Welcome.VerseLove is Ethical ELA’s celebration of National Poetry Month each April. Please share a favorite moment of your time together this month here.
Our Hosts
Barbara Edler is a talented and gifted instructor for Keokuk High School, located in southeast Iowa. She is a veteran language arts and college composition instructor who loves to write flash fiction and poetry. Her poetry has been published in Words that Mend, The Cities of the Plains: An Anthology of Iowa Artists and Poets, the NFSPS Encore 2025 Prize Poems, and issues of the Grant Wood Country Chronicle and Lyrical Iowa. She is also a contributing author to the 2025 Routledge publication: Assessing Students with Poetry Writing Across Content Areas: Humanizing Formative Assessment for Grades 6-12. Each month she joins the Ethical ELA community’s Open Writes and believes in the healing power of poetry.
Glenda retired from teaching in 2019 after a 38 year career. She now volunteers at the Restorative Center in Pocatello, Idaho where she leads a Restorative Writing Workshop. In addition to being a dog and cat mom, Glenda loves to travel and is a doting grandmother to Ezra, a budding reader, and a granddaughter, Aliannah. Glenda serves on the NCTE Children’s Poetry Awards Committee and is participating in the Stafford Poetry Challenge to write a poem a day for a year. Her poetry has been included in several anthologies. Glenda blogs at Swirl & Swing: www.glendafunk.wordpress.com
Inspiration
In her newest collection HOW ABOUT NOW, poet Kate Baer reveals what being an aging woman means in a country with rising patriarchy and misogyny. One poem in the collection is “The Bridesmaid’s Speech,” which is available on Baer’s website.
The poem begins…
I have known her all her life.
And by that I mean I’ve seen her
in the impossible light of girlhood.
The spaces inbetween–the car
on the way to the birthday dinner,
the moments before the photograph.
I have stood outside the bathroom stall,
held tight while her shoulders shook
with sorrow….
We think often about both the seen and unseen, the spoken words and silences. We believe poetry offers unique ways to make the invisible truths and experiences of life visible and heard. Often our poetry speaks to these realities, as in Barb’s poem about personal events and Glenda’s poem about more universal, lived female experiences.
Barb’s Poem:
Stage Four
No one notices him
sitting in the back
quiet, unassuming,
wearing black.
Until he takes center stage,
spreads his vicious wings,
pierces our hearts with each
razor-sharp word.
We fall, grovel, pray,
consume chemical cocktails,
agree to his every command—
anything—to cast off his noxious spell.
Now we count each day
fueled by anxiety,
fueled by fear,
knowing the end is near.
Glenda’s Poem
Redacted
he pops the top
on his black Sharpie
draws thick lines through
sacred documents
orders park rangers to
dismantle history….
it doesn’t take
black ink to redact
our stories when agents
shoot citizens on city streets,
when they dismantle
erase signs in national parks,
when they follow the
authoritarian playbook to the letter.
Your Turn
Today we invite you to choose a topic important to you, one that may be more vulnerable than those you normally write, one that lifts a shroud to reveal what others may not typically see. You may choose any form you like or select free verse as your structure. As always, do your own thing, even if that means ignoring this prompt.
There are always hard things in invisible places- like the heart.
COA (Child of an Alcoholic)
Is it a secret or
Is it a lie?
Lying is wrong
She’s been taught
But in keeping secrets
She’s been trained
And now she’s an expert
Liar
And most people
Never suspect
It at all
Diane, wow, you’ve captured a heavy topic in your poem today. I love the opening question. I also think your poem would be excellent to share with students to consider the way secrets such as not revealing a difficult home situation can create more harm. Alcoholism is such a beast since it is a disease. Yet, it is easy to become an enabler for an alcoholic and it’s easy to not want to show what’s really happening behind the scenes. I feel such pain in your poem today. Placing “Liar” on it’s one line adds emphasis and an emotional weight. I hope you’re able to share this with many people as it could open up a great discussion, especially how or when to intervene. Powerful poem. Thanks for sharing!
Barb and Glenda, this prompt (and your poems) opened so many possibilities and I thank you for that. The tone of each of your pieces feels both ominous and inevitable, showing how different experiences are shared experiences. I think the poems help to break the inevitable, giving us reprieve, as poetry should.
(between)
in (between) the coming and going,
(between) the asking and answering,
the beginning (between) the ending,
the greeting and departure,
in (between)
is where
we exist.
when someone asks,
how are you?
there’s a brief space
in which we live
(between)
draw quick breath,
a lifetime in a second’s space,
where that moment
holds the silence
–we live in that silence
our heart beats in that silence
we breathe in that silence–
of what could be said
and what is
(between) us
Jennifer, I am fascinated by the way you’ve structured your poem today. The emphasis with between adds a depth to the exchange taking place between the everyday coming and goings. What lies beneath the surface, is intriguing. We don’t always know. We don’t always share. I especially enjoyed the lines:
“a lifetime in a second’s space,
where that moment
holds the silence
–we live in that silence”
That brief space in which we live is provocative and carries so much weight in your poem today. Thank you for sharing this compelling poem and for the lovely note.
Good Morning Verse Lovers,
I decided to free-write in my journal to this beautiful prompt. I’m pulling out a few poetic lines to share. Barb and Glenda, today’s writing is such a gift. Thank you, both. The images in your poem of the black sharpie, black wings, the idea of stage four, and redaction…they work together to create a tone that is all too real. But your poems bear witness in ways that I appreciate. We need this, even if uncomfortable. Thank you.
Poetic Lines
It never occurred to the poem that this inheritance was its own,
that a shroud is not really for these things. It looks all wrong…
…this poem resolves to be positive, practical, puts the coffee on, and greets a new day with emptiness tucked away in its pocket.
Ahhh, the resolve to carry on, tucking emptiness into its pocket…the brave face of this poem! Reminds me of one of yesterday’s poems, in that poems do have a mind and will of their own, despite the poet’s ideas…what comes is often the poem that wanted to be written.
Linda, the “few poetic lines” you pulled create a poem all on their own, whether intended or not. I feel you writing both about the poem and as the poem, much in the way that a poem starts and then becomes.
Linda, I love the image of emptiness tucked away in its pocket and the focus on the poem. I get the feeling from your lines today that sometimes we inherit things we do not necessarily want, but yet, a person is faced with these things or a situation, and it has to be tackled or managed, etc. So, the speaker is resolved to make the best of it, continue to do the things we do to start our days, etc.
Barb and Glenda: Thank you both for sharing your poetic gifts with us today. The invitation to write from a vulnerable place often leads to release, maybe to some healing or a wild taste of unexpected freedom… something I think about often, as I turn events, perspectives, moments around in my mind, considering their many facets. Many differing takes are shared here in this meeting-place, and I have always been thankful for the open invitation and the welcome without judgment. I deeply appreciate all the encouragement each of you has given me – it means more than you know!
Bred in Captivity
What can she know
of freedom
when all her experience
is caged
raised to be sold
for profit
someone’s pet
completely dependent
on the someone’s
remembering
to feed her
or spend time with her?
What can she know
of happiness
in solitary confinement
when her species
is inherently social
indeed,
what can she know
at all?
More than you think.
She watches
how the hinges work
and one day
with her sharp curvy beak
she wrestles open
the wire door
and takes her flight.
What does she know
of freedom?
That it exists
that it is calling
that it is meant
to be hers
and she
will have it
or die trying.
oooof. A gut punch, all those things that are not supposed to be. I love the hope at the end flying off to uncertain but possible freedom.
Fran,
This poem breaks my heart. As I travel I think about the privilege I have and the “captivity” I see in the absence of that privilege among most of the world’s people. Your poem is a call to action evoked in questions along a narrow corridor, a cage, made visible in sparse, direct lines: “What can she know
of freedom…” and “What can she know
of happiness…?” “what can she know
at all?” “What does she know
of freedom?” The subtle shifts in diction force us to change course, to alter our thinking, to confront our preconceived notions. This is the stuff of the most important poetry. Thank you for drilling down on these important ideas.
Fran, your poem feels as if it’s breaking free, how confinement shrinks in on itself until finally releasing (in whatever form that might be). I read the strength that she contains, especially in those last three wonderfully powerful lines. She will have it–yes, she will!
Fran, wow, what a fascinating poem. I love the way you’ve structured this one. I can feel the escape at the end. Your poem can metaphorically represent anyone’s freedom, but I appreciate the caged bird imagery. Your end is especially riveting “or die trying”. Outstanding poem! Thanks for the lovely note, too.
He only tells me
decades later
on a walk on a beach
how lonely he was
as a kid, with few
friends, and no
books, and no
love, and now
I understand
how living alone
is not loneliness
for him but how
his mind works
Kevin
A haunting poem, Kevin – and a reminder that while we all need the same basic things (love, friends, books -!!), that our senses of loneliness/being along can be very different. As our minds often are.
What love…to open up to understanding another’s differences. Beautiful.
Kevin,
”how lonely he was / as a kid” could be a refrain for many adolescents. Often kids appear social but hide a deep sense of loneliness only a beach walk, metaphorically speaking, reveals. As I read and comment on poems today, I’ll be looking to see what those in this space reveal, both in their poems and in their comments. I always find myself overly interested in early arrivals, so expect to see and am keenly interested in your responses to all those who have generously commented on your poems this month.Will you surprise me or remain consistent in keeping your reactions to the VerseLove of our poet peers invisible?
Kevin, this is a compelling poem–those last lines resonate. It reminds us how our lived experiences create our reality while also showing that we can never really know someone or why they do what they do, There’s something in the placement of a walk on the beach, in its isolation, that adds to the loneliness too.
Before She Enters the Room
I have seen her
just before
not inside, where the voice carries,
not where the they lean forward
or look away—
but here,
in the narrow corridor
where the florescent lights hum.
She stands still longer than necessary,
as if waiting for a cue
that does not come.
You would not know
how much it costs her
to turn the handle.
Only that she does.
Only that, moments later,
there is a version of her
who fills the room
as if it were simple
as if it were a version
of home where she believes
she is wanted.
I have watched her gather herself
like precious poems pressed to the chest,
like breath counted quietly
behind closed lips.
There are no witnesses
to the small negotiations—
the bargain struck
between fear and devotion.
Inside,
she is fluent.
Outside,
she is learning the language
over and over again.
And when it is done—
when the last question dissolves,
when the chairs scrape back
into their ordinary silence
in the space just after—
I have seen her. She’s
not broken,
not exactly,
but emptied
of whatever it was
she carried in
to make it possible.
Barb and Glenda, thank you for this invitation to witness and consider the perspectives of witnessing. I am struck my the time or temporal element of your poems, of poems. How they are are also a reflection of the poet being ready and willing to name the scene, the actors, the implications that the poem holds. I feel the willing of each of you in these poems for our world, for humanity. Thank you for hosting today.
Sarah,
I think your poem called to me in the middle of the night and awakened me w/ both its clarity and ambiguity. I’m reading and rereading the pronouns “I” and “her,” and in both I witness the speaker writing about herself in a sort of out of body experience and describing the experience of many women. This poem bears witness to our imposter syndrome. Images that have a universal and, paradoxically, personal quality include:”narrow corridor
where the florescent lights hum,” “version of her / who fills the room,” “Inside,/ she is fluent./ Outside,/ she is learning the language / over and over again,” among others. This social awkwardness resonates. Ken often tells me my family doesn’t know me. I suspect you know how that feels. Anyway, thank you for this gorgeous poem. I’ll carry it w/ me.
Sarah, this is so beautifully crafted and incredibly piercing. I can see “her” in every moment of the scene you paint so vividly – I walk through your words in in her shoes. The different versions of self, the version of home where she believes she is wanted…inherently knowing otherwise. I have lived this at different times in my life. I honor how you see her, with empathy, and above all I love the she is not broken even though she’s emptied of what she initially carried – drained. Thank you for this amazing poem – for the invitation to really “see” – and for your heart full of care and concern. I am so grateful for this poem, and for you.
That final ordinary silence…the change that has been wrought. I can feel it. Beautiful…and the last word, possible. Exquisite.
Sarah, I have lived in that space of hesitation, in the brief time before turning the handle, and know the the differences and similarities of the person inside and outside the door. I wrote a bit of it today, though far less beautifully than you. I am held in these lines, “I have watched her gather herself/like precious poems pressed to the chest” as I think of all that poetry means to you–it is in the poetry that we come alive.
Sarah, your poem this morning is captivating. I am immediately drawn into the scene, imagining the narrow hallway of a school with fluorescent lights humming above. I am also drawn into the subject’s internal thoughts, wanting to believe that she is wanted at home, but still wondering if that is true or how that part of her life has shaped her. I know the feeling of being on stage, not in a good way, when you need to gather your strength to move forward or to be present in a situation such as teaching, etc. I love the simile of poetry and the closing stanza is compelling. I love “She’s/not broken,/not exactly, but emptied”…there are layers here to peel back and I am impressed with how well you’ve captured imagery, a mood, and message in your poem. Thanks for sharing your incredible poetry today and for the welcoming note.