Erica teaches in the rural town of Vilonia, Arkansas. She has dedicated over a decade to helping high school students earn college credit for English. Erica is also the new owner and “fearless leader” of Teach Write and the Teach Write Academy where she spends time with teachers interested in growing as writers through regular workshops and writing events via zoom. She spends her non-writing time in the company of her “grumpy old man” dog, Cooper.
Inspiration
I love poetry that follows certain number patterns or rules, despite previously hating counting syllables. I enjoy the problem solving it requires to get my thoughts to follow the rules.
Today’s poetry is inspired by that – using poetry and numbers to put structure to the most abstract and ethereal things in life. It’s a way of capturing that which can’t always be captured in reality – so we use numbers instead.
At the start of 2023, one of our Teach Write members (shout out to Leigh Anne Eck) posted our usual monthly challenge and hosted a writing party. She invited us to compose a poem about “dreams” and the number “23.” I started playing with a poem that would use the prime numbers as part of the structure since 23 is a prime number. This is the result.
Process
Compose a poem about an abstract concept using prime numbers for syllable counts in each line.
This is based loosely on a nonet. Only, instead of nine syllables and lines, I chose to focus on prime numbers for the syllable count and move up. The first line is two syllables, the next line is three syllables, the next five syllables, etc.
I capped the number of lines to five because at the time I was writing a poem inspired by the year 2023 (2+3 equals 5). So I wound up with five lines and five prime numbers (2, 3, 5, 7, & 11). However, I think you can go up to seven lines if you wanted – adding the prime numbers 13 and 17.
The first five lines below are from the original version of the poem I wrote for Teach Write, the last two lines were added for VerseLove.
Erica’s Poem
Dreaming
twenty-three
aspirations for
a year of abundance and
filling the space left for me by another.
I am Jack, the beanstalk, and the Giant in one bean
planted and patiently waiting for the dream that sends me to the sky
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. Also, please be sure to respond to at least three writers. 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.
I love this idea! Here’s my attempt. 😛
Running
in Carmel.
What’s the cutoff now?
Will my buffer be enough?
Kim five years ago would love to have 2 BQs.
Have faith.
Only your mind can fail you.
What an interesting prompt. I even shared it with my 4th graders and they had fun playing around with it. Here’s my attempt.
You fight
Warrior.
Like a drum circle
Each beat a prayer lifted
As the breathing tube helps you inhale, exhale
Every day a victory showing God hears us
He is listening,
He is listening,
God is listening.
Thank you, Erica, for hosting here and for a challenging prompt with prime numbers. I love your dreaming of the year 2023.
I did not have time to post yesterday, but didn’t want to miss a day of writing with my poetry friends. I ended with 15 syllables.
Spring Break, You Say?
Deadlines,
Approaching,
Faster than I want,
Faster than I plot for them.
Instead of grading papers, writing reports,
I crave sipping exotic drink someplace by the sea.
It’s a spring break, so “break” should be a key word at this time here.
Late again. Erica! So great to see and read you in this space! I love the hope in your poem!
Waiting on the Other Shoe
Don’t
Be worried
Everything
Will work out they say
But what if it doesn’t?
What will I do then, how will I move on?
Hi, Chea! I, too, am late for yesterday’s prompt. I love the title of your poem. It will work out the best way possible. Take care 🙂
Erica, this was hard, and I was mentally drained. So, here’s what I could muster.
I
tried to
compose a
meaningful poem
but I was way too tired.
Now, I lay me down to sleep…Good Night Poets
Hey Donnetta! I feel you on this. My poem is late. Just seems like things keep coming up. And I think you poem is meaningful – because it means that you wrote. I hope you got a good nights rest.
What a fun challenge, Erica! Although I survived math all the way through the first level of Calculus, words are definitely more my jam! Which is one reason I love good books about math concepts, especially for young people. The ones I refer to in this poem:
What’s Your Angle, Pythagorus? by Julie Ellis
Sir Cumferance and the First Round Table by Cindy Neuschwander and Wayne Geehan (there are several Sir Cumferance books)
Blockhead: The Life of Fibonacci by Joseph D’Agnesc, illustrated by John O’ Brien
A lovely list of math picture books is found here.
“What’s your
Angle?”, she
asked Pythagorus
as Sir Cumferance himself
so carefully measured the First Round Table.
Meanwhile, Fibonacci dreamed
so much that he earned
the label
Blockhead.
I do love a good math-themed picture book! I read many to my students. Now I think I’ll need to have them try a math poem!
I have
a few songs living
rent free and content
peacefully in my head
right now it is a little Red and Midnights
Sun rises, confronting Day with Five Finger Death Punch
The smell of steel greets me with Volbeat, Rise Against and Unwritten Law
Afternoon sun sings a gentle hum before fading into boisterous laughs
Lay down, drift into my husbands song– a perfect metronome to quiet my mind’s jukebox
Erica, this was a challenge! Thanks for your exemplar, I love the imagery of ascendency and dreaming.
Primed
to create,
pen hovers above
paper; anticipation
dances with uncertainty; words form cyphers
til one tumbles towards center, urging others forward
In brilliant bursts, each shining in its moment, building on its brothers.
What a beautiful image and homage to writing! Your use of alliteration gives this poem a whimsical and hopeful tone.
This is sweet. So many neat images in this little poem – words forming “cyphers,” until one “tumbles” to the front. I love all the “b” sounds in the last line – and your final image of a word “building on its brothers.” Awesome!
I loved this prompt and this syllable play–and Erica, your poem took my breath away. I love the allusion at the end; the last line is perfection.
Clinging?
Constant–
Rules set
To keep life tidy
Softly, a loosening comes:
A knock, a word, a yes, a maybe
Brenna, I love how you use the passive voice in that 4th line—“a loosening comes””—echoing the ceding of control. So good!
Brenna, your poem is so full of meaning and possibility. I love a poem that invites me to reread it and yours did just that. Wishing you strength for the weekend.
This is one of those poems that the reader can take any topic and relate to your words. There is something so special about how the poem is broad yet concise.For some reason your poem reminds me of falling in love–everyone starts out dating with rules and expectations and all of the sudden something shifts.
This was a fun prompt. I also love the puzzle that strict forms require us to solve.
Nostalgia
Fuzzy
Memories
Tug, extract, wrench, yank.
Heavy like thick, cotton down,
Heavy like a grand total: tallied and taxed,
Heavy like a water-logged mattress: supportive, cumbersome, brimming.
Oh man Laura, I love that repetition in your last three lines so much. The touch imagery here is so powerful in combination with your abstract idea. We have a family funeral at the end of the month, and I’ve been thinking about nostalgic memories in the past couple of weeks. I’ll hang onto these ideas. Thanks for sharing this piece.
I often think of memories more as light, wispy and evasive… but I really like this perspective of some memories being heavy, “like a water-logged mattress.” Because some really are heavy. Hard to confront, hard to let go of . . . but also “supportive.” Hmm. (And now that I’m thinking about it I’m getting lost in my own heavy nostalgia.)
Hey Laura! That repetition is fire and so are the similes. Absolute perfection.
tonight
not tonight
limited space now
long talks with daughters help me
see what’s important right now family safety
words larger than two syllables tonight not tonight
Hugging you from Arkansas. The “tonight/not tonight” refrain is a good one. Love you, mom.
Wow, this refrain is so heart-wrenching–the tonight/not tonight brings me into a sensation of longing. A line that is really sticking with me is “limited space now.”
Prime numbers, creating limits and brevity of language, a structure to build with. Many thanks to you Erika for a prompt that asks us to craft a poem that explores an abstract concept using lines built of prime numbers. I’m not sure that everyone will agree with me, but I see learning as an abstract concept–one that is hard to pin down and define. As one who spends all day with young learners, I’m constantly reminding myself to get out of the way and let the learners in my room do their thing. I’m not quite satisfied with this effort–I really wanted to end up with a prime total. Maybe you all can give some feedback that can lead me back in that direction!
Prime Learning
Define learning: Time for play, messing and making, hands in and hands on
like water through stone, it will find its way through to joy
explore, engage, express — get out of the way
if you let learning happen
pitched squeals of delight
in their eyes
wonder
Kim, I agree our poems are good companions. Maybe I let my mood influence my poem too much today. Yours is much nicer!
Kim–
I appreciate your take on this prompt. I love the last line of “wonder” as it captures so much of the joyful learning from the images above. I love the meandering language: “find its way to joy,” “get out of the way,” “let learning happen.” If only all the moments of teaching could be like this. Thanks for sharing this!
Kim, this is a gorgeous poem of joyful learning. You could have had a total syllable prime poem if you would have left off the top line, but how sad that would have been! I think your poem is complete the way it is. “pitched squeals of delight” as you “get out of the way” Perfect!
Kim, I appreciate the controlling thought in your poem; to get out of the way and let learning happen in the most joyful and organic way.
“get out of the way,” such great advice for educators of all age groups, Kim! I love how you ended with that central tenet for all learners – “wonder.”
Erica, I adore this prompt and any poem with syllable counts. Thank you, this was fun!
Dance With Me
Summer
horizons
sun kisses ocean
lulling life into slumber
while Moon waits to light the night for a slow dance
©Stacey L. Joy, April 11, 2023
This whole poem is a mood, Stacey. A lovely summer mood!
Thanks, Mo and we both need it!
I love the images you nestle into the syllable count – “sun kisses ocean, lulling life into slumber, Moon waits to light the night for a slow dance.” Wish I was there.
Aaah! Just what I needed after a long day. “Sun kisses ocean” is my favorite line!
Yes, a summer mood for you and Mo tonight. She needs it, and I’m sure you do too. “Sun kisses ocean” is a magical way to express those beautiful California sunsets.
Stacey, I second what Mo said. This poem is a mood! This is just what I needed to read!
Illinois Assessment of Readiness
By Mo Daley 4/11/23
Testing
All the kids
In the state without
Meaningful feedback is a
Crock of shit that takes away from instruction
Mo,
MIC 🎤 DROP
Boom!🔥
Nothing more needs to be said!
Oh wow! I think your poem in the flip side of mine! I love when.a poem can express frustration so succinctly!
Preach, Mo!! Such few words/syllables allow for such power.
Oh, do I love your last line, says the teacher constantly struggling to provide meaningful feedback. I’m so much stronger in a conference with my students. I remind myself that feedback is needed most when writing.
Mo! “without meaningful feedback” That is for sure! What a perfect poem. Why take away instruction time for something that gives NO feedback.
This is perfect and so honest.
Erica, I love this interdisciplinary approach to poetry. Thanks for sharing this idea and your mentor poem itself reminds me of the ambitions of a new years resolution–now is a great time to recommit! So I wrote about my intentions for the year:
there are
three things I
offer to the day:
gratitude (even for rain),
my best (which varies), and rest (necessary).
Rachelle,
I will be doing my best to adopt these very sensible and reasonable goals. I love the simplicity and your alliteration and rhymes make it shine!
Rachelle,
I enjoyed the honesty that one’s best can vary from day to day. I need not judge my best today against what my best was a dag ago when my head was in a better place. Thank you for sharing.
Rachelle, I like your three, so easy to remember and focus on with just a few prime numbers. I love the parenthetical explanations and the sound of varies/necessary in the last line. I hope you live into these even more in 2023!
True story… 😉 I love the prompt, it reminds me of the novel I’m teaching right now, The Housekeeper and the Professor. The titular Professor is rather taken with prime numbers.
Where did
my crucial
motivation run
off to? I have so much to
do and so little drive to do it that it
just piles up in my mind and no creative amount
of mental gymnastics seems to compel me to lighten my own load.
Ah, the joys of being a master procrastinator never seem to cease.
Cara,
I love what you have done here. As a life long procrastinator your poem speaks to the inner me yelling to start early but the rest of me doesn’t listen.
Cara, nice work! The sunshine today makes procrastination a bit easier 🙂 Thanks for this poem–it validates my procrastination tendencies. PS – I borrowed that book from the library to see what it’s all about!
Cara,
I loved your poem! And that book looks amazing! And did you borrow that phrase in your last line from Tim Urban’s TED Talk? I can totally relate to your sentiments! 🙂
Erica,
Thanks for the fun prompt today! I couldn’t wrap my brain around prime numbers tonight, so instead here’s an ode — hope that’s ok!
Ode to Math
Oh, math, oh, math, you are to me
unfathomable as the sea.
(This English teacher, you may guess,
lives a life of mathlessness.)
…yet, I’ll admit, there are some greats
whom English teachers loathe to hate:
Pythagoras – his famous “theorum”
drove ancient Greeks to near-delirum;
Ada Lovelace – her computers
gave jobs to IT troubleshooters
Rene Descartes’ geometry
caused Renaissance dames to squeal with glee
…so even though the words “prime numbers”
give my heart ugly, thudding shudders,
I will concede to all those thinkers –
linear, logical non-English tinkerers
who have a better brain than mine
for axis, shapes and dots and lines
and doff my cap to my math friends:
graph paper a meet match for pen.
This wish I had written this poem! It was such a fun read, especially with the playful rhyme scheme. I loved these lines “I will concede to all those thinkers – / linear, logical non-English tinkerers / who have a better brain than mine / for axis, shapes and dots and lines”
Wendy,
I often tell my students, “There’s a compelling reason I’m not a math teacher,” so they scoff when I introduce the novel we’re reading that has (gasp!) math in it. I feel your regard for math as a foreign language, I’m right there with you. Thank you for the lovely ode!
Took me a great deal of counting and changing of words to make it work. I felt like my 1st graders as my fingers popped up for each syllable I said. It added a bit of play to my thinking.
Lying
outside on
comfy yoga mat
warm breeze skimming over face
as mind quiets, stills during shavasana
breath of spring inhaled, body releasing and grounding,
Connecting to the sustaining life pulse of our planet- namaste
I’m just floored that not only did you count syllables you counted syllables for unconventional words! I love the nod to yoga and, with the lines they way they are, I can just picture someone folding over into a yoga pose to match!
Thanks for sharing.
I really enjoyed the calming effect of your final lines: “breath of spring inhaled, body releasing and grounding, / Connecting to the sustaining life pulse of our planet – namaste.” Thank you for this!
I feel zen just reading this. I want to be there! Thanks for tinkering with all those words for this restorative gift.
Hahaha! I also count fingers as I work on poems with syllable “rules,” such as this and haiku. Namaste to you, too.
Thank you, Erica Johnson, for today’s prime number inspiration. I am counting the days until vacation time.
Breathing
in and out
biding time until
ocean waves envelop me
and carry the heaviness out to the sea
I wish I could join you on the beach! You make it sound very relaxing.
“Until ocean waves envelop me”- continues the soothing calmness of your first two lines. May your trip to the ocean carry away that heaviness and replace it with a joyful bouyancy.
Heather, Oh, you have captured that waiting until vacation days. I love the idea of biding time, but the breathing through the waiting. “Carry the heaviness out to the sea” Perfect!
This was a brain teaser for me. I tried to write a conversation I had with a bunch of precocious 4th grade girls. Thank you for letting me exercise my poetic muscles!
Out of the Mouths of Babes
I say,
“Patience now,”
“Who are you talking
to?” one asks innocently.
“God,” I reply. “He listens.
Some of us believe and some don’t. It’s okay.”
They look at me, trying to follow my directions.
Another says, “Joan of Arc spoke to God, and look what happened to her!”
Haha!! Joanne, thanks for the chuckle this evening!
That is a great last line!! Oh what 4th graders think of…
Oh my gracious – those girls! But what a fantastic poem they sparked with their sharp wit! The build-up to that zinger of a last line is perfect. Your sense of timing is impeccable, Joanne!
Joanne! You’re last line definitely made me cackle. You did a great job of both capturing a conversation AND following some poetic rules. Thanks for sharing.
Smiles
Smiles
Digital frame
Forces memory
Didn’t know I wanted it
To remind me of her today. But I did.
Troy,
The “forces memory” line is what got me and then I said “aww” at the end when you have the two sentences in one line “To remind me of her today. But I did.” There’s a sadness there, but one that seems like you’ve accepted it? Maybe I’m reading too much into it. Either way, I enjoyed this poem. Thanks for sharing!
This reminds me of a picture of my mom and daughter that popped up as a memory today–two people I miss and will see by the end of April. They always bring a smile.
Pictures are soooo powerful! The emotion, the memories. . . they bring our senses back to life and they bring the past to the forefront of our minds. Thanks for sharing!
Screaming
Twenty Three
Beginning my prime
I’m still not making a dime
Time to improvise to advance just stay alive
Thank you, Clint, for sharing your poem with us. I appreciate the internal rhyme and alliteration that bring your poem to life.
Thank you Troy! I greatly appreciate your accurate, kind and almost soothing encouragement! You have a tremendous precision and strength with your words.
Hey Clint,
Life comes at us fast. I know it did for me. I admire the juxtaposition between the ideas of “my prime” and “not making a dime.” Thank you for sharing!
Thank you sir, I sincerely enjoyed how you orchestrated the intro session.
Clint,
Reading your poem I recall a Neil Sedaka (yes, I’m that old) song called “The Hungry Years.” That’s the 20s! It’s a cruel reality of life that when we have the greatest need for $$, we earn very little.
So true! Thank you for pouring some sincere thought into your response.
Love the rhyme. Sounds musical. So much fun.
Thank you, it almost reminds us of a talented yet struggling young musician.
So glad to hear that this had a great ending. Thanks for the glimpse into your life.
Fam-lee. . .
Defines me.
Consumes all my dreams.
Sets my goals for the next year.
They are my heart, hope and dreams for the future.
Thank you, Donna, for “breaking the rules” just a bit, playing with language to stay within the expectations of this form of poetry while also bringing out your own voice with “fam-lee.”
Donna,
I love the last line, “They are my heart, hope and dreams for the future.” What a beautiful way to capture “Fam-lee!”
Donna, your priority on family is right where it should be! How wonderful that you place such a high value on those you love.
Hello
Am I the
only one who seems
to forget what it’s like to
be a kid alone at home with a T.V.?
Thanks, Andy, for reminding us of what it meant for children of our generation to be at home with a TV — and limited channels — as compared to the paradox of choice we are faced with today (a memory our own children will never make!).
You just sent me back! I can remember being home alone when I was grounded and when I would hear my parents come home and have to SPRINT to turn the TV off so they wouldn’t know.
Usually they knew.
Thanks for this poem, Andy!
Andy,
I feel the generation gap! I do, however, remember what it’s like to have a black and white t.v., to only have three channels, to watch “High Flight” after The Midnight Special as the station signed off, to walk to the t.v. to change the channel, and to adjust the rabbit ears and wrap them in aluminum foil to get a clearer picture. I do love the way a question in a poem elicits a response. We’ll done, young’n! 😜
Andy,
Thanks for reminding us of how the little things were such a thrill. Kids have endless choice of things to scroll on their phones or tune into on whatever streaming platform they are using. They’ll never know the thrill of being able to be “in charge” of the dial (and then later the remote) to choose what to watch. Chances are, depending on the time of day, there wasn’t much children’s programming and sometimes that was the fun!
I bet this would have different meanings across the generations. When I was a kiddo it sure looked different than what kiddos have at their fingertips now! Thanks for that opportunity to reflect on how things are ever changing.
Erica, “sends me to the sky” is one of the most beautiful last lines of a poem I’ve read. Thanks for sharing it and the prompt. Love the number addition and can’t wait to share with my students! Just today a student wanted to write about dreams so I will share yours for inspiration.
Changes
have made me
a true rolling stone.
Seven still spent in Texas.
By eleven, I was in Arizona.
Seven moves later got me
wondering: “where will
it lead us
from here?”*
*I’m sure y’all don’t need the reference but “Angie” by The Rolling Stones. Why’s that song so sad?
I love the rhythm of your lines, Angie. The numbers resonate here as prime memories of your life. Thank you for offering this poem to allow us to see and know, too.
Peace,
Sarah
Angie,
I always felt like we move a lot when I was a kid, but unlike my sisters I was able to continue going to school with my friends as we only moved around the same area of town. I am always impressed by those who have lived in different states. Thank you for sharing today.
Oh, my, I should have gotten the Angie reference (and you being a rolling stone), but I needed your note to see it, so thank you for that! I’m listening to your namesake song right now.
I like the way you used the numbers in the lines of the same number of syllables, (Sarah D. did that too) Clever! And I like how each one is used differently, so no predictability. Lovely poem!
Erica,
Thank you for this prompt today. I really enjoyed the challenge of processing with a limited syllable count. I chose to start with 17 syllables and work my way down. I really appreciate this safe space to process yet another no.
Yearning for a new beginning, feeling like I’ve done everything right
Dressed in best office attire, hair and make-up just right
Nervousness starts to kick in, palms start to sweet
Paste my smile on, walk inside
Will this be the one
Interview
Waiting…
Thank you for confiding in us and sharing! I’m sure we can all relate to these feelings – you have described them well. Wish you the best in the future, and I hope you get the job that’s meant for you!!! <3
Oh, Deanna, I am seeing the paradox of prime today as you navigate those nonprimes to find the true prime position for your life. All will align, my friend.
Peace,
Sarah
Erica…how fun to turn the work around. I really how it took us right to the point. It was really suspenseful and fun.
I love that you went backwards in the syllable count and the theme is a great pick. Liked nervousness starts to kick in, palms start to sweat. We have all been there.
DeAnna,
I like how starting at 17 turns the prompt around, much like you are feeling a bit upside down right now, too. It will happen, I know it will, and the wait will be worth it (if I believe hard enough it has to happen, right?).
I like how you turned this prompt upside down. You described the feelings of interviewing and the subsequent act of waiting for the response so well. Best of luck to you <3
Good luck, DeAnna! I wish you the best you deserve. I like how you build tension beginning with 17 syllable and ending with two. Great approach! Thank you for sharing.
From the
Radio
Blasts the latest news
Five shot dead in Kentucky.
Omg when will it stop? Such sadness. The choice of “blasts” is so fitting.
So tragic. So painful to relive, over and over and over.
Katrina,
You don’t need a lot of words/syllables to convey a very poignant poem. I sit here and wonder when will this end???
again…
Katrina,
Every time I hear one of these stories I think about the level of depravity necessary to do nothing. It’s staggering.
Short but oh so powerful a poem. What else needs to happen to trigger change?
OMG! No! Your poem hits hard.
Just heartbreaking!
Spirit Prime
Spirit
uplifting
high to the heavens,
reaches an apex of joy
then begins the slide downward to the bottom
and reaches the pit only for a moment before
it’s soaring high again, up toward that peak of joyful undulation.
I like composing this different way. Thanks for the prompt, Erica.
I can see ‘spirit’ moving with your words, the soar, the dive, just gorgeous.
The movement of this poem is so beautiful, Susan. I can feel the “apex” and the “pit” and love that you go back to a positive note with “peak of joyful undulation” such an inspiring phrase!
Oh – i love this – Spirit Prime! You took us along with us – soaring!
You have really captured this up and down of our spirit. Undulation is a great word.
Safe Haven
We look
for safety
in people and in
places but we forget to
create safe havens within ourselves. Do we
not believe that we can be the home that we search for?
Why do we not believe that we ARE the love that we deserve, are owed?
Phenomenal message – “create safe havens within ourselves” – yes!!
Saba,
You ask such weighted questions. I like many others need this reminder. I am deserving of love and I am a safe haven for myself. Thank you.
Saba,
Brilliant poem. I love the rhetorical questions and the contemplative tone. This poem is one every woman needs. Thank you!!
Saba,
This is so powerful! So many of us put so much of ourselves forth for others, but forget to nurture ourselves–“but we forget to / create safe havens within ourselves.” A wonderful reminder in so few lines.
Wow – so great – so true. I especially liked – “we forget to create safe havens within ourselves.” I’m trying to do this more and more each day. Thank you!
Your poem is a powerful message I needed to hear and need to repeat to myself until I believe it.
Saba, this is wonderful! We often do “forget to / create safe havens within ourselves.” Thank you for this important reminder!
Saba,
This is poster worthy!
is just a glorious idea.
Thank you, Erica! This ‘prime nonet’ was a great way for me to explore and capture this weird dream I had last night –
nightmare
fragment
of nightmare
he is doubled up
writhing in pain, depleted
the look of him – emaciated, sweaty
his eyes faraway, body convulsing with tremors
the sun nudges me awake, urging me to get in touch with my friend
Maureen,
This is a scary dream, one that deserves attention. I’m reading it as a warning. Words like “evacuated, depleted, doubled up” make me wonder what lies beneath your nightmare.
Maureen, what a frightening dream. Your active words illustrate the terror well. I especially liked evacuated, convulsing, and writhing. Your end makes me ponder a dream’s message to act. Powerful poem!
Your descriptions make this real for the reader – “writhing in pain “eyes faraway” and the internal rhyme is very good. Scary but excellently descriptive, Maureen!
Ooh! I have been having scary dreams as well. It’s emotion welling up. I love your poem’s description and the surprise ending that lifts one up out of the dream.
Maureen–wow–vivid and so frightening. That would certainly warrant a check-up phone call!
Dreams are so difficult to write about sometimes, I’m glad that poetry has helped with that. I need to remember it myself next time I want to write about a dream! I particularly enjoy that your first line, “fragment” is a fragment in and of itself. The rest of the poem unfolds wonderfully as well — expanding until you wake up! It’s brilliant.
Wow! Those types of dreams are so scary. I can feel “the sun nudges me away” and feel the urge to check on the friend. I have felt this before.
Oh, Maureen, wow. I am glad you wrote this today. Writing is healing and therapy, isn’t it? The words you needed to describe how he looked in your nightmare are ghastly. I hope you had a good talk with him today with laughter and good news.
Oooh, Maureen, I had a nightmare the other night, too. Things seem so real, and the fear sets in, urging us to reach out and be sure that all is well. I’m sorry – – I know the unsettling feelings these bad dreams bring.
Erica,
Thanks for hosting. I’m a fan of cross-curricular poeming. As one w/ a self-diagnosed learning disability in math, this prompt challenged me. I’m still not sure I counted correctly! Love the allusion to Jack and the Beanstalk. Here’s hoping for an abundant growing season.
Climate Change Threat Multiplier
We need
four point two
planet earths to live
like a Swede—the way we do;
yet the western hemisphere’s creative math
subtracts species collapse and counts white privilege a right.
While the world drowns in drought and doubt, we hopepray all people will be saved.
*Currently, 1% of the planet is uninhabitable . Soon 19% will be unlivable m. Climate change IS the driving force for migration.
—Glenda Funk
April 11, 2023
Poem inspiration: The Climate Book by Greta Thunberg.
Glenda, your poem is riveting and shows why climate change is a very, real problem that we must acknowledge. The active verbs of drought and drowning exemplifies the alarm. We hopepray combination is creative and also, I think, a bit ironic. Your closing facts deliver a tremendous punch. Like wake up, this is a dire situation and we must do more than wish it wasn’t true. Heavy poem! Thanks for sharing your poem today!
Very powerful poem, Glenda. Love the especially powerful multitude of sound devices here “While the world drowns in drought and doubt, we hopepray all people will be saved” and of course the message.
“subtracts species collapse and counts white privilege a right” – such painful truth here. Yes, climate change is the major impetus for migration. The future is harrowing. Strong poem! Thank you, Glenda!
Glenda–wow. “we hopepray all people will be saved”. It seems as if hopepraying is all we do here, doesn’t it?
Hi Glenda,
How clever to weave in numbers with “creative math / subtracts” and abstract lines to begin the poem! It reminded me of the confusion surrounding climate change and the selfishness many of the world’s population seem to have. Thank you for sharing this wonder piece with us today!
Andy
Glenda, first: I think I may have a self-diagnosed disability in math also… another story for another day…meanwhile: Thank you for this arresting poem on climate change. We MUST pay attention to these vital concepts – driving force, migration, need. I appreciate your mention of Thunberg’s book on my fossil post yesterday (another to add to my list – you are a treasure trove of resources!). And I am haunted by the lines “we need four point two planet earths…” where is our balance?? Is it a word evaporating from our psyches? As always, you write with power!
Glenda, yesterday was whimsical science day, and today drop-dead serious science day! Such powerful facts you’ve gleaned from Greta’s book. I love the math you’ve incorporated into your prime numbers poem, and the facts so easy-to-understand and right in our grasp, so we cannot claim we didn’t know. “hopepray” is a great word. Thank you for the challenge.
Glenda, it pains me to think that my grandchildren and great grandchildren will not know the beauty of meadows and the tranquility of rural farmlands. It’ll all be built up. All the ecotherapy I read about lately – – will there be forests in which to bathe? At the rate we are going, feverishly destroying the very planet that sustains us, we’d better do more than hopepray (love this new word)! We’d better take action. Soon. Powerful poem today!
I love the way you included Jack and his beanstalk. So clever.
Silver Death
Silver
Safari
Standing still sideways
Horizontal Gazelle Gaze.
Cheetah crouches and weaves steadily through weeds.
Dust sprinkles heat waves as their eyes meet before she flees.
Cheetah chasing, Gazelle going, one will get the gold, death to Silver.
· Boxer
I can picture this scene very well. Love the cheetah crouching, weaving and chasing.
I see the locked eyes so clearly. Love this line, “Dust sprinkles heat waves as their eyes meet before she flees”
Amazing visualization there. The last line needed a re-read to filter through, then –wow!
I wrote this while waiting (for way too long) at a doctor’s office this morning.
Nerves
Waiting
room dense with
sterile smells, sharp tools;
thin walls leak door shuts, whispers –
perhaps they make us wait to amp our symptoms
Rachel,
I love this. I used to wonder why people going for a wellness visit sat in a cesspool of germs with the sick people.
Good insight! I do believe they make us wait to amp up our blood pressure. What an awful place to do the waiting and so happy to get it over with.
“to amp our symptoms”!! I have wondered the same thing, lol.
Rachel,
I got so tired of waiting in my doctor’s office several years ago that upon arrival I told them exactly how long I had for the visit. Still I waited, and when time lapsed, I got up and got dressed and left. My doctor and office staffed were shocked. But my wait time diminished considerably after that.
Been there! So true. You captured it so wonderfully!
Rachel, whether “they” mean to or not, closing patients up between four walls with a total square footage of maybe 100 feet does definitely “amp our symptoms.”
Thank you, Erica! I typically avoid most things with math, but I had great fun playing around with your idea prime numbers going from low to high, then deciding to continue back to low: 2, 3, 5, 7, 11, 13, 11, 7, 5, 3, 2. I appreciated your own poem – my favorite line, “I am Jack, the beanstalk, and the Giant in one bean.”
This whole exercise reminded me of slam poet Harry Baker’s poem via a TEDTalk: “A Love Poem for Lonely Prime Numbers”:
Here is my playing around with your inspiration:
The Search
Who are
you searching
for? Someone who can
accompany suffering?
Or bear witness to your being here alive
and mostly well? Someone who loves you despite
the real and finds joy inside those hidden
places no one else can see?
Just maybe you are
looking for
yourself.
Shelly, I love the form of going back to 2 at the end. “Just maybe you are looking for yourself” yes, my students would love to hear this message! And thanks for sharing Harry Baker’s TedTalk – it’s awesome!
Wowsa! Love the message here.
Saba T. has a similar powerful reflection in her poem today.
So wonderful here with the not-so-rhetorical questions throughout leading us toward the prime revelation of self-knowing. Brilliant.
Sarah
Oh I like composed this – a perfect arc! Especially love – someone who can accompany suffering? Or bear witness to your being here alive and mostly well? – Such a power powerful poem. Thank you!
Primetime Niece & Nephew Reading
two hearts
three book picks
five page-flips per sec
seven nods, foot taps, wiggles
eleven chapters later we convene for snacks
The little moments you’ve captures (through numbers!) in each of the lines are so relatable and nostalgic. My favorite line is: “five page-flips per sec.”
Sarah,
Im counting all the ways to read in this celebration of books and children, especially those who have our hearts. I can’t wait until my grandson and I are reading together. Right now I read and he mostly squirms. It’s a start!
Oh I love this so much, the description of the movements are so lovely and I can’t wait to see my niece and nephew again. I’ll think of your poem when I do 🙂
I adore this image – and these many precious numbers!
Best Numbers Ever! Co-reading is so lovely…
I love that you brought in the numbers with each line as well! It’s like an added layer of fun. Thanks for sharing and allowing me this space to host.
Love this moment. I miss those times with my own children.
This is so awesome! Reminds me reading with my grandkids. Love “nods, foot taps, wiggles.” I am rereading and smiling. Thank you, Sarah!
Ah, nice time with niece and nephew. “Five page-flips per sec” Haha!
And snacks, of course! The best part.
Sarah, I love the clue hidden in “two, three, five, seven, eleven.” Also, you capture the energy of niece and nephew in the “page-flips,” “foot taps,” and “wiggles.”
What a wonderful auntie you surely are, Sarah! This poem simply couldn’t be any sweeter. Such a perfect snapshot of special time with books . . . culminating with SNACKS!
Sarah,
I want to be your little niece! That would be incredible. 🥰
In the past couple of months I’ve had some minor health issues (stated below). But overall, I feel grateful that it’s nothing major. I can still walk and play tennis, and I still feel I’m in my prime!
Implant
Root Canal
Sore Frozen Shoulder
Plantar Fasciitis Heel
All of my Ailments are of Little Concern
‘Cause I’m Still in my Prime, Closing in on Fifty-Nine! (a prime number)
Jennifer,
So appreciate your framing of what it means to “be” in one’s prime. I notice the all proper nouns throughout, which gives each line its own poem title of sorts, beckoning their own poem and story. The white space here offers time for those poems to wait as you arrive at the shift toward and welcoming of 59! Yay.
Sarah
Jennifer, I so relate to each ailment. I especially love your last line and word play, “Still in my Prime”!
Jennifer,
I love this! The first four lines could give the impression that this is about the moans and groans of age, but your last two lines do such a fantastic job of sending another message, one full of positivity and strength! I love the last line so much!
Despite the health issues, this is a lovely poem to celebrate your age and life that works so well with the prime form! Thanks for sharing!
I adore that last line so much! To better health!
Jennifer,
I love your take on this poem. List all the ailments that many let slow them down, but don’t sound like it is. Fifty-Nine as a prime number in your poem <3 Thank you for sharing today.
You had me at your first line… I was like… implant- check, root canal – check, sore shoulder- check- I can so relate but I love the turn to joy of the last line. I agree that we are both still in our prime
I feel a lot of that pain. I love “All of my ailments are of little concern” and a reminder there is much to be grateful for in life.
I love the irony of “Still in my Prime.” I turn 60 next month, so I will soon be past my prime. 🙂
Jennifer! 59 ain’t no joke, right? I’m there with you! My teeth have been my biggest expense for the last 2 years. Then my back wanted to be stupid and require PT. I hope my feet don’t betray me since I’ve given them what the doctor ordered 5 years ago and that is NO HIGH HEELS, NO FLATS, ONLY WELL CUSHIONED SUPPORTIVE SNEAKERS at work!
Hang in there, you’re fine at fifty-nine!
Thank you for the prompt, Erica! I went with 5 as my prime number, as my oldest daughter is 5. This little one is for her today.
Five
Your blond locks spill past
Shoulders, rainbows and
Unicorns leaping
From fabric; all bright,
Wild, magical five.
Jordan, your poem is vivid and lovely! The joyful tone is easy to capture. Love your final line! Gorgeous poem!
Oh, this image of “unicorns leaping/From fabric” is lovely!
Sarah
Jordan–Wild, magical five is such a wonderful description of your daughter. Set this aside for her for you both to read when she is 15!!
I love that the spill of hair turns into the rainbows and unicorns! As someone with a niece that is five this poem made me instantly think of her — especially with an ending like “Wild, magical five”
Wild, magical five- expresses that age so well. I love working with my young students for the magic they find in everyday life.
Jordan, I love the imagery/characterization here. You bring to life the “wild, magical five”-year old. The syllabication puts the icing on top.
Jordan,
Totally adore this! Sweet tribute to your darling daughter!
❤️
Erica,
I am typically a very free verse, free-flowing poet who uses way too many words. Your structure helps me with economy. In keeping with my verbosity, however, I had to do more than one stanza.
We live a little more than an hour away from Louisville, where the most recent mass shooting took place yesterday. It shouldn’t matter when it hits closer to home, but it does. My husband coached basketball against the school where the shooter played and his dad was the coach. We know numerous people who know one of more of the victims. It’s weighing heavily on my heart. I hope this poem doesn’t upset anyone.
Helpless Hopelessness
2 “normal”
3 so it seemed
5 much like our two sons
7 playing sports with a dad coach
11 when the shooter is like us, it hits harder
2 hits home
3 one degree
5 of separation
7 shouldn’t matter but it does
11 knowing those who know the victim ups the ache
2 profile
3 there’s not one
5 anyone can snap
7 even the best and brightest
11 it’s not just those living on the fringe who snap
2 but guns . . .
3 they change things
5 a snap becomes more
7 our hopelessness points outward
11 raining bullets out instead of in these days
2 answers?
3 gun control?
5 mental health measures?
7 more God and more church or less?
11 more love, kindness, acceptance, and inclusion?
~Susan Ahlbrand
11 April 2023
Susan—I’m listening to the latest news about the latest shootings (that should not be a phrase) as I read this. This stanza says it all:
but guns . . .
3 they change things
5 a snap becomes more
7 our hopelessness points outward
11 raining bullets out instead of in these days
That is the bottom line…
Susan, my heart goes out to you at this time. I love the way you play with form and syllable count to create this interesting symmetry that prime numbers never give us. Your last stanza is so fitting for when these devastating events happen because how can we make sense of it other than by questioning? Thank you for sharing your powerful poem.
The numbers at first made me feel like an outline for the poetic exercise and then they began to haunt me with their counting, the piling of numbers, the expanding toll. And ending with a question mark shows that these stanzas can go on and on until we do something.
Peace,
Sarah
I lingered on “ups the ache” such a unique phrase. Thank you for writing this, even though you usually write free verse, it came out very well and I like that you added in the past about how anyone can snap.
Susan, so much taking stock in this haunting poem and its grieving title. Your line of questioning is not offensive; answers and action are long past due. Every such incident should “hit home’ with all of us. We are a broken people in so many ways. I love reading your poems; in them, you wrangle with life’s great challenges through such an honest lens. This, in itself, is encouraging – thank you.
Oh, Susan, one degree of separation does “up the ache”. I’m sad for the police officer on his fourth shift of his career, and know he’s fighting for his life.
Having a normalish person go out and buy an AR-15 type rifle a week before they commit mass murder is a great reason to ban the sale of these guns.
I’m fascinated by this line “more God and more church or less?” It would be an interesting conversation with you, such a person of faith.
Susan, I appreciate you and your poems so much. Thank you for articulating this so well.
The Prime
Directive
is Star Trek lingo
for not interfering with
or unduly influencing alien
cultures so they can develop of their own accord.
It’s kinda like the mentality you need for the writers’ workshop.
__________________________________________________________
Erica, thank you for this challenging prompt today! Once I figured out which “prime” I wanted to discuss (Optimus Prime and Amazon Prime were “in the running” early on) and what I wanted to say about my chosen “prime,” I had to keep the syllable count in mind. Not easy!
Wow, yes, indeed. It’s a great directive for writers’ workshop and education, in general! (Too bad colonizers didn’t live under the Prime Directive.)
You are such an amazing out-of-the-box thinker–“Once I figured out which ‘prime’ I wanted to discuss”–I love it when you share a bit of your process, like today.
Scott,
A series of prime poems may be in order as I am intrigued by how you would scottify Optimus and Amazon today. Here, in this verse, I am loving “unduly influencing alien/cultures” and thinking of how teachers have the power to colonize writers and/or nurture/welcome their indigeneity.
Sarah
Scott, I love that you went with the “Prime Directive” and tied that philosophy with writer’s workshop. Your poem inspires me to think more about my own ways of teaching and being. Thank you for your wise words.
There are so many layers here! I am just impressed you made one prime poem work for another.
Erica, I love your enthusiasm about the 23 aspirations you have for the future. Yes, like Jack, the beanstalk and the giant all wrapped up into one seed. I enjoyed this prime number challenge! Thank you for hosting today.
———————————————–
the displaced having been obscured, led astray, lost then
found: inaugurated into a future
full: emergent verity
new dawning into
hope haven
Denise, your poem is provocative and compelling. I’m fascinated by your format and the action words that lead to the glory at the end: “hope haven.” Powerful celebration of being lost and then found.
Denise,
Love reversing the line count. Your poem echoes some of my thoughts in the reference to “the displaced” and “obscured.” But our ideas about “hope” respond ironically.,Still, I know we share common concerns and dreams. Hugs!
Powerful thinking here…I am mesmerized by “found: inaugurated into a future” – one of hope.
Denise, your words never fail to strike a deep chord in my heart. “Emergent verity” did it this time; it evokes a feeling of fragile beginnings, like a butterfly coming out of a chrysalis.
Denise, I love your word choices in this poem, especially “new dawning into hope haven.” This is beautiful and inspiring. Thank you!
Denise, I love how you turned it upside down into descending order. Wonderful word choice in emergent verity – and dawning into hope haven – what a place to dwell – – a hope haven. I want to move in.
I tried to keep the 7 lines but I needed one more line to end out the story. So I used 2, 3, 5, 7, 11, 13, 17, and final line of 19. This has been my favorite prompt so far!
The crown
and the sword.
All that was left of
the king, his reign, and people.
“The king is dead! Long live the king!” He cried out,
even though he was very much alive, but a king
is not a king without his people. His kingdom laid in blood and death
before him. He couldn’t save them, so he chose to die with them. “Long live the Kingdom”
Hope, what a powerful story. “a king is / not a king without his people.” “His kingdom laid in blood and death / before him.” Your poem makes me want to read more.
Hope,
One would never know of the syllable constraints of this from reading your poem. It flows so naturally and completely.
That extra line was totally worth it and you still adhered to the other rules! I love this and I am so flattered that this has been your favorite so far, Hope. Thanks for sharing. Did you notice that “The Crown” sits on top of the poem? Was that intentional because either way it’s an added layer of cleverness I think.
I didn’t even realize that I did that! I really like that start now!
Erica, I enjoyed your poem and hope your aspirations come to fruition. I am not a numbers person, but I do love a good puzzle!
I used a combination of 2,3,5,and 7 to total to another prime number, 43.
August
It will be
forty-three years since
I married
my high school sweetheart.
Together we built a life
filled with family and friends
children and grandkids.
Not fancy,
not wealthy
but ours.
Oh, what a fun and clever number puzzle! 43 syllables for 43 years. This is precious! An early congratulations on your anniversary. “Together we built a life” “Not…but ours” Beautiful!
Rita, I appreciate your straightforward voice in this poem. You capture your relationship through just a few words. I love your end which I can easily relate to my own marriage. Thank you!
not fancy, not wealthy, but ours….what a beautiful tribute to you and your high-school sweetheart…
This is simply sweet, Rita. Format this cleverly, add an image of you and your husband, and frame this gem! It deserves to be hanging in your home!
Hi Rita,
It seems to me that in 43 years you’ve amassed a wealth of riches, all the things most important that bring joy and happiness. I’m thinking of certain people w/ lots of money and wealth who are among the most miserable folks around. In high school a friend from a wealthy family asked me why I was always happy since I was poor. She was often unhappy. Hugs to you and life’s simple joys.
Erica, I usually shy away, from all things numerical (just counting syllables can throw me into a tizzy as if I don’t even know how to count), but your poem was so lovely ~ jack and the bean stalk so evocative of childhood and dreams and magic beans…I guess it was an unexpected childhood memory that your poem pulled from my heart.
For J.G.M.
My grief
is a strange,
constant companion
lying mute beneath my heart
for minutes, hours, days, weeks and even years,
but flaring unexpectedly like forgotten fire
left simmering in a much-loved kingdom long ago and far away.
Ann, I appreciate how you capture the eternal presence of grief and how it can suddenly flame at unexpected times. The final much-loved kingdom imagery is ethereal! I’m very moved by your poem today. Thank you!
You words capture the essence of grief. And as grief begets grief, I feel my own “strange, constant companion.” Beautiful poem!
Ann, how beautifully you describe the way grief works..
It is certainly at an invisible companion.
Ann,
You sure capture what grief is . . . a mute companion lying there and making its present known at the oddest of times. I’m in awe how you could create that idea under the constraints of syllable limits!
Ann, your poem flows so beautifully – and oh, how it captures grief, latent and flaring. “Forgotten fire” is just fabulous, is that last line – as is all of it, really. It is powerful and true.
Ann, you’ve captured the essence of grief in just 7 lines. Wow! As I near the anniversary of one of my bestie’s passing, I find my mind replaying her last days over and over. Thank you for this special offering.
Erica, This prompt brought back mixed memories, but I’m glad this is a place I can share them in 23 lines.
What a Year!!
Twenty-three, the age I first became a mom,
A new wife, a new teacher and resident
Of the show me state.
Two tales to tell; I could hardly wait!
A teacher in a school where students were bound.
Not one kid in my class had been out and around
Confined by race and finance to a high-rise ghetto
With apartments, stores, and school all in place.
They could see the Arch, but had never been to it.
Ah, it was reading that got them out.
We finally got funds to take them to the zoo
We also got funds to go to a restaurant, too
Yes, we had to teach them how to ride a bus
And also to speak without the cuss and fuss
Our team taught etiquette for opening doors and sitting nicely
Which and when to use each knife, fork and spoon.
Our adolescents needed to learn that soon!
What a surprise to learn at the end of that year
That no one had thought I’d make it.
I was the fifth teacher for that group that year
The staff gave me a rousing cheer.
At twenty-three, I birthed my first child
And learned from mentors to deal with the wild
Undisciplined students assigned to me at the time
Two incidents I proudly share in this rhyme.
Love the arch photo, Anna. What an accomplishment you share in your poem. I think one of the reasons many teachers do not continue is because they are often tasked with the most unruly students. I appreciated your lines:
Yes, we had to teach them how to ride a bus
And also to speak without the cuss and fuss
Our team taught etiquette for opening doors and sitting nicely
That’s a big lesson to teach! Bravo!
Wow, you were only 23 when you made and hatched a plan for your students. Fifth teacher that year! No wonder they were undisciplined. I can see why you are proud of the accomplishments of your 23rd year.
I loved that you used 23 lines. As a young teacher you thought anything was possible. You taught those students so many important things beyond the books. You and your students were lucky to have each other that year. 💛
Kudos to you for sticking with them. That’s what they needed, a strong woman. I loved reading your story. And that you became a mom the same year! Lovely, Anna.
Thanks to all responders who see the WE in this story. I had a mentor who refused to let me stand in the hall crying when my students go so out of line that one eighth grader lifted me off the floor by my collar!!
Thankfully, he stood and shielded me from their view, but then set back in to get things in order. For the next month or so, he met with me, gave me ideas, but always sent me back, saying “They need you to be there!”
Anna, I was twenty-three when my first child was born, too.Your story-poem reminds me of field trips our fourth-graders take to the beach each year. Many of them have never seen the ocean before.They see a lighthouse yard decoration and ask if it is the famous lighthouse they have heard about, later to be open-mouth-awed by the size of the real thing. Experiences, experiences – they are vital. And oh, your victory, proving the naysayers wrong! Utterly triumphant verse!
Erica, Kicking off a 14-hour day with a poem (while getting my numerical nuttiness on). Like you, I enjoy having mathematical structures to rein me in at times – all while waiting to be sent to the sky like Jack. I flipped the instructions like an hourglass (and went 17, 13, 11, 7, 5, 3, 2). I might challenge my content literacy students with this, as well (as most of them are math majors).
Hour Glass
~b.r.crandall
We sheep-counted wrong, white sunshine slithering across morning linens
between cracked brown curtains — the whisper of glow-yellow
sprites painting vertical strips of eyeliner light
across your lashes and brows.
Good Morning, I say
pallidly
pastiche.
I really admire your beginning— sheep-counting wrong— and then all those images of light. A picture you painted for us, color and light…
Bryan, your poem’s imagery is striking. I especially liked “sprites painting vertical strips of eyeliner light
across your lashes and brows.” I feel as though you’re in your first instructional session and your students seem groggy, but I could be way off. Anyway, I hope your math students appreciate the writing assignment:)
Oh, I love the image of the curtain cracks “painting vertical strips of eyeliner light / across your lashes and brows” That is such a beautiful way of saying it. It was a Good Morning.
Brian,
From the inverted structure to the final two syllables acknowledging the same routine copied day after day, I’m celebrating this morning reverie. I picture each imagine in my mind and bask in the “whisper of glow-yellow.” Exquisite. Do have those mathies write a prime number poem.
Flip away! I love the reduction of lines as much as watching them grow. I’ve constantly played with math and English since I too usually end up with several math minded students in my classes. Thanks for sharing!
Erica, I too love syllable counts and patterns. I once heard another poet say that it’s good to find your own natural syllabic voice – a rhythm that works well for you. I love the playfulness here in your poem and the inspiration behind it. I think this has led me to extend a theme from yesterday when I tinkered around with my fossil poem, colored with a bit of whimsy. My syllables here count up and back down again. Thank you for your prime example!
whimsy
written with
ethereal ink
bubbles in every feather
of the dinosaurs still among us
reminding us, in the pit
of our existence
to look up
and sing
Ethereal ink bubbles in every feather…aren’t we lucky to have your birds among us this morning!
Fascinating poem, Fran. I enjoy how you open with “whimsy” but show a sort of heaviness in your poem through your lines:
of the dinosaurs still among us
reminding us, in the pit
of our existence
Then you follow that with such a bright note and action. Tremendous poem and provocative!
Fran, this is just lovely! Ethereal ink! bubbles in every feather! Actually I could quote every line and am grateful for the reminder to look up and sing! Thank you for this morning’s whimsy!
Fran, your lines,
of the dinosaurs still among us
reminding us, in the pit
of our existence
to look up
and sing
remind me to be grateful for the dinosaurs, weird as they are, who teach us so much – the historical dinosaurs and also the senior citizens who, for some reason, are not that much older than me anymore. Is that magic?
Fran,
I want “ethereal ink,” but since it’s not on the market, I’ll settle for Ink Joy! And I do love “the dinosaurs still among us,” a clever nod to spring birds. May we all have reason “to look up and sing.”
Great, great, great! I love your words: ethereal ink, every feather of the dinosaur still among us, look up and sing. Just wonderful! Thank you!
I love that! Thank you for sharing those words. I appreciate you continuing poetry from yesterday into your writing today. I also enjoy the shape your poem has taken — reminding me of a dinosaur spike and the way that feels more real than the “ethereal ink” you use to write about it.
Oh, I can’t wait to read your future book of bird poems. What would you title a book of your poems about birds, Fran? This is magical. “Whimsy / written with / ethereal ink / bubbles in every feather” Oh my!
Fran, your whimsy and creative wordwizardry are strong at work here today! This just reminds me so much of the scene in Jurassic Park where we learn that the dino DNA was extracted from the fossilized amber/rosin of the tree. How clever of Creighton to think of this – – So much is still possible through science, and so much of what we don’t know is still there in the bubbles of the feathers, everywhere!
Fran, I needed this!
Two days back from spring break and I’m already in the pit but I will look up and sing!
💙
Erica—I really love the structure this imposes on me! And I love the idea that you have all the ingredients—Jack, the Giant and the beanstalk in one bean. Wonderful metaphor!
Is This a Good Idea?
I teach
college kids—
future teachers for
our schools. We need their
hope, their energy, their strength.
But there is a part of me that wonders if
I am leading them down a thorny path when
I share my love for the career I chose years ago.
The world I taught in is not the world they will enter.
The skirmish they will face has new rules. How strong are they?
Gayle Sands
4-11-23
We all want and need young teachers, but the “world we teach them in, is not the one they enter.” You expressed this perfectly. I also like how your poem looks like a mountain, a mountain that both teachers and students have to climb.
thank you for sharing such a thought provoking poem.
Oh, Gayle…I think about this all the time too. My son really wants to be a teacher, and I think he would be a great one, and I feel like he has a bit better grasp on the complexities of the teaching life than many do, having grown up with me, but still…it’s so sad that what once was considered an honorable, noble profession has turned into something so rife with issues. Your ending question is spot on…and I also wonder if there’s anything we can do to help strengthen them? We really need them.
Gayle, your poem is powerful and certainly speaks the truth about today’s world of education. Your final question is haunting. I can hear its echo.
Gayle, As I read your poems and others–it strikes me how one poem can capture the thoughts, feelings, and experiences shared by others–like a universal voice or truth. Great work!
Gayle, I love many things about this poem, first of all the truth of your (our!) concerns for teachers entering the field. We DO need their hope, energy, and strength. I especially love your word choices, “thorny” and “skirmish” – they are unexpected yet so apropos!
I wonder, too. I know the fear of which you speak! I need to believe they are strong, their hope will guide them through the years.
Gayle, keep encouraging them to keep their eyes and hearts open. The world’s not the same as when we began, but the newbies we teach are not the same as we were either.
They’ll be ready when they have a model who models what they are to teach – compassion, consideration, consistency, and love! Love of teaching and the opportunity to do so.
Gayle,
For incoming teachers, this is the saddest line: “The world I taught in is not the world they will enter.” Is our generation to blame? Could we have done more to preclude the current reality from manifesting itself? i don’t know, but it’s hard to recommend teaching to young people given current conditions.
Gayle, keep teaching the teachers. One day, they’ll look back and remember the reasons they’re successful and you’ll be one! I have questioned the state of education more this year than even during the pandemic. My scholars are different and I don’t feel like the connections have been right since remote teaching ended. It’s almost like they’re stuck in a screen in their minds but don’t realize they are in person. I can’t even explain it.
Keep pushing and striving, they’re going to be fine, one way or another.
This is why we do what we do!
I love a good syllable count poem. By limiting, they are freeing us to condense the message to its essence. I look forward to trying this form with my students.
In spring
my rope swing
dangles, waiting for
bare feet that wrap, hold boldly
Trusting old oak to lift me on a tailwind.
Margaret, this evokes so many feels for me…memories of carefree childhood days, swinging on the rope swing and climbing the tree that held it. I love “bare feet that wrap, hold boldly”…just this one line captures the naive confidence of youth so beautifully. It makes me wish I could go back.
Margaret— I love counting those syllables, too. The scene you paint so beautifully here takes me back to my childhood. The old oak lifting you on a tailwind…
Margaret, I really enjoy the physicality of your poem and the action that will surely occur once that tailwind hits. Excellent word choice throughout. I loved “hold boldy,” “Trusting,” and “dangles”. Wonderful celebration of spring and all it has to offer.
Margaret, your poem got me thinking about its form and voice. The concise, measured syllables tell the story of great movement and feeling of freedom.
Margaret, you make me want to hang a rope swing like in my childhood days, only for me as a grownup now, and dangle on a tailwind as I read. I love to read the afternoon away in a hammock whenever we are camping, but oh, the thrill of a rope swing – – and the memories of it! There is just something about a swing, as Robert Louis Stevenson wrote in A Child’s Garden of Verses – – and your lines today are so inviting and lovely. I think I’m more excited now than ever about spring and summer coming so that it’s warm enough to read outdoors in the shade of a tree. Thank you!
Margaret, lifting on a tailwind is divine. We had an old swing on an oak (until lightning struck and scattered its 200yo bark all over the yard). It was my favorite place to soar. Your poem put me right back into childhood and all the boldness and trust and lifting that comes with that. What a lovely place to find myself this spring day.
I am clinging to that swing myself, Margaret, trusting that old oak and relishing the tailwind!
Margaret,
I’m having a childhood flashback. We had a huge slide (school size) w/ a bar across it to a tree and a swing hanging from the bar. I loved it and spent hours there swinging into my imagination. Gorgeous image of wind lifting the swing.
I can see this, I can feel this. It make me feel free! Thank you!
And you have a great mentor poem to share with them! I love how as the length of each line increases it feels as though we are swinging too.
Margaret, how I long for the days of bare feet on rope swings again! This is pure beauty.
Erica, thank you for hosting and sharing your process with us. I stopped at the 5;)
often
short verse spurts
dig deep conundrums
Stefani, deep conundrums indeed! We can find depth in the shortest of lines (as you show us). I love what we can find in pithiness.
Stefani, your verse has me pondering brevity. I’m often writing more and then deleting. I love the sound of “dig deep conundrums”…it’s almost like its own drumbeat! Vivid and thought-provoking poem!
You are so welcome! It’s true that even short verses can cause the most profound of conundrums! I loved how the abrupt end of the poem almost feels like a shovel hitting a rock when you are trying to dig.
Stefani,
stopping at the 5 gives the words a concentrate like a flavor extract of meaning. I love the simple forms, the economy of words, the deep meaning and thought provoking ideas.
Erica, I love working with syllables and appreciate your prompt and poetic form. I’ve been thinking a lot about silence this past year. How the absence of words or person can cause pain and confusion. I’ve always thought communication was the key to better understanding, and when it’s lacking, it’s easy for one to go literally down a rabbit hole of misunderstanding and self-doubt. I was inspired by your Jack and the Beanstalk allusion. Your last line was extremely powerful. I can see you fulfilling your dreams and soaring high!
Silence
absence
abysmal
painful void woven
Alice, have you been captured
forever trapped in a rabbit snare
I’m adrift, missing your gorgeous, tender voice
Barb Edler
11 April 2023
Oh, Barb, loving the Wonderland connection. I used an extended metaphor of Alice throughout my entire dissertation. Your phrase, “forever trapped” is haunting. Thank you for sharing today.
Barb, what you’ve done here is so clever – exploring silence, referencing Alice, and envisioning the rabbit hold in a new way. Alice is a favorite and the spin to snare, along with missing her voice, makes me rethink and think upon again what we miss. Beautiful!
Barb—your Alice allusion is sadly wonderful. “Painful void woven”—great phrasing!
Wow, I love your alluding poem to missing communication. As I’m reading in White Women by Regina Jackson and Saira Rao, real communication and community are awry among women who live our lives in competition for being the most perfect. I can relate to getting caught in a rabbit snare of trying to be put together. But this longing for communication is precious and real:
Barb, so clever and fun! I love the shift between the third line and the fourth, going straight into a question for Alice, and the line forever trapped in a rabbit snare is just so metaphorical for our lives today – – we chase all kinds of rabbits, and are ensnared by some of the traps. This is a lovely way to celebrate the need for voices, tender ones.
Barb – the aching in these spare lines. A loss so real I am feeling adrift myself, longing for that beautiful, now-silent voice. A pang of grief…this is exactly how it feels.
Barb,
I wish those who think conversation and/or community is a circular drive where folks drop by their place and they stay inside awaiting the delivery of word wreaths would read this gorgeous poem, “Are you there, gif, it’s me, entered my mind. Where is Alice? Does a voice unacknowledged count? Your poem is ethereal. It’s like Emily Dickinson’s gossamer. The last line is a gut punch. I know I’m mixing metaphors, but I can’t help but think of Cassandra, too, when I consider missing voices. Gorgeous poem.
Oh my. So many tough words – abysmal, forever trapped, adrift…such aching in this gorgeous poem.
Erica, I love the idea of being Jack and the giant in one bean…such a cool twist! This was a fun one…I enjoy the puzzle of making what I want to say fit into certain constraints. This one is about my friend Paul, who I met as an impressionable teen (at Camp Hope!) He was a bit older, and I just thought he was so cool, and wise…we spent a lot of time together, just talking about everything and nothing, like you do at that age. Paul had cerebral palsy, and unfortunately, he passed away a few years ago. This was one of his “nuggets.” The title is from the only book I stole from him, to remind me of him. I still have it.
Jitterbug Perfume, for Paul
You said
you stole a
book from every place
you visited, everyone
you knew, to remind you–their stories became
yours, all stories entertwined into one magnificent life.
Julie, oh my, what a wonderful tribute to your friend Paul. I love your poem’s title and I can see Paul stealing books with glee. What a fantastic thing to do. Your poem deeply touched my heart today. Thank you for sharing about Paul through your beautiful poem.
Julie, I love this ode and would love to know more about the books he stole…what a great story to tell. Thank you for sharing this nugget of your life (and Paul’s) with us this morning.
Along with the story you shared about Paul, this last line honors him in a unique and admirable way. Makes me think of all the books we took from my parents’ home, touched by their magnificent life together as readers.
Julie, what a way to honor your friend (both in the words you share and in the book you stole). I’m intrigued by his “nugget” – the idea of taking something so important from someone because it became so important to him to create an entangled story. It’s what we all do (in a less tangible way) through words.
Julie—their stories became yours. His story has clearly become yours. I’m glad you kept his book…
Erica, a childhood story brings all the feels of the magnitude of the dream and the hopes for 2023! Especially that sky reaching story in your poem! I enjoy the structure of short syllabic forms. I found a unique book in my mailbox yesterday from a friend, and it inspired today’s poem. We are both watching eggs ready to hatch any day now. I used a partial borrowed line from a poem in the book entitled Memory Garden. Thank you for hosting us today and investing in us as writers.
today’s
poetry:
Language of the Birds
cherished gift in my mailbox
from a sisterly friend sharing peace and warmth
grass withers, flowers fade, but books live on forever
like friendship
Kim, I love how you tie this moment in your life into a beautiful poem. The connection between books and friendship is fantastic. Love the “grass withers, flowers fade” line.
Kim, my favorite part of your poem is the “sisterly friend” as it represents all those friends who often are as important or more than family. I hope the eggs all hatch with happy chirps. Thank you for sharing.
Kim, what a great way to elevate friendship and books! Thank you for writing and being a great friend 🙂
Kim, these brief images, left as reminders of our days, are a way to hold our memories. I can imagine writing one of these as a journal – much more fun than a bullet journal and more beautiful because of your words! Books and friendship are truly eternal.
“Books live on like friendship” makes me want to find a book to send to you. I hope you include this poem in your thank you note.
Kim, the allusions here braid the sweet grass and wildflowers into a shared living garland – nature’s own special crown. Books do live on, like friendships built on love of birds and words! I celebrate these today, alongside you! <3
Kim, what a beauty! Enjoy those hatchlings as they learn to fly. I love your allusion in “grass withers, flowers fade”
Books and friends living on! Thank you!
Kim,
If anyone deserves “a cherished gift in my mailbox” it’s you! You are a gift to all of us.
Erica, Jack and the Beanstalk has always been a favorite and your last two lines take me back to the promise of possibility and the hope of what’s to come. Everything tied up in that bean reminds me of storytelling – we drop things inside and wait patiently for that soaring end result. What incredible wonder lies ahead!
Prime Directive
the heart
beats with the
infinity of
stars; eyes see with the vastness
of light years; the ears hear with the thrashing of
meteors; our fingers touch with the curiosity of dark matter;
words write with the rain of Perseids; we live within motes of moondust
Beautiful! All the references to outer space give this a dreamy quality.
Wow
the heart
beats with the
infinity of
stars …
what an opening
Kevin
Jennifer, the knowing of the universe is felt so strongly here in such sensory ways. Hearing and seeing tell us things, but when you bring in the curious fingers, it goes straight back to the passion in the heartbeat at the beginning. There is active engagement in the living when the heart and mind are both playing such major roles in these discoveries of the world.
Jennifer, hi! I love your poem, but the opening st ruck me the most–“the heart beats with the infinity if stars.” It sounds incredible. Thank you!
From the title to the word moondust, your poem beats into my heart. I am especially impressed by your use of metaphor in “rain of Perseids”, a line I’d like to steal. Maybe one of our prompts should be a cento of lines we gather from our Ethical ELA friends.
Jennifer—the curiosity of dark matter is my favorite—this poem takes us into the beyond…
Jennifer,
Strong verbs here: “see, hear, touch, write.” All lead to that amazing last line: “we live within motes of moondust” In a way each poem is a compilation of word notes. And I love the allusion.
Oh, so much to love! The comparisons here give me shivers, they’re powerful!
“we live within motes of moondust” Just WOW!
How neat, Erica. I have a funny relationship with numbers. We don’t get along very well. But, I have loved ones who think numbers are the bees knees. So, I appreciate a chance to enter their world in small ways. I think I can handle this! Thanks for the great prompt.
Sunlight smiles
between the spaces
where shadow
memory
still slumbers
Oulipian Haiku (3-5-3-3-3)
(structured 17 syllables/lines constrained by prime numbers)
Kevin, this feeling of being on the verge of wakefulness in your poem today makes me think of watching my children when I would go to wake them when they were little, still smiling of dreams and not really ready to get up and go to school, but the shadows on the wall meant the sun was rising and no more slumbering could continue.
Kevin, I read the glimpses between (the snatching of sunlight, the flicker of memory) and I’m reminded of the brevity of slumber and smiles. Sunlight smiles – lovely! Glad to be thinking about a different haiku form today too.
Thanks for another new form with numbers. You described my time with my mother just perfectly. She has Alzheimers, and while she is happy (sun), the shadow of her memory is sleeping. It’s a loss like death but I still can hear her laughter and her music.
The imagery of “sunlight smiles” and shadow memory that “still slumbers” bookending the poem are great!
Very, very cool. Need to try this too. Love – sunlight smiles – shadow memory slumbers. Beautiful images. Thank you!
I need to write down the name of this haiku — thank you for sharing. I especially enjoyed the opening line and how it parallels the last.
Kevin, I have never heard of Oulipian Haiku but I love a poem with any haiku-kinda flavor! Your poem holds both warmth and longing.