This is the Open Write, a place for educators to nurture their writing lives and to advocate for writing poetry in community. We are organizing 30 days of poetry in April for National Poetry Month: Verselove. Pledge here to write one or more poems with us.
Our Host: Dave Wooley

Dave lives in State College, Pennsylvania, and he’s not exactly sure how he got there! But, since he’s there, he’s working with pre-service teachers at Penn State University as they prepare to be high school and middle school teachers. He does some rapping, writing, and he’s recently gotten back on skis after a 20 year (or so) hiatus so that he can chase his 11-year-old down mountains. He lives with his wife and their youngest son and looks forward to when the other siblings are able to come home from college and get the band back together!
Inspiration
I’m writing from one of my favorite places–Grind City, Bluff City, the Home of the Blues–Memphis, Tennessee, visiting with my son and daughter in law. It just happens that one of my favorite persons from history, the journalist and anti-lynching crusader Ida B. Wells, is a Memphian. In 2021, the city (finally!) dedicated a statue to her to commemorate her activism, her bravery, and her brilliance. That got me thinking about the role of art and, specifically, sculpture in the creation of public memory. So, I thought it might be fun to take a little trek around Memphis to visit her statue and a couple of other statues commemorating notable Memphis legends and write some ekphrastic poems–poems about works of art.
The other part of my inspiration was a lesson that I observed earlier this week in which one of my student teachers was having her middle school students write “small poems”. The poems could take any number of forms–haiku, limerick, tanka, cinquain, sijo, acrostic, kwansaba–as long as they were short.
That made me think about how these forms might work together–small ekphrastic poems–to capture essential moments that are reflected in, or alluded to, in the work of art. Or, perhaps, how in reflecting upon a work of art, that might become a spark for a related idea that could be explored in the burst of a short poem.
Process
My process included a lot of driving and walking around to check out these statues that I wanted to write about! But for your process, you can choose to follow the ekphrastic model and choose a piece of art upon which to base your poem. That piece of art is completely up to you, and that’s part of the fun about this form!
I chose the haiku as my “small poem” form, but feel free to use your preferred form (or no form at all). I wrote a set of three ekphrastic haiku poems because the idea of three 3-line poems as a poetic unit appealed to me, but again, I’d encourage you to explore whatever form you’d like. I also encourage you to look towards some work or art (any genre) for inspiration and to keep it short! After all, #VerseLove is right around the corner and you’ll need plenty of poetic stamina for that!
Dave’s Poem
Reflections on Public Monuments
- Johnny Cash
Cast forever young
no crowsfeet crisscross, like a
highway’s gravel voice
- B.B. King
Muddy river rolls
behind, fingers pluck angels
And ghosts as you smile
- Ida B Wells
Forged in fierce flames–
mobs burned the Free Speech–your Bronze
figure still the Headlight
Your Turn
Now, scroll to the comment section below to write your own poem. (This is a public space, so you may choose to use only your first name or initials depending on your privacy preferences.) Not ready? That’s okay. Read the poems already posted for more inspiration. Ponder your own throughout the day. Return later. And, if the prompt does not work for you, that is fine. All writing is welcome. Just write something. Oh, and a note about drafting: Since we are writing in short bursts, we all understand (and even welcome) the typos and partial poems that remind us we are human and that writing is always becoming. If you’d like to invite other teachers to write with us, tell them to subscribe. Also, please be sure to respond to at least three writers.
Little World
Vibrant pink lilies placed looking at you,
While daisies hold court below,
A world in a glass.
Yellow rose expanding,
Its golden petals,
One radiant promise.
Moments pause here,
Breathing a vibrant life,
Creations diverse palette.
These flowers, still vibrant
Though cut from their beginnings
Teach us how to bloom
Natalie, your poem makes me feel calm and serene. I love the daisies holding court and a world in a glass.
Natalie, so beautiful. So many wonderful images, like the daisies holding court. And that last stanza–“though cut from their beginnings” Masterful!
Natalie, your last line is delivered perfectly. Blooming is such a lovely experience to witness.
Natalie,
I am agreeing with Barb and Denise here–that last stanza is perfection.
Hey Dave! Thank you for hosting us today. Your poems make me want to go to Memphis! I love ekphrastic poetry but I especially love how you’ve given us permission to go the haiku route…my other favorite!
I wrote about a student’s artwork from my lesson on Faith Ringgold’s book, Tar Beach. The students imagine flying over a place they’d love to visit. Fun!!
If I Could Fly
Oh, if I could fly
Over Africa’s west coast
Free spirits would call
And I would answer
Motherland, I’ve made it home
Thank you for waiting
©Stacey L. Joy, 3/17/25
Lovely! Art and poetry! I hope you share your poem with artist, too. She’ll be delighted.….and others will be inspired.
Unfortunately, that was a sample from last year’s class. They wrote their own poems on paper but I save samples of their artwork for future classes. Thank you, Anna.
I love the artwork that inspired you. I really like your last line, too.
Stacey, absolutely beautiful! “Motherland, I’ve made it home” Peace!
Stacey, I love your voice in this poem. The enthusiasm and joy are striking. Absolutely adore your Canva presentation! Gorgeous poem and imagery!
Stacey,
Tar Beach is so good! I had the chance to take my kids to see an exhibit of her work at the New Museum in NYC a while back and it was really moving. Beautiful and subversive!
I really love the call and response that you set up between the 2 stanzas. “I’ve made it home/ Thank you for waiting” is just wow!
Dave,
Thank you for your prompt and poem. This detail — “like a
highway’s gravel voice” — really captures the “Man in Black.”
I used Jackson Pollock Convergence and Banksy’s Balloon Girl as my inspiration today.
Blood veins twist and choke
Tangled lines of life provokes
Anger or madness?
Wish upon a heart
If only balloons and wind
Could send love to world.
Tammy,
I feel as though our poems are in conversation today. I love the rhyme in your first stanza. It’s a stroke of genius to juxtapose these two works of art together. Well done.
Tammi, I love your two artwork choices. I also really like the hopefulness in your second stanza.
Oh, those two very different artworks, and your matching haiku. Lovely! I’m especially loving the balloon girl one, so sweet and precious and I wish it could be true.
Oh, Tammi, your final stanza is tender and moving. Love “Wish upon a heart” . The two stanzas contrast each other in a very interesting and vibrant way. powerful poem.
Tammi,
Wow, “If only…”
I love the juxtaposition of the two pieces and the question at the end of the Pollock poem since that piece does leave one wondering.
HI Dave. What a great prompt. I don’t think I’ve ever written a kwansaba before, so I tried that form. I really struggled to find a synonym for shouldered. Oh well! It was fun.
Joan Miró’s Chicago
By Mo Daley 3/17/25
Tucked into a crevice between soaring towers
Is an unusual statue of Chicago, Joan
Miró’s Chicago—a stylish woman, arms opened
Asking us to come to this hog
Butcher city. Planted firmly on the ground
She tells us the moon and sky
Are ours, too, a place for all.
Dandy, Mo! I love the “tucked in” and the “hog Butcher city”… Miro’s sculpture really is an amazing gift to encounter! So spiritual looking. I’d love to see that in person. I haven’t been to the “hog butcher city” in a really long time.
Thanks, Susie. You should hop on the Amtrak and visit. It’d be great to see you!
Mo, cool poem able an interesting work art. I’d have taken a negative view. The figure appears to cramped and constrained with those short arms when we know most humans arm span equals their height.
Interesting, Anna. This work was controversial when it was installed in 1981, but I’ve always loved it and seen it in a positive light. I love the subjectivity of art!
Mo, such an interesting statue and your poem matches it. “a stylish woman, arms opened” and “She tells us the moon and sky / are ours, too, a place for all” I love that she tells that message!
This is great, Mo. “hog/ Butcher city.” is my favorite bit here, and the rootedness that you point out in the statue. I hear Carl Sandberg and the “no-nonsense-ness” of Chicago that is evoked in this.
Dave,
thanks for the prompt and mentor texts.
I love the allusion and imagery of
I followed your lead and wrote haikus, from memory, about two statues in Austin, where I live.
—————————————————-
Barbara Jordan
fingers tented, book on lap
pondering justice
how I wish her strong
Black voice rang, full of power
in Congress today
————————————————
whenever I ride on
the south side of Town Lake—
renamed after Lady Bird
I look to see if
a fan has put a yellow rose
in Stevie Ray’s hand
a bloom of brightness
to contrast his dark guitar
and his long shadow
Sharon,
I agree. Another Barbara Jordan is needed today. Also love this image of Stevie Ray —
“a bloom of brightness
to contrast his dark guitar
and his long shadow”
Sharon,
I share your desire to have Barbara Jordan’s voice to give us strength. The rose imagery in the second poem is beautiful. I imagine seeing a new bloom often in the statue is a delight. You’ve penned two brilliant tributes.
Sharon, it’s obvious that you are familiar with these sculptures. It sounds like you are old friends. I love that Stevie Ray sometimes has a yellow rose in his hand. Barbara Johnson, such a groundbreaker!
Hi Sharon,
Wow, two iconic figures! I wish we had Barbara Jordan’s voice in Congress, too. I love the image in the opening haiku of power and reflection.
Dave,
Love the prompt. Love your poems. I decided to write my poem about the sign poster you’ve probably heard about. The West Ada district is over in the Boise area. I’ve attached an image of the poster that’s put Idaho in the news once again for all the wrong reasons. And here’s a good article from the Idaho Statesman about it: https://www.idahostatesman.com/news/local/education/article301972094.html
Signs
little fingers reach up high
heart shaped palms touch the sky
now diverse melatonin hands
signal hatred in this state’s land
they say not all share the teacher’s view
they say her welcome sign excludes
not all are welcome here these days
in West Ada schools you can’t display
a welcome sign for learners to see
“Everyone is Welcome Here” creates controversy
Glenda Funk
3-17-25
Glenda-what is happening in our world? That everyone being welcome is controversial…
This is such a sad poem about what is happening today. No more inclusion. How will our young people learn what is right?
Glenda,
Wow! I hadn’t heard this one yet. The idea that an inclusive sign that welcome’s everyone is considered controversial is completely ludicrious!
Glenda,
this is straight out of George Orwell’s 1984’s doublespeak:
When I read that novel in eighth grade, I never imagined we would be living a variation here in the U.S. during my adulthood.
Glenda— I know this story way too well. My niece in Boise and all her neighbors were in an uproar that this poor teacher was forced to take down a sign that merely assures her classroom is a welcoming safe place for all kids. They all made calls, went to meetings and protested this. I was relieved at their strong response and outrage. I could not teach under such a shroud of hatred. It is so important to FIGHT these insane hateful people. I so appreciate your poem. Thank you. Susie
Glenda, I’m so sorry! Yes, I’m looking forward to when Idaho is in the news for something good. They will be. This is just too much! I was so glad to see that Sarah Inama refused to remove it. Good for her, brave woman!
The rhyming is great here.
Glenda, your poem is a perfect reminder of how incredibly stupid our society is becoming. I have read about this situation in a few articles, and it’s mind-numbing. I loved your line “heart shaped palms touch the sky”. Celebrating everyone is what we need to be doing and reading about these situations is simply heartbreaking. Your poem needs to be shared with a wide audience!
Heartbreaking. I saw the story and I still can’t process what we are becoming.
Dave, thank you for your ekphrastic writing prompt. I decided to use the Naani form.I enjoyed your nod to Johnny Cash’s gravel voice, and B.B. King’s “finger pluck angels” was a joy to read.
Grant Wood’s Stone City
golden green breasts embrace
an artist’s fertile dreams
a simple tranquil life
neat as sun kissed cornrows
Barb Edler
17 March 2025
Barb,
Those rolling hills in Stone City really do look like breasts. I need to learn more about subliminal Grant Wood. Love your poem.
Barb—so vivid. So peaceful.
a simple tranquil life – – – oh, what a dream! No frills needed here.
Barb,
I can visualize this scene. It exudes tranquility.
Barb, I went to look up the painting, and I know it. I have seen it somewhere before – maybe on your blog? Your words describe it perfectly. I think of other “Mother Earth” paintings I’ve seen, but what catches me here in your beautiful Naani is the longing for the simple, tranquil, and neat life. That pulls me in completely.
Hello Barb! I love how you describe Grant Wood’s “Stone City” painting! Comparing the green hills to breasts is brilliant! I always find myself being so fascinated with your writing!
Barb, this is rich. Look at that word choice–each one full of meaning, like Grant Wood’s paint strokes. You created a perfect pairing.
Barb,
Every word is perfect here. “neat as sun kissed cornrows” is such a beautiful and lyrical line.
Thank you, Dave, for hosting and providing an opportunity to write. I am very brief today since the plane is about to take off. Earlier this morning, we visit a little town of Manitou Springs that lies at the base of the famous Pikes Peak.
***
Magnificent view
Of Pikes Peak with its snow hat
From Manitou Springs
Leilya, oh what a fantastic poem to celebrate this fantastic view. I’ve been to Manitou Springs and really enjoyed it. You are making me long to be there again. “snow hat” is such a delightful metaphor!
Leilya,
Gorgeous poem and photo. The snow cap really does look like a hat!
Leilya,
thanks for bringing the snow hat to us.
safe travels
Leilya — That does look magnificient! Safe travels home!
Oh, Leilya! The photo makes me shiver with glee! Seems contradictory , but I feel chills and the wish to be there to experience the space! I agree! It’s magnificent.
Wow, so beautiful. The photo and your poem. I love the snow hat. Perfect description.
Leilya,
“snow hat” is amazing.
Just got back from the Scottish Highlands and their were similarly stunning landscapes!
Harriet Tubman
In the Kwansaba Form
She traveled by night, silent and fast,
with a gun to remind others of
her deadly intent. Freedom the cry in
the beaten bodies that blindly obeyed her.
Thru swamps and forest, the stars as
her guide. Though sleep would try to
defeat her, Harriet Tubman would carry on.
Thank you for this thoughtful tribute to Harriet Tubman and her unlimited bravery.
Judi, your poem captures Harriet’s incredible strength and courage. I love the line “her deadly intent” because it shows her determination and even though she would have to be tired, she would not let sleep defeat her. Very impactful poem!
I love this celebration of Harriet Tubman, She is a model of resistance and opposition we can all emulate. Excellent alliteration in “beaten bodies…blindly.”
Judi,
I like how you portray Harriet Tubman’s fierceness.
And the desperation of the people she saved:
Judi,
Love your image of Tubman moving through the night — “silent and fast,
with a gun to remind others of/her deadly intent.”
Judi – Such an important woman in our history. Thank you for bringing HT to life in your poem, especially now, as even mentioning her in many Missouri schools is being banned by our miserable politicians. Heaven help us. Susie
Judi, Harriet Tubman was an extraordinary woman, wasn’t she. I read Night Flyer: Harriet Tubman and the Faith Dreams of a Free People this year. It was fascinating. The Kwansaba form is interesting.
Judi,
The kwansaba form is perfect for this poem; “the beaten bodies that blindly obeyed her” is a stunning line!
Impressionism
Vivid colors dance
many small dabs, vibrant
rhythmical heart beats.
Bouncing light pieces
particles making many
solid forms of life.
Susan,
I love the sense of movement in this. I hadn’t really thought about how the eye moves over an impressionist piece, but this poem captures that “bounce”.
I actually FEEL your words – that makes an amazing poem!!!!!
Thank you, Susan! Your art crafting is so vivid in this haiku. I like how you reminds us that all solid forms of life begin with small particles.
Susan,
I love your dancing, active verbs which settle into
Beautiful.
Susan,
Your poem is so cool! I really love the way you have captured the essence of Impressionism through the “small dabs & vibrant rhythmical heart beats.”
Hello Susan! You creatively express how small brushstrokes work together to create lively paintings. The little dabs of paint capture how light can bounce off of things! This was so much fun to read!
Susan,
These are lovely images. The dancing makes me smile. I’m in awe of the second haiku w/ its regeneration theme. Lovely poem.
Vessels that Carried Us: Kiowa Cradleboards
Cradleboard maker, tell me, beadwork,
wood-shaping, suspending from your
saddle, how you carry this history.
Tell me, what it is to tack slats, bead
on green stroud, to brain-tan deer
hide and twist yellow ochre-covered fringe.
And, tell me, of the stories you spun with
girlfriends while cradleboards rested
leaning upon tipis, plains breeze comforting,
what did you imagine for your babies;
And of this cradleboard now on display,
what are we spring break visitors to make
of this vessel that carried an us we cannot meet.
Thanks for this stunning poem, Sarah. I love the use of direct address and your refrain of “tell me” and the trun in the last stanza. “An us that we cannot meet” made me shudder.
I. hadn’t known about the cradleboards, but what a beautiful and fascinating practice. The beading on the fabric is beautiful. Thank you for sharing the article.
Sarah, your poem is rich with imagery. It’s been a long time since I have seen a cradleboard, but as you described it, I could recall the image. I love how you use questions to help carry the story of the Kiowa’s culture. Your final stanza resonates, and I adore your final line: “of this vessel that carried an us we cannot meet.
Sarah, I wish that crandleboard maker could respond your questions and tell you all those stories. There is so much cultural treasure behind things like crandleboards. Thank you for teaching me a new word and with it some new knowledge today.
This verse—And, tell me, of the stories you spun with
girlfriends while cradleboards rested
leaning upon tipis, plains breeze comforting,
what did you imagine for your babies;— I can see them talking, hoping, wishing. Beautiful.
Sarah,
Beautiful imagery!
This line –“what did you imagine for your babies” — really got me and has me thinking about the artifacts in our musuems in a different light.
Sarah – The cradle boards are exquisite and you have brought their history to us. I could see the women crafting the beads. In the summer I go to WYO and in Sheridan the Brinton Museum has some of these with their rich Native American artifacts. The stories and images come to life. Your poem really does that with “the plains breeze” and the reality of the “babies.” Lovely. Hugs, Susie
James Naismith
The Art of the madness,
Adrenaline mixed with sadness.
Just a few days more,
Sixty-four will pound the floor.
Then thirty-two
Will have to prove- who is who?
Before the sixteen sweet.
through their slamming feats.
Swooshing dem three’s wins the meet,
Only eight will be elite.
Before the Final Four,
Down to two,
Play one more.
Will the SEC secure the bracket,
Or Missouri Valley make it a racket?
Chaos will surely erupt,
If Cooper Flagg does not show up.
Auburn will break fast to the four,
UNC will be waiting on the floor.
No one knows but Utah State,
Got to beat Tennessee to be great.
All sixty- four got a chance,
Beat the next team – to advance.
Try to stay alive,
D- up to survive.
Share the ball, own the sport,
Dribble the paint, own the court.
San Diego, Lipson, Marquette, might win
Georgia, McNeese, and Arkansas will battle to the end.
Michigan, Drake and BYU,
Oklahoma, Memphis, and Yale too.
Day after day showcasing talent,
The art of the game is so valiant.
Each team giving their all,
Outmaneuvering opponents with a ball.
Striving to reach their goal,
Within their soul,
circular at the top of a pole.
With a net to be cut down,
by a big city or a small town.
Scoring shots of two or three,
Passing around solidarity.
Or
that one for everyone to see,
To win the game,
from the line of free.
Do not foul out with five,
offensive rebounds will keep you alive.
Yes, the Madness is about to start,
A beautiful driven poetic art.
Art to take us away
from today,
Back to a time
when we could play.
Cheer for teams of all colors,
Five versus five,
off the bench with others.
All giving their best to be the best,
Being blessed to be blessed,
For the final win will be the final test,
To prove your team worthy of the rest.
For the victor, is molded by the loss,
And the champion is sculpted by cost.
And in my final verse,
I say,
Florida will secure first.
I’m sure Dr. Naismith couldn’t have imagined in his wildest dreams what he would be giving to the world when he nailed that peach basket to the gym balcony!
I love this ode to March Madness–it has the sound and rhythm that reminds me of other great sports narrative poems. Good luck to Florida, I’ll be rooting for St. John’s!
Boxer,
Such a great preview of the tournament!
Wishing us both more adrenaline than sadness!
I’ll be rooting for Texas who managed to land a play in game, but Florida’s a great pick.
I don’t follow basketball at all but I enjoyed the bounce of the dribble. I could feel the beat of the ball in this poem and I felt the urgency in the competition.
Dave, I love “fingers pluck angels and ghosts” to describe B.B. King’s monument. This is an interesting prompt to pair with my AP Language class. One of the past synthesis arguments was about the establishment of monuments in public spaces. As I read your prompt, it reminded me of the post-soviet monuments I would stumble upon while serving as a Peace Corps volunteer in Kyrgyzstan. This haiku emerged from those memories.
“Post-Soviet Haiku”
A headless statue,
Stands behind the library.
“Uncle Lenin’s” ghost.
Shaun,
Thank you for sharing your memories with us today in this haiku. When I was in Armenian over the summer, I felt ghosts of soviet times everywhere. Your first line really captures that “a headless statue.” That is a great metaphor for soviet remains.
Peace,
Sarah
Evocative, real, I remember
Shaun,
I love what’s said in the subtext of those first two lines and then the broad inference that can be made of “‘Uncle Lenin’s” ghost. 17 syllables speaking volumes.
I would teach a unit on memorialization in AP Lang that centered around Clint Smith’s essay on the lessons of Germany’s Holocaust memorials, the Freedmen’s Memorial to Lincoln and the speech that Frederick Douglass gave at the unveiling, and the role of memorialization in public spaces. You can learn alot by seeing what people put on a pedestal and, like your poem shows us, how the public reacts to those monuments.
Wow! what a memory!
Shaun – an eerie image… somehow fitting in these days. And “behind the library”… so full of metaphor that gives us pause. I love it. Susie
Since Jane was born 250 years ago this year, and continues to be one of the world’s greatest authors despite the changing times and society, I give you:
Recipe for a fandom
Only six novels
Plus a bit—Lady Susan,
A tad—the Watsons,
A smidge—Sanditon,
And a pinch of juvenilia—Freindship[SIC]
Seven helpings of heroines
Anne, Emma, Elizabeth,
Elinor and Marianne,
Catherine, Fanny
Heavily seasoned with
Heroes, parents, villains,
Clergy, fools, family and friends
Let them bake in my mind
Stew in my imaginings
Inspire my creations.
You shared the recipe with me,
with the world,
With generations of Austenites yet unborn.
Thank you, Jane.
I enjoyed this recipe, Kelley! My favorite ingredients: “Heavily seasoned with / Heroes, parents, villains, / Clergy, fools, family and friends.” Thanks for cooking this up!
You’re welcome.
Kelley,
What a great first line in this poem. The recipe works so well, I am imagining a poetry prompt like this for Open Write in the future. Yes, “let them bake in my mind” and then that closing wish to spread the nourishment is perfect “generations of Austenites yet unborn.”
Peace,
Sarah
Thank you for your kind words. Jane Austen is my one true fandom. I’ve played in other fandoms and savored other authors’ works deeply, but I always come back to Jane Austen’s work. So does the film industry . . . even the format for the sweet romances on the Hallmark channel is loosely based on Austen. (Minus much of the irony and social commentary)
Kelley,
A bit, a tad, a smidge, a pinch–love it! This is a wonderful ode and I love the recipe poem idea!
Thank you. It didn’t strictly follow your format, but I count her novels as great art.
This “recipe for a fandom” absolute delight, Kelley! Incredibly clever. I savored every ingredient and how this whole creation – your poem as well as the Austenite following – came to be.
Thank you so much. It was fun to write it.
Wow, Kelley, I learned some things about Jane Austen. I had to look up her Love and Freindship [SIC] book. She is quite a writer; it’s amazing she was writing so long ago.
Agreed. Someone born 250 years ago still gives us ideas about society and women and roles that give us much to ponder. Other novelists and writers of her generation, or even later generations, have ceased to be relevant, but not Jane.
The Spring Sun
Twinkling and dancing
Across the boring tile floor
Bringing warmth and light
Mae,
Lovely contrast between the first and second lines. Sun really has a way of “brining warmth.” This is a great example of why and how poem titles can matter! Love it.
Sarah
Hello Mae! I love this! The way sunshine shines and dances reminds us how a little light can transform anything. Something as simple as sunbeams can bring much joy to our everyday lives! Beautiful!
As not to make
my private griefs
overly public,
I’ll say that
it feels just now
like an Edna St.
Vincent Millay
poem or maybe
Philip Larkin’s
“The Mower”
(the second half
not the first,
although it does
make me smile
that he might
have said,
sure, if I were
a hedgehog
and cancer were
a lawn mower,
and I guess,
all in all,
I’m glad you
didn’t make
a reference
to the other
Larkin poem.
And that
would have
made both
of us laugh.)
_________________________________________________
Dave, thank you for your mentor poems and your prompt! Sorry to deviate a bit – although I could have written to W.H. Auden’s “Musée des Beaux Arts” and Pieter Bruegel the Elder’s painting “Landscape with the Fall of Icarus” since great tragedies happen all the time and the world keeps indifferently spinning along – but I wanted to articulate a small poem about my dad who recently passed away.
Oh, Scott, this is so touching. It took me some time with it and your commentary to realize. Condolences to you and your family. The intimacy in this conversation with you and your father is remarkable. Something of your relationship comes through. That other Larkin poem is hilarious, and I’m glad it didn’t hold importance to you and your father. Peace.
I’m adding the links here, as there was an extra space at the beginning of your links, it seems. The Mower: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/48423/the-mower-56d229a740294
Here is the other Larkin poem: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/48419/this-be-the-verse
Thank you, Denise, for your kind words and the assist with the links!
Oh, Scott, this is such a just-right poem for this moment. I am feeling your reverence and that quiet shared chuckle with your dad. Sending love, Susie
Thank you, Susie!
Scott— I ca see that your sense of irony is genetic. The love and respect in this poem is so clear. I am so sorry for your loss..
Thank you, Gayle!
Scott,
Thank you for sharing this poem and for trusting us with the sad news of your father’s passing. This poem is a witnessing and a remembering. Hugs and comfort, friend.
The closing is a very touching embrace in “would have/made both/of us laugh.” Yes.
Sarah
Thank you, Sarah!
Scott,
Thank you for sharing this poem with us. This is a beautiful gift of a poem and the references are perfect. I read it once through (links and all) before getting to your note and I thought “what a perfect poem for our current situation” and then I read your postscript and the poem made even more sense. I get a sense of your father and of your relationship with him through this. i’m sure that your wit and humored was nurtured by him. I’m very sorry for your loss. And, again, grateful that you shared this with all of us.
Thank you, Dave!
Scott – I am so sorry to hear of your dad’s passing. I understand “as not to make my private griefs overly public”…I tend to be very private also. I understand The Mower more than I can say here…and maybe even that “other Larkin poem,” too. You nailed the ache of loss and the grappling by association. What I love best in your poem is is the depiction of you and your dad laughing about the reference. It’s a bit of release. Maybe a bit of healing. So well done.
Thank you, Fran!
Scott,
your poem made me cry and laugh. So sorry for your loss. I like how your poem lets the reader share your grief, but also shares a private joke between you and your dad.
Thank you for sharing with us.
Sending peace and love.
Thank you, Sharon!
Hello Nitany Wooley (yes, I’m married to PSU graduate.) This made me think of my undergraduate education as a topic for today. Note the W in the Wayne State University logo below looks like open arms. But, we were called the Warriors and the image above is a person swatting with a sword or shooting an arrow. Therefore … my poem. No, we were never taught to be “mean”. In fact, that fine education has sustained me through all sorts of “wars”.
Arms Instead of Arrows
A Wayne State Warrior
Back in the day.
Now, at war every day,
Trying to implement
What they taught me
Back in the day.
But opening arms in love
Not using arrows as above.
Hi Anna–
WE ARE!
We are indeed warriors! I love the call back to your alma mater and how that prepared you for the battle that you (and all of us) are facing today–with love as our ultimate weapon.
Dave, what a great prompt. I’m glad you honored Ida B. Wells and other Memphian’s (what a great moniker). Your haiku are beautiful. The word choice and succinct images are mentor-worthy! Your prompt made me think of sculptures around my community, and this one popped in my head and wouldn’t leave.
As a child,
Grandpa’s house was just
across the street from this beast.
Local artist Frank Antone Martin
created the concrete saber-tooth tiger
and donated it to Yucca Valley.
It now guards those honored
in Remembrance Park.
As a child, I only noticed
its unruly underarm hair.
As an adult, I see it
and remember my grandpa
(Who did not have unruly underarm hair, as I recall,
in case you were wondering about the connection.)
What a scary statue for a child to behold. I’m glad that now it reminds you of your grandfather. “Remembrance park”
Denise— heartwarming, frightening, and a sense of relief at your explanation!
all in one short poem…
A very awesome statue indeed. But as a child I would have found it the stuff of nightmares. Beautifully written poem.
Denise- You made me smile at the child’s view and then made me laugh out loud. I’m grateful for the “beast” and your poem. Susie
I love this piece! Seeing the underarm hair when you were a child is so evocative! You were small – how much could you see! Thank you for sharing this memory!
Denise, your straight-forward narrative poem is delightful. I love how much information you share, and I can just imagine you viewing the tiger’s underarm hair. Thanks for sharing the image of the sculpture, too.
I love that this “beast,” who “guards those honored / in Remembrance Park” now reminds you of your grandpa, Denise. And I smiled broadly at the remembrance you had of “its unruly underarm hair” and of your parenthetical “note” at the end!
Yikes, Denise! What a sculpture! And that memory of the underarm hair is so like a child. I laughed aloud at the clarifying statement about your grandpa. Priceless!
On first glance I thought this was the Nittany Lion statue and then I saw those long sabre teeth!
I love, love, love that the detail that stood out to you as a child was the armpit hair! It’s such a unique remembrance. And it’s heartwarming that you have that as a memory of your grandfather.
Dave —again, you bring music to my morning. The best—“like a highway’s gravel voice”. I grew up listening to Johnny Cash, and that is a perfect metaphor! As an aside, we are doing the same thing, not far away from each other. I also supervise per-service teachers in Westminster, MD, just south of Gettysburg.
Ah! This is my first year doing this work and it’s been eye-opening and rewarding!
And, yes, we are pretty close!
Sorrow
I see you, tomatoes
Red, round, redolent of
summer. I want you.
But it is winter.
The grocer’s bins mock me
Still, I bring you home.
Hoping for love.
Finding sad imitations
Again and again.
GJ Sands
Sad imitations is so true! I don’t really like tomatoes unless they are from the garden. Lovely painting!
I love this! Nothing compares to fresh fruits and vegetables. I love the last stanza especially the idea that these tomatoes are only “sad imitations”.
Painting and poetry are both sad imitations of something greater–that is never perfectly expressed. Very nicely written. Thank you for sharing it.
I love this!!! So simple and yet opens the door to so much in my head!
Oh, Gayle. I so understand the message of your poem. I am laughing aloud. So true! So true!
Truth, Gayle! Nothing compares to a homegrown summer tomato! Hilarious and superb poem – the lust (lol) and the description “red, round, redolent of summer” are just perfect. Oh my, is that painting gorgeous!
Oh tomatoes and strawberries, too! One is so tempted by their loveliness in March but so tasteless this early in the season. Can’t even get my plants to grow here in Southern California, yet.
Gayle,
That first stanza is very sultry! The imagery is seductive, but the repeated “R” sounds is what really makes that sing! And the last stanza is really resonant.
Gayle! Clever girl! This still life is wonderfully deceptive. Your poem reminds me of Carl Sandburg’s “Little Word, Little White Bird” and the pithy apple near the end. Like you, I feel mocked by the crappy produce on offer. Love the poem.
Man, so many can relate to your poem. That picture makes my mouth water! Your poem makes me smile. The title and “Hoping for love” cracked me up. Yes, yes, to summer tomatoes, freshly picked and sun-kissed.
GIRL with UMBRELLA at BLACKBURN PARK
She’s stands
in the rain
at the edge of the park
with her bumbershoot,
there these many years,
her elbows bronzed into place,
boots pulled to her knees;
she looks north
as if expecting someone
would miss her,
come fetch her;
in winter
we wrap pretty scarves around her neck
to soften her steely stance,
they blow away in February winds;
today she is ready for spring,
more rain,
she’s prepared,
as Rayo and I round the path
each morning
comforted by her capacity
to remain a child,
hopeful,
while we fools destroy
the world at her feet.
by Susie Morice, March 17, 2025©
Susie— you brought her to life in this poem. And I love “bumbershoot” —a term I had forgotten. Now, how to find a time to ease it into conversation…
I was walking right beside you imagining this statue with her bumbershoot and bronzed elbows. Such wonderful imagery.
…..while we fools destroy the world at her feet…….oh, my. How true, Susie. This painting is intriguing and you have described it eloquently in your verse.
Wow, I wasn’t ready for the punch of your poem at the end. I love how you describe the statue, and the image of her scarves being blown away in February was easy to imagine. Love the dog’s name and the idea that she remains a child. The emotional pull of your poem is exquisite. Did you paint the picture provided? I’m thinking so. Lovely as your incredible poem today! Thank you!
I love this, Susie, the poem, the statue, “the bumbershoot,” the painting (especially the painting!), the ending: “comforted by her capacity / to remain a child, / hopeful, / while we fools destroy / the world at her feet.” “Lord, what fools these mortals be.” Agreed!
Thank you, Scott. I’m appreciating finding ways to pull my painting and poems together. Focusing on these acts of creativity helps me not self-combust as I watch our country devolve.
We fools indeed. Your care of her feels a bit like our care for the world right now. I’m glad she retains her steely stance. She needs it for what’s ahead. But I’m even more glad she remains a hopeful child, despite what is going on around her. That’s what I hope for children now.
Susie, your vivid details bring us right to that statue in the park, watching the pretty scarves blow away in the February wind — and those last lines wrench my heart.To admire the statue’s ability to retain childlike hopefulness while “we fools destroy the world at her feet” – heaven help us all. So wonderfully written.
Susie,
Oof! That ending is crushing. The juxtaposition of the eternal child of the picture and the crumbling of innocence in the world is really devastating. There are some many great images in this, and the play with the seasons, and “bumbershoot”! What a great poem!
Another Susie masterpiece in art and poetry! We need a gallery with your work side by side.
I notice the crumbling stone at her feet. My heart breaks.
Stacey — Good eye, girlie! I have posted my art on my website actually. It’s been a fun journey these last two years! moriceeducator.com
Love, Susie
Susie, I learned a new word for umbrella! Your painting and poem are glorious. I love the bronzed elbows and “boots pulled to her knees”. The ending is so sad. She remaining hopeful, while we are ruining everything.
My husband and I bought a painting this weekend at an art show for Plein Air art done in our town this week. This painting is a bridge near our home. The artist Karen Philpott used a pallet knife to paint the sky. This technique is called impasto.
Bridge over water
connecting town to neighbors
with impasto sky
Sometimes, the sky has texture like that…I didn’t know that term, impasto. I like it in your haiku and the painting.
Margaret — Isn’t that amazing!? What artists can do during a Plein Air session just blows me away. How cool that you bought it and have it in your home! The palette knife…I’ve been watching videos of painters making beautiful work with those knives. I have one but haven’t used it much. I’m inspired to try some sky work today. Not only does your piece connect “town” and “neighbors”…here we are across the country and beyond connecting with art and poetry. Ahhh, makes me feel so good. Thank you! Susie
Beautiful painting and poem, Margaret. The sky is so intriguing – what a fascinating technique. Love how you incorporated its name into your haiku. It’s so unique. And how lovely to support a local artist.
I love that “impasto sky” and the fact that the bridge connects town to neighbors. Lovely painting and poem.
Dave, I appreciate the offer of a short form on these busy school days. Each of yours is beautifully worded, and I cannot pick a favorite. But I love the lines “muddy river rolls” and “Forged in fierce flames.” The soft sounds of the first mimic the texture while those in the second emphasize the ferocity. (I need to stop reading the news before writing!)
Lift your skirts, ladies
Liberty’s no longer free
Prepare for pillage
Jennifer, The Handmaid’s Tale comes to mind, and you’ve captured the essence of this reality. In a haiku of seventeen syllables, you have nailed the truth of the times.. It’s where we ether already are or where we are headed. Scary world.
Yes, ma’am! We’ve got to bond together and protect what we can. Love the “l” sounds and the alliteration in the last sentence.
Jennifer — This is ominous and so so so true. Every day I am saddened beyond words by what is happening. Already I have friends and family being harassed, fired, and put in danger’s way. These aren’t “friends and family” euphemisms…they are real people, hardworking, huge contributors to the world around us… scientists, social workers, teachers, people protecting our children …I could go on and on… the “pillage” is in high gear. Lady Liberty… oh my gosh…that isn’t the Atlantic at her feet, it is the ocean of tears.
Jennifer,
First, this is a beautifully crafted poem and fair warning. What a time we are living in. I’m not sure if you’ve seen this story (who can keep up!), but a French member of the European parliament is calling for a return of the Statue of Liberty because America doesn’t seem to reflect the same values that represented in that iconic statue. As you say in the poem, we must be prepared.
That was the last bit of news I saw before writing this morning. How can we even be here?
Jennifer—oof! Where is my red cape? This is succinct and beautiful statement of our world today. I am afraid.
A short form for a powerful punch…pillage (oof!).
Oh my, Jennifer. I love the language within your poem and the punch to the action of your poem. “Prepare for pillage” What a fantastic line!
A terrifying testament on several levels…Liberty no longer being free is desperately sad. Beyond metaphor: I imagine the face of the Statue with a tear rolling down. This is a heart-searing poem, Jennifer.
Gut-punching, truth-telling poem!! But it must be said because silence is not an option.
I’m a lover of “L” alliteration and you nailed it! Now, let’s nail these idiots and put them where they belong.

Thank you for hosting us today, Dave! Love your tribute to these statues of music legends. Our coffee shop on the town square has a unique photo journey of its restoration, and I wrote a tricube (3 stanzas of 3 lines of 3 syllables) today as my short form.
1828 Coffee Company: A Work of Art
coffee shop
art shows the
time journey
restoring
origins
hardwood floors
window panes
still the same
come, peek in!
Kim, even the name of the coffee shop is a work of art! I feel as if I’m peeking in with you. I’m not sure if it’s all the Hometown Makeover shows I’ve been watching but I can envision this entire location. I think this poem needs to be on the marketing brochures.
That’s so fun…ending the poem on an invitation to “come, peek in!” Why, I don’t mind if I do via your tricube.
Kim — Oh yes, I want to be there right NOW! Love this place through your words. Susie
Hi Kim,
“Restoring origins” really resonates with me; the history in place and in buildings. And that last stanza is a really playful invitation! (Sitting in a coffee shop right now as I respond, btw!)
(I agree with Jennifer, too!)
Kim, I just want to be in this coffee shot with you! Love the closing stanza’s invitation. Lovely poem!
I would love to have a cup of coffee in this place of “restored origins.” That idea is as alluring as the beverage, to me!
Marvelous! I love the tricube form and I need to try it more often. Kim, you always make sure I can visualize your experiences. 1828 Coffee Company sounds like a welcoming place. We have a Coffee Company in L.A. that is very popular and welcoming too. Now, I’m curious if there could be a connection. Hmmm.
Hugs, Kim!
Fun prompt, Dave, and I am appreciating the “keep it short” advice! Love your inspiration and the haiku, especially the one about Cash. Magnificent word choices for the statue’s youthful depiction, before the “crowsfeet crisscross” (how lyrical!) and the “highway gravel voice.” You nailed it.Your phrasing even imparts a sense of his travels, his life’s journeys. Amazing!
My granddaughters (ages 9 and 3) have started a little art project at my house…
Envisioners
Segmented cardboard
pulled from a shipping package
is now repurposed
by the magicians
(known as my two granddaughters)
with markers in hand
a dragon rises
from their creative efforts—
Franna provides eyes.
Fran, oh, how I miss a good cardboard constructed playland! There is nothing more magical than a plain brown corrugation being transformed into whatever a child imagines. What a joyous addition to your house. Fly, dragon, fly!
The work in progress.
I love the creativity at work!
Children with imaginative creativity become the best writers. Franna, you provide far more than dragon eyes. You are the apple of theirs.
ooooh, those grandgirls are my kind of girls! A few markers and a lot of imagination is my idea of a good time. I love how you have given them magical powers. I miss those days of my kids doing this—and yet, it was always messy!
Fran,
What a wonderful poem! My youngest son is the artist in the family–any time we go to a new place we have to hit the art supply store. The poem structure kinda mimics the structure of the segmented art pieces–so cool! I really like the characterization of your granddaughters as magicians with markers in hand.
Fran— the poem is wonderful, and I am so glad you included the picture of their project. A dragon rising, indeed! a creativity runs in the family!
I love making art with my grandchildren. You have captured the joy of childhood art with magicians and dragon. I believe Franna also provides permissions and inspirations.
I can see my grandkids happily joining them. What a fun poem.
The sequence of events in your poem are exquisite. I so appreciate “a dragon rises” and “Franna provides eyes”. What a fun poem for your granddaughters to read. Lovely!
Oh, Franna, that title is perfect. Envisioners of creativity, magicians, yes. I love the positivity throughout the poem. “The dragon rises” Beautiful!
ooooh, I love this prompt! There is a new statue in my city for Jennie Dean. She founded a school (among other things)for African Americans in the early days of Reconstruction. I love the new statue and it’s perfect for an ekphrastic short poem!
full of faith and fight
learning was her lamp and light
brothers, sisters, see!
This is a beauty, Linda. You do honor to this new statue. Thank you for sharing another trailblazer with us in Jennie Dean. I love how the thread of light continues to see and the rhyme of light and fight, which often are necessary next to one another. Love!
Linda, I am always in awe of a haiku that speaks so much in so few words and syllables. A new statue in your city – – and such a tribute.
Hi Linda,
Thank you for adding Jennie Dean to the list of historical names that I should know! And an educator! I love the parallel rhymes and structure and the dual recognition of her mission and a call to witness in the last line!
I know haiku doesn’t generally rhyme but I love the rhyme of flight and light. Makes me want to see this statue.
Beautiful alliteration and rhyming, Linda. I can see Dean holding a lamp high, illuminating others – and inspiring. So much message in so few words!
Linda,
This is wonderful! Made me feel warm and happy. Jennie Dean is a name I’d never heard. Thank you for sharing her with me. I will read more!
Nice alliteration, Linda. How wonderful that they celebrated Jennie Dean with a new statue.