat: I am DYING! DYING, I say! Feed me before I wither away to nothing!
English: Oh, kitty is purring! You love me!
Cat: Finally something translates across. I do love you. Most of the time.
You speak such fluent cat! You must have a really good one.
I have two, and one is kind of a monster, but he’s a good snuggler.
It is rainy here in Florida, and the dreary weather paired with this prompt made me want to be a little dramatic. This is a lot of fun!
In English we say, “You left me on read”
But in poetry, we say
I was cut off, let go
Flew away like an
Abandoned balloon
The eternal silence
Mocks me, I wither
As I look at my phone
Delivered.
Read.
Silence.
Ashley, I haven’t heard this expression in my (older) circles. I will have to ask my students, but I love how connected it is to our lives where we want immediate reaction via our “smart” devices where communication can happen at any time and place. Love this poetic expression: “Flew away like an / Abandoned balloon.”
Oh, Ashley, That just hurts my heart. “Delivered./Read./Silence”.., ouch! Your choice of the word, ”wither”… ow. This says soooo much with so few words. So effective. And heartbreaking. Susie
I love this. The tone is perfect. Not much better than a cheeky poem!
Your poem translation now has me thinking things like “What would a text by Shakespeare look like?” Or a text by Milton?
Ashley, I love the primary metaphor of the abandoned balloon, but the last three lines are devastatingly powerful. Ending with “Silence.” is perfect.
Ashley, you nailed it. I was not expecting the ending. I DETEST “read” receipts and when people opt to use them, I wonder what’s the reason.
You hit hard with this one:
I was looking for a phrase to use when I saw a card my daughter gave me with the words “You are my sunshine” on the front. I used to sing her this all the time when she was a child. Now she is a grown adult living in another state but she definitely still is my sunshine.
Months have been crossed off the calendar
since the last time we were together,
with eagerness I count down the hours to your arrival
knowing that just your sheer presence brightens my ordinary days-
soaking in your youthful energy,
lolling in your words spinning stories of your life,
lounging in matching pj’s binge watching our favorite show,
hiking side by side in the freshness of you.
Your light chases away the shadows of my life,
refills my mom heart to the rim with joy,
providing sustenance and vitality until the next visit.
Lovely poem! I adore “Your light chases away the shadows of my life”! You’ve captured a mother’s joy perfectly in your poem!
Your poem showcases how those moments become our moments of joy in such a loving way!
I am always a sucker for a mother poem. Thank you for echoing our love.
I love the line “your sheer presence brightens my ordinary days.” This is so lovely. I needed this today. Thank you.
I popped over to read poems as I’m getting stuck with my own. Yours has really struck me. The contrast of sunshine and light with the months “crossed off the calendar” is so stark and brutal and brings into relief the pure joy your daughter brings you. Thanks for sharing your words! I hope y’all have a lovely visit!
Hi Linda,
Your prompt was so unique and intriguing to me today. I love the way you structured your poem using the phrase. Thank you for introducing me to a new poet!
I chose a common phrase from black culture, but I did not create a translation. I golden shoveled it using an example from my past.
What You Not Gon’ Do…
We would never answer Mom with, “What”
She would blaze, “What did you
say?” And we dare not
play dumb. What we not gon’
do, was what we always seemed to do.
©Stacey L. Joy, 4/8/26
Stacey — I LOVE listening to this aloud. It has music in the language. Love that. LOVE the title… my mom used that sort of phrasing when we were in deep… “this is what you’re NOT gonna do”… it was, indeed, a “blaz[ing]” moment. Cool snapshot of a sure-fired mom with he exhausting kids. LOL! Thank you for bringing us this moment. Love, Susie
.Stacey, you captured this perfectly. They said it then we said it!
Stacey, your phrase makes me smile with memories of living in the deep South as a tween. Your Golden Shovel is the perfect format and your phrase, “we dare not play dumb” is a universal standard for children!
This sounds so authentic, Stacey! I can “hear” your Mom’s question: “What did you say?” It made me smile and reminds me of some talks here in the South. Love the language and the story!
Stacey,
I love that you chose “blaze” for your mother’s verb; it pairs perfectly with the phrase you chose.
So good to be back here reading your writing. I hope you are well!
Stacey, of course this would be a golden shovel poem! So good. The mom reaction is perfect and everything fits together like hand in glove.
A BRIEF CONVERSATION
The teacher said,
“Write a poem the really reflects your voice.”
The student said,
“I don’t know what to write.”
AI said,
“Ink flows,
gathering intention
like dew on dawn’s breath,
each line a bridge,
each stanza a step,
leading back to the soul
that spun the thread of thought.”
Susie said, “Are we doomed?”
by Susie Morice© April 8, 2026
[NOTE: So how are ya’ll doin’ out there with AI? Susie]
Love it!
I think this may one reason students are afraid to write.
“!
Susieeeee, so many of discussions abound about AI. I’m going to share my thoughts even though I should be responding to your AI poem🤣.
I have a love/hate relationship with it. I love that I can create something to help me plan (ie: plan a one hour virtual meeting agenda for a parent meeting regarding end of the year stuff) or (give me a 3-month plan for purging my classroom).
But I hate when teachers in my classes have used it to generate responses to questions they can easily and much more honestly write without AI. I’ve gotten so used to reading adult AI responses that the wording jumps out at me. And of course the em-dash is a dead giveaway. What are we going to do?
My daughter wants everyone to stop altogether because of what she believes about data centers destroying under-resourced communities. My son says she’s insane because AI isn’t going away just because she despises it. I shut my mouth and do what I need to do.
Hugs!! And that teacher’s prompt is WHACK!🤣
Stacey, I am with you on some positive of the AI. I used to love long m-dashes; they were my signature, especially in poetry. Now, I try to avoid them at all costs because of how AI-generated writing uses them all the time. Ugh! 🙂
Stacey — Yes, there’s stuff to love and stuff to loathe. I HATE what the data centers are doing personally to my dearest friends in MO…they are ruining the property that surrounds my friends’ home. It is a huge battle that this small, rural community is up against. It doesn’t help that the farmer who sold out put all the rest of the community in jeopardy … environmentally ruined their lake, water supply, … all that comes with the data centers. But power money from Mar-a-Lago types paying people off. It sucks. Heartbreaking… my friends have spent decades with this legacy, family property..their home…getting it ready for their grandchildren…now rendered ruined property. Makes me sick to think about it. It all goes to a vote later this month. They filibustered all night long last month, trying desperately to stave off the ruination.
But I’ve seen AI create a lot of time-saving with perfunctory tasks. Getting time back is pretty sweet. But honesty and creativity and genuine, real voices need to be in the air. So, this is not easy.
Susie,
This is such a creative and unique look at how AI can stifle young writers. The comparison culture really is so toxic.
Susie, to answer your question, I don’t know. AI can certainly spit out whatever people may ask it to “write.”
A few weeks ago I asked students to develop an applied demonstration for the Linguistics course to show how the concepts we learned could be used in students’ future careers. One student submitted a four-page explanation of what the applied demonstration was and what phonetic sounds made the phrase, and how they were produced. I’ve never read more absurdity in one place than in that paper.
I do think AI can be used more effectively, but we have to study it carefully. Until we learn how to do it, our students will use it as a Google or Wikipedia that can put together any task they are assigned to complete. I am turning to handwriting in class more often lately.
Are we doomed? Oh my, yes, yes we are! Love your playful tone and the very relatable scene! I sure appreciated your blizzard story! Your response was far more entertaining than my poem but it is crazy how poetry can evoke a powerful memory which AI simply can’t create!
This is brilliant. This is a poet’s poem. The dichotomous tone is genius. The quandary of the soul is superb. Just wow.
Susie,
The irony here cuts deep. Scott needs to read your poem, I love the conversation between the student and teacher, but oof! AI steals words and voice, no matter what claims others make to the contrary.
*Bigly Bad Language Warning- Thanks for YOU’RE attention to this matter.
NO KINGS! DEFUND ICE!
but/or
its an American morning
white clouds pillow,
bubble over the bright blue
spacious skies
and some of us were taught
some of us found out
and some of us had a feeling all along
those same spacious skies
saw our fathers
some of them violent patriots
some of them perpetrators of violence
but its just another day in America
we slosh down our antidepressants and adderall
and we rush
to work, to facebook, to the next tweet, to sports ball
and we wear
clothes made in China, and thin, and out
when we go to bed we are wracked
wanting to run away, go back to good old days
we know weren’t so good but philosophers say
Ignorance is Bliss
we want answers to our prayers
we want answers
damn it
poets say this
How the fuck, America?
Yeah. Yep. That’s right. That ending right there. I keep saying that over and over. I think we have a lot of poets in the world screaming.
Kasey — I’m grateful for this poem. You are naming it, calling it out! What a mess… and you have certainly captures the chaos, the mess, the futile sense of “good old days” … and wanting answers. My favorite image line is “slosh down our antidepressants and adderall”… it really hammers the comatose, zombi-esque-ness of plowing through each day . Your ending… yes! YES! Thank you. Susie
Yes! how the fuck are we here, in this mess?? Beautiful poem!
Yes to your last line! How many times I have thought that over the past year.
At the honbasho,
after the shikiri, and the shiko,
after niramiai,
after the nodowa, after the oshi-zumo
and yotsu-zumo,
after the salt and ceremony,
the staring and slapping,
the legs to the sky
and the stomping of earth,
after the falling together
and the falling apart,
all the sumo
are asked, as the they exit the dohyo,
in Japanese, “Why do you think
you had this outcome?”
And in english, they say
“I just do my own sumo.”
But in poetry, they say
My body is my own
And I am the earth
And all of the water
And soil
And in my breath
And in my sweat,
In the folds of my enormous
And impossible body
Is the way that I
Learned to love
So this is the outcome
Because I can only be
This sumo right here
Oh, Jonathon, wow! As far as I remember, this is the first poem I’ve read about sumo wrestlers. And you have made me love them. That whole section on what they mean when they say, “I just do my own sumo,” is just so beautiful. “My body is my own / And…” All the ands are breathtaking. “in the folds of my enormous and impossible body…”
This really is pure poetry, Jonathon. I adore all the details you’ve put into your poem, transporting me to a whole other world. Your translation of I just do my own sumo is stunning.
Jonathon, I love the language moves you make in this. You pull us into the arena of sumo wrestling, and then universalize the experience in your “poetry says”
stanza. You really capture a moment and bring it to the human experience. And I really love the line “in the folds of my enormous and impossible body”— that is such a vivid and, in the moment, important image to bring to the reader. Really great poem!
Linda, thanks for hosting today. Thinking about how words create a mood or an idea is intriguing. I saw this sign “Stay Out!” and it triggered my response today.
STAY OUT!
ivy vines cover a towering fortress
layered brick by granite brick
ghostly shadows shift behind barred windows
below a Doberman pincher snarls inside a bolted gate
protecting the secrets trapped within
Barb Edler
8 April 2026
Barb,
Those two words carry so much meaning. “Stay Out” had me thinking about the metaphoric meaning of Dobermans, if old wealth vines swallowing and choking us all, “protecting the secrets trapped within” has me thinking about alm that’s hidden from us these days. I live poems that compel so much thought. Well done!
Intriguing – now I’m imagining so many secrets. I love how the sign led you to create a mysterious setting.
Barb—a perfect plot for a fairy tale! I love the imagery of the granite bricks…
Barb — What an eerie image this is. A snarling Doberman…yikes. The bolted gate…ominous. Barred windows. I got lost in a city I didn’t know in the middle of a blizzard on foot at night, snow so deep that cars looked like huge white turtles frozen in place to the streets that perhaps were underneath them, but so much snow made it impossible to know where the street was. Dimly lit storefronts, wig shops, with barred gates for doors, corrugated metal (instead of “layered ivy”) and chainlink fencing between the junkyard dogs and me, with only a liquor store open that had a telephone. (pre-cellphone era). Not one of my best moments. It was a night I’ll never forget. Your poem took me right back there…It took me four hours to find my way back to my friend’s home via the Orange Line through Roxbury, MA. Although I knew I was lost, I was so focused on finding my friend who’d had a head-on collision in the blizzard that it didn’t occur to me that I was, perhaps, not exactly safe out there by myself.. it was January, 1987. Isn’t it something when what your poem did was transport me!?! Bam! I was right back there in the blizzard. [My friend was okay…rattled, but okay.]
Barb, those words lead the reader into your hauntingly eerie poem that seems to drag the reader right to the gate and that scary dog!
Your poem makes me wonder and want to know more- what secrets are there? Your words create such a vivid image and a mysteriousness. My favorite line is “ghostly shadows shift behind barred windows.”
Barb, your poem is short, but builds such a suspense. What’s there behind “a bolted gate”? It reminded me a cartoon from my childhood. There was a sign “STAY OUT–ANGRY DOGS” posted on one of the house gates . One day when the owners came home from work, they saw a new sign: “STAY OUT–ANGRY HOME OWNERS.” 🙂
Barb,
The setting and the sign alone have me curious! Lots of mysterious elements and the irony is “Stay Out” — it all comes with a warning. Sometimes makes for even more intrigue.
Oh, you have poetized those two words! I love the scary tone the description gives. Sounds Poe-ish.
A colleague calls out
hurriedly and in passing –
Everything good?
I have no doubt
their inner poet
is actually saying –
May your day be
like a butterfly
light in its landing
soft with its flutters
no lingering in the ugly or past
a bounteous garden of fresh deas
many connections
with rosey and good
a joy to behold
—
Linda, this was a challenge! Thank you for this fascinating prompt.
you definitely made my day!!! Love the eloquent phrases- I want to be the butterfly!!
Maureen,
What a lovely way to frame the prompt: As hearing a poet’s words to make the ordinary extraordinary. BTW, I found this challenging today, too. I blame Orangey for that.
What a fun turn, Maureen. “no lingering in the ugly or past” is my favorite line. Brilliantly played poem!
Excellent! I will now think these delightful phrases when I hear, “everything good?”
So many positive wishes in one small question! I would love a day as light as a butterfly’s landing.
What a beautiful poetic interpretation of “Everything good?”. Brought a smile to my face. Thank you.
Maureen, your images take me into a far deeper question and state than that simple question that usually gets only a nod!
Maureen – this is lovely! Absolutely lovely! May your day be/like a butterfly/light in its landing…I love that line!
Your poem shows how checking-in with one another can have such a big impact even when it is done with a few words.
I love the idea of someone’s inner poet being so much more eloquent than we can be when we pass quickly in the hallway.
Oh, my word, Maureen. I so, so love this poetic greeting. Wow, the huge heart of that colleague who cries out, “Everything good?” I’d like to believe all of us want to actually say things like this, what a better world it would be, love on earth, like it is in heaven, seems to me. I just can’t choose the parts of this that I love the most. I want to wish it all to someone! Thank you for this.
Thank you for such a creative prompt, Linda. I like how naturally your Golden Shovel flows and keeps the message at heart. I have to try this one with my students. they have such a fresh view on everything these days. I, too, played a bit with various phrases, but stopped on this one: “Burning a candle at both ends” meaning doing too much or spreading too thin.
Burning at Both Ends
Be careful, my friend once said,
you are burning a candle at both ends.
It isn’t only about light, she added,
but the wick that never cools.
I kept offering myself to every hour
until even the flame grew tired of me.
A lantern asked to light every corner,
my glow now trembles at the edges.
Even wax remembers its limits.
Even flame asks for pause.
Perhaps,
I should follow their lead.
Love love love this, Leilya! This idea of “the wick that never cools” and our need for limits and pause.
Leilya, I love how the narrator opens this poem with a word of caution. Love the various ways light becomes a flame and that flame even grows tired. Loved “my glow now trembles at the edges”…wow! I can feel the desire to follow the advice juxtaposed with the desire to keep going and doing and writing and working. Powerful poem!
Leilya,
Zinger: “even the flame grew tired of me.” I’ve often used the phrase “busy being busy.” Humans like to see themselves as necessary and indispensable, but we’re more satisfied when we learn to say “no” and acknowledge we are not irreplaceable, as the breadth of history shows. I’ve always loved the Ed a St. Vincent Milayvpoem featuring g the image of a candle burning at both ends.
Yes! Even flame asks for pause…
“until even the flame grew tired of me…” – what a powerful line! I definitely should heed this warning.
Leilya — Fascinating images… the wick and the flame… it’s a very interesting anatomy of the candle and the adage with it teaching. I LOVE “my glow now trembles at the edges,/ Even wax remembers its limits. Cool! (maybe I should say HOT!). :-). Susie
Leilya, your poem and the message are so real and describe the wear and tear that comes from trying to light every corner. Beautiful
Leilya,
This one is hot! So many fabulous lines and metaphors. The last two lines really seal the edges of the poem.
OH, Leilya, yes, indeed. I like the way you learn a lesson from the poetic rendition of “burning the candle at both ends” “Even wax remembers its limits. Even flame asks for pause.” I like those two lines with their period endings, and then your “Perhaps…” Bravo!
Linda,
This prompt and the amazing poetic responses to it, sans that of he who never comments on anyone’s poems, inspires me. I want to play w/ this more but could not drag myself from the first thing that popped into my mind.
Elect a clown. Expect a circus.
[for MAGA]
You lived the chaos
during Trump 1.0–
the caged children
the FUBAR pandemic response
the covefe
the lies, lies, lies ad nauseam
the nepotism & grift
the destruction of Jackie’s rose garden
the Kim Jong Un bromance love letters
the alternative facts lifestyle of
the corrupt & incompetent.
You knew the Project 25
playbook for Trump 2.0–
the mass deportation plan
the cut taxes for billionaires mantra
the send women back to the kitchen idea
the punish blue cities paradigm
the dismantle the civil service chain saw buzz
the climate change denial
the drill baby drill chant
the who needs NATO betrayal
and yet
having elected Pennywise’s doppelgänger
you’re shocked to see the circus
come to town
Glendale Funk
April 8, 2026
Oh, Glenda, there is not a word of untruth herein. I fear we are far from a clown and a circus, however. Just a tormenting time.
What a ride, Glenda. I am impressed with the diction you’ve chosen throughout your poem to illustrate the litany of events that most of us say, “OH NO!” too. “and yet” is exactly the shift into this crazy circus led by “Pennywise’s doppelgänger”. Oof, so much angst in this and justifably so! Loved the alternative facts lifestyle of
the corrupt & incompetent. Fiery poem!
I love the truth and the detail that magnifies the many rings I this circus. And of course….the Canva photo as always brings a smile to my face!!
Glenda, this is so spot-on. It’s just so unbelievable. How could people still support any of this? [gestures broadly] I just don’t get it. I love, however, your description of him as “Pennywise’s doppelganger”! (And I also love that your poem channels the vibe of Franchesca Ramsey’s “The Leopard Ate My Face” song but uses far more explicit and concrete details to drive home your point!) This is great!
But the clown we elected, and this horrible circus we are stuck with…
Gayle,
I did not elect that pos and have always been a never Trumper. We all have a responsibility to push him out of power by any legal means we can. I refuse to chose passivity and throw my white arms into the air and say, “Oh well. Morning we can do about it.” I’m infuriated by those who do.
Nor did I. And the growing crowds at No Kings shows that we are not alone. Congress, on the other hand…🫤
Damn straight! We are not alone!
Glenda, you are so right, and I am with all the others here. The circus isn’t enjoyable, however. I also think how clowns can be different. V.Zelensky used to be “a clown” too. He literally made jokes and entertained public on big screens as a member of Club of the Cheerful and Resourceful (CCR or KVN). I have so much respect for him now compared to 2019, when he was elected the President.
Of course! Comics are clowns, just not the scary kind! You know I love Zelenskyy.
Well, Glenda, this is a painful reckoning list that really lays it all out in plain sight. The way only a poet can do. Sharp. Truth.
Gosh, Glenda — You are a GIFT. That list, that doggone list that I have burned in my ire about this bloody lying SOB… it is a powerful list of horrors. Each time I choked through one of the items, I was wrong each time that it couldn’t get any worse. It gets worse by the day. The fools under that circus tent are an appalling reminder of those we sent to Nuremberg. I appreciate your voice here, the accuracy of your data, the tone of your rage. Thank you! Love, Susie
Glenda, you summarize very scary state of our country where the clowns and circus are trying hard to keep the show going by opening new “rings” and putting on new “shows” with the same old music after getting rid of all the trained acrobats and animals leaving only those who keep falling flat on their faces…..
Glenda,
Im right there with you with ya—I just don’t get it. Your second stanza is a perfect encapsulation of what we are living through. Thanks for this poem. Sometimes I question if maybe I’m the one who has it all wrong, but it’s edifying to hear that I’m not the only one who sees this clown show for what it is.
Glenda, Orangey is a plague and a clown in the Pennywise tradition! Yikes! Thank you for writing this.
Linda,
Thanks for inspiring us. I had so much fun with this prompt.
I like the formatting and the questions beside the statement in your poem.
–––––––––––––––––––––––––––
The Grafitti Artists
The graffiti artists
Paint their poetry
On the side of
The old Texaco Warehouse
By the Scoot Inn
Est. 1871
They paint
HI, HOW ARE YOU
No question marks
Cause they’re outside
Not in school
They mean
We’re from here
Or we’re here now
Either one’s good
Everyone’s welcome
Although we all know
Artists and teachers
Can’t afford
To live here anymore
Even on the Eastside
They mean
We know our history
We give props
To Daniel Johnson
We know he had some troubles
And maybe you do too
They mean
We know he kept it weird
Before the slogan
We know he made his music
Handed it out free
On cassette tapes
On the drag
They mean
Let’s check on each other
Let’s hang out
Let’s go for a walk
They mean
HI, HOW ARE YOU
——————————
Photos of the graffiti art that inspired my poem today and of Daniel Johnston’s HI, HOW ARE YOU mural, past and present at my blog, Pedaling Poet.
Hope y’all are all doing well!
I’ve gotta run, but I’ll circle back tonight to read and comment.
Sharon,
Love this! And I totally love the pics of the graffiti pieces that you posted on your blog. There’s so much going on in your poem about how we are in dialogue in public spaces, about the multitude of meanings that can be inferred, about gentrification and affordability and about honoring spaces and history. I love that it’s a kind of love poem to street art and graffiti, too!
What a friendly poem. I love this and the inspiration by someone that kept it weird, passed out tapes and leaned in to check in on each other.
These graffiti artists really are fab poets, aren’t they? Those succinct messages, leaving us to interpret. I delight in these lines,
This is the thrill of poetry, too – we can write as we like!
Sharon, very cool blog and photos! I so enjoyed reading about Daniel Johnston. Your poem was wonderful!
Thanks for the shout out to Daniel Johnston, first of all. Love how the stanzas take on an incantatory vibe — and that callback at the end? [chef’s kiss]
Sharon, how I love this tribute to the graffiti artists, and Daniel Johnston in particular. The opening lines are so good:
“The graffiti artists
Paint their poetry
On the side of
The old Texaco Warehouse”
You are unpacking the meaning of “HI, How Are YOU” so well leading us to that final stanza that exudes care:
They mean
Let’s check on each other
Let’s hang out
Let’s go for a walk
Thank you!
You’re right! Graffiti artists are like poets.” They paint their poetry.” That was a beautiful poem. Thank you for sharing.
Wow, I never knew about this. I love all the graffiti and mural art and how you created the poem about the possible meanings of “HI, HOW ARE YOU” So sweet. Love these:
Sharon,
I love your homage to the homages.
Your poem so sweetly captures the essence of how I remember Austin. This line especially, no judgement, just the way it is which is alright:
Cause they’re outside/
Not in school
Thanks for sharing the pictures—those are incredible!
”Finer than frog’s hair,
split four ways”
Finer than frog’s hair split four ways,
is how you feeling on a beautiful day.
or the taste of barbecue,
or fixin’ stuff on cue.
the look of a new ride,
a home on the inside.
the mowed lawn,
or a new phone.
sharply dressed,
after cleaning a mess.
tedious work,
sarcasm to a jerk.
A scenic route,
when babies pout.
to break stagnation,
in awkward conversation.
in school teaching,
in church preaching.
yes, there are so many ways,
to use,
finer than a frog’s hair split 4 ways.
Another song waiting for a singer. Love this!!
Clayton, this is beautifully written with so many instances where “splitting hairs” would work. Believe it or not, my favorite lines are
A scenic route,
when babies pout.
I think of this both literally and metaphorically. Literally, when my three were young and didn’t appreciate a special event, especially one held outdoors. But also metaphorically, when I taught middle school students who had not yet developed an appreciation for literature, especially poetry.
In fact, it was not until rap came out that my “well-to-do” students finally developed an appreciation for the spoken word. For years, when we had all-school gatherings in the gym, and each grade (7-12) got to “perform” a song or poem, our students began rocking with rap!
Thanks for the reminder of both … I guess.
I agree with Gayle…this needs some music at an open mic night. All these details seeming unrelated help me understand that phrase, “finer than a frogs hair slit-4 ways.” I’ve not heard that before. Where does it come from? It makes me giggle.
This is wonderful. Great rhymes. I especially love,
Boxer, I didn’t quite know this one, so I had to look it up (still learning English after so many years). I agree there are so many ways to feel “finer than a frog’s hair split 4 ways,” and I like all your examples. My favorite two are:
“sharply dressed,
after cleaning a mess.”
and
“A scenic route,
when babies pout.”
As always, love your rhymes. You make rhyming seem so easy. Thank you!
Hi Linda, thank you for the intriguing prompt. I’ve seen this online before but never tried it out.
“It takes a village to raise a child.”
In poetry, I admit
I cannot do this alone.
I have been shaped by every
relative, teacher, friend, neighbor
every morning light that carried me out of bed
every kaleidoscopic sunset that made me believe in something
every meal that has sustained me
every place that has allowed me to call home.
I give in.
I’ve never needed others more
I succumb to the humility
that in certain regards
someone or something will be better
than me for my son.
Just as he will be raised by many hands,
I am still being raised by a multitude of others.
This is just beautiful, Angie. I love the idea, the imagery, the word choices, the recognition that we all are raised by many. I love that it comes in the admission through poetry. And that “I cannot do this alone” is the poetic language elevated.
Angie, do you recall when Michelle Obama used this “It takes a village to raise a child” as a call to action, particularly during her years in the White House when her husband was president,
She probably felt is as much as she “taught” it. How often she and Obama would have to depend on others to care for their daughters while the two parents tended to “business”.
At the same time, how often they used their role as President and First Lady to call us to action!
As your poem outlines, few of us with adult children would still be “sane” without the physical, emotional, and financial assistance of others! Sometimes that “financial” assistance was babysitting at no charge!
Thanks for the fond memories and nudge to provide for others what was available to me.
“
Amen, sister! Isn’t it beautiful to recognize your village? I am “old” but still feel like I’m being raised too.
“I’ve never needed others more” – I love this humility…it is so true, all of us – how we need each other, in all things, always. Beautiful poem!
Angie,
I love the homage you are paying in your tribute and poem. It is a mosaic of beauty and visceral in its making. Thank you.
The number of times I have said, “It takes a village . . .” I wish all people realized how important the village is and welcomed the support to raise kids with morals and sense of the greater good. Your poem should be on a booikmark to be given out in nurseries to new parents!
Angie, I’ve learned this through my life too.
I love things that shaped you who you are, especially:
“every morning light that carried me out of bed
every kaleidoscopic sunset that made me believe in something”
and
“every place that has allowed me to call home.”
Your admission that you “cannot do this alone” is honest and so humane. Your child will, too, “be raised by many hands,” and it’s great to know. Thank you for such a beautiful poem today.
This is so beautiful . . . and honest. I love the way you pulled me in with what I could easily agree to. I, too, have been raised by a village. Then, you gently led me to the truth . . . my son needs a village too. Ouch. But also true. Yes, so beautiful!
Oh, Angie! You are the best kind of mother. I know because you wrote this, are able to write this in all it’s perfect humility and grace. This line: “every kaleidoscopic sunset that made me believe in something” Wow! And that powerful ending. Just perfect!
Linda, first of all, I loved seeing that sweet photo of you. I appreciate in your poem how “it is what it is” is shown to be more complicated, with “what might it carry inside from long ago?” Beautiful. Thank you for the great prompt, which helped me better enjoy my company and the scenery this morning.
This Morning
In English, he said something like, “Do you want to ride bikes to JT and get coffee?”
Along the way, poetry answered back
with an overflowing bowl of heaven
spilling yellow sunshine
on us and the desert floor
and a stop along the way
in the sweet breeze
to confirm gratitude
for this long love
and then two steaming cups
of conversation and joy
Here are some of the yellow flowers blooming this morning…
Denise,
what a beautiful poem! “Overflowing bowl of heaven spilling yellow sunshine” is breathtaking and I love the “steaming cups of conversation and joy” that conclude the poem.
Denise, this is a wonderful love-story by a gifted poet.
The spring blooms are the best! Thank you for sharing.
Denise,
Such a beautiful way for you to celebrate the love you and Keith share and the desert beauty in which it blooms. Love that you’re “spilling sunshine” with the language of poetry and images from your rude.
Love the imagery in poetry’s response, Denise. A beautiful snapshot of your relationship and environment.
What a beautiful bike ride. I want to be on it with my beloved. Your photos are gorgeous…all that spilt sunshine. Sigh.
Absolutely precious. Beautiful poem. That bike ride through “an overflowing bowl of heaven” – ahh! I am filled with envy. Thank you for letting me ride with you vicariously!
Wow, love this one, Denise! “overflowing bowl of heaven/spilling yellow sunshine”. Oh my, the beauty right there is enough to make the reader pause. I feel every ounce of the joy and appreciate the image of two steaming cups. Gorgeous poem!
beautiful…for this long love…
“…poetry answered back with an overflowing bowl of heaven…” – Wow! I love that this poem overflows with peace, love, and contentedness.
Denise,
What a ride and what a poem! So glad you said, yes. This is one for the senses and hits a sweet spot!
Oh, Denise, your poem is so full of love and that “spilling yellow sunshine” that you and your loved one share. I also love “two steaming cups of conversation and joy.” Your poem is a healing balm for my soul today.
This is beautiful, Denise! I love the crafting of your poetic “answer”: “an overflowing bowl of heaven / spilling yellow sunshine / on us and the desert floor.” Gorgeous! (And thank you for the pictures, too!)
Denise, loved the pictures and this beautiful, imagistic poem!
Ingat (Tagalog) – take care, be careful
As I leave after a visit,
To go to school or work.
Nanay admonished,
“Make sure the sink is clean of dirty dishes.
“You don’t know if you’ll return home.
“You don’t want neighbors to judge.”
In the Philippines traffic is horrible
Accidents can easily happen.
Traffic lights weren’t always heeded.
Commutes are long.
Anything can happen.
As an adult, fifty years later
Breakfast dishes are washed.
Not even in the dish drainer
But put away in the cupboards.
Cleanliness is next to Godliness.
These few lines say so much! Isn’t it amazing how these words translate into a way of life? The worry over judgment, my goodness! It’s such a thing that older generations worry over and pass on. I’ve heard that too.
Thank you for bringing the voice of Nanay, first of all. And you are so attentive to / intuitive with pace & rhythm. The way you wrap up stanzas with single-line sentences, the way the poem is framed with “As” statements. Really engaging & varied!
Sometimes I do things that my mother used to do. And, I don’t know why–other than my mother used to do that. Come to find out that’s what her mother did and her mother’s mother. I enjoyed reading your poem. It resonated with me. Thank you.
This is so wonderful! And so much a slice of life…I was taught to worry about clean underwear using the same “code of ethics”🤦🏻♀️
Cayetana, your Nanay sounds like my Mom used to. I also was taught to clean, wash, and put up everything neatly, just in case, so “Cleanliness is next to Godliness” doesn’t surprise me. Thank you for sharing!
Linda–this is so much fun! Your golden shovel is perfect–taking that simple phrase and adding layers of philosophy. When I was growing up, I heard “Can’t just means won’t” regularly. I hated that phrase, true as it was. Did I use it on my kids and students? Of course I did!!
In English, my mother says, “Can’t just means won’t.”
I replied (poetically, of course):
I can’t.
I cannot. You are unreasonable.
I find myself unable to accomplish the task you set before me.
I am resolutely incapable of it.
I am positively, simply, inevitably not in a position to accommodate you at this moment.
I am powerless to accede to your demands.
You fail to understand the distress your request creates in me.
My mother sighed, hands on her hips. “Can’t just means won’t.”
(This is a proverb uttered with frequency in my domicile.
Too frequently for my teenage disposition.)
That is possibly verifiable. But, mother, I did not utter “will not”. I indicated that I cannot.
If I were effective in that area of expertise, oh, mother, my love, source of all wisdom,
I would certainly acquiesce. I say that with utmost sincerity.
I don’t think you appreciate the depths of my fears, of my tribulations,
and of my sorrow that I am disappointing you yet again.
Please forgive me. But I cannot do it.
My mother sighed again, with great restraint considering the depths of my agony.
“Well, if you cannot clean your room, you will not go to the dance this weekend.”
And suddenly, a miracle manifested itself.
I brought forth knowledge, insights, and competence.
My energy, previously flagging, was restored.
Perhaps I would be able to meet my dear dam’s undoubtedly unreasonable request.
(I cleaned my room…)
GJSands
4-8-26
Oh, Gayle, what a tone you’ve captured here. I love the narrative, the emphasis on I can’t and how the poem shifts at the end. Some words do inspire us into action. I so appreciate the humor here! Very fun poem!
LOL! You spin a good yarn in this poem…so true. I think I’ve certainly lived this tale as well. What a poetic way with words this teen speaker has. Love it!
Oh, Gayle. I love stories. Your stories. Narrative poems just invite us to settle in for that miracle manifest moment.
Haha! I love this. You remember well this message. I loved reading all the poetic versions of how you can’t, cannot, really, absolutely. I was on your side. Then it got to your mom’s specific: “Well, if you cannot clean your room, you will not go to the dance this weekend.”
And I laughed aloud! Bravo, Gayle.
What Is Unsaid
By Mo Daley 4/8/26
I do not say
I am going out to feel the spring chill
and the inspiring morning sun on my cheeks
simultaneously
I do not say
I am going to see how many
of the 6,305,400 birds that migrated
into Illinois last night that I can hear
I do not say
I am keeping track of how many daffodils
and crocuses have bloomed since last night
and that I will know the difference today
I do not say
that the spring smells are enticing,
glorious,
and make me muddleheaded
Because that is poetry
Instead, I say,
I’m taking the dogs for a walk
Mo, you crafted with that prompt so flawlessly. Well done! I particularly love the bird count. :-). Lovely! Susie
Mo—perfection! Your details are deliciously poetic!
Mo! This is the perfect poem for today’s prompt! We keep waiting for what you are going to say instead, and then, when it delivers, we’re nodding our heads along with you – just going for a walk with the dogs is really and truly so much more.
Oh, this is wonderful. I love how ‘taking the dogs for a walk,’ means so, so, so much more! Great poetry at work.
Well, there it is. A poet. A poem. All of this with precise images that draw scenes in our minds of birds and daffodils and crocuses. And then taking the dogs for a walk. The socially acceptable, the functional, and also only half of the reason most people take the dogs for a walk. I can see this as a series of poems…chaos in the house, clearing the mind, visiting a best friend. Adorable.
Oh, I loved your poem! I was just thinking this yesterday as I was walking my dogs. It’s so beautiful outside. Your imagery was stunning.
Mo,
I love the flow and cleverness of the poem. The last line offers a sweet turn, perfect!
Mo,
Your poem made me so happy.
Love all the things you are not saying, but especially
Thank you for sharing the joy of spring!
Linda, thanks for this cool prompt! I could absolutely see this working in a classroom and it’s an interesting way to do a deep dive into definition.
Nah.
In English, in real life, you might get a “Nah.”
to your well meaning question or request
but nah is not simply no,
No is a decision
Nah is an intuition,
Nah protects my peace,
it is a memory from before me
whispering in my ear,
it is a tingle in my belly
ringing an alarm in my nervous
system. No’s been to law school
Nah spent more time on the block
but when No files a brief
Nah reads it first,
Nah is telling you my soul is tired
and craves psychic space before
braving the world,
Nah might be telling you that your
ask is out of pocket, a cool reminder,
like the hair standing up on a dog’s
neck lets you know not to extend a hand
to pet,
I try to keep Nah in it’s place
cuz I’m really more of a yeah, why not.
Luckily, before I do something I regret,
NOPE shows up to keep me in line–
NOPE is Nah’s cousin
NOPE is Nah with an exclamation point.
Your poetic tribute to nah (and nope) make me smile and appreciate how the slang of our language has become so mainstream that we hardly? notice!
The way you personify No, Nah, and Nope in this poem was particularly clever and fun. The distinctions were clear and yet their connections were readily available. I knew I was in for a treat when I read the line “Nah protects my peace”
This is genius, Dave. What a great way to explore the nuance of a word. You’ve really gotten to the core of nah. I could see this kind of activity working so well in small groups or even a whole class to work with vocabulary nuances. How inspiring!
Dave – How totally witty and word-smithy! The nuances are as spot-on as you can get. Funny and totally cool and accurate. This is what AI can NOT produce… well, at least not yet. Nah. Nope. No! Such a smart poem! Love it. Susie
So great Dave.
“No’s been to law school
Nah spent more time on the block
but when No files a brief
Nah reads it first,”
These lines are the best.
Smiling.
“it is a tingle in my belly
ringing an alarm in my nervous
system. No’s been to law school
Nah spent more time on the block
but when No files a brief
Nah reads it first,”
this is so good!
Nope, nope, nopity, nope! I can’t believe you just did that, Dave! Took one word and all it’s attitudinal relations and delivered the perfect poem. And yeah, why not? I’ll admit it. I’m more of a nope than a nah, but I love the sarcasm behind the nah.
Oh my gosh, Dave, this poem is so fun. It’s a perfect poem for teens. Loved “No is a decision
Nah is an intuition,” It’s so true and sounds fantastic, too! Your final stanza is such a terrific reveal of the narrator’s personality. Brilliant poem with an exclamation point.
I love how this poem really takes off with, ‘Nah is an intuition,’ And, ‘No’s been to law school’ makes me laugh with the truth of it. NOPE…so fun. Love it!
Dave,
This is pure genius! This one is making me smile side to side. I am totally going to use this poem as a mentor text with my students.
This is just fantastic, Dave. I love how you distinguish this negative answers and get at the nuances of each. I especially like
Yeah, I’m with everyone else here, Dave, this is great, very cool, very nuanced; I love the dissection into the various negative responses. I just love these two moments especially: “No’s been to law school / [but] Nah spent more time on the block” and “NOPE is Nah with an exclamation point.” So good!
Wow, Dave, I loved reading the nuances between nah, an intuition, nope with an exclamation point, no, a decision. So much truth! “When no files a brief, Nah reads it first.” I like that. Your poem actually reminded me of one I could write about “Sure” as an answer and the two very different poets who would answer using that word. Thanks for the creative poem today that makes us all think outside the box!
Linda, thanks for this today! I’m inspired to pay homage to Kurt Cobain, whose body was discovered on this day in 1994 after he took his own life. The original text is from his obituary in the NY Times.
In English, we say:
Kurt Cobain, the ragged-voiced product of a Pacific Northwest timber town who helped to create the grunge rock sound that has dominated popular music for the last four years, was found dead today at his home here. The police said they believed that Mr. Cobain, the lead singer, guitarist and songwriter for the influential band Nirvana, killed himself with a single shotgun blast to the head.
In poetry, we say:
Voice of a ragged angel,
he struggled to articulate
his own pain.
His end found communion
in the barrel of a gun.
In English, we say:
A note was found next to Mr. Cobain’s body, which was discovered by an electrician who had gone to the house this morning to do some work, said Vinette Tichi, a spokeswoman for the Seattle Police Department.
In poetry, we say:
Who can imagine the horror,
stunned grief?
Working class man’s
utilitarian pilgrimage
ends in crimson shock.
In the mind of this man,
his idol will forever
be lionized, yet
linked with
a pool of blood.
In English, we say:
“Nirvana will be remembered for revolutionizing the state of rock ‘n’ roll in the 1990’s, pulling it away from a processed, rather synthetic sound and returning it to something more sincere,” said Michael Azerrad, the author of “Come as You Are: The Story of Nirvana,” published last year by Doubleday.
In poetry, we say:
Everyman revolutionary: He spoke
of pain, despair. Hunger
for nothing.
In English we say:
After he became famous, Mr. Cobain frequently complained about his own success. “I do not want to have a long career if I have to put up with the same stuff that I’m putting up with,” Mr. Cobain said in an interview with The New York Times last November. “I’m trying it one last time, and if it’s more of a pleasant year for us, then fine, we’ll have a career. But I’m not going to subject myself to being stuck in an apartment building for the next 10 years and being afraid to go out-side of my house. It’s not worth it.”
In poetry, we say:
Wondering, wandering, lost
are the children of Cobain:
now adults who disdain
the vote, whose children
hide in screens, screams
of pain silent, too, inside
their heads.
Damn Wendy. I didn’t want this to stop. Great choice in creating the poetry version. These lines are especially powerful: “His end found communion / in the barrel of a gun” and your use of the word “lionized”. Thanks for sharing!
Angie says what I want to say….Damn, Wendy. This is an amazing translation of English to poetry…I have known much about Cobain. Not only did I learn some about him but I felt for this person who was so much more than the name of a rocker I never knew.
Yea great iteration of this prompt. I love it. I’ll have to try this sometime. Thank you for sharing, Wendy
This is a poem for those of us who grew up in the 90s. Phew. I love the numerous ways this style/idea/thought process could be used to teach students. The relayering of a poet is closer to his truth than any news clipping. He made it cool to be grungy as a 1st-gen kid in college meeting wealthier kids from the suburbs who paid a lot to look that way.
Wendy you have captured the many levels of loss a whole generation of followers and admirers continue to feel as they acknowledge another sad, anniversary. A “ragged angel” as you so poetically said. he would put this to song.
Wendy — This is a fascinating poem. The backstory on Kurt C plays out so tragically. The coldness of the news reports and the words packed in deeper meaning… the poetry… gosh this is so well crafted. The final verse is crushing. Wow! So weighty, so complicated are our artists … and the words that describe them honestly, truthfully, compassionately. Thank you for crafting such a moving poem. Susie
Wow. Wow. Wow.
This is fantastic, Wendy! What a way to honor Kurt Cobain. I was mesmerized while reading this – it highlights why figurative language will always be more beautiful and meaningful to me.
As a 47 year old man, Nirvana’s music shaped much of my life. I found Bleach when I was 11 or 12, before Nevermind, and then of course the world was on fire with their songs. Your translation walk through Cobain’s death is powerful, thank you. Apologies for oversharing, but I recently had a poem called “April 8, 1994” about Cobain published in the wonderful journal Syncopation…linked below… https://syncopationliteraryjournal.wordpress.com/wp-content/uploads/2026/01/j.-medeiros-3poems-proof.pdf
Jonathon, these three poem were just fantastic. Talk about capturing the feeling of being young! <3
What a way to turn typical, straightforward prose into WOW, engaging, emotional poetry.
Wendy,
I love how your back and forth between English and poetry, makes the English seem so cold and clinical. Does seem like an obituary, for anyone, but especially someone whose art was raw and who died by suicide, deserves the wild rawness of poetry.
Your poem is so well-crafted.
Heartbreaking
Linda, there are so many ways this prompt could take me that I cannot wait to get back an read other poems! I ended up writing about the recurring comment we all say flippantly which begged for a poem.
At the local coffee hut,
The refrain is repeated
Again, and again….
Have a good day!
Meaning……
May your gifts emerge amid
The meeting, interview,
Class, no matter the tone,
Even if your hopes and
Heart remain guarded.
May you find hope and peace
No matter what the diagnosis,
Prospectus, critique offers
Even as you dreams are
Dashed, again.
May you feel sunshine
In spite of the storms
Through friends, family, a poem
Despite the challenges
This day.
So much depends on that word, ‘meaning…’ I love it! And then, the beauty. What a special poem. I hope you keep this one on the fridge for yourself for years and years.
May you feel sunshine in spite of the storms…it’s what we want it to mean, saying it and hearing it. I thought, too, that there would be so many ways to respond to the prompt. Probably it is one to return to and think about again. Especially after reading the variety of responses in poetry today.
Anita,
This one is perfect for “Have a good day! ”
So much positivity radiates from your poem. I agree with LInda, this belongs on the fridge or as a bookmark.
That’s a lot of positivity. Thank you!
Anita, I usually get numb with the phrase “Have a good day” because it is said too often. I am very happy for your poetic interpretation of that phrase and will remember sunshine and a blessing when I hear it again.
Sunshine in spite of the storms…we all need more of this!
Anita, I feel an underlying ache threaded throughout your poem especially from dreams dashed again. Seeking the sunshine on challenging days is a beautiful thought to hang on to. Compelling poem!
Oh, Anita, I love this blessing for the day. I would hope all the “Have a good day’s” really mean the rest of your poem. It would be a better world. Your poem reminds me of Maureen’s today. Both beautiful and hopeful.
I have seen this floating around and love the whole idea of “in poetry we say…” and how it can be humorous, or twisted, or serious in a shallow world. So many opportunities.
I Will Be Here For You
In English we say,
Through thick and thin,
but in Poetry we say,
trudging through the
muck and mire
I am here.
Where the veil is thin
and death is well-versed,
I will be here.
When life is bulging at the seams
and friendship is
neglected
I am still here.
-Carrie Horn
I’m not sure what it says about me that all I could think about when I read your title was the sitcom Friends. I love the use of “muck and mire” here and the unpacking of things being “thin.”
Carrie, I think of how people say at a sad moment of time, “just call” and there is an unveiled promise that is held in check never to be used.
Oh my goodness yes. I hate that. Because the struggling ones aren’t probably going to call. Let’s check on each other!!
Beautiful! Thank you
I love the repetition of the idea of being here. Wonderful.
Yes. I love how your poem spends cliche. Veil is thin stays withvme. Bulging at the seams. Yes.
Thank you so much for hosting today Linda!
The prompt reminded me of something my grandma used to say, and it was so much fun to play with it.
In English we say, “It will all come out
In the wash.”
Unless you are from the Midwest
Where an “R” is added to wash
Making it “worsh”.
But in poetry we wail
Oh, dreaded stain!
How shall I expell thee
To restore again the pristine
Condition of my sister’s
Favorite sweater
That I spirited away from her closet
After she departed for work?
Perhaps ny happenstance
She will but forgive
My trespass when I
Remind her of the tardiness
Of her Saturday night return,
Well past curfew–and agree
Not to share it
Secret with the elders.
Oh I love this! It reminded me that there are different ways to interpret the phrase that it will all come out in the wash. And being from the midwest and making fun of my fellow midwesterners who say things like worsh and sawl.
Love this choice, Jeania. I forgot how I used to ‘worsh’ my clothes in the south. That line made me smile, and I’m now reflecting on the numerous mishaps at the ‘worshing’ machines. And here’s to sister’s who steal the clothing of their siblings. I’m still waiting for my Gap jean jacket to return back to me…stolen by an older sister and lost at some party. Ah, we’re clothed in storytelling, after all.
This is an amazing choice for a quote that my mother used to say as well. Your poetic voice screams in “how will I expel thee!”
Jeania,
I hope you share this w/ Stacey and Aunt Sherry, whom I sure already knew your shenanigans. This has me grinning from ear to ear as I “hear” that argument and the negotiation. Of course “worsh” is my favorite, and we both know who said that!
Oh, yes. We wail. And you really made tgis a narrative moving right into plot and character development.
Verselove Day 8: In Poetry We Say
After every school shooting
Someone will say of the dead children,
“They’re in my thoughts and prayers.”
In poetry we say,
Each and every child,
belongs to each and every one of us.
After every black man/woman/child is
murdered in their home/car/street,
Someone will question their mourners, “But what did they do?”
In poetry we ask,
Were they simply not human enough?
After every choke hold is held,
Every knee has knelt on neck,
Every shot has been fired into an
Unarmed back–
Someone will be heard saying,
“I feared for my life.”
In poetry we say,
Maybe words are not enough,
Maybe it is time to arm the poets.
“Were they simply not human enough?” really grabs my heart. Your final stanza makes sense.
Tracei,
This is jaw dropping poetry! So bold yet so humane, reminding us to care and center our humanity. I love how there is so much truth, complexity, and beauty unfolded in your writing. Thank you!
Wow. I loved this. Not joyfully but in a heartfelt way. Your words speaking truth.
Tracei — I share the sentiment, “Maybe it is time to arm the poets.” The hollow words of “thoughts and prayers” and the trope of “feared for my life”… infuriating. I do ask “were they not enough?” How much horror with it take? These are the most impossible times we are in, and it is only when I turn to the poets and writing that I find any comfort. Honoring the voices that carry the heart, poets and poetry have so much of value in the face of struggle and adversity. Your poem captures that. Thank you so much. Susie
This was powerful! I have often felt this way. We’re not doing enough. When will we live in such a way that we truly know all life is precious?
Tracei. This was stunningly good. That last line! The way you ended select stanzas with those quoted questions and statements. This poem hurt my heart — as it should.
Thank you, Tracei.
I thought this was a fun way to explore commons phrases and sayings. I had a lot of fun unpacking or “translating” my recent fears and frustrations through the language of poetry.
“Are We There Yet” by Erica Johnson
In English we ask: are we there yet?
Which, to the poet, means you have not
been paying attention.
In English we speak of the journey and not
the destination. Yet, we ask
Are we there yet?
Where are we going exactly? And where
have we been?
Sleeping in the back of a car,
eyes shut (to avoid nausea)
and ears plugged (to avoid yelling).
We missed the amber waves of grain
and we missed our exit.
This is not the kind of trip,
we can just turn the car around.
In English we say: I want to get off.
Which, to the poet, sounds like
signs of protest whipping by
like mile markers counting down
the end of our democracy.
Despair filling to the brim
like the 32 oz soda sloshing over.
Are we there yet? Are we there yet?
Are we there yet? Are we there yet?
Are we there? Are we there?
Yet, “in the face of impossible odds,
people who love their country can change it.”
Not yet.
The eyes shut and ears plugged really resonated with me, it seems to be the only course of survival these days. Every time I open my eyes and ears to what is going on around me I feel a sudden wave of nausea.
“Despair filling to the brim/like the 32oz soda sloshing over.” Exactly. Searching for napkins in the glovebox to wipe the despair from your white shirt–I feel everything about this poem.
I love this, Erica. Of course, the topic is so relatable. I have visions of you reciting this to your car’s passengers each time that annoying question is asked. Ha!
Erica — I love the “cautionary tale” elements of these stanzas…
and being to destination-driven to even see “the amber waves of grain.”
the repeated..
Really quite an important poem! The hope that we “can change it” …just your having stated that is a hope for us. Thank you. Susie
Erica, this poem was fire. That last stanza. And that last line! So, so good.
In English we say, “I’m exhausted.”
In poetry we say:
My eyes long to float
among the clouds
and rest my head
on a sea of dreams.
I so love this better way of saying I’m exhausted!! It makes me feel less exhausted. Very nice!
Love this! Ah to rest on a sea of dreams!
Melissa,
You’ve hit a sweet spot with a sea of dreams, lovely poem.
Melissa, your image of eyes floating among the clouds really is lovely.
Mahalo for this charming little poem. Yes, so much is buried in that phrase “I’m exhausted.” I especially like that you focused on what we long for when we say that we are tired.
Melissa, what a lovely way to poetically express that mundane phrase! Beautiful.
Lovely, Melissa!
“Can’t see it on a galloping horse,”
Grandma used to say.
“What can’t I see?”
That’s the whole idea!
Put away your mistakes
on top of a sprinting horse.
Quickly, a moving blur to the eye
as they swiftly trot away.
No one can view them, ever.
Hidden by quick motion
faults and errors pranced away.
Lady Godiva tried it.
This was a good one, Linda. Made me think, research and have memories of a saying my grandma from Missouri used to say.
Oh, such a lovely metaphor. The idea of mistakes pranced away. Huh. Nice.
I love your grandma’s saying, I must remember it for the perfect moment! Lovely poem.
Susan, my aunt used to say this in begging us to slow down and appreciate dinner/lunch/tea/the walk/the flowers! I love your interpretation!
In English we say,
Rome wasn’t built in a day.
In Poetry we say,
Breathe.
When you wake up tomorrow
there will still be you,
and the sun will greet you as it does,
and the hungry meow of your cat
will be just the reassurance you need.
The coffee will brew with the soft whir of morning,
And the book on the table will be begging you to read it.
Your favorite song will begin spinning on vinyl
almost by magic.
And, as you get comfortable in your reading spot,
there might be an email,
or a phone call.
But you know what you have,
what you cherish.
And as you allow the record to spin circles in your ears
you smile knowing you have the most important thing of all…
Time.
Breathe. Yes. All the “wills” and “might bes” are lovely promises.
Thanks Tyson for the reminder of Time and taking a breath. I love your description of being comfortable in a reading spot with the sun, coffee and a mewing cat.
Great prompt Linda and thank you for hosting! I have a great librarian I work with at my school, and I imagine your space and methods similar to hers.
In English we say, “It is what it is”
In poetry we say:
Slipped from my fingers
grasping emptyness
falling
into distant, dark, echo
I can not explain
or can not understand
the once thought assumption
eclipsing semblances of meaning
I refuse to explain
or refuse to understand
I continue to lay at the edge
moss and grass not softening
the rocky crags digging into my ribs
bursts of air
and breaths exhaling
sharply
what was lost
what I lost
but I tell it later as if soaked in apathy instead of gripped in desolation
Luke,
I feel this one…
So many great lines, images, and metaphors:
“eclipsing semblances of meaning the rocky crags digging into my ribs
bursts of air
and breaths exhaling.”
I especially love the last line as a closure.
Luke. I love this contemplation of the saying and how language can and cannot capture existence in the way laying at the edge of moss and grass can.
Luke, you have elevated the commonality of it is what it is so beautifully. I’m in love with that distant, dark, echo, the unsoftening moss and grass where rocky crags dig into ribs, all leading to that finality of what is lost.
Sarah McLachlan said, “I will remember you.”
In poetry, we say
I will wear the warmth of your love, a jacket
around my heart.
Your smile, a Cheshire cat’s lifting my eyes
even after your perfume no longer lingers.
your body, of a time but your soul
timeless.
David,
The romance and sentimental nature lingers long after the poem is finished. Beautiful.
David, this is beautiful. It touches my widowed heart, especially this line –
I will wear the warmth of your love, a jacket
around my heart.
This image will stay with me for a long time. Thank you.
Oh, how nice to think of love as a jacket. And what remains in absence.
oooohhhh….this is lovely! your metaphors make me fall in love with poetry (again, still, always)…a jacket around my heart…wrought in time but timeless.
David,
Stunning expression of love. These last two lines are amazing: “your body, of a time but your soul
timeless.”
The specificity really helps bring this to life more than the declarative statement.
Linda, this a great prompt which I will be sure to turn to again and again…thank you! the italicized words are from a Wordsworth poem which pops into my mind every time I come across the directive to seize the day.
In English we say, Seize the Day;
in poetry we say,
how lovely! a spot of green pokes through
the dead brown litter of last year’s winter or
how beautiful! a field of sunflowers still bloom
against a pale-blue, war-stained sky.
And if perchance you find yourself
wandering lonely a cloud,
stop
beside the lake
and beneath the trees,
gather
the host of daffodils fluttering
and dancing in the breeze.
Breathe deep. Treasure
each miraculous moment.
Awe! This one captures me, because my 12th graders and I have just finished spending some time with Wordsworth. We even took a walk to the lake and sat under the trees. I’ll have to share this with them, I think it will be fun for them to see how real worlds can clash. I particularly like the “stop” and “gather” parts of your poem that create the space around them even for stopping and gathering
Ann, I love how you weaved Wordsworth into this activity. “the host of daffodils fluttering / and dancing in the breeze” is perfect for spring break.
I love this Ann! Great interpretaions and allusions and images sprinkled throughout this piece. A great read
Ann,
Wow! This poem is tugging at me in the best possible ways. I really love how you seized the day and captured so much beauty and boldness. I will need to save this one!
Ann, I love the nod to the poets before you in their italicized lines, and what a lovely way to seize the day. I’m ready for the green to start poking through the dead brown of winter, and slowly but surely I see it happening.
Ann, I have just come in from gardening to find your poem on seizing the day. I feel lucky to have spent a spring morning under blue skies as spots of green poke through and the daffodils nod along to windsong. You built upon one of my favorite poems from Wordsworth. Thank you for reminding us to carpe the diem.
Ann, this was terrific! Loved how you wove Wordsworth’s words into this and turned the end into a call to action. Loved those second and third stanzas and the parallelism of them,
Linda, thank you for the inspiration!
Spilling the Tea
private words
behind my back
cut like knives
a sharp attack
you were my friend
I shared through tears
you turned and filled
another’s ears
What harm is there
to spill the tea?
it was still hot
you scalded me
wow, Lori…this is great…the brevity of your words, the metaphor of the knife and scalding tea, captures the shock and pain of betrayal. Your last two lines are prefect.
Lori,
This poem is sharp and succinct with so much depth. It leaves me feeling so much…the last two lines, “it was still hot
you scalded me.” are perfection.
Thanks for writing.
Lori, love the rhyming and the message in your lines today. And the truth of trust and spillage.
Lori,
WOWZA! Love the rhyme. It’s like a soft pounding heartbeat thumping the point. Such an innocent sounding idiom that scalds. Love it.
Lori, this was so elegantly expressed! I love the last four lines, especially. Great mastery of meter and rhyme — and this experience/feeling is so universal — I certainly could relate.
Lori, ouch! A betrayal does burn. The scalding is visceral!
Lori, wow, so powerful. What a great addition to the metaphor of “spilling the tea”–to see that it is still hot and can scald the person it’s about. That is such a great illustration of the damage gossip can do. The rhyme in your poem is spot on–you make it look effortless. Just beautiful.
A prompt that will challenge over and over again!
I heard a touching report on the radio yesterday about the astronauts naming craters on the moon…
In English we say “Just the facts”
Artemis is a moon exploration program that aims to land humans on the moon and establish a permanent base on the moon for further space exploration
Artemis ll is sending four astronauts on a lunar flyby
Poetry asks for feelings, beauty (or ugliness), grand ideas and smallest noticings
In the midst of their scientific mission
Astronauts paused
Naming newly seen craters on the far side of the moon
Voices swelled with pride as they named one for their spacecraft, Integrity
And voices choked with grief as they named another for a beloved one lost to cancer, Carroll
Then followed a long silence filled with the enormity of human emotion no merely factual reporting could capture… a true poetic moment
In the language of “just the facts” the humanity of the moments might be lost, but poetry will preserve them for the future
The enormity of the event shaded with the humanity of the astronauts. Thanks for centering humanity.
Diane,
What a way to turn “just the facts” into your poem. I appreciate how you incorporated the poetic pauses, imagery, metaphors in all its essence while capturing this historic moment and making it momentous.
I was touched with the naming of Carroll, mother of two daughters and wife of one of the astronauts who saw the bright spot and thought of his late wife who’d lost her battle to cancer. this is beautiful.
I am glad I wasn’t the only one who immediately latched onto the beauty and poetry of that moment — naming a crater for someone you love and it being during this big scientific mission. I hope 100s of poems are written about it and I’m glad yours was one of the first I read on the subject!
Yes, I too was touched by this moment of human kindness from both the fellow astronauts and all the folks at the space center. While I often wish the “news” was more of facts and less of opinions, you remind me of the power of human emotions to fully embrace a situation.
Thank you Linda for hosting and your poetry with an interesting prompt that both challenges and liberates me.
They say don’t take anything for granted…
Poets say..
Don’t separate
The hardness and the flatness
Tether his interior
Meaningful anchor
Reveal the struggle of our living
Stillness of woods
A slim, blues-tinged prayer
that makes you feel, think, revere, and restore
Lyrical–moody
Quiet as a lullaby
What does it feel like to be human?
Let’s borrow the language of poetry
Let’s borrow from nature
Let’s indulge in the luxury of lyricism
Let’s find our purpose
Propel our days in all that is
beautiful and sad
consequential and inconsequential
wonderful and heartbreaking
tethered and untethered
all at once
“Let’s indulge in the luxury of lyricism” – what a perfect line for this month of daily poetry. Your language flows and floats. This is a lovely poem, a call to embrace life as poetry.
I’m drawn to this poem because of the line breaks and space between lines. It presence thoughtfulness and attention to detail. You are a poet…these are things we say.
Darshna, I am loving the tethered lines today – – tethered and untethered, tether his interior….this idea of flowing or binding feels palpable in your poem and the poetic mood is set as a poet wanders and reels back in
Loving these lines, Darshna,
Love your indulgence today…the luxury of lyricism!
Darshna, your invitation to borrow poetical language to remind us from where we come (nature) and inspire to be (in the luxury of lyricism) compels us toward purpose, in all its opposite forces (can’t help thinking about the hinged and unhinged nature of where the world is right now). I love that it happens all at once, in the messy, chaotic turmoil of living.
Sarah a,
Through listing and repetition of “Let’s” you show the expansiveness of poetry, its boundless ways of saying all the things.
Darshna, beautiful poem. I love the advice “Let’s indulge in the luxury of lyricism” and the way the whole poem flows to the final lines: “tethered and untethered
all at once”. Something truly magical is happening here! Lovely!
Wow, Darshna, this is amazing. “the luxury of lyricism” “Propel our days in all that is / beautiful and sad” So many lines I want to quote and carry with me to bed this evening. I will not take this poetry for granted. Beautiful!
In English we say
”on the same page” —
in agreement with others.
In poetry we say:
Let’s come together,
enjoy cohesive thought
be of one mind
come in sync
with those like minded
but don’t forget
stay true to you —
deviate when necessary.
©️Jennifer Kowaczek April 2026
Linda, thank you for today’s prompt. This was such a fun play with words and I plan to explore more poetry translations in the coming days.
My choice of form is Line Messaging; the only rule is that the last line of each stanza work together to reflect the overall message of the poem AND as a stand alone poem in their own right. I think I did that here.
I discovered the form in the Invented Forms section at http://www.shadowpoetry.com/resources/wip/types.html
The lines that focus on coming together, being in sync–so lovely and then the twist at the end. Ah, so lovely. Deviate when necessary–quite the ending. Love the delicate phrasing, the layering of lines that mean so close to the same thing. Beautiful work here.
Ooh, thank you for that resource! That’s gonna be great for choice writing with my students. Great job freeing up the grammar / pace of the poem. With the last-line restriction, you could have easily end-stopped those stanzas, but the long enjambed middle opens it up wide. NICE one
Thank you for the prompt. The idea of poetry as translation of the world is delightful.
Someone says, “A good beginning makes a good ending.”
The poet says, the first line trembles like a match not yet struck.The poet sees her hand hovering over blankness as if it might bruise.The first line is hesitant, circling the silence for somewhere to land.
Beginnings are not good; they are fragile.
Thin ice over a lake of unwritten things,
and still, the poet steps, listening
for the crack that might grow a verse.
Someone says, “A poor craftsman blames his tools.”
The poet says, this pencil is dull with refusal,
this paper too bright, too knowing,
the words hide behind her teeth like stubborn children.
The poet sharpens, erases, begins again,
blaming the rhythm, the weather, the weight of the day,
anything but the quiet truth
that the door is open
and she is afraid to walk through.
Someone says, “Better to light a candle than to curse the darkness.”
The poet says, in the dark, the poet learns the shape of her own voice,
how it flickers before it steadies,
how even a small flame can shine the room.
A single word becomes a wick,
a line catches, then another and
suddenly the page glows with a soft defiance,
and she is no longer alone with the night,
but speaking to it,
and being answered.
Someone says, “All’s well that ends well.”
The poet says, the ending is only a quiet closing of the door,
a breath set down gently at the edge of the page.
She reads it back, a small survival of words,
this gathering of scattered light,
and it is enough.
For now. It begins again tomorrow and
already, somewhere inside her,
another beginning stirs,
restless, a seed, a dawn, a spark.
Waiting for its ending.
I feel that my words are inadequate to express how much I love the words and ideas in your poem. I found myself in it which is wonderful, poem as mirror.
Melanie,
I admire the composition of this poem. So much to excavate here as a reader/poet. Lots of imagery and metaphors that I am savoring.. thank you.
Good Morning, Linda. I took your prompt for a walk this morning, needing to think about common phrases, the universe, the ways a poet approaches routines as they do. The task was a cold glass of Mango Tango to parch a dry mouth with April allergies. And I love the way this teaches young people that poetry is another language…like music, mathematics, and Lær at tale dansk. Here’s my morning scribble…love starting the day as a poet (and not a procrastinator, he tells himself).
It’s All Good
b.r.crandall
In habit I say, It’s all good,
but I know the poets see me,
ask their questions with spirited spit-fire…
the what-abouts – nuclear codes,
that thing about global warming,
gasoline, hangnails, anxiety —
all the ways we make
being human illegal &
their preference for blaming
the brown, the foreign,
the poor.
This morning, another round
of excuses arrived, actually.
Aneurysms, assessment-eating
canines, molars with too much
wisdom. Youth, being wasted
on the young. The privileged.
It is what it is.
Still, there’s hope in wheels with meals,
deliveries of satiated survival,
to sustain another day.
empathy. care. kindness. love.
Actions speak louder than words
& I’ve learned to Shout from Laurie —
it’s an upstate thing.
Just Inhale. Exhale. Write.
It’s all good.
It has to be.
Because I’m back in Connecticut.
There’s so much work to be done.
Bryan, love the Halse-Anderson nod, and so much else to smile about in your poem today. The excuses had me chuckling – – aneurysms and teeth with too much wisdom. Where do you come up with these witticisms so quickly?? And they fit with such precision. I also like how you drew the two worlds you’re in – – and despite all the excuses of others, you didn’t let your dog eat tests, you made sure meals on wheels came, and you still showed up – – ready to go! It is all good, and you showed us the way.
I love the direction this took, not rephrasing, but expanding and adding context. How often we say “it’s all good,” when it’s so far from it, but there is good, and “so much work to be done”
I love the idea that you took the prompt for a walk! This poem provided so much for me as a reader–from the alliteration (satiated, survival, sustain) to the word play of it’s all good while know it’s all good but not but it is to the layering of thinking and images. Sigh. So much to sit with. Perhaps this is a poem I should take for a walk to think about. It’s lovely and engaging and so very meaningful.
Bryan, the tone of this – I heard it right from the start when It’s all good echoed in my voice, reverberated throughout the entire piece, right through the what about‘s and the it is what it is’s. Those what about’s really got me. Love the molars with too much wisdom.
Linda, I really like the expressions in different languages and have explored their use here.
Whatcu Mean?
Too often we say,
“That’s life!”
As a reason to give up on D.I.E.
But that won’t work with me!
So often we say,
“Así es la vida,”
As an excuse to stop working.
Too often, it’s just an excuse for shirking.
Sometimes we say
“Que sera, sera,”
When laughing at expected failure
Almost like, Ha,ha,ha,ha,ha!
That may have been life before
Our group here
We’re gonna be working for change
Have no fear!
And because of that, I say,
“C’est la vie.”
I really mean
“God’s been good to me.”
Saying, “Così è la vita.”
May have worked before
Now here comes Anna, knocking at the door.
With our teaming,
We’re not scheming.
We’re just planning together
You’ll just have to accept it.
C’est la vie, ici!
Anna, once again you blend the diversity of language and real life issues with rhyme and meaning that shows the caring spirit that you have. And the photo with the mission and the smiles, too! Love that you used so many different sayings, all woven in together.
Thanks, Linda, for your prompt, which reminds us all that poetry translates. I’ve taken some liberties, but I stuck to blank verse : ) As always, I post what I write here. Here’s today’s offering:
“Don’t mess with Texas”
We in the Lone Star State say what we mean.
“I love that for you”. A Texan kiss-off,
best deployed at a friend, someone that I
know translates this “No thanks” into firm love —
love of our trust, our freedoms — the things that
brought us together in the first place. You
say it to their face, unlike “Bless her heart”,
one of the greatest smiling idioms
Texas women gave all the lesser states.
(Spilled tea in private — bet your ass it’s iced.)
And to those thinking, “But we say that too”?
That’s sweet. Bless your heart. We love that for you.
Joel, I full on snorted at the end. Every line is a zinger (and the photo is the cherry on top).
As a Texan, I love all of this! Especially the What-a-burger pic!
Dallas here! Where are you? 🤠
I’m from Bryan/College Station, but living in Sri Lanka now.
Joel, I just love to smithereens the undercurrent of meaning in colloquialisms and regional sayings. I grew up on “Bless her heart,” as a Southern Baptist preacher’s kid, and when a narcissistic Southern Sunday School queen once asked me where I got my pedicure done and I told her I did it myself, she gave me the “Bless Your Heart.” So I gave her the “I’m no Princess” and I think she got my drift. I wish I’d known the Georgia version of the Texas kiss-off. Funny how these sayings tell us so much about each other and how we are perceived. And our boundaries.
Joel,
This poem is so sharp and smart at the same time. The way you incorporated all the idioms, dialogue, and essence is perfect.
Joel,
Well, all I can say to all of this is “isn’t that special!” 😉
What a fantastic prompt you have for us today, Linda.
In poetry we say
“to thine own self be true”
or
“drink from your own well”–
fancy language to encourage people
to follow their hearts
and listen to their intuition.
In today’s lingo we say
“you do you”
carrying with it a smidge of scorn–
highlighting the individualism
(*cough*) selfishness–
to endorse moving
away from the norm.
~Susan Ahlbrand
8 April 2026
Susan, I’m laughing and nodding a resounding YES to your poem – first, for people. But we have an entitled schnoodle named Boo Radley, and he thinks he’s all that and a bag of chips and that the world revolves around him, and he does what he wants. And when he gets in that state of complete Booness, like not moving over so we can sit down or like not coming back inside when called, we look at him and say, “You do you, Boo.” And if I were to superimpose a people face on him, this is what “to thine own self” would be, from my perspective. Amazing poem and yes, *cough* *cough* *cough*
I love the language play here. The commentary on “you do you” made me laugh and pause to think. I loved the last line.
Susan,
I really love how you approached the prompt and made it into poetry! It is so spot-on!
Susan, there’s something about the shift in language, from poetic to common, everyday words, that drives that change in tone, moving it from broad and inspiring to narrow and selfish. The world needs more poetry, that’s for sure. (What the world needs now…)
Susan,
Clever girl you are to transcend time with a translation of Shakespeare to “you do you.” This would be fun to do w/ students.
In Poetry We Don’t Translate
This morning I make kiwicha
stirring the small grains
into something warm
something I can hold
I could say
it’s like oatmeal
so someone else understands
but I don’t
(okay, I just did)
I let it be kiwicha
tiny, ancient, strong
holding a place
I have not lived
steam rising
like a language I cannot enter
only stand near
and this is what poetry does
it does not explain
it does not make smooth
it swells
inspires
inflames
and the white space
is not empty
it is where meaning waits
untranslated
unoffered
asking me
to come closer
and still
never fully arrive
Note: This poem is inspired by an article on translation and the work of Edwin Lucero Rinza, a young Quechua poet who wrote and published a collection entirely in Northern Quechua at just 20 years old, offering no translations and instead asking readers to do the labor of meaning-making.
Sarah, I’m fascinated by the inspiration for your poem and what it means for the white space you examine and provide. Poetry can feel like labor. Sometimes. In the meaning-making. Mostly is swells, inspires, inflames. I feel every word of your white space, from “where meaning waits” full on to the end. What a beautiful examination. I’m in awe.
Sarah, I like that the translation will not happen, that a thing can exist unto itself with no comparison, no merging of lines to taint its own originality and meaning. That kiwicha that holds a place you’re not from but can only experience as a traveler of this land is a perfect way to keep to the essence of Edwin Rinza’s collection – – the meaning making is incumbent upon the meaning maker. Breakfast cheers!
“and the white space is not empty”–I love that line so much. I had to sit with this poem for a while because it made my writer’s heart happy. It captured so much of what poetry provides. I am fascinated by the role of white space in poetry and how it invites the reader in, how it gives space to imagine and breathe. I love the images you’ve created here.
Sarah,
There is a warm essence and linguistic beauty melded in tradition. Your poem has hints of philosophy and wisdom that feel so right for this moment. Thank you.
“it does not explain
it does not make smooth
it swells
inspires
inflames
and the white space
is not empty
it is where meaning waits
untranslated
unoffered
asking me
to come closer
and still
never fully arrive”
I really take that in, as an ongoing, neverending way of living and breathing.
Extraordinary.
I love what you say about white space, “where meaning waits.” That is one of the things we forget about yet it’s so important to how a poem lands.
Sarah,
Love, love, love the inspiration for your poem. The poem itself speaks to how the prompt today landed w/ me. I love the litotes. To explain what cannot be explained in a genre that eschews explanation at its best is a paradox. Hence these profound lines:
“steam rising
like a language I cannot enter
only stand near”
Sarah, I am quite taken by the lines:
steam rising
“like a language I cannot enter
only stand near
and this is what poetry does”
Oof, that is marvelous. Followed by “and the white space/is not empty” is incredible. Fabulous poem and I’m still thinking about the kiwicha. Fantastic work here!
I’ve kept coming back to your poem all day, Sarah, and I love it, but it’s difficult to articulate why, maybe I’ll just write my comment in Esperanto and leave it untranslated. 🙂 (Note to self, must learn Esperanto first…) The “kiwichi” moment at the beginning? Perfect. I could use poetry (metaphor, simile, etc.) to help you see/feel/smell what it is — “I could say / it’s like oatmeal” — but I won’t because that, in some way, dilutes it, changes it, takes away some of its natural/cultural being. But that’s what poetry does! Here, let me show you something that you might not know, an experience you’ve never had, but I can for a moment with words, with language, provide for you a glimpse of something new. But, also, maybe I will just paint an image and not “explain” it to you, maybe, I’ll let you do the heavy lifting, let you “do the labor of meaning-making.” This is why I’m so interested and intrigued by the link you provided. I just love this idea. (Being a fan of Godot and other more “intense” (?) ergodic texts (House of Leaves, S., The Raw Shark Texts, etc.), I’m a big fan of this idea/work.) And then, then, your next line, the line with a slight smile in it: “okay, I just did.” So good! Oh, and I haven’t even mentioned your riffing on the power of “white space” in a poem and how it holds “meaning.” Let me just stop here and simply say, thank you for this gift.
Sarah, this is beautiful. I want to eat kiwicha with no translation. And I’m thinking of your poem as I go to bed tonight. Thanks for sharing the article. I’ve got it open to read later.
Thanks Linda for a great prompt today.
C’est la vie
Such is life,
they say.
In poetry,
we say, step lightly
here among the tender
new growth,
lift a blossom
and breathe in
fresh spring—
we can walk side by side.
Margaret, bien sur! You have gifted us with a beautiful moment, a present in present tense Live in the moment, they say. I want to live in yours.
Margaret, I’m glad to be walking side by side with poets and writers in this group. It is one sure place where we can all catch a breath of fresh air, and I love the C’est la vie poem in poetry the way you have arranged it better than in its original saying.
Margaret, your poem reminds me why I love poetry…we say, step lightly/here among the tender/hew growth/lift a blossom…amidst our world’s loud trampling your words comfort me.
Poetry’s version offers so much more!
I love the last line, Margaret, as #VerseLove always allows so many of us to find each other for a while…all while walking side by side. Keep stepping lightly.
Linda, my brain is doing somersaults over here, moving backwards through what is not my normal process, and I couldn’t be happier for the challenge (not that I’m sure what I wrote makes any sense at all). Thank you for helping us think in a different way and for providing a new way of formatting a golden shovel (which causes me to try to read your poem both with and without the bolded line – another way of playing today!)
in Poetry we say,
who can question deities,
their intentions stone-set
since the heartbeat of time began,
our fates pre-destined
when origin itself started,
whose purposeful intents become
the timeline of the living
however candle-brief that life may be
while shedding light upon a once dark stage
In English we say, that’s life I guess
“Candle-brief” is punching me today. I did not read yours first, I promise, but we chose similar sayings.
Jennifer,
I love how expansive this feels, how you stretch that simple phrase into something almost cosmic, where fate, time, and divinity all press into the language and give it weight. What really stays with me is that contrast at the end, how poetry holds the magnitude of existence while everyday language shrugs it into “that’s life,” and it makes me feel the quiet power of poetry to say what we sense but rarely name.
Sarah
Jennifer, I feel every “that’s life-ness” here in these words, and like Margaret, the candle-briefness of life is really a gift – of knowing that we must live life to the fullest each day before the candle goes out. I like the deities and the fates being part of the lineup, and of course…..the stage. Love!
Jennifer,
Ooh, I love what you have done with the prompt. Your poem offers purpose, search, and guidance all at once. I am marvelling at your word choice and mastery of your brevity. Well-done!
You nailed this prompt, Jennifer . . . bringing in allusions that really work. My breath caught at the “candle-brief” use.
I’m with Margaret….
is hovering in my head with the dark stages of the petty pace we walk upon the stage.
Yes, your choice to put the grand poetic language first and then the idiom last is really very effective here, awesome!
In English
we say,
“Your essay
is 100%
AI-generated.”
In poetry
we’d say,
“Your written
text sprung,
Athena-like,
fully formed
from the head
of Zeus:
If by Zeus, I
really meant
ChatGPT.”
____________________________________
Linda, thank you for your mentor poem and this fun prompt today! I loved the topography and feel of your poem; the white space really helped focus and highlight the golden shovel’s sentiment: “It is what it is.”
Thanks for the humorous take on the prompt! Ha!
Scott,
This is so fun! Thank you for the early morning chuckle.
Scott,
This is too funny and poetic all at that same time. Love the similie. Well said.
Scott, I have found my response to the student who shares with me writing that is Zeus-sprung as if it is her own. What a hoot this is! Thank you for offering levity and sweetness to a sourball.
Scott,
This is such a sharp and playful turn on the prompt, the mythological leap both elevating and gently satirizing the idea of something appearing “fully formed” without the mess of human process. I’m especially drawn to that unfinished ending, how it opens a space for critique and humor at once, and it lingers as a reminder of how poetry can expose what’s behind the surface of language rather than simply naming it. Gently even.
Sarah
haha…this is too funny!! 🙂
This is the laugh I needed this morning! “If by Zeus, I really meant ChatGPT”. This poem needs to hang on posters in classrooms across the nation!
I love this Scott ~ I actually L’edOL…poetry always says things better!!!
Love it! You almost always add a humorous twist to things, something we teachers (or former teachers) can certainly relate to!
BOOM. Scott for the poetic win today. Love the playfulness, accuracy, humor, brilliancy, and master craft. Wusah!
Ha , so good Scott, thanks for the laugh.
Scott,
I’m seeing the gorgons and snakes slithering from the head of medusa in that AI generated essay. i.e. your poem inspired me.
I just laughed out loud. Amazing. May have to share with my 12th graders…
Haha! Oh, my goodness, this one made me laugh aloud. So, so amazing. I would love to see this published so more people can enjoy it!
Linda- thank you for this really fun format! I thoroughly enjoyed myself today. Love how you structured your poem to include the phrase on the right side. Very clever!
Built to Wander
In English we say…
Not all those who wander are lost.
In poetry we say…
There are those
whose desire to travel
to far-flung destinations
is ingrained
deep in who they are—
a pull so strong
it’s inextricable
from their being
And while they may
lose their way
occasionally,
they understand
that it’s part of the journey—
that it just might be
the best bit
~Jennifer Kesler, 8 April 2026
I feel like poetry invites us to wander and discover and pay attention. Thanks for capturing that feeling.
Ooh, I love the romantic nature of this poem and search for.. lots of imagery, and strong verbs that take the reader on a journey.
“they understand
that it’s part of the journey—
that it just might be
the best bit.”
A beautiful closing!
Jennifer,
There’s something so grounding in how you take a well-known phrase and return it to the body, making wandering feel like instinct rather than idea, something lived rather than said. I keep coming back to that closing turn, how you gently reframe being lost as part of the beauty, and it leaves me with a sense of trust in the path, even when it bends out of sight.
Sarah
Jennifer, this speaks to me and tugs at my inner core. I, too, believe there is a pull that some of us feel to go and explore the world, a resfeber that is unstoppable and will not be hushed until our bags are packed. You capture that in this poem and make me think of John Steinbeck’s Travels with Charley quote: we do not take a trip; a trip takes us.
And what fun to be taken!
I know this feeling all too well, that pull to explore…I first felt it at age 7 when I declared that I would live in Australia someday. I moved to Sydney at age 22. I love that quote- I hadn’t seen it before.
I like the quote… but you add so much meaning. Especially that sometimes being lost is a good part of the journey.
Yes! I am one of those! It is ingrained deep in who I am.
Linda, thank you for hosting us with this fun way of poeticizing our language today! Love the way you ask questions in your poem about how we know a thing is – as if throwing the gauntlet at the prosers’ feet. Ha! I picked a favorite song lyric.
Ain’t No Mountain High Enough
swells of earth in hillock
and knoll
hummocks and mounds
hills of ant and of mole
can ne’er be vast as the sky
nor the sea
to hold all the love
I feel, dear, for thee
nay, it shan’t hold me back
but shall let me pass
into thine own dear presence
where we shall be one ~ you and me
I really enjoyed the old-timey sound of your poem with your word choice. I also liked the rhythm and rhyme.
Amen, the religious undertone is so powerful in this!! A beautiful read, as I enjoy the Georgia woods!
Kim, your ability to weave words into images like knoll and hillock is amazing. I am pretty sure this ranks up there with Browningsling ago love poems.
I love how you went into Shakespearean mode with this prompt. “Where we shall be one” I was going for something similar today. We are in sync.
Kim,
The word choice alone in this poem is leaving me stunned. It’s incredible how you weaved a classic song into your poem that is divine. It feels mighty. Thanks for sharing.
Kim,
This feels so lush and musical, the language rising and falling like the very landscape you’re naming, and I love how the accumulation of hills and mounds builds toward something much larger and more expansive. The voice carries such devotion, and what lingers for me is how love becomes the force that transcends all distance, moving freely across any terrain that might try to contain it. Yes to love!
Hugs,
Sarah
You sure mastered romantic language or old, sounding downright Shakespearean. I love how you took the relatively modern (who am I kidding??) song lyric and using it to inspired language of old!
Kim, the words carry us along, amidst the highs and lows, within such beautiful language. I ride the rhythm of it, the movement of language taking us forward and along your lines and feel both adrift and immersed. Beautifully done!
Kim,
You’ve taken a favorite song of mine and given it this gorgeous Shakespearean sonnet treatment. Words like “ne’er” and “thee” show the longevity of love. The nature imagery and verdant descriptions speak to the nurturing of a deep, thriving commitment.
Kim, you’ve captured the perfect title and lyrical flow in this poem today. I adore you and your poem. Salute!
I enjoyed the juxtaposition of the inspirational song lyric you chose as your title and your timeless poem. My favorite line: “…it shan’t hold me back but shall let me pass…”
I spent much time yesterday, gathering the bones of winter from the yard. I suppose Noah Kahan’s song – Stick Season – is good listen, too.
Kevin
In poetry,
we say: Stick Season –
New England’s reason
for cleaning up
We’re teaming up
to remove debris
It’s clear to me
the metaphor here:
We make the fallen disappear,
so we might remember
the storms of December
and winter’s brittle winds
Woah, that is such a cool poetic description of stick season. The idea of ‘make the fallen disappear,/so we might remember’ creates such an image in my head. And, the state of the world right now makes it all the deeper of a thought in my brain. Beautiful. Just, beautiful.
Lots of imagery here in your poem! I’d also never really thought about what ‘stick season’ could mean.
Kevin, that is what we call it even in suburban NYC! Yet, your metaphor of making the dead and debris is so much more and clearly a comparison to how we sweep clean in preparation for spring and clearer skies.
Kevin, those last 2 stanzas are loaded with brilliant imagery and I love the underlying theme of renewal and clearing a path to begin anew. I didn’t know the phrase “stick season” but it’s an apt descriptor.
perfection. a poetic New England testimony in six stanzas. Your southern CT lil’ bro is smiling with the words you’ve crafted with today’s prompt.