Open Write is a community celebration of poetry in October—an invitation to write, read, and reflect together. You’re welcome to write a poem a day or to come and go as you need. Reading and leaving a brief note—a line you loved, an image that stayed, a feeling a poem stirred—is also a meaningful way to participate. This is a generous, low-pressure space. We’re glad you’re here.
Our Host

Matt Forrest Esenwine is a New Hampshire-based author of a dozen children’s books including the Kirkus-starred Flashlight Night (Astra Young Readers, 2017), included on “Encyclopedia Britannica”’s list of ‘11 Children’s Books That Inspire Imagination;’ the 2026 NCTE Notable Poetry anthology A Universe of Rainbows: Multicolored Poems for a Multicolored World (Eerdmans Books for Young Readers, 2025); and I Am Today (POW! Kids Books, 2022), recipient of the 2023 NH State Literary Award for Outstanding Children’s Literature.
Meanwhile, his poetry can be found in numerous anthologies like The National Geographic Book of Nature Poetry (National Geographic Kids Books, 2015) and the Donald Hall tribute, Except for Love (Encircle, 2019), as well as ‘Highlights’ magazine. Connect with Matt and order personally-signed books at MattForrest.com.
Inspiration
For me, inspiration can come from anywhere: nature, my kids, a dream, something I read or something I overheard someone say. It might come from deliberately mixing up words together, simply to see if I can make some sense of them (this is actually how my book “I Am Today” came about). Or it might come from a poetry prompt – just like this!
Process
The MBOE can serve as inspiration for a new poem – or it can simply be an exercise one undertakes to sharpen the wits, to hone the ol’ poetic tools. It’s something I use quite often when presenting poetry workshops in schools, and no matter how many times I’ve done it, students have never let me down!
During these workshops, I show students different forms of poetry (rhyming, free verse, haiku, etc.), I talk about why I enjoy it, and what one can do with it. I then ask the students to offer up something they feel is so utterly boring, so tediously uninteresting, so mind-numbingly mundane that no one would EVER think of even POSSIBLY writing a poem about!
And then we write a poem about it.
Hence, what I like to call the MBOE: the Most Boring Object Ever. Because if you can write a poem about a dirty rubberband or a dust bunny, you can write about pretty much anything!
Here’s all you do: pick an object, any object (boring or not!), and begin thinking of ways to describe it. This is brainstorming, so just write down one or two words that come to mind – but write down everything. Once you get past the obvious descriptors, start thinking of other ways to describe it. What does it look like, sound like, smell like? What else could it be used for? What if it was 100 times bigger or 100 times smaller? Ask as many questions as you can and write down your thoughts. Once you have your list, scan through it and see what words/images/feelings you are drawn to. That’s your basis for your poem.
Without worrying about rhyme (this is likely going to be a free verse poem), put together the words, phrases, and anything else you’d want to add in whatever order makes sense. Rearrange, juxtapose, add, subtract – do whatever you feel the poem needs of you until you are satisfied with what you’ve written. And don’t worry about perfection; with my guidance, classes complete this entire challenge in less than 15 minutes. It’s less about writing the perfect poem and more about seeing where a subject can take you.
(You can read a few good examples here and here)
Matt’s Poem
First, my MBOE:

(a crushed laundry basket, after our cats somehow managed to knock a folding table onto it)
Second, here’s my brainstormed list (about 3 minutes):
White, plastic, netting, holes, vessel, holds things, strong, weak, work, clean, dirty, crushed, carry, transport, hauling, round, deep, silent, no respect, beaten up but still keeps going, bottomless, neverending, infinite, white hole (opp. of black hole), vortex
(You’ll notice that the more I thought about it, the more I started getting away from the obvious – white, plastic, etc. – and began seeing more creative, unusual aspects)
Third, here’s my 12-minute poem:
White vortex swirls
inward, outward, bending, sorting,
shape distorting,
mass-contorting
ever burning, persevering,
silent turning
Disappearing
- Matt Forrest Esenwine
(If you’re wondering what this is about, all I can say is I was intrigued by the idea of a white hole in space, doing whatever a white hole might do. I didn’t set out to write it in rhyme, but I found that many of the words I was drawn to lent themselves to that, so I went with it. Is it an award-winning poem? Not at all. Is it a fun exercise in thinking on-the-spot and stretching your mental muscles? Absolutely!)
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.
Thanks for waking me up, Matt. The day is far more interesting when discovering the significance of the common in our lives.
My Savior in the Wind
No time for tangles
Only splitting hairs
Push your way through
Here
Now
Your white teeth of plastic
Bear down
Parting the cross hairs
Making waves
To avert disaster
My savior in the wind
Wow, Mary Ruth, what a lovely poem about a comb. Who knew one could turn something so boring into this beauty!
Thank you, Matt! I love your poem, one you would have never written without that squashed laundry basket. I love that about a prompt. Today was a travel day for me, so I found myself staring at the seatback pocket in front of me. Thanks for being here today.
Barf Bag
white, plastic lined
with a sharp zigzag-cut edge
As sturdy as a soldier,
with a metal belt
across its top,
It stands ready
to do its job with authority.
Not a word on it,
but everyone knows what it is,
and everyone has one.
It is ready for catching
spewings of disgust,
but has anyone ever really used one?
Denise,
Yep. I have used the barf bag on a plane. It was in 2019 on a flight from Shanghai into Seattle (SeaTac). The story is wretched (pun intended), and I literally had a physical encounter w/ a male flight attendant who shoved me toward the lavatory when I was deplaning and stopped to puke—some more. In retrospect, I should have complained but did not. I wish I could say the incident was boring, but traumatizing is more accurate. I’m happy to report all other barf bag sitings have been boring.
Oh, my gosh! That is wretched! I’m glad the vast majority of your barf bag sitings have been boring.
Ha, well if you can write about a barf bag, you can write about anything! Nice job, Denise – and thank you & Sarah for the invitation to be here!
Matt–I love this idea of focusing on something ordinary (or boring). I went out into my backyard and the wild menagerie (as we call it) called me over. The wild menagerie is made up of all the potted plants that have outgrown their pots, are odd looking, or are too unruly for the house. They end up on the back patio–where they seem to thrive in neglect.
So here’s a poem that focuses on a particular batch of succulents who have escaped their pots and have made a “garden” for themselves on the cement of the patio.
Green globes on a stalk
slithering snakes
coiling and crawling and cavorting
beyond their pots
befriending the aloe
encouraging the spiders and lizards
cheering on all the misfit plants
who thrive in this unattended
garden
a place where the most hearty
call home
(If you want a peek at the plant, you can see a photo on my blog: https://thinkingthroughmylens.com/2026/10/18/write-out-in-the-backyard/)
Oh, to have a wild menagerie! I love everything about this- including the photo!
Hi Kim,
I love the poem and really appreciate the photo because I was picturing a different succulent. I have those too and they do often take on a mind of their own.
I adore this kindness they’re offering to their surroundings:
“Cheering on the misfits” – love it!
Kim, I enjoyed taking a peek at the “coiling and crawling and cavorting” Seuss-like succulents. What a delightful thriving!
straw for slurping
ice cold root beer float,
drinking milk at school
through the small hole
spill-proof, maybe.
a bendy one for someone
sick in bed.
Boring, perhaps,
six inch, eight inch, even a foot
useful nonetheless
Useful nothingness is such an interesting way of looking at a straw, Cayetanna. I have a friend who won’t drink anything without a straw!
Cayetana —
I agree. Straws are definitely useful! I love the bendy ones!
I like the “spill proof, maybe”–that the usefulness is not fully assured!
A great example of elevating the mundane – I’ll bet the straw never knew it was worthy of such a poem!
Cayetana, fun poem about straws. I am sitting here wishing I was slurping an “ice cold root beer float”
I will make good use of the concept “useful nothingness” as I go through my day. A curiosity for all that I see, beckons.
Matt,
I love how your laundry basket captured the whole washing experience.
This was a fun prompt! I can’t wait to introduce this to my students. They will love it!
Trash Bags
Black, slick.
Can’t find the seam to open it.
Decluttering tool —
Don’t be the fool.
Open chasm,
Some ectoplasm?
Trap the lint,
Old newsprint,
Don’t forget the mint!
Black, slick —
We opened it.
Everything squished in!
We stare.
We sit.
This one made me smile, Tammi. I can picture all of, especially the ectoplasm. Love your fun rhymes today.
Thanks, Tammi! And what fun you must have had putting this together!
Tammi, mission accomplished–“We stare. We sit.” Your rhyming adds charm and fun to the poem, especially with “chasm / ectoplasm.” Trash bags are slick! 🙂
Like Mo, this had me smiling, too, Tammi! If I could have all the time back that I’ve spent trying to open these damn bags, I’d be young again! Thanks for the laugh this evening!
Drive Time
By Mo Daley
10/18/26
rowafterrow
afterrowafter
rowafterrow
of Indiana corn
surrounds me
bores me
lulls me
hypnotizes me
until
droopy-lidded,
I spy
a bald eagle
soaring overhead
Oh wow, ‘Mo!
Fantastic job using form to mirror the experience, running words together and repeating them. You filled my birder’s heart with joy when I spotted
Mo — I felt the monotony of those corn fields lulling you to sleep, and the bald eagle was such a lovely suprise!
Love the wordsinarow – and then the eagle out of nowhere!
Hahaha!! Love this so much. I don’t think there could have been a better way to capture the hypnotic rows! Brilliant, Mo.
Beautiful, Mo. We never know where the monotony may lead. The treasures offered by the rowafterrow.
Matt, thank you for you prompt that stimulated my brain today! Seriously, it is so simple that it is magical in making us think deeply about the simplest items in our world. I chose to write about something that sits around at the end of the day!
Resting from a long day
Its many irregular cells exhausted
The faded blue cellulose dries slowly
Leaving a slowly drying blob waiting
For another cup and spoon in need
A quick wipe of the counter
It’s a rough life for the flexible
Workhorse who rarely leaves the
Kitchen sink until it’s hard, dry, tired
Then, it disappears, replaced by
A fresh dye-job version sleeping
Under the pipes.
Anita, this is so fun, and sad in the way that personifying or anthropomorphizing neglected workhouse objects can only be. “faded blue cellulose” sounds almost organic and I am not sure how to feel about the replacement — so tired, deserves retirement — or being replaced for a younger version. So many feelings stirred. Ha.
Anita, that sponge is not boring – – always ready for the cup and spoon in need, and then it retires so the new guy can come along and answer those calls. Splendid!
Anita, I see how you present your sponge in this poem. Your flexible workhorse puts to shame my fashionista 😀 I feel sorry for it when a time comes for replacement. I like how you developed its story.
Anita — I love the way you bring this sponge to life. That poor exhausted and lonely sponge!
Anita,
In some ways this personification of a sponge/dishrag could be a mom stuck in the kitchen all day. I don’t use sponges because I have to have a clean dishrag every day, sometimes two in one day! The repetitive life of a counter-wiper is boring, always the same crumbs to wipe away. You chose the best object for your poem.
Thank you, Anita – and well done with this! Nice job elevating the commonplace. It reminds me of a poem I wrote in high school called “Ode to a Limpy Dishrag”, and yes, I still have a copy! 😉
Anita, what a great topic for your boring poem. I love the phrase “under the pipes” instead of under the sink, which is so common. Your ending made me smile.
I read your poem, Anita, while standing at the sink. This utilitarian “life” that we never consider, residing under the pipes. Thanks for giving it credit, for bringing it into the spotlight.
My topic today is not quite an object, but I’m sure you can all understand how boring this topic is.
Oblivious Buffoon at the Snooze Fest
Pompous professor proliferating
in the deadly drab classroom.
Dryly droning on and on and on.
Clearly in love with his own voice,
failing to see he’s torturing his audience.
who want to stop up their ears,
stab their eyes out.
Barb Edler
18 October 26
That professor is definitely the MBOE, ha! Thanks, Barb.
Barb,
This is brilliant. I LOLd at
“who want to stop up their ears,
stab their eyes out.”
And “in love with his own voice” is my go-to thought when I think of those who wax on w/ little thought for the audience. The alliteration throughout is chef’s kiss perfection. Love everything about this poem.
I don’t know where that 026 came from. Lol! I was able to edit it out.
Barb, I do hope to have a sense to stop what I am doing if I get to this stage of “pompous proliferating.” Your alliterations hyperbolize the images–you had fun with this poem! The title makes me laugh out loud 🙂
Barb, I NEVER want to be that pompous professor! I love your line about wanting to stop up one’s ears! Brilliant~
I love that last line. I can’t imagine why, but I can sure relate to it. 🙂 I’ve been in that audience.
Barb,
Love these lines — “Clearly in love with his own voice,/
failing to see he’s torturing his audience.” Very funny!
This professor needs to learn how to read a room!
So funny, Barb. I know May students who could relate to your poem today. Excellent word choice all around.
Love this MBOE! You captured that torture perfectly!
Barb,
LOL at all of this! I felt like the alliteration made the torture come to life. I had a coworker who was this kind of person and I dreaded grade level team meetings.
But when you added “stop up their ears” I giggled because it reminded me of Glenda’s hubby’s ear debacle! Hilarious poem, Barb.
Oh, yes, we have all been there with the MBPE. Your alliteration is perfect. I can hear your voice, and that last line, wow.
Pulling
strength
my breath escaping
leaning over the edge
blindly
grasping at
the hardened end
the unforgiving stoic
clenching
for a place in the chaos
generations neverending
coming before me
tinged split second of existential dread
finally
the recliner foot pops up
handle success!
Oh, Luke, this is too funny. I’m still laughing. Love the word choice in this one.
You had me wondering until the end – nice job, ha!
Made me laugh! How very dramatic for such an ordinary moment in space and time.
Luke, I had to read till the end to get it. So well done! Almost read “pops up” with double “oo” which would make sense at this point 🙂
Luke, you had me wondering until the very end. I do know that stoic clenching of which you write so brilliantly!
Luke,
Love the way this poem progresses. This had me laughing — “split second of existential dread” — I’ve been there!
This is really funny and hits home. My dad had the same issues with a recliner and then my husband built his own but never could get the handle to work.
Hi, Matt, and thank you for such an engaging way to bring poetry into the classrooms. I am grateful for a detailed process and going to try this in my college classroom too. Your take on a crushed laundry basket turns it into such a mystery. I read the prompt early in the morning and was thinking about things to explore in-between reading through students” work, and it feels like I failed to find MBOE, but I had fun doing it.
The Trouble with Boring Things
I searched the house for something boring.
Surely one dull object must live here.
But the sponge refuses and shows two personalities:
lime‑green charm and dark‑gray seriousness,
practically dressed for a night out,
soft on one side, firm on the other,
a tiny fashionista in the sink.
The socks won’t cooperate either.
They’ve traveled miles without leaving my feet
and they carry secret initials “UV”
which feels suspicious–ultra violet or ultra-visible?
Are they hiding classified information?
Even the oatmeal rebels.
It dresses up every morning,
raspberries for flair, blueberries for drama,
almonds and sunflower seeds for healthy crunch.
You think it’s breakfast; I’m sure it’s a grand finale!
Desperate, I reach for the doorknob.
This has to be boring, I think,
But quickly realize that
It has shaken more hands than any politician
and overheard more stories than any diary.
I give up.
Perhaps, I’ll try the garage later.
The dust may not have any ambitions.
Leilya – I love this!!! I love your humor but more than that l love your eyes – eyes that see beauty and purpose for everything. Just wonderful!!!
Leilya, your poem is fun on several levels. Your personification gives them life, and you show their positive and neutral sides, but nothing negative. My favorite is the image of the doorknob…especially this at this time of this particular year.
Thanks for cleverly connecting personal, political, and positive images of what others may perceive as boring!
Leilya, I love, love, love this! Your voice is fun and drew me completely into the search for something boring. Your use of personification is perfectly played, and the final line is delightful! Imagine dust with ambition. Thanks for such an entertaining read!
I love you solution to the challenge, Leilya – there’s something to be said for finding the joy, uniqueness, and wonder of all the objects we encounter. 😉 Great ending line, too!
Leilya,
Your poem is so delightful!
I’ll never look at a sponge the same way!
I’ll ne thinking of your “tiny fashionista” next time I use a sponge.
Your twist would make a good prompt: describing the hidden personalities behind our household objects.
Leilya,
This is a fun twist on the prompt. It seems all the boring objects have utilitarian functions. Yes, that dressed-up cereal may be the grand finale given it’s more like candy than nutrition. And a door knob has so many stories to tell. Even a used string of floss has tasted life!
You are always so generous in your time and comments. I appreciate you and am looking forward to seeing you at NCTE.
Leilya, I am laughing out loud! I did decide my soon to be sponge was boring enough for a poem but I did notice it’s waiting colorful replacement was anything BUT boring!
What a charming and humorous poem. Even the oatmeal rebels might be my favorite line, and the doorknob shaking hands and the sponge and the socks – – such things we often see as possibly boring you show us are most definitely not. Nothing boring lives with you!
Leilya,
I love the spin you put on the MBOE! I have a feeling that the dust in the garage will have flair too!
Oh, Leilya, your poem shows the intriguing side of everything! This is so charming. I love it! Not a boring object to be found!
Genius, pure genius!! How did you even think to do this? I’m in awe!
Leilya, I would love to take a walk with you to experience the way in which you see the world. Nothing is insignificant. In this day of social media and incessant texting, we need teachers like you to inspire students to lift their heads, tune in and turn on to the wonders of seemingly insignificant matter.
Thanks, Matt, for hosting. I enjoyed seeing where the prompt brought you, me and our community of poets. I like how your lines both contain and expand beyond your humble laundry basket:
___________________________________________
sibling sensibility
are you looking for a boring object?
so far I’ve written about your coffee
my sister-in-law’s and husband’s voices rise
in pitch
in alarm
in unison
coffee?!?
I’ve shocked their shared sibling sensibility
they begin to talk about their spouses
that’s a habit that completely missed Sharon
I don’t know if Sean’s every had coffee or tea
I know he’s only ever had a sip of his dad’s beer when he was little
Sharon didn’t start drinking beer until she had Belgians and sours
when did you start drinking coffee?
I think in my thirties
me, too when i moved to Wellington
I never would have started if the coffee hadn’t gotten a lot better
yeah I won’t drink the drip coffee at work
their talk turns to sports
NBA golf cricket
calm golf claps at live tennis
Texas fell to nineteen
still ahead of Florida
I enjoyed this glimpse into the siblings’ conversation. It feels so organic, a rhythm cultivated over years of knowing one another.
Thank you, Sharon! I like the fact that this starts off talking about boring objects – then gets deep into this detailed sibling interacation.
Sharon, I love your take on this prompt. Your poem has that chatty, familial energy that make the conversation about coffee, siblings, habits, and sports alive. I like the beginning and that exclamation “coffee?!?”
In a way, our poems are similar: I went looking for boring things and found personality everywhere, but you went to search for MBOE found people, your siblings, with your voices and shared sensibilities.
Sharon, this is magical in drawing the reader into the at first simple and boring conversation that becomes more interesting as it flows towards the finish.
Sharon, your poem makes me feel like I’m there, like a fly on the wall, feeling the same thing I feel with those I’m most comfortable with as they talk about life, coffee, sports. Love it!
How fun and unique! I felt close to the conversation as if I were in the other room.
Matt, thank you for hosting today and for sharing your poem. I loved how your laundry basket swirled into a mysterious vortex.
Silverware
Sometimes,
when I put away the clean silverware,
I imagine each utensil is a member
of a close-knit extended family.
The tablespoons
(of course)
are mothers and aunts,
and the dinner forks are fathers and uncles,
and the blunt-edged dinner knives
are jovial grandfathers
(or great uncles).
The dessert forks and teaspoons –
a gaggle of children, all cousins…
Serrated steak knives?
Those sharp-tongued relatives
who always comment
on the weight you’ve gained.
And the gravy ladle?
A doting great-grandmother,
(the cake server,
her favorite daughter,
who dutifully takes her to all
her doctors’ appointments).
And the long-handled iced teaspoon –
a college-aged niece,
home for the holidays.
The whole fam damnly
tucked up in the silverware drawer.
Close quarters
I’m sure.
but shiny
and ready to serve
when called upon…
sending their best and
brightest
out into the world.
Love the coneit of the silverware being an actual family – the grandmother, the niece, everyone is there in the drawer! 😉
Lori, what a creative approach to silverware. each piece has a personality and resemble familial habits. I am nodding to the knives’ description:
“Those sharp-tongued relatives
who always comment
on the weight you’ve gained.”
So well done! I want to share it with my students if you don’t mind.
Absolutely! Feel free to share. Thank you.
Lori, you did an especially clever job of mentioning and alluding the range of family members and the typical roles each has in most families. And, most moving is the “close quarters”! Together and ready to serve; again, a poetic move of serving food and serving others, as most cultures and religions teach, is our calling. In fact, that was our sermon at church today: The “Greatness of a Servant!”, which, according to Scripture, should be the ultimate goal to be welcomed into eternity, known for our good and faithful service.
Your silverware poem suggests that it can be a joy, to some, to be servers! Thanks for sharing your poem and reinforcing the message of the day!
Lori,
I’ll never look at silverware the same way again. I’ll likely feel like a cannibal when I eat! Favorite part: “Those sharp-tongued relatives
who always comment
on the weight you’ve gained.” Reminds me of the time my mom said to my brother (not her son), “Welk, Steven, I do believe you’ve gained a little weight and lost a little hair.” That line is part of a much longer story. And now I’m thinking of tarnished relatives and those chewed up in the garbage disposal. My mind does wander!
Lori,
This is delightful!
I can’t wait to empty the dishwasher and overhear the talk at the family reunion!
Love all the personalities and roles you’ve brought to light.
Too good!
Lori, such a fun thought that silverware is family. I can see the jovial grandfathers…..without “teeth,” as blunt knives. That’s a great analogy with all the members.
Lori, I’m naming my silverware right now, after reading your poem. So, so good! “The whole fam damnly” Great fun.
old squares waiting
dull and peeling
a hazy strip
dried up
pieces floating
adding
to the waste
of plastic in the ocean
This was a new and interesting form to use. Thanks, Matt. Got my foggy brain going. Makes me wish we all disclosed the most boring object that inspired each poem.
Thanks for taking the challenge! May I ask, what was your inspiration? A square of plastic?
The little adhesive squares called mounting squares that come in a strip and are used to put photos in a scrapbook.
Sue, so many plastic things this could be! Band-aids? Tape? Loved the “hazy strip” imagery — and the statement your poem makes.
The “dull and peeling” square and the “hazy strip” reminded me of so many things that were once deemed useful but now seem harmful and impossible to eradicate. Well written!
Sue, your description of the “old squires” is so precise. It made me think about adhesive strips right away, but I wasn’t sure until I read your response to Matt. I like the sound of “a hazy strip,” and the waste issue is so relevant.
drilling down
most things
become
thrilling
____________________________________
Thanks for your mentor poem and this prompt, Matt! This was fun. I started with boring (uninteresting) which turned into boring (to bore a hole) which, of course, turned to digging deep into something or drilling down which, finally, ultimately, unearthed the etymology – if AI Overview is to be believed – that drill is “related to the native English word thrill (originally meaning to pierce or make a hole).” And, now, I realize that explaining all this dulls the point a bit, lol.
Scott,
I have an image of you boring through a piece of wood with a drill that drills down. Love the word play and the explanation. Now step away from the AI!
I love the etymology and evolution of the poem & your thought process, Scott!
Scott, I appreciate how you made the rhyme come full circle. 🙂
Scott, I believe this. As a person who finds something interesting in most things, I do believe there’s a thrill to be found in what others may consider mundane. Thanks for sharing!
Scott, I like your exploration of homonyms “boring” and where it led your poem. Now I will always think of “thrilling” when hear my hubby drilling 🙂 Thank you for this wordplay.
Thank you so much for joining us today, Matt, and providing such a fun, yet challenging, prompt. What you have down with the boring laundry basket is impressive.
sock hat
i seldom wear one
as I have a huge head
and rarely have need
a warrior knit hat
with Hoosiers in bold lettering
in classic cream
on a background of crimson
the cuff with a stitched IU
popping off dimensionally,
a fluffy tuft of yarn pops
from the crown
adding a playful, cozy detail.
as the wind whips
across the Fox River
from Green Bay,
a finger-shaped jut
of frigid Lake Michigan,
I’m grateful to have the covering
on my big nug to prevent
warmth from escaping.
~Susan Ahlbrand
18 OCtober 2026
Nice! Love this, Susan – especially the wordplay in “finger-shaped jut
of frigid Lake Michigan.” Thanks so much for tackling this!
Susan, I love that you introduced me to the word “nug”! What a word! And it resonates so nicely with “big” before it. Your description of your tuque was anything but boring!
Suan, I had to laugh. I, too, always say my head is too big for a hat. I love your descriptions of your knitted hat.
Susan, your poem brought back memory of home with snowy winters and warm hats, so I connected right away. Love the sound play with consonance and alliteration in these lines:
“the cuff with a stitched IU
popping off dimensionally,
a fluffy tuft of yarn pops”
And, also this description is enticing: ‘a finger-shaped jut / of frigid Lake Michigan.”
Susan, I am with you – – I rarely wear one, but the older I get I need them for my ears more than my head. Love the fun descriptions of yarn pops and fluffy tufts.
Hi Matt,
Welcome and thank you for today’s beautiful offering. I really appreciated not having to find something meaningful today🤣. I say that because lately I’ve been noticing the steam from my diffuser. I took a picture of it the other day and thought how silly. Look at what silly gave to me today. I wrote a tricube.
Diffuser Rituals
Lavender
Whispering
Peaceful vibes
Curls of white
Vapors dance
Through the air
Aroma
Fading as
fast as time
©Stacey L. Joy, 10/18/26
Isn’t it interesting how steam rising can fascinate you? The word vibes seems to have made it into modern lexicon. I hear it a lot these days. I love the ending “fading as fast as time.” I feel that viscerally every day.
This is such a perfect example of finding the extraordinary in the mundane. Thank you!
I love this, Stacey! It is so calm and serene, and I’m gently carried along with all of your alliteration: “Whispering” and “white”, “vibes” and “Vapors”, “Fading” and “fast.” So “Peaceful”!
Stacey, it is too sad that the aroma fades so fast. I love the vision of curls of white.
Stacey,
Well, I could use a diffuser today as Stanley Tucci is sleeping next to me and passing “vapor,” so I love the Canva image, and maybe because I’ve been reading some silly kidlit, see a dog where the diffuser image is. I think a tricube is the perfect form for capturing vapor curls that appear as both random an patterned. What I’m noticing in all these poems is our seemingly useless things have lovely purposes in our lives. 🥰
Stacey, loved the picture that you took! Artful pairing with your beautiful poem. The word choice in this was lovely and peaceful.
This is lovely, Stacey! And it also reminded me I need to replace the scent cartridge in my diffuser.
Stacey, I read through the poem without the title somehow with the word “lavender” catching my eyes first and immediately thought about the diffuser. Such a peaceful poem with whispering, curls of white, and dancing vapor. Just beautiful. The image makes the poem more mysterious.
Stacey, ahhhh! Love the whispering curls of white vapor….Your title is perfect and your Canva says it all! Love the peace your poem oozes with.
Stacey, I also find rising steam and vapors fascinating – off ponds, from diffusers, from teacups and coffee mugs. Even rain puddles in the summer. I love what you have done here with the mist and how it inspired you! I do drops of orange in mine and love the way it awakens me in the morning. I need to try the lavender to relax. Love the Canva too!
Good for you, Stacey! I love what silly gave you today. Tricubes are fun, and there are lovely images in your poem. “curls of white” and “fast as time” are two of my favorite lines.
I couldn’t resist this prompt. As I looked around my space, my eyes landed on a picture of my grandmother holding dominoes, looking at the player next to her–studying to see if she could figure out what they had by the way they held their dominoes and the way they played their hands…and everything she knew about each one of us:
Play another hand?
Wooden dominoes
Light in my hands
Dots mark their worth
Not always obvious
For what is useless in one player’s hands
Might be worth holding onto for another
Do they still feel the gentleness of Grandmother’s touch?
Do they still hold the tears of her laughter?
They pulled us together.
The sounds of dominoes expertly shuffled
on the old card table
The joking and gesturing as each gathered their own.
Quiet moments of study. What can I make of this hand?
Trying to figure out who has what
By looking in their eyes; her knowing eyes
Steady stare;
Shaking head as hands get played.
Overflowing laughter; surprise at the end!
Now,
the dominoes sit
in an old canning jar
On a shelf in the closet.
Waiting.
What happened to us?
Your ending made me sad for those old dominoes in the canning jar. Wonderful memories tucked inside.
I was thinking the same thing! What a beautiful look back on such a wonderful memory.
Angela,
What a sweet memory. This is true: “what is useless in one player’s hands
Might be worth holding onto for another.” I played dominoes w/ my dad until his death. He had a set of Braille dominoes. I appreciate returning to that memory via your poem.
Angela, this is so heartbreaking. That last line made me wonder whose point of view this was told from. Love all of the tactile imagery in this poem.
Those dominoes brought about so many memories; and I love that your poem was based on a picture of your grandmother playing dominoes.
Angela, you have to sit at a table and play Dominos! I still do with my sister and sometimes add a friend. So much better than watching tv on any days. I like the memories that this poem evokes and the strategies of your grandmother and friends.
I may just have to pull them out again.
Angela, my heart tingled at “They pulled us together” as I remember our domino winter evenings with Dad and siblings. I like how you describe the game’s flow and the players’ observations – “moments of study.”
What a lovely image – sobering, sad perhaps, but rich in presence of past and wrapped (preserved?) in memory and time. Can we preserve time, touch, moments? That jar holds touch on those dominoes and yes, I can hear the shuffling of them and those sounds of a new game being born.
Matt, you’re right. Writing about something boring can be a challenge! But, here on OpenWrite we face the challenge and post what comes out! What is interesting is the portrait these poems paint for AI! I “pictured” a straight pin we used for sewing. AI saw a pin for pinning something to a bulletin board. Oh well!
Pin Pen Pinny Penny
Pin pen pinny penny
Thin skinny many many
Poked by a pin
Or poked by my pen
Both got me thinking of when
Folks ask me to write
About something in sight
I tend to think they’re poking me with a pin.
When I start writing with a pen
I sometimes wonder which will reveal more blood.
Poking my finger with the pin
Or poking my heart and my brain with a pen?
Will either cost me money or bring me any money?
Pin pinny. Pen Penny. No, this is not really funny.
A fun poem, Anna – and I love the opening stanza. It’s so fun to say, you just want to keep re-reading the poem! (But please, please don’t use generative AI – it is literally built upon the art and words of actual human creators who never agreed to allow their works to be used in this manner.)
Ouch, Anna! You’ve expressed how hard it to come up with an idea when poked by both the pin and the pen. Clever. I like the worry of what it will cost…money or not?
Anna, this is not funny, I agree. i am thinking about teh wisdom in your question:
“I sometimes wonder which will reveal more blood.
Poking my finger with the pin
Or poking my heart and my brain with a pen?”
It does hurt to put pen to paper sometimes, and I want to think it brings some relief too, allowing us to say, or name, the things that were bottled inside for a long time.
you hand me the file
to saw a hangnail
but teeth
have already torn
much more
to bleed
Sarah,
Whew don’t I know this all too well. Even though I have acrylic nails, I will find a hang nail to chomp/bleed in a flash. It’s so awful. Sometimes, I go months with no issues, and other times, it’s a daily battle. I know it’s nerves. 😟
And it’s a perfect cherita!!
I see someone is combining challenges! 😉 Ingenious of you to use today’s prompt to write yesterday’s form!
Sarah,
This is so relatable. A metaphor: file & teeth. Both do the job, one in a more socially acceptable way, but that has not stopped me from chewing on my cuticles and nails! Also, love the verb “to saw.” That evokes a barbaric image in my mind.
Ouch! I could feel this!
Ouch! I can feel that burst of pain from gnawing on that hangnail. I love the sharpness of this poem.
Sarah, this poem, embracing yesterday’s format, is wonderful and relatable! I am wearing a band aid right now because of this!
Sarah, I’m feeling the pain, wishing I too could find the file more often.
Well Matt, you have certainly elevated the humble laundry basket! I always love giving voice to the voiceless and though I wish I could have been as concise as you, this is what I came up with (true story).
Starting out tall and red with my black bristled fibers
ready to sweep the world new, and with holes
in both my binding cap and tippy toe,
I expected to hang in a place of honor.
How dreadful to find myself hidden
behind the kitchen door,
just swinging in the darkness with only
the basement steps to keep me company.
Even the dustpan which once clung to my bones,
abandoned me to cuddle
with the whisk broom in the corner of the top step.
The machine with the big mouth and loud voice,
(apparently shinier and so much more efficient than me)
resides in the front closet cushioned by coats
that come and go, each I am sure, with exciting stories to tell.
Still when a pencil rolls beneath the couch, I rescue it.
Or when company is coming and My Lady spots kibble
beneath the kitchen table, I’m quickly brought out of hiding.
Just this morning, a hornet buzzed at the back door
and she reached for me. Holding me like a shield,
she stepped back and bravely slid the glass door open.
I brushed the hornet free and swept the world—
My Lady’s world —safe.
Love that line “just this morning, a hornet buzzed at the back door…holding me like a shield” Oh, My Lady’s world.
I liked that, too – and “swept the world”, what a description! Nicely done, Ann.
So is my yellow handled bristly companion hidden behind the door, but ready always to sweep away falling leaves, helping to make the porch clean to welcome friends.
Ann, bravo! The imagery and personification in here is just terrific and brings that broom to life. And, yes, we were of a similar mind — mine was a dustrag. 🙂
Ann, your broom is the best, loyal and ready to save the day. I really enjoyed this poem, and I loved that it’s based on an actual event.
Ann, I enjoyed your poem so much! Your broom is such a distinct persona that feels abandoned by everything around, except when an emergency strikes. This morning’s episode creates a wonderful sense of being needed and “sweeping the world” for the sake of the safe “Lady’s world.” Love it!
Hi Matt! Thanks for hosting today and for this mind-bending prompt. That photo of the smashed basket does inspire, and I like the way your poem describes the basket and replicates the wash cycle. Also, I love your poetry book Rainbows: MulticoloredPoems for a Multicolored World and am honored to be part of the NCTE Children’s Poetry committee that selected it as a 2026 notable book.
dome doomed
too tiny
to hang
on tree
or chain
teensy
clear-gray
plastic
thingamajig:
hearing aid
ear dome
wedged-lodged
in husband’s auricle
refusing
to retreat—
it’s stuck
&
crawling
into dark
inner ear
canal
where malleus, incus, and stapes
orchestrate sound and
transport words
to auditory nerve
hiding
disappearing
dome
necessitates
road trip detour
to “Hopital” or
“Urchin” Care
(in Threads vernacular)
where
Doc-in-a-Box
rescues
doomed dome &
husband (who has done this before)
Glenda Funk
Thank you so much for your kind words, Glenda – and for selecting #Rainbows as an NCTE Notable! It was probably the highest honor I’ve received as an author. Love your use of wordplay here (all the l, n, and r sounds) and intriguing word choice (from thingamajog to vernacular!).
Glenda, What a fun perspective of a hopefully-not-every-day experience! I almost had too much of a visual with this one!;)
Glenda, what a poem. I loved how the concise lines pull my eyes down and through to uncover word after word resisting any sort of seeing the entire things as a whole or knowing where the burrowing would reveal itself. And then that Urchin care, whew. Oh, Ken.
Your spin on this made me laugh out loud. We’ve had this sort of trouble with my mother-in-law. I hope your husband enjoys it, too. Poking a little fun is part of loving!
Ken, Ken, Ken!!! Glenda, you amaze me with how this poem took me into your hubby’s ear canal! I felt stuck too. Love the visuals, the way poem plays with words, all of it!
🥹
Glenda, personifying the hearing aid as “crawling / into [his] dark / inner ear / canal” is such a masterful touch that makes this so ominous. I love it. And then I barked out a laugh at “‘Urchin’ Care.” I’ve never heard of Urgent Care referred to as that before. So funny. And here’s to successful and painless excavations for Ken each and every time this occurs!
Glenda, your poem led me down the dark tunnel! LOL! I’m glad the hearing aid could be retrieved. The words just begged to be read aloud!
Glenda, this is funny, witty, and has a complete “hero’s journey” arc. I laughed at “thingamajig,” as it is precisely what it is. I am so glad everything is resolved and Ken and the doomed dome are both rescued. Love the use of vernacular here. Sorry, I didn’t get to your poem yesterday. We, too, had a detour to the “Hopital” for 6 hours yesterday and got back after 1 a.m. this morning.
Glenda, oh my gosh, I cannot even imagine how awful this must have been for Ken. I love your use of language throughout this one especially the hard of hearing words such as “Hopital” and “Urchin” Care. Plus, “Doc-in-a-Box” is a poem all on its own. As someone who cannot hear well this one resonated. Yes, please, orchestrate sound and transport words. Sensationally lively poem for such a boring object.
Oh, the sound device here in this poem, and that’s not a pun on the topic….it’s delightfully full of sound like Urchin care and Hopital. Well done, and I’m hoping it is rescued and back in action doing its thing.
Glenda, I feel as if I went deep into your husband’s ear canal The long slim format defines both your MBOE as well as that canal!
Hi, Matt! I love this prompt and plan on using it in class soon. I’m keeping mum on the topic, but there was a concrete — very boring — one that I started out with that quickly spiraled into more interesting territory.
It settles,
disappears,
reappears.
Still, always,
you attend to it,
Like the dutiful
little soldier
you are.
Stiffly at attention
(sometimes) –
at others,
soft and yielding:
What would I do
without you?
Time would accumulate:
flesh,
hair,
motes,
smothering me.
Some of you
have been with me
forever,
and all of you
call to mind
young years in an
apartment with Mom:
unsettled,
unpredictable,
finding my way
clearing my path
to an uncertain future.
Memories
settle softly,
disappear,
reappear.
That’s quite a thoughtful, deep poem for a very boring subject. 😉
Great job, and I hope the class has fun with the prompt!
Wendy,
Ive read your poem several times and feel a bit riddled as I unfold the clues to this object about which you’ve given so much detail. Some of my favorite details are those offering contrasts: “Standing at attention.” “sift and bending,” for example.
Glenda, “motes” might give you a hint. 🙂
Very interesting. I’m loving this close. It feels very ‘ebb and flow’:
Memories
settle softly,
disappear,
reappear.
I love the direction you took with this and added details of “smothering me” and “apartment with mom.” We recently had a washing machine repair that revealed embarrassing little attention to the little motes that had escaped to the underbelly.
How do you even clean there, though?? lol!
I think, Wendy, we sang praises to the same—turns-out-not-so-boring MBOE. I do like the sweetness of your poem and your friend who calls to mind such precious moments. Beautiful!
All, it’s a dustrag! XD
oohhh…I love that!
Wendy, and I thought dust isn’t ambitious 🙂 But you turn it into memory so skillfully, that the lines are blurred by settling, disappearing, and reappearing. Beautifully done! And yes, it “spiraled” into an interesting territory,” as you mentioned.
I’m channeling a red hairbrush with soft black bristles, a memory of something like this that has stood at attention in my life and stuck around forever. Memories, hairbrushes….all these things that have a mysterious feel to them. Thanks for bringing this memory back to me (along with the octagon wooden purse lined with green velvet that it was carried in for the longest time).
Kim, love the purse!!
Matt, It’s so fun to see you here. Thanks for a wonderful prompt! I opened my notebook and looked at the paper on my kitchen table, boring but necessary to organize my chaotic life.
My Kitchen Table
So many lists
backlist
times, dates, names
spiral-bound
books sold, money owed, butter
supplies needed: paper, pencil, glue
Messy calendar
mark out
Trunk or Treat
Wear pink
poetry prep
Heart sticky note: Jessica?
Lists, notes, numbers, email, paper large and small
Directions from where I’ve been
to where I will go…
Can I ever do it all?
Great seeing you, too, Margaret – and Wow, nice job!
Margaret,
Your list poem achieved the effect, for me, of seeming exhausting! I also loved how you threw butter in there, lol — gave me a chuckle.
Margaret,
I love the cadence of your poem and am happy to see I’m not the only one w/ a kitchen table that does many more things than hold plates. The internal rhyme of “books sold, money owed” is my favorite line.
I meant to mention how much I loved the way Margaret ties this brainstormed list into something so cohesive and poetic!
Your table is at the Center of your lives!
I can relate to your table. I love the way you end it! It makes me want to write a list poem about all the lists in my life!
Haha, you are a list-maker! I marvel at those who can be so diligent. I think I’ve never been a list person because my rebellion says don’t do any of the things unless you want to. LOL.
I loved the sounds of these lines and the pace:
Margaret, you list poem about the papers is a great solution for this prompt. I, too, often think “Can I ever do it all?” and then just start somewhere hoping for a miracle. But I couldn’t imagine that table (or my office desk) empty. Thank you for your poem!
Margaret, this is how I’m feeling lately – – one thing to the next, checking things off the list. Your poem found its way to me – – I have lists everywhere, every time I clean out a purse or a bag. They’re on receipts, torn paper, notecards, envelopes. Cheers to the lists.
I love all the papers–and I can see how necessary and daunting they are. Love directions from where I’ve been to where I will go…
Good morning, Matt, and thank you for your prompt today to get our minds focused on poetry and how objects can inspire us to write. Your laundry basket words mirror the wash cycle and clothes-wearing cycle. It’s a constant circle of wear, wash, repeat. I love how it disappears and remember the satisfaction of having it all done when all the children were young and living at home. My mother taught me to decoupage candles when I was younger, and I’ve created some lately that caught my eye and inspired my haiku today.
Wildflower Candle
decoupaged candle
glowing warmth of wildflowers
emanating light
Kim, now I want to do some crafts today. Decoupage sounds like a great activity during our short cold front. “Glowing warmth of wildflowers” sounds beautiful and gives comfort. We need more light in our world. Thank you!
Nice, Kim! Glad I helped you find some inspiration this morning!
Kim, I wasn’t sure what decoupaging candles was, but I looked it up, and they’re gorgeous (and then I did recognize them — I just never realized they were called that). I’d love to see some of yours. Loved your beautiful haiku: it filled me with a warm glow on this relaxing Sunday!
Kim,
This is lovely. I know you blogged about this craft so I need to visit that post for pictures. You’re doing an amazing job channeling your inner artist in these early days of retirement.
Your poem and candle reminded me of the two unity candles I made for my sibling’s weddings. I see these when I visit them. Lit only once, but their light continues to glow and spread out in the lives of my great nieces today!
Oh wow, Kim! I want to see! Sounds like a beautiful new thing for me to add to my creative challenges in retirement.
Kim, I love that you are decoupaging candles again. That is a sweet memory for me too. I feel like I see your mom honored in your haiku. “glowing warmth” and “emanating light”