Welcome to Verselove—a space for educators to nurture their writing lives and celebrate poetry in the community. Each day in April, we come together to explore the power of poetry for both heart and mind. Write with care, for yourself and your readers. When responding, reflect back the beauty you find—lines that linger, ideas that inspire. Enjoy the journey. (Learn more here.If you’d like to host a Verselove Day in 2026, sign up here.)
Our Host: Scott McCloskey
I am of an age when I buy a new pillow, I need to try it on the weekend in case it interrupts my sleep schedule so much that I’m completely “thrown off” the next day. I’m of an age when I bend down next to a student’s desk to help with MLA citations or navigating an online database or what have you, I need to have an exit strategy of how I will return to an upright standing position. Sometimes it takes both time and determination to make that happen. But enough about me.
Inspiration
At the present moment, my family and I are surrounded by “The Big C,” steeped in it, in fact, and I’d rather not write (or think) about it just now, so I think we’ll spend some time today with some ailments of a lesser “stature.”
I just recently watched The Ministry of Ungentlemanly Warfare and that reminded me (more in name than, perhaps, anything else) of The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen, a film so horrible that Sean Connery, allegedly, quit acting because of it. Now, I think I remember thinking the LXE was just ok when I saw it (it’s been twenty years), but I did, however, enjoy the Henry Cavill and Jack Reacher (Alan Ritchson) film that was apparently based on real-life events, involving World War II and Nazis.
This led me to the poem that I crafted for today.
Process
And that’s the “ask” for today’s prompt. Choose a minor ailment – I just googled it to find a list – and spend a bit of time with it. Write a poem about it. You can praise it, rebuke it, interrogate it, whatever you’d like. This can be an ode, if you’d like, or an anti-ode (or something completely different!). It’s totally up to you.
In terms of writing an Ode, you can follow the guidelines from any of the following links to find wonderful prompts and poems from our very own community: Mo Daley’s and Tracie McCormick’s Instagram Odes; Brian Glaser’s Odes; Denise Krebs’s Ode to a Childhood Love; the Haiku-Odes of Madison Burnett, Sarah Sanders, and Brittany Rubin; or Jordan Stamper’s Ode to the Unworthy. And here’s an anti-ode against gratitude that I just found at Poets.org by Erika Meitner, “A Brief Ontological Investigation.”
Ultimately, of course, your poem does not need to be “an ode”; it can be whatever you need to write and explore/express today. As always, there are no wrong answers here.
Scott’s Poem
The League
of Extraordinary
Minor Ailments
would be a
terrible name
for a film, and
I imagine
the premise
would be
just as bad;
a couple of
characters,
Acne and
Acid Reflux,
trying to
assemble a
crack team
of misfits
to pull off
the perfect heist
or to fight
some Nazis
or to pull off
the perfect heist
while fighting Nazis.
The’d have
Conjunctivitis
on lookout,
the demolitions expert
Diarrhea accompanied
by Hemorrhoids who
would watch their six,
covering their retreat.
Cough and Sore Throat
would nearly come to blows
with Hay Fever and Headache
during the planning stage,
(the tension would be palpable),
but they would, of course,
reconcile by the execution
of the crime and the films
inevitable twist would
involve UTIs and Canker
Sores and did I mention
that this would be
an action comedy?
And did I also mention
that this wasn’t really
a film at all, more of a
documentary, more of a
based-on-real events affair,
meaning the more you age
the more ailments you’ll
undoubtedly
collect
and
mark off
your bingo
card of life,
and, let’s be
clear,
“Extraordinary”
is not a word
I would use
to describe
them.
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.
Plantar fasciitis
Like being planted
In murky powerful tar
Sticky, stuck, stagnant
Ice, stretch, change shoes
A not so gentle reminder
Every step counts
This prompt is brilliant, Scott! And so timely for me as I’ve been trying to fix whatever it is I did to my left knee while cleaning one of the sheep pens at my school’s working farm.
To My Left Knee
You overworked joint of yore
You stiff and painful beauty
Pounded on and off the basketball floor
Mostly there to fulfill your duty
You could be just a little stronger
Hold me up just a little longer
Today your vow not to keep
As I clean this pen for all these sheep.
i injured my left knee playing basketball at age 16 and it’s bothered me ever since, so I can relate! The rhyming in your poem is great fun.
Chea, I love the gentle pleading and the rhyme you’ve crafted to your beleaguered left knee! “Hold me up just a little longer” and your knee was, like, nuh-uh, not today! I hope you can coax it to behave in the future!
Oh, Chea, what magic you did here with the rhyming. It is so fun to read. Oh, I hope this is a minor ailment that repairs quickly for you!
Chea,
Your poem shows so much life that your knee has brought you and helps the reader see so many different facets of you!
Thanks Scott for opening an outlet for venting about those (not so little) irritations. I struggled to wrangle my words today–and finally grabbed hold of the etheree to make this happen. The last three lines aren’t right yet…but my eyes are over it for today.
Irritating Eyes
Chronic dry eye is all about water
overflowing river, ocean waves
water that isn’t wet enough
to soothe scratchy, itchy eyes
tears fall, nose runs, makeup
smears across the face
wet eyes so dry
no relief
in sight
yet
Kim Douillard
4/26/25
Kim,
I see a teardrop in the physical appearance of your poem. You chose the perfect structure. I also have chronic dry eyes, worse after cataract surgery and from living in a high desert. The ophthalmologist who performed my cataract surgery told me to use preservative-free eyedrops. Now I have little vials scattered all over the house. I often forget to take them out of my jeans pocket, so they end up in the laundry. It’s yet another old age expense I’d rather not have.
Kim, Thank you for writing tonight! I’m all for rewriting and whatnot – although I’m not sure yours needs it – but you’ve got to keep the “no relief / in sight / yet” somewhere in your poem about your “[c]hronic dry eye” because those lines are just perfect!
Kim, well done. I like the contrast between all the water in the world and “chronic dry eye” You have captured the irritation, and all the symptoms in the middle. I have to agree with Scott, I think those last three lines are gems. Especially “in sight” because the dry eye probably affects your sight too.
Kim,
Your poem shows the issues surrounding chronic dry eye, but you give so much hope at the end!
To My Once Body
Thou over-ravished bride of disarray
Thou ever-child of musical playtime
Thou weather-worn inviting alleyway
That shuns the night to celebrate daytime-
Thou served me well–yes better, better yes–
Yet as I see thee sliding from my grasp
And etchy joints and stiffened limbs regress
I rise to praise thee with my final gasp.
An Ode to Grecian Formula? Hee hee — this was too clever, Allison! The first line set me off. XD
Allison, I love your exulted language and of course, your title is brilliant! Your ending is stunning, and you’ve captured the classic style well!
Allison, I love the archaic “vibe” of your poem and the compound words used to describe your “once body”: “over-ravished,” “ever-child,” and “weather-worn.” It has been through a lot! And it has served you well: “I rise to praise thee with my final gasp.”
Allison, what voice here! Such a fun form. I love the sounds, especially: “Thou served me well–yes better, better yes– / Yet as I see thee sliding from my grasp…” Beautiful! Keep praising! No final gasps yet.
Ugh. I keep getting flagged for Spam. So I’m about to write a poem about the medicine I’ll need to calm my Spam rage. (Updated to add it’s because I used the name of a brand name medicine.)
Scott, I adore your poem and your quirky characters filling up your Bingo card. Seems apt the movie turned into a documentary.
Here’s mine based on an innocent look into the medicine cabinet that led to a purge. It’s still rough, but it’s getting late, so posting anyway.
Medicine Cabinet Purge
There’s a miniature pharmacy
In the downstairs bathroom,
A historical record
Of famili-ar maladies
Allergies abound
Say the multiple nasal sprays
For years and years.
We had so little confidence
In Afrin that it remained unopened
For the last eight years.
The $17.09 Flonase
Received the same treatment,
Providing no relief to this household.
Instead
Mucus relief
Mucus relief
Mucus DM
So dizzy with congestion
We couldn’t find what we bought,
And bought more
Then let them expire—three times.
The baby needed mylicon
Mom needed melatonin
Grandma needed stool softeners and laxatives
(4 consecutive years)
Amish Acres sold us medicated salve
For just $3.95
Before it closed in 2019
Though no one has a recollection of that
Or even when it was bought.
A medicine so good
It doesn’t warrant an expiration date.
Someone had warts before 2010
Says the compound W’s expiration.
The dog got her meds back in 2018.
(Unnamed medicine-stupid Spam flag) made appearances
In 2018 and 2022
For whom? We don’t recall.
But the grand prize winner
at 26 years old
is the earwax removal aid.
Which must be why
everyone in this house complains
that no one listens.
There’s a miniature pharmacy
in the garbage can outside.
Cheri,
This is fabulous. Adding all the dates and prices and naming all those who needed the various meds is genius. I love the opening lines about the pharmacy being in the bathroom, and the ending about the pharmacy being in the garbage can is perfect. I’m taking nasal spray I bought in Ecuador last summer to France and then to Egypt. It’s in my suitcase. The label is in Spanish. I only kind of understand it.
Cheri, this is really good! I love the extension of “famili-ar” to put in mind family/familial with the “A historical record / Of famili-ar maladies” line. And I love love the lines “A medicine so good / It doesn’t warrant an expiration date” and “Which must be why / everyone in this house complains / that no one listens.” So funny!
Thank you for letting me know the “famili-ar” worked! I wasn’t sure if it would make sense to anyone but me.
Oh, Cheri, what a great Saturday! You did some deep cleaning of the downstairs bathroom medicine cabinet and created this beauty! So fun and interesting to read the history of maladies you can treat at home. I love so many details, like the ear wax removal and subsequent complaints about not listening. (How did you ever discover that “stupid Spam flag” – Did it actually flag it so you knew?)
Denise, I tried posting my poem four times and it kept saying “awaiting approval” and then would disappear. So I then tried posting a few stanzas, editing it with a few more, etc. When I added the stanza with the brand name medicine, whoosh, off went my post to no man’s land. So I can only assume it thought I was trying to sell it. lol
Well, I’ve tried three times to post this and it’s been “waiting approval,” so here we go again.
Scott, I adore your poem and its characters. It seems apt that the movie turns out to be a documentary.
Here’s my poem based on a random opening of the medicine cabinet, which led to a healthy, much-needed purge. This is still rougher than I want, but it’s getting late.
Medicine Cabinet Purge
There’s a miniature pharmacy
In the downstairs bathroom,
A historical record
Of famili-ar maladies
Allergies abound
Say the multiple nasal sprays
For years and years.
We had so little confidence
In Afrin that it remained unopened
For the last eight years.
The $17.09 Flonase
Received the same treatment,
Providing no relief to this household.
Instead
Mucus relief
Mucus relief
Mucus DM
So dizzy with congestion
We couldn’t find what we bought,
And bought more
Then let them expire—three times.
The baby needed mylicon
Mom needed melatonin
Grandma needed stool softeners and laxatives
(4 consecutive years)
Amish Acres sold us medicated salve
For just $3.95
Before it closed in 2019
Though no one has a recollection of that
Or even when it was bought.
A medicine so good
It doesn’t warrant an expiration date.
Someone had warts before 2010
Says the compound W’s expiration.
The dog got her meds back in 2018.
Famotidine made appearances
In 2018 and 2022
For whom? We don’t recall.
But the grand prize winner
at 26 years old
is the earwax removal aid.
Which must be why
everyone in this house complains
that no one listens.
There’s a miniature pharmacy
in the garbage can outside.
Well, I’ve tried twice to post this and it’s been “waiting approval,” so here we go again.
Scott, I adore your poem and its characters. I love that the movie becomes a documentary.
Here’s my poem based on a random opening of the medicine cabinet, which led to a healthy, much-needed purge. This is still rougher than I want, but it’s getting late.
Medicine Cabinet Purge
There’s a miniature pharmacy
In the downstairs bathroom,
A historical record
Of famili-ar maladies
Allergies abound
Say the multiple nasal sprays
For years and years.
We had so little confidence
In Afrin that it remained unopened
For the last eight years.
The $17.09 Flonase
Received the same treatment,
Providing no relief to this household.
Instead
Mucus relief
Mucus relief
Mucus DM
So dizzy with congestion
We couldn’t find what we bought,
And bought more
Then let them expire—three times.
The baby needed mylicon
Mom needed melatonin
Grandma needed stool softeners and laxatives
(4 consecutive years)
Amish Acres sold us medicated salve
For just $3.95
Before it closed in 2019
Though no one has a recollection of that
Or even when it was bought.
A medicine so good
It doesn’t warrant an expiration date.
Someone had warts before 2010
Says the compound W’s expiration.
The dog got her meds back in 2018.
Famotidine made appearances
In 2018 and 2022
For whom? We don’t recall.
But the grand prize winner
at 26 years old
is the earwax removal aid.
Which must be why
everyone in this house complains
that no one listens.
There’s a miniature pharmacy
in the garbage can outside.
Scott, Your poem had my husband and I laughing! This is a fun prompt and I feel like I’ve just hit an age when I’m starting to feel it all!
I’m traveling but made a weak attempt at a poem based on Simon and Garfunkel lyrics to The Sound of Silence. (I’m on a road trip and listening to a lot of music!)
Hello, new pain, my old woe.
Since age 16, you’ve been my foe.
My belly size slowly creepin’
I have a hard time sleepin’
And the vision while I read
Is blurrin’
Menopause calls
Says Cineplex, I’m near a senior.
In my dreams, I’m young
Once more
Back when I didn’t
snore.
Late at night I’m stumb-ling
I have to go again
Pee-ee-ing
In morning, pained by
sound of the alarm
Children call
Remind me
I’m growing old
Always cold
Wishing for the
Sound of
Silence.
Haha, Emily, you did well with these new lyrics, even during your traveling. I was singing right along. I can relate to some of these minor ailments. “stumb-ling” while I go Pee-ee-ing” at night and “belly size slowly creeping” so fun!
Emily,
This is hilarious and sad. “Menopause calls” all women, but first her not too friendly perimenopause is a squatter who overstays her welcome. I don’t know if you’re familiar w/ recent research, but HRT is good for women who start it before full-blown menopause sets in. And my HRT of choice is a Femme Ring. It has several benefits other treatments lack, but it’s not known by most doctors. Good luck!
Thanks, Glenda.
Emily, I love Simon and Garfunkel and could hear it underneath your verse! “Back when I didn’t / snore” and “Pee-ee-ing” had me crooning along, lol! Enjoy your road trip!
What a delight! I especially loved this: “In my dreams, I’m young
Once more
Back when I didn’t
snore.”
Thank you for this treat!
Ode to my right ankle
Why, ankle? Why?
I am only on mile two.
As in barely into mile two, but far enough out that walking home really isn’t an option.
So why do you pick NOW to hurt?
I’ve done everything I can think of to keep you happy:
Super cushy Hokas
Orthotics inside
Thick socks.
I’m on trails, ankle. Trails.
Not asphalt, which you told me you don’t like.
And I haven’t even tripped over a root or a rock in a really long time.
Remember the physical therapy a few years back?
The tendonitis healing?
Remember the heel stress fracture
And all that time in a boot?
You didn’t like that, did you?
You like to swivel and move around.
And so do I.
So let’s make a deal:
You stop twinging so I can start running
And I’ll make sure you get some couch time later tonight.
Deal? Deal.
Sheila, I read your poem and didn’t know whether to smile or cry with you. Your deal making with the right ankle is quite substantiated with evidence in stanzas 2 and 3. It reminds me of my “serious” conversation with my back every time before I go on a trip. The silly thing thinks I shouldn’t pick up a suitcase, but how else can I go on a trip?
Hope it listens to you and stops hurting.
Sheila, I love this gentle conversation with your friend, Right Ankle. It’s so important! I’m happy you can make a deal with it and that you are taking all the advice to keep it happy. All the best!
Sheila,
O wish Hokas and Brooks and On Clouds had been around decades ago. They are transformative shoes in the running world. I’m sorry about your ankle. I e never had to wear a boot, and I’ve never had a sports-related injury since I’m not an athlete, but I taught lots of kids who experienced what you’ve described, and my heart goes out to them, you, and your sometimes uncooperative ankle.
Sheila, I love the various forms of bargaining that you’re doing with your right ankle! The bemused questioning – “why [did] you pick NOW to hurt” – to the subtle threats – “[r]emember the physical therapy a few years back? … And all that time in a boot?” – to the try at appeasement – “I’ll make sure you get some couch time later tonight.” I hope it worked!
Good to see you in this space, Sheila!
I am also an aging runner. It’s tough.
I currently have an ankle sprain, so totally understand the frustration. Love the convo you have with yours!
Scott,
Thank you for hosting. Your adjective in front of C is gentler than the intensifier that I usually place in front of it which begins with an f. Sending love, peace, and healing thoughts to you and your family.
I like the phrase
Thanks for making me laugh.
———————————————-
herons and warblers
ease my pains, slow my breathing
peace and joy rebound
Sharon, isn’t it a blessing to be able to get up and out, experience and observe nature? It’s nearly impossible to return home unrevived. We may be pooped because we looped the walkway one extra time. But that’s okay, because “peace and joy rebound.”
Sharon, I do love how nature and the sweet birds “ease my pains” (mine too). Such a beautiful haiku.
I was laughing with my students last week about how I must be getting old because I’ve suddenly found myself so interested in birds! Haha. It’s true, those birds help me forget about my aches.
Sharon, the outdoors and getting away from the screens always help. Your beautiful haiku makes me want to go for a walk again.
Sharon,
Your haiku is lovely. I pulled weeds in my front flower beds this afternoon and listened to the sweet birds sing. It was the “peace and joy” you name in your poem.
Sharon, thank you for your kind words! And thank you for this lovely haiku, a reminder that nature can and does provide a relaxing respite for what ails us!
Ah…the healing power of birds!
Scott,
The Big C, my work bestie was recently diagnosed. My prayers and thoughts to you and your family. I adore your poem and your take on life and, for this prompt, ailments! I didn’t want to write about my actual minor ailments within my body so I took a different approach.
My 183-Day Ailment
One boy in my class
is my minor ailment
ailment’s synonym trouble
He is rarely absent
of course
He is my Monday-Friday ailment
On weekends
and during school vacations
my ailment is cured
I wonder if next year
he will be an ailment
for all six of his teachers
Or will someone
see something in him
that I didn’t see
and he will become
someone’s major joy
© Stacey L. Joy, 4/26/25
lolol. Why, oh why, are those ailments never absent?! Great poem, Stacey.
Stacey,
This is relatable! Especially at this time of year.
Love your kind twist at the end:
Hoping for the best for both you! And for my two ailments in seventh period.
Stacey, most of us have been exposed to this “ailment”, but know, like you, that we never become immune, because we really care! Send him along knowing you’re one, so when one of the upcoming six, don’t, he’ll have a “shot” of Stacy Joy to carry him through! He’ll be able to hold up because you’ve helped to make him strong. Got it, sweetie?
Stacey, we can appreciate this kind of ailment, but I love your wondering about the other teachers and how one might “see something in him / that I didn’t see.” What wisdom and humility. I love this. Glad the year is almost over!
Oh, that last stanza . . . my heart is happy at reading it. I love the idea of these more difficult students becoming “someone’s major joy.”
Stacey,
My heart hurts for you and for this students, as it did for myself and my various “ailments”
over the years. I know you’ve likely internalized whatever isn’t working w/ that learner. It has to be so much harder dealing with an “ailment” all day than it is for one period a day, as is the case in MS and HS. Your poem had me reflecting ting on some past students. One of my “ailments” took speech, and two years of English from me. I wasn’t his ailment! He often dropped by my room during g his other classes to see what was happening. I hope all our past “ailments” have found their way.
Stacey, I think I had a few of “ailments” like this when I worked in middle school. He knows you care and that is why he pushes your buttons. I wish you some peace till the end of school year
Stacey, thank you for your thoughts and prayers and for your poem tonight! I loved the word play of “minor ailment” in the beginning to “major joy” at the end. And, yeah, I’m right there with you, lol; I have a handful of these ailments myself. Here’s to some healing time during the summer!
Love the turn at the end. We can always hope that ailment will become someone else’s joy! I enjoyed your take on the prompt!
Gotta love that they ALWAYS come to school!
Hi Scott,
Thanks for hosting and for this provocative prompt. It hit a nerve! I love allusions in poetry, and yours sent me into the halls of my memory. The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen was a wretched, awful flick. I read the book first, so…
minor ailments: lol
“Male dominance—and with it the superiority of the male body—was cemented into medicine’s very foundations, laid down in ancient Greece.”
Aristotle
claimed the
female body
was “turned
inside out,” so…
when you’re
female mi-
nor ailments
DO NOT exist!
i drove my kidney-
rock to the [e-mer
gen-ce] room,
etc.
Glenda Funk
4-26-25
The Long History of Gender Bias in Medicine | TIME
Glenda! This is too real. The dismissal of women and their ailments! It’s infuriating. I hope you are okay and healed- but I don’t know if we can ever fully heal all the ailments we are forced to endure so patriarchy can reign supreme.
I also love your sardonic title!
Glenda, Amen! I love how you begin this poem based on history. I think it’s crazy that women have not been treated better medically and know there’s more of a push to educate about the issues connected with perimenopause, but it needs to be so much better. Your striking voice shares the real tribulations that women have to do to survive. Thanks for sharing your brilliant poem and the link!
Duh, [e-mer / gen-ce] room is brilliant. I can retire now. Love it.
Yikes, you really did!? I think women can handle more pain, or are forced to, perhaps. So good.
“turned inside out” – that is playing around in my head on so many levels as I read your poem. It’s hard to imagine the blanketed oppression of women back then. You give us a glimpse of the past such a long time ago.
Glenda, first, thank you for the link to the article. I had to read it after I read your poem. Some things are just unbelievable. I am thinking if Aristotle could turn himself inside out, maybe his brain would get rewired.
Glenda, Sorry to hit a nerve with the prompt. And since you “read the book first,” I want you to be careful! I just read an article that said some “physicians once believed that women’s nerves were too highly strung for them to receive an education and that their ovaries would become inflamed if they read too much.” Seriously, though, unbelievable. Just unbelievable. Aristotle, humph, eff that dude, didn’t he also think eels spontaneously grew from mud and that some people were “naturally” suited for slavery? Thank you for your brilliant poem tonight!
haiku for gastrointestinal distress
symptoms- bellyache
cause- bug/mediocre men
tips- eat less bullshit
Kasey, oh I love your end! Mediocre men can definitely do their toll!
Kasey,
I love this! You know that meme about having the confidence of a mediocre white man? This poem is that meme in verse! We need to teach young women to stop eating the shit steak men serve up. I love that our poems are side by side. Love your title, too. Ig you haven’t read the poem and don’t have the collection “If Adam Picked the Apple,” get it.
lol! This made me laugh out loud. In the middle of a restaurant. Where I’m
eating a burger.
Kasey!!!! Yes!! I ate the BS for 29 years and finally cured my chronic illness with divorce.
Kasey, wow. This is powerful and shows such great self-awareness. Glad you’ve got that prescription down.
Love your title, Kasey!
“cause – bug/mediocre men” is priceless
Kasey, thank you for your haiku today! It’s perfect! (Your verse left me wondering if I ever caused such “distress,” and I realized, phew, i’m mediocre at best, so, no worries there because i’m seldom at my best, lol.)
Scott, your poem is an action comedy, full of ailments I can easily relate to. Sending healing vibes your way today and always.
Goodnight, Sleep
hormones be damned
let me sleep
tonight
past the bathroom
breaks that demand
me to wake
afterwards
unable to shake
my “reawake” state
tortured
by my husband’s
loud snores
and so much more
Barb Edler
26 Aprill 2025
We are living parallel lives, Barb. I’m suffering today from last night’s poor sleep. I like you rhymes and your structure.
Barb–I feel your pain!! Those 2 AM awakenings are the worst!
Barb,
“and so much more” is doing loads of heavy lifting! The snoring is real. Over here in my potato field it’s the hum of a bi-pap that causes me to lose sleep. I love everything about this poem. It’s empirical evidence for women of a certain age.
Don’t you wonder why sleeplessness is part of aging? Don’t we deserve the best sleep ever after all we’ve endured?
Great poem. Tell your darling hubby I said, “Shhhhhh!”
Oh my goodness, Barb – I know this existence! Your poem is so perfectly songlike – definitely an anti-ode to lack of sleep, alas. Oh, the exhaustion and desperation. I invested in earplugs and lemme just say – they tune that snoring hubby out rather well
REAL. I miss those full nights of uninterrupted sleep . . . I love how your poem pokes some snarky fun at sleeplessness.
Oh, sleepless nights could have been an ailment to write about. Bathroom breaks are a nuisance. I’m liking all the long a sounds in the middle of your poem. Then the snores/more ending. Well done.
I so feel this, Barb!
Barb, sleepless nights are high up on my check list of ailments too. The bathroom breaks are exhausting because like you I am “afterwards / unable to shake / my “reawake” state.” I also
wonder what “so much more” is, especially after a sleepless night. You alway manage to get me thinking after reading your poems. Thank you!
Barb, thank you for the “healing vibes”! I loved your poem: the truth of the “hormones” and “bathroom / breaks” and being “unable to shake / [your] ‘reawake’ state.” And I’m afraid my wife would feel seen in your “tortured / by my husband’s / loud snores” stanza! I’m sorry you suffer this ailment. Here’s to getting a good night’s sleep!
Barb – 2 words – Magnesium Glycinate. Calms and relaxes naturally. Allows for a restful sleep. Non-habit forming. Works wonders. Believe me!
Scott, Scott: Your golden wordplay rules the day once again! Loved your poem.
A crack runs up the wall, see there
The door lets in the chilly air
Our pup puked once, upon the rug
It soaked right in there, nice and snug
The man cave’s two opposing shades
It waits for my attentive aid
The rugs, near doorframes, all a mess
(Destructive cats have done their best)
Country living lets in critters
Country spiders give me jitters
Cats have played shade pulls to death
To-do list has me out of breath.
But minor ailments I poo poo
As long as I am here with you:
My husband, daughters, pup and cats
These minor problems do combat
Providing daily living bliss
And curtail what may seem amiss.
Wendy, oh boy, I visualized so many things from a house and used to live in and the one I live in now. “To-do list has me out of breath.” Your end is simply lovely! It’s the comfort of those you love that make a home!
Wendy–love this!
“Providing daily living bliss
And curtail what may seem amiss.”
The good parts really do make up for it. I recognize most of those symptoms from my house!
Ha! So much here is relatable, Wendy. Your last 6 lines sum it all up perfectly.
Your poem really gets at putting problems in perspective. Thanks for the beautiful reminder of what’s major and what’s minor.
Ah, what a fun love poem to your family. So many little house issues add up. I love how you managed to tell this story and poo poo the minor ailments with rhymes! Wow!
Wendy, I love, love your poem and all the house “ailments” you mention. When I mention things like that to my husband, he says:”People live here. It doesn’t and can’t be perfect.” You ending reminds us about the most important things!
Your rhyming is so fitting for this poem. Excellent!
Wendy, I love that your list of woes doesn’t even (and can’t even) measure up to the “daily living bliss” of life with your “husband, daughters, pup and cats”! This is a lovely and tender poem! “But minor ailments I poo poo / As long as I am here with you” is such a wonderful line!
Wendy – I love this poem about country life – you describe it perfectly and in rhyme. I am uplifted by your critters, even the spiders!
Scott, oh, my goodness, your introduction and poem had me in stitches this morning. I do think the world is full of minor ailments that all need to be fixed. I tend to take a different approach. Praying and thinking about you and yours and all those who have major ailments, like the Big C. Peace.
Sometimes
via social media,
I am made
aware
of another
of my minor
ailments.
Like this morning,
I read someone
complaining about
her turkey neck.
(Oh, that is what
this is called!)
And I learned
I can do
facial yoga
to alleviate it.
Or not.
Oh, Denise. This is so funny. I also became aware of my platysmus cords through social media and now try neck exercises and posture things to strengthen my neck. Ha. Right there with ya, and love this poem. Or not — no, definitely love your poem
Denise, thank you for your thoughts and prayers and your poem today! I love that you hit on the power (and influence) of social media – oh, thanks for making me “aware / of another / of my minor / ailments.” And your push back of this “knowledge” is so great; I can “alleviate it. / Or not.”
Denise–
The “or not” is my favorite part! And the discussion of social media as a place thatg makes us aware of things that may not even be “a thing” is thought provoking–what the heck is “facial yoga”???
Yes, it’s a thing, and it has a name, Denise
Love your musings in this poetic form. Any exercise is good for us, right? I need to look into facial yoga.
Hi Denise! LOL, at turkey neck. My sister and I find ourselves wanting to take pics together often and then we look at the photo and wonder what the heck has happened to our necks. Please send the facial yoga link if you have it, or not!!
Haha: or NOT! I feel that I am of the age where it’s a toss up: Do I REALLY want to expend all that energy for this? Nahhhhh!
Denise, I need the tips for turkey neck. It is a thing! One I can clearly see gobbling at me in the mirror! Very fun poem!
Denise,
OMG! The FB judgments! Ugh! I hate to burst your hopes, but turkey-neck yoga probably isn’t the cure all we’d like it to be. And your poem formatting is like scrolling social media feeds. Very cool.
Denise, I’m laughing because I see me with turkey neck and I need some facial yoga too. Oh, the things we see in our pictures.
Denise,
this made me laugh. My vote is for.
Alas, Denise, to the ailment-naming world of social media and its remedies-!! I love the light-heartedness with which you tackle this topic. Like the others have commented, the “or not” option hits home. It it speaks to acceptance and aging gracefully, turkey neck and all
Oh social media–the diagnoser of life’s maladies. Good to find solutions–or not!
I think all of us – of a certain age – can relate to our gobblers. Age + Skin = Sag. I tried facial yoga. You must be diligent and 35 years old!
Scott, thanks for the opportunity to wax poetically about a minor ailment. I love your blending of aging and film. I went more simply.
simply a stye
I’ve had this before
every few years
one appears
a red, warm spot
appears on my eyelid
wedged among the lashes
I read it’s when an oil gland
gets blocked
is that tiny bit of real estate
large enough to house a gland?
like I know anything more than
“oh, it’s a swollen gland”
I remembered once in Mexico
getting Manzanilla eye drops
so I brewed a cup of chamomile tea
placed the the tea bag
on my eyelid
not particularly effective
after my oncologist noticed it
she called in a prescription
which by the way
never arrived
the pharmacist said
“they’re not carrying it
right now”
a supply chain response?
he promises to call my doctor
on Monday
hot compresses til then
by Monday it’s nearly gone
simply a stye
Oh, Jamie, I am loving this narrative poem of ailment uncovering, understanding of the ways we heal with a little commentary on access on access to medicine. Nice.
Jamie, I love how your poem, though “billed” as seemingly simple, highlights the complicated and multilayered nature of all of this. This “red, warm spot” appears “every few years.” You’ve tried a “tea bag,” which was “not particularly effective,” only to be “noticed” by your “oncologist,” who “called in a prescription” that “never arrived.” A few days later (with the help of “hot compresses”) “it’s nearly gone.” Sometimes a stye is just a stye, but sometimes it’s also not!
Jamie-
There sure are a lot of things to unpack in the subtext of your poem. You craft a compeeling narrative as you ramped up the tension through the sections of the poem. I was practically wiping sweat off my brow when I found out it was simply a stye! The failures of the oncologist and the pharmacist and the delay in notifying the doctor speak volumes about where our healthcare system is too. Sheesh.
Jamie,
I’m one who tends to suffer from styes and other eye issues in spurts. If I get one, I usually get another one in the other eye soon and then I’m on antibiotics because they get worse. I loved how you described this:
I think the key is the warm compresses OFTEN and not just when we get a stye. I just recently purchased self-heating eye masks and will try one a day as soon as they arrive. Dry eye relief is coming and hopefully my glands will also be happier.
Thank you for sharing and reminding me we are never alone in our ailments.
Jamie, this line made me chuckle:
“is that tiny bit of real estate
large enough to house a gland?”
Loved this!
Jamie, I love the commentary as you learn more about the stye. And then it was gone without medicine. I loved this clever and interesting question…
“is that tiny bit of real estate
large enough to house a gland?”
Oh – I can relate to this! I had a stye while on vacation and it would not go away. I had to have it lanced. Not fun at all! I’m glad yours is going away quickly!
Scott, I am so sorry to hear that you and your family are surrounded by “The Big C” – I hope you are surrounded by support and love as well, and keep your good humor and creativity at the forefront of the journey.
catastrophizing is my special trait
the surprise of a blister
the size of a quarter
throbbing so
I took off my shoes
and walked the
last two blocks home
barefoot
certain
I must have diabetes
to have a blister appear
so suddenly
internet to the rescue:
“can you have diabetes and not know?”
yep, there it is
fatigue
thirst
blisters wounds slow to heal
at no place
did the web search note
I might feel
similar symptoms
from
a long brisk walk
in old running shoes
where the inner plastic
is popping through
attacking biting scratching
at the back of heel
every single step
stop googling
go wash your feet
find the bandaids
the neosporin
tend to the wound
replace those shoes
Maureen, a neosporin friend after my own heart. Live the ing trio throughout your poem in the attacking, biting, scratching! You capture the antagonizing so well.
Maureen, thank you for your kind words and your poem today! I love the title of your poem: “catastrophizing is my special trait.” And you are so right, WebMD and its ilk are the worst by making us think we’re doctors and have the skill/knowledge/talent to be able to diagnose anything. Although, I guess, we can’t and shouldn’t really blame them for our own “catastrophizing,” and, yet, I still do, lol.
Maureen.
LOL. This poem was, as the kids say, “so real.” How many times have I googled something and mildly panicked only to go to the doctor and have him say, “It’s ________” (fill in the blank with any “minor ailment”!).
Get off the Internet! I find myself saying that more and more often these days. It’s funny how those old shoes can punish us sometimes, isn’t it? I had a similar experience just a couple of weeks ago. Your poem made me smile.
Maureen,
your poem made me laugh. And made me think back to our search poem prompt and how it’s so tempting to google a solution instead of pausing and thinking about what makes sense based on our experiences.
Love this relatable inner monologue.
On Aging
By Mo Daley 4/26/25
I don’t care about the age spots on my hands
They’re just a part of my life’s timebands.
About my thinning hair,
I don’t give a care.
The wrinkles and fine lines?
I just toss back some red wines.
I can’t remember why I entered a room?
Well, at least I’m not in a tomb!
Bones less dense?
I don’t get tense.
I can’t hear a word you say-
Maybe God intended it that way.
My joints and bones creak when I get out of the car
I guess now I’ll never be a famous pop star.
All of this is just to say
I kind of like living this way.
After all I’m still above the ground,
Not buried in an earthen mound!
I love your spirit and attitude, Mo – yes, I, too, “kind of like living this way.” I enjoyed your rhymes so much. Fun poem!
Mo, I love your positive position. We are where we are. I sometimes think the experience and knowledge that life has given us offsets the wear and tear on ye old body. Favorite lines: spots on your hands – life’s time bands, your cure for wrinkles and time lines – red wines, can’t remember why you entered the room – I’ve heard there is something about walking through a doorway that erases what is currently on your mind – keep moving, enjoy your time! and writing
Oh, yes. “I kind of like living this way” a lovely commentary of uncovering all the ways we are now, embracing the present and the lifeline signs that brought us here. Well earned and beloved.
Fun, fun, fun!! Mo, I am in total agreement with how to manage the fine lines!
Cheers!
Mo, this cracked me up! I also went with couplets today. Loved:
“Bones less dense?
I don’t get tense.”
and
“The wrinkles and fine lines?
I just toss back some red wines.”
Same! And red wine is good for you! XD
I love this! My dad always said, “Beats the alternative!” All our aging things that you show so perfectly are part of it.
Mo, oh my, your humor is on fire in this poem.. I like the idea of drinking wine when the wrinkles become too much! Love your poem an tone!
Mo,
Love everything about your poem. The rhyme is perfect. The way you respond to every little thing we’re supposed to care about is fabulous. I’m channeling this energy for my sagging boobs my bathing suit doesn’t offer enough support. You are a queen!
Mo, I love this “it could be worse” mentality: “After all I’m still above the ground, / Not buried in an earthen mound!” And why shouldn’t we “kind of like living this way”? What’s the alternative? To constantly complain about it? What good will that do? Nothing: it’ll only make us miserable. Thank you for this reminder!
Scott,
Thank you for hosting today and for providing more brilliant hilarity with your poem. I’m sending all the good vibes and positive energy that I can muster your way as you deal with the big “C” and I’m glad that you had some time to address “lesser” ailments to take your mind to a bit of a better place.
And, man, did you nail the plot of the action/bank robber trope or what???
Diverticulitis, my old friend
Ah, wherefore art thou, diverticulitis?
We’ve danced this dance before
at a party, hot and sweaty,
that sharp knife to the gut–
Et tu, Brute!–
letting me know you’d be cutting in…
What offence have I given thee?
‘Twas but a tree nut, seed or
lettuce leaf that hath conjured your wrath!
And true, tis but a scratch, a mild irritation,
feeling not unlike an alien yearning to out
itself from my insides to take a stroll on the
deck of the Nostromos–the Horror!
But you’ve not made worm’s meat of me yet!
And while you may have me doubled over, for now,
soon, you will be vanquished by a clear liquid diet,
acetaminophen, and a regimen of soft foods and rest.
Boast not, diverticulitis! Thou art slave to coffee, alcohol,
and, perhaps, a wayward sesame seed, but you are not
mighty and dreadful, though some have called you so,
thou canst kill me, and when I rise, whether from bowl
or bed, I will, rule the day (until you return like Banquo’s
Ghost and leave me cowering under the dinner table…)
Dave, the first line is an exhale and familiar direct address preparing for a frank talking to. Love that. All the phrasing shows the legacy and heritage of this ailment brilliantly.
I began reading your poem to the melody of “Hello, Silence, my old friend” – and wow did it make me smile to read this way. Though, diverticulitis is no laughing matter! I love the fight you describe here – so many great ‘battle’ words…that sharp knife, conjured wrath, vanquished, “thou canst kill me, and when I rise..” Here’s to the remedy of a clear liquid diet…may you be pain free soon.
Dave, I enjoyed your apostrophe. I’ve learned of this from a friend not longer able to eat nuts. I also love your Shakespeare allusions. Making your ailment a mockery. wherefore art thou – Et tu Brute – thanks for sharing and I wish you smooth dining.
Dave, haha! Loved this bard-brained poem (tee hee). Clever wordplay and punning. And relatable! I think my stomach may be the thing that ultimately does me in. XD
Dave,
Im sorry you have diverticulitis. My son suffers from it, too. Love that you’re sampling the Bard with
“Et tu, Brute!–
letting me know you’d be cutting in…”
and that reference to Macbeth (Banquo’s ghost). It’s the perfect month for that. I remember when I read the memoir “Death Be Not Proud” by John Gunther in high school (my choice) but did not read the Donne poem until much later. What you’ve done here in your poem is do good.
Dude, I didn’t know you dive down with Mr. Titus. Phew. Never fun, as so many I know get plagued by that man. I love the classical language play, literary references, and boldness in your writing here. Don’t cower under the dinner table…those that know you realize you are a phenomenal chef in addition to teacher. “You made worm’s meet of me, yet!” Brilliant.
Dave, what a fun treatment of your nemesis. I love the tongue-in-cheek conversations and, of course, the Old English. You will win: “when I rise, whether from bowl / or bed, I will, rule the day” and then the parenthetical that has you under the table. That has got to be hard, but you are handling it with wisdom and humor, it seems.
Dave, I loved all the references that I caught – Romeo and Juliet, Julius Caesar, Alien, Heart of Darkness, Donne, Macbeth. And your wordplay, per usual, is unmatched! “[L]etting me know you’d be cutting in” and “when I rise, whether from bowl or bed, I will, rule the day”! This is so good!
And thank you for “the good vibes and positive energy,” Dave!
Scott, I am sorry for the C that is steeping your family. Hugs.
Thank you, Sarah. I so appreciate you and your kind words!
Perfect, Scott! You might be the only one on the planet who can make me laugh about ailments. I have so many of them that it’s hard for me to choose what to write about this morning. Let me see… Ah – Neuropathy!
Ah…Neuropathy!
Ah…Neuropathy!
You are a stinging
burning pain
down my left leg
and now my friend,
you’ve spread
to my unafflicted right.
You tingling and sizzle
and then my thigh
goes numb,
But not the numb
that is pain free – No!
It’s a hollow-tight numb,
it’s something’s not right – numb!
Ah…Neuropathy!
I have collected
vials and bottles
of things to cure you,
to sooth your sting and burn:
Alphalipoic Acid, B complex
Diosmin and Curcumin
sit like sumos
on my dresser
squatting into service.
I down them daily
with lots of water,
still they don’t quench the burn.
I try to ignore you.
go for a walk in
the green of spring,
hoping the trees
can cure you,
at least they calm
my mind for awhile.
Ah…Neuropathy!
I know one day
you will disappear,
and then reappear
like clockwork,
like a magician,
like that woman
sawn in two.
Ah…Neuropathy!
I must say,
I will not miss you
When you are gone!
Oh, I hear the sigh and ongoing negotiation here that is so intimate and familiar to a fault. You capture the odish elegy very well preparing to part ways “when you are gone!”
I hear terrible stories of this pain from my sister-in-law; what a poetic twist you have given it. The description of what the numb feels like is phenomenal (and painful). That metaphor
is particularly haunting.
Joanne, you’ve touched on something I know little about and with humor. I like the way you have alphabetized your collection of cures: Alphalipoic Acid, B complex Diosmin and Curcumin and I love your ending: I know one day – you will disappear, and then reappear like clockwork, like a magician, like that woman sawn in two. Here’s wishing you the moment when the magician has done their work.
Joanne,
You describe the way that we dance with ailments such as these in a really artful way! I love your use of direct address, and I really love all the “poeming” that you do in this. for instance, the “hollow tight-something’s not right” rhyme and then the line “it’s something’s not right — numb” is such a relatable and perfectly described feeling. My other favorite thing his the medicines squatting like sumos. Again the image is wonderful but you also work the “s” sounds in to really make those lines pop!
Yes, friend, I have had that and also the creams and gels and things to try to make it subside. I’m hoping it goes away soon. So frustrating. You captured it so accurately here.
Joanne, Thank you for so artfully exploring/explaining “Neuropathy” for us. This “burning” and “tingling and sizzl[ing]” and “hollow-tight numb[ness]” sound awful! I’m glad you can get some relief through the balm of nature, but I hope (and wish) you more!
After looking up a list of minor ailments, I discovered “warts” were on the list. Having had them myself as a kid, I was interested in seeing if I knew everything about them. I learned some new things as I read an article, collected words and phrases, and then wove them together into this free verse poem.
This poem was inspired by one of the autofill results from googling it being “are warts dangerous?”
Are Warts Dangerous? by Erica J
Did you know
you can kiss a frog
or be a witch
and no warts will
appear?
Be ware the nail bitters.
A virus takes hold,
passed skin to skin —
injured, moist, and soft
the warts grow anywhere
small black seeds
primed to spread.
Did you know
a cluster of warts
is called a mosaic
which makes it
sound like artwork?
Be ware the black spot.
Confused for calluses
or a pebble in the shoe
freckled across the skin
it could actually be
a wart.
Did you know
you can peel,
freeze, inject,
or even paint it
away?
Be ware the returning wart.
Also, Scott, I have to say I really enjoyed your poem and love a good team up/heist film so seeing you put minor ailments in these tropes and roles was quite the delightful read!
Wart are you trying to tell us? Oh, the joys of the wart!! I have stories…especially the mosaic I attracted at age 19 while staying in European hostiles. I got the burn…not the paint. Oif!
Erica, thanks for doing the leg work for us! So you’re telling us the whole “kiss a frog” thing is a myth along with the antiquated stereotype of a witch with the wart on the end of her nose?! And I also didn’t know that a “cluster of warts / is called a mosaic.” Thank you for these bits of knowledge about warts!
Erica, I am loving the refrain throughout “Did you know” and I learned so much here — I am kind of into the mosaic.
Love the look of that last line with “ware” and “wart” – excellent! The idea that “a cluster of warts/is called a mosaic” feels almost offensive, lol. I learned something about warts today!
Always love me a good Scott challenge and continue to be mesmerized by the word-play and wit of his verse. “a crack team of misfits” / “UTIs and Canker Sores” – always bringing the unpoetic into the poetic atmosphere. Here’s to the aches and pains.
I’m Getting Ode, Errr!
I meshed up Henry & Hendrick,
and inguinal Harvey is hovering heavy,
knowing I’m already stitched up more
than a 100-year old blanket….
Mr. herniated Frank-n-Crotch ’25!
(w/a holy Brazil, Batman!!!)
known all across southern Connecticut.
oh, & they’ve been scaling my walls
chronically plagued & plaqued
genetically skin-smacked, flake-flacked,
even if I’m already immune to
how auto-manic-ly they madden me,
maniacally, in my knees, ankles, & hips
(when I dip, you dip, we dip)…
freak-nasty popping it, pushing it,
rocking it, rolling it, but definitely
not controlling it.
Holy shit, is that a another zit?
Sure, I sound like a box of Rice Krispies
walking down these stairs…
multiplying these already existing fears
that I should never, ever trust a fart
(if you’re not there yet. Just wait…it will start)
& now I’m just awaiting the dementia part
cuz I know it’s coming, too…choo choo
cuz here I am hacking, sipping Thera-Flu
this hypochondriac dooby-doo,
phlegm-floppy, nose-runny man
trapped in goo.
yes, I hear swift tailors singing
it’s me. I’m the problem, you see,
this seriously psoriatic slob at 53,
waking up at night hourly
Cuz, God knows! Oh Lord, I have to pee
(where are my cheaters? I have to see…)
belly-aching all the way ‘till my final destiny,
(but don’t get me started on my teeth!).
PS: Have to share the drawing my doctor did of my 1st hernia, because the ink bled through to her desk (I was like, I’m so sure that my crotch is going to be stained on her professional desk for the rest of my life)(some things you can’t make up)(& I’m sure she draws these for all the guys)
Bryan, I don’t mean to laugh at your ailments, which seem to be legion (and rhythmical), lol, but, man, you’re making it difficult not to. “Mr. herniated Frank-n-Crotch ‘25! / {w/a holy Brazil, Batman!!!) made me laugh out loud. And the fact it’s now stained on the desk of your doctor is terribly funny. (Thanks for the drawing, too!) And I loved all of your parentheticals, too. So so funny!
I had to read this one to my husband and both had a good laugh this morning. “swift Taylor’s singing”, “a box of Rice Krispies”! (And the drawing!
)
Oh my goodness, that drawing and the imprint on the desk is absolutely hysterical…some levity in the midst of such pain. You had me laughing at
LOL. You had me giggling hardest on the Rice Krispies line.
Bryan,
So, add that photo to things that I can’t unsee. This is oh-so-funny and also laugh-to-keep-from-crying funny cuz I know how real those struggles are. You made me slap the table with I dip, you dip, we dip!
The best remedy for any ailment is a Bryan Crandall poem, I’m convinced. Add a drawing and it’ll hold all the aches at bay for at least another hour……unless of course you strain a muscle laughing and smiling so big. This is a winner. I laughed so hard here:
Sure, I sound like a box of Rice Krispies
walking down these stairs…
Snap, Crackle, Pop and the I dip, you dip, we dip song that will positively stick in your head and you can’t get rid of it.
Perfect humor today! I hope you frame the drawing.
My favorite line (hard to choose!); “genetically skin-smacked, flake-flacked”
I hear your Rice Krispies and echo it back. And I, too, am stitched up like a blanket. Like Velveteen rabbits, we have been well-loved! Too much of this felt familiar.
Bryan, I am sorry, but I’m laughing too.
This is priceless:
“now I’m just awaiting the dementia part
cuz I know it’s coming, too…choo choo”
But honestly, I am also afraid of dementia; this thing is scary. The drawing is quite artful
Scott–my husband just had his last immunotherapy infusion yesterday. I hope your results are positive. Scary times. I believe I watched your documentary recently– your list of minor ailments is all too real. What happens when we have filled all the boxes on our card? Do we get a new one??
Older
When did I begin gathering annoyances?
I do not recall sending out an invitation.
If I did, it was in error.
I do not like most of the guests who have arrived.
My reading glasses perch
on my silvering hair—
My eyesight gets older
as my gray hairs grow bolder.
My jawline is jowling,
Smile lines align into groups..
Former fair freckles no longer sprinkle across my nose.
They splotch.
My neck cracks, my shoulders complain,
my jiggling arms are a mess.
My left wrist aches, my knobby knuckles protest
Veined hands are a map of my years.
My middle requires elastic these days
It flourishes, its circumference is growing
My back sends terse messages,
requesting restraint when I’m moving.
My knees utter new protestations
whenever I rise or I sit.
My feet express remonstrations
about shoes that no longer fit.
I realize now that I took me for granted
when the parts in me all worked fine.
Old body, I promise, I’m doing my best.
Keeping up with repairs just takes time.
GJSands
4-26-25
Gayle, I had to laugh at your line, “I do not like most of the guests who have arrived.”. You do show a host of them, and I completely understand. I like your closing promise to do your best. Good luck!
Gayle, if I got a questionnaire from my doctor with the points you made, I would check every single box.
I did find a beautiful metaphor in your poem:
“Veined hands are a map of my years.”
Gayle, thank you for your hopeful wishes; I’m sending the same for you and your husband! I loved your cataloging of “annoyances.” They are an unruly bunch, aren’t they? I hope you are able to get some relief from them! And your last line is pure truth! “Keeping up with repairs just takes time.”
Thank you for hosting today, Scott! Sorry about dealing with the big C; it is tough, and no words seem possibly help from my experience. Sending you and yours kind thoughts.
Your poem is another pearl of your unique poetic voice; who else could sing acne, acid reflux, conjunctivitis, and the other “little ailments” in one poem.
My poem came to me while I was walking this morning (most of my writing starts when I walk), and I rushed to type it. It’s a little reflection on Jennifer’s “I am in that age” sentiment. I read her poem first this morning.
Mom’s Little Magic
I want to go back
to that age
when every sudden bo-bo—
a bump on my forehead,
a scratched elbow,
a jammed pinky,
a scraped knee—
was healed by Mom’s gentle touch.
She would clean “the wound,”
kiss it,
and say:
“All good now.
You’re okay, Baby.”
And just like that,
the pain would vanish,
the tears would dry,
and the whole wide world
would turn bright again.
They should bottle a mother’s kiss for such occasions. I’d douse myself in them on a regular basis. I’m with you, Leilya!
Leilya—you are so right. That magical kiss…
This is really sweet. I used the term “boo-boo” meaning an error or a smudge with my ELD students this week and they were baffled by the term. Endearing and sweet. Thanks for sharing.
Those were the days, weren’t they? Amazing how the whole healing magic actually worked back in the day. I’m with you – – I’d love to go back to those days and have it work on the ailments of age.
Leilya, “Mon’s Little Magic” is something extra special. You’ve captured this magic perfectly in your poem. Lovely poem!
Leilya,
This is so sweet. You had a wonderful mom. I had Nurse Ratched from “One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest.” Your mom’s words are a balm:
“All good now.
You’re okay, Baby.”
Oh, Leilya – the longing in these lines! My little granddaughter held her hand up to me today because the puppy “bit it” – i.e, he nibbled, but left no marks, and there were no tears because it didn’t actually hurt. She just wanted the attention, the love, the reassurance that nothing in the world could really hurt her..if only, if only I had that power…
Oh, how very sweet. I love the power of a “Mom’s gentle touch” and a child’s resiliency. This is just precious. “and the whole wide world / would turn bright again”
Leilya, thank you for your kind thoughts and for your poem! There is such wisdom in these lines: mom could, indeed, fix “every sudden bo-bo” with a “gentle touch.” Thank you for reminding me of this!
NearSightedNess
We were swimming in some hotel pool–
the Galena one or somewhere we
didn’t quite have the money for,
but it was cold outside; the water
was warm; and the wooden rafters
wrapped us like we were the cozy
fire. And this wasn’t long after Cathy
left to get married to a Witness and
Thomas was moved to live with the
therapist and Sue was shunned from
the family temporarily. Or maybe it was
just one of those things but also all
of those things we were washing
away in the chlorine bathtub. Even
now I am not sure which we I am
remembering. Maybe you were not
allowed to come to Galena that week
end because of something you were or
you did. Maybe the kids I played Marco
Polo with were strangers. I can’t be sure.
All the bodies were halo-ed in a steamy
mist, all the features were blurred. Not
because of memory, or maybe because
of memory, but because I couldn’t see.
oh, wow…even though the experiences related in these lines are specific to an event, I relate to all of them. That word, “maybe” links things together all too well.
Phew, Sarah. This is a keeper. A mover. A memory that engages poetically. I first noticed the wonderful alliteration,
and then realized you were swimming in even deeper waters than that one pool (“features” a bit “blurred.” This was a powerful response to today’s prompt from Scott.
Sarah, your poem leaves me to ponder about many things. I think of a hotel pool as a temporary refuge from the cold world outside. You layer the poem with ambiguity from the very beginning and then come back with the idea that memory is elusive in the final lines. I am reading speaker’s inability to see both literally (steaming pool) and metaphorically (the past could be difficult to process). This poem can resonate with so many readers who try to make sense of the past; it certainly makes me think about the difficult moments of my life and how I was looking for comfort in different places. Thank you!
Sarah, I love how you chose to write about memory with an ailment prompt. Your last couple of lines ring true about how memory is and your title sums it up. The image of “washing away in a chlorine bathtub” I relate to because I often wash away my feelings (and memories too) while swimming. There is something about the water that cleanses my mind (at least while I’m in it.)
Sarah—wow. Again, your words pulled me through without conscious thought on my part. Wow.
Sarah, wow! What a poem. I love the intimacy, that we are invited to read the poem to a familiar audience that we are just witnesses of. “chlorine bathtub” is such a great phrase. The whole poem is such a rich and detailed story of family, with just the ailment of “Nearsightedness” in the title, and that last word. There is so much more to your poem than sight or lack thereof.
I love the story this tells, such a wonderful memory. And as a nearsighted person who wore glasses all though my youth, I could totally relate to how everyone in the pool looks like a stranger.
Sarah, this is lovely in its authenticity. I love the remembering and misremembering and how nuanced they are and how intertwined they work together in your memory. The line “Or maybe it was / just one of those things but also all / of those things we were washing / away in the chlorine bathtub” is such a wonderful and genuine line. This poem is really really good. Thank you for crafting it!
Scott, you, as others this month, have gotten us thinking about what determines the good in our lives. Here’s what came to me today as I read your poem and considered it’s thoughts.
It’s Our Choice
Our film of life,
Dealing with strife
Is often less physical
And more psychological
You see, our attitude,
Not aptitude
Determines our altitude
We may not be smart when we start
But positive thinking about others
Will open our heads and our hearts.
What we believe to be true
Guides our thinking.
As we deal with distraction
Planning our action
We can allow meanness
Rather than keenness
Determine the way we feel,
Act or react. That’s a fact.
The film of our life will have some strife.
That’s not a disillusion, nor need be the conclusion.
Let’s choose to let go of bad
And courageously take hold of good
And let’s choose gratitude as an attitude
Then we’ll fly high like we should.
I’m flying high with gratitude today, Anna. I do believe such flights are a choice. It’s an “act or react. That’s a fact.” Adding that ‘o’ to God to always find the ‘good.’ That’s the way to go!
Ah, Brian you take the “O” as an add-on. We were taught, “If God ain’t in it, it ain’t good!” I’m smiling ’cause both work. Thanks for the reminder.
Anna,
There is rhythm and dance to your poem. I like the positivity of it. It is often hard to be positive when thinking of my ailments but I do believe you are correct—when we think happy thoughts, we hurt less (and fly higher).
Anna, how I love that main message of yours about the direct correlation between attitude and altitude. Let’s choose to fly–I’m with you! your rhythm and rhyme are so dynamic; the internal rhyming greatly adds to cadence as well: act – react – fact; disillusion – conclusion, gratitude – attitude. Thank you for reminding about positive outlook on everything.
Anna, thank you for the reminder that “our attitude, / Not aptitude / Determines our altitude.” It’s all about the choices we choose to make! You’re totally right: “gratitude” is “an attitude.”
Scott, thank you for your great, damp and rainy Saturday morning prompt. I woke up for my early morning swim and felt a new-to-me ache and thought about your prompt as I swam an did an aquacise class. Your ears should have been burning as the poem took shape and went from pure funny to reflective. I drove home, still in my damp suit, and wrote it down so as not to lose it! I do hope and pray your family finds the means, physical and emotional, to meet the big C and notable foe that plagues my own family as well.
Today, my poem is about the every-day aches and pains that are gifts of growing older.
I know you are coming,
Brace myself,
Down the stairs gingerly,
I know I will feel you,
Today in the elbow, first time,
What did I do to deserve this one?
You were in the right knee yesterday
Did I walk too much?
In the arch of my foot before that,
Those new shoes too tight?
You were there
As I rose my arms last week
Too much swimming?
Yet that too moved south
To the lower back where I
Slept too hard, too long?
You are around
At times, in my heart,
Where the aches, pains, concerns,
Sometimes enormous,
Of friends and family
Overwhelm the every-day,
Results of time and usage,
Thanks to you,
I am a member of the
Ache of the Day Club.
And the line of the day (that resonates for me), Anita, is the “Ache of the Day Club.” I never knew I’d need membership in such a club, but here I am with my geriatric complaints!
I like the use of “you” in this poem and the way it ends with the acknowledgement of the “Ache of the Day” club. I can relate to the idea of always wondering “why does this hurt today?”
Anita, the personification of age in your poem works well as you address it as a conversationalist. That “Ache of the Day Club” is real and seems to have open enrollment. Thank you for the name; I’ll share it with my friends )).
Yes!! Your last line is perfection. That “what is it this time” time of our lives…
Ha the ending membership made me smile! Thanks for sharing this little pain in the neck poem. Loved it.
I need a card for that club too now. What’s funny is that when you ask if you sleep too hard or too long, it reminds me that those of us who are a bit older CAN actually hurt ourselves in our sleep, stretching the wrong way. This prompt is bringing out all the best poems filled with truth and humor, and you made me chuckle knowingly.
Hi, I’m Cheri and need to be admitted to the Ache of the Day Club (reluctantly, of course). You wonderfully capture how even the smallest of movements cause unexplained aches and pains.
Anita, thank you for your kind words and prayers! (And your family and its “notable foe” are in my thoughts, too.) I loved the cataloging of ailments in your poem today. And your lines about the “aches, pains, concerns, / Sometimes enormous, / Of friends and family / Overwhelm the every-day” are too too real! Thank you for writing and sharing this!
Scott,
Fun prompt and great poem from you. Clever as heck as always.
Lip Blight
Oh, fever blister,
you come at the worst times.
You and your tingly foreshadowing
alert of your appearance
but there is nothing that
stops your erupting arrival.
Invited by sun exposure, nerves,
extreme fatigue, or belly imbalance,
you visit way too often.
You rise, the blister, then rupture
and peel to reveal redness that
can’t be ignored.
To date, you’ve visited every milli-inch
of both top and bottom lip,
but making the left of the top one
your preferred landing spot.
Sometimes, you bring pals along
and hang in a cluster.
When you’re really pissed off,
you send your venom down (or up)
the nerve endings to share your ache
with the rest of my face.
You sure like to stay awhile,
often lingering for upwards of a week.
You’re in way too many pictures and
you’ve irritated me during some
pretty big events.
You make people’s eyes drift
downward to stare at your
unsightliness.
Your nickname sure is better
than your given name of
Herpes Simplex One
or your evil twin
Herpes Simplex Two
but y’all need to just
disappear under
the magic of Abreva
and never come visiting
again.
~Susan Ahlbrand
26 April 2025
Your description of lip blight is descriptive in both its physical and emotional toll on a person. I have known others who have suffered and yes, the magic of Abreva is a powerful relief for those who have endured way too many attacks. Well done. Abreva could use this in an advertisement!
Ughhh Susan – thanks for your honesty in your description. I am a victim of this “minor” ailment. However, if you haven’t tried Herecin L Lip balm as soon as you feel that “tingly foreshadowing” or even just wear it regularly, I would suggest it. It’s going on 8 years since one has popped up after starting to use that.
Susan, the “tingly foreshadowing” and “erupting arrival” are spot on! And the fact the “fever blister” has a “preferred landing spot” and “[s]ometimes…bring[s] pals along” is so accurate! Thanks for chronicling this!
minor ailments
Teacher, Teacher!
I need the nurse!
I cut my finger,
it’s getting worse!
Where is the cut?
I don’t even see-
Oh, wait, think I found it,
get the microscope, it’s tiny.
Teacher, Teacher!
Ice pack please!
I have this rash
that other kids tease.
Ice on a rash?
How can that help?
It looks fine to me,
no need to yelp.
Teacher, Teacher!
My throat is sore.
I’m out of cough drops,
do you have any more?
I can’t give you medicine,
besides, you just want candy.
You know the nurse
gives out mints, how handy.
Teacher, Teacher!
I’m really sick.
Mom sent me to school
with Motrin to do the trick.
Of course she did,
bundled you in hat and scarf.
Hoped we wouldn’t notice,
keep you at school unless-
***BARF***
C.O. — Your poem had me in stitches, especially these lines — “Oh, wait, think I found it,
get the microscope, it’s tiny,” But I am always amazed how parents will send truly sick kids to school “with Motrin to do the trick” as well. Free babysitting I guess.
CO, your ode is one that every teacher, particularly those of us in elementary school, have sung! Those microscopic aches and pains are so real to those who want to escape whatever is mundane, boring, or hard! As a mom who more than once administered a Tylenol and hoped for the best before sending kids to school, I am sorry!
What absolute fun — and truth — in this poem! Thank you!
Haha, your rhythm and repetition work so well here, then that classic kid who is sent to school even though he so shouldn’t – funny, appropriate ending!
And there we have it. The universal teacher poem for bonding with school nurses. LOVE THIS. And of course the last line was perfect, because we all know that, too (with the chipped wood smell to remove the goods)(oi vay!)
I was so amused reading your poem this morning! It reminded me of the poem Sick by Shel Silverstein which was one of my favorite poems growing up!
You nailed it! What teacher of younger kids hasn’t experienced all of this? Your poem had me laughing- especially the last lines!
C.O., this is so funny! This reminds me of “Sick” by Shel Silverstein. So funny and full of rhythm, rhyme, story, plus a surprise ending.
C.O., I’m with everyone else: I loved your poem! It articulates so perfectly the truth of the students who “cry wolf” just to go on a trip to the nurse’s office or who just want candy and attention to the actual students who are sent to school sick only to “***BARF***.” Thank you for this fun poem!
Scott –Thank you for your fun prompt and your hilarious poem which would definitely be a comedy! Very Monty Pythonesque!
I’m sorry to hear that your family is battling “The Big C”. Please know I am sending prayers and positive healing vibes to you and your family.
Just the Other Day
Just the other day,
my hairdresser suggested I give up and go grey—
She says, “it’s fashionable now, anyways”
Just the other day,
I pulled out my back tying my shoes,
then spent two weeks
floating on muscle relaxants and prednisone.
Just the other day,
night sweats crept in,
weight clung to my sides,
mood swings rose and fell like tides,
and fatigue became my companion.
And—
instead of strappy high heels,
I bought wide-boxed shoes
to shelter the bunions blooming on my toes.
Just this morning,
I chased my coffee with a shot of Metamucil,
Holding my nose like it was bad medicine.
Just this morning,
I suddenly realized—
I’m old enough to do whatever I want,
and wise enough to blame it on my age.
Tammi, your poem is certainly relatable! Your ending, is great! I lament the aches and pains of aging, myself, but I do remember that it is an earned discomfort and a reminder to embrace and enjoy each day as a gift that others are not afforded.
Why am I laughing? I’m not crying…you’re crying. Oh, gosh. This poem could be mine in so many ways. Well done.
Tammi, thank you for your poem and your “positive vibes”! “[P]rednisone,” ugh. I only know that from extension; my better half, has had courses of treatment with those steroids: “night sweats,” “weight [clinging],” “mood swings,” “fatigue.” Yep, check, check, check, check! And I love your ending! “I’m old enough to do whatever I want, / and wise enough to blame it on my age.”
I enjoyed the repeating line “just this morning” as it felt like a series of revelations and so the final stanza came with a lot more impact for me. I love the wisdom in your final two lines too!
Love your repeated use of “just the other day” and the specific detail you share that many of us experience.
The last stanza is gold!!!!! So good. Love the flow, rhythm, and timeline in this poem. Lovely.
Tammi, I’m laughing. I’m laughing because I was wondering if this was me and I had written it and forgotten I’d written it……yes to the Metamucil, and you know they also make cookies with cinnamon in them. Just sayin. No more strappy heels for me……I have to be sure footed AND colon-aware
Tammi, I really appreciate your title. You’ve captured a variety of ailments I can easily relate to from the hairdresser to the shoes, I’m with you. Fantastic closing line because ain’t it the truth!
Tammi, well done! I love your matter-of-fact way to tell about your minor ailments. The Metamucil with coffee cracked me up. And I love “wide-boxed shoes” now.
You create a very relatable poem to this aging woman. Muscle relaxers and good shoes are two of my must haves as well. And oh how those night sweats do creep in!
Scott, thank you for hosting today and bringing joy with your words. I appreciate how you’ve referenced previous odes created here on Ethical ELA!
five-fingered tool
right or left or both
handily goes out
of commission
WITH a slice of
a printed essay
papercut–ouch
NOT a loss from a
run-in with a
mandoline
BUT inoperative
from a skin dangler
hangnail–ow
NOT making love
to a door jam
BUT limited by
a mosquito bite
on a knuckle-boo
don’t wrisk these
traumas, palm life
with a brave wave
take what is handed to
you, be safe out there
so you can nail it
Ha! “be safe out there” made me giggle out loud before I even got to “so you can nail it” Great and punny poem.
Stefani — paper cuts are the worst! I’m always surprised by how much such a tiny cut can hurt. Grading papers is dangerous! In recent years, I found that utilizing google docs more and more has minimized those paper cuts and dry hands.
Love your last lines: “palm life/ with a brave wave/take what is handed to /
you, be safe out there/so you can nail it”
This was fun and made me laugh out loud as you battle those tiny, but real, discomforts
Stefani, yes, the struggle is definitely real when it comes to debilitating paper cuts! “[O]uch” is right! They always seem to come when I’m grabbing the last stack of essays/papers/documents to put in my bag before leaving school. And I loved your play of words throughout: “five-fingered tool,” “handily,” “wrisk,” “take what is handed to / you,” “so you can nail it.” This was a lot of fun!
I am a cuticle picker …. And as one is healing I always seem to knick it again on something. Unavoidable damage in the phalanges! Funny use of word choice here. Love it.
Love all the puns here with the hands and nails! Those paper cuts, though, whoooo — they hurt like the dickens when you forget and go to sanitize your hands. Love your creative craft moves here today!
Scott – my poem and comment vanished – I will recap here –
Thank you for your amazing offerings today. Your own poem, woven so perfectly from diverse threads, making us laugh at ailments which never get a chance to shine onstage. Your poem-weavings always amaze me. Strength to you and your family in the fight against “The Big C” and wisdom to the medical team making decisions and providing care. thank you for the mentor poem by Meitner. It gave me the form for today!
Ailment
The young couple sit on the floor of the exam room with their arms around the beagle, the one they never asked for, which came to them via raids on their garbage can every night for two weeks, wearing an oversized shock collar that they cut off and threw into the woods. In stroking the dog now their fingers skim the callus around his neck. He whines. Tell me about the blood, says the vet. When did you first notice it? Before the husband or wife can answer, the dog stands and empties his bowels, a massive flow of blood and pulp, as if gutted by barbarian sword: disembowelment. The vet steps several paces back, opens the interior door, calls to the techs for help. Two come running to clean the mess. This morning, says the wife. He’s been doing this all morning. It’s gotten worse. The husband speaks low, soothing words to the whimpering dog: It’s all right, Buddy, it’s all right…which it clearly is not, for the beagle’s big brown eyes are dull, the spark gone out. While the veterinary team scurries about them, young man and wife look into each other’s eyes. No, they never asked for this dog, but they‘ve made a place for him in their tiny home, their first, having only been married five months. They’re already housing two cats, a skittish dachshund, and two chatty guinea pigs…but they opened their doors and hearts for one more creature who needed them and now that they have him, they cannot imagine not having him, even when he cannot remember to not pee in the house, even when he chooses to do so on a laundry basket of clothes still warm from the dryer…they cannot afford more vet bills but here they are, giving him all they are and all they have, per that ancient and holy command, etched deep in the recesses of the human soul: Care for the creatures. The vet offers a half-smile: I know it looks horrendous. It’s just a virus, a minor ailment. We’ve seen a lot of it of late…we can ease it with meds and you should see improvement over the next couple of days…when he leaves the room, a vet tech brings in a quilt. She spreads it on the exam room floor. There now, she says, smiling, that will make all of you a little more comfortable. Wife and husband slide from the still-wet sterilized tile to the soft folds, cradling their beagle, who lets out a sigh on behalf of them all.
Oh, my goodness…the feeling of emotion this stirs up in me is huge! I can’t imagine this being a minor ailment for the beagle or for the young couple. That sigh at the end. It’s what makes us all love that little creature all the more. Well done.
Fran, somehow, someway, you always manage to pull emotions into being through your words. I could be one of the young couple so worried about their new-found beagle family member, worried sick and following the command of caring for creatures despite not being able to afford it. These are the people we need more of–the rescuers, the caregivers, those who will come in to assist no matter how messy. That beagle is indeed letting out a sigh for all of us.
Fran — This is such a beautiful story. I was pulled into this story from the very first lines and feel the love this couple (you and your husband? )felt for their found pet. I am so happy to hear the beagle pulled through and it was truly a minor ailment. I was most moved by these lines: “they cannot afford more vet bills but here they are, giving him all they are and all they have, per that ancient and holy command, etched deep in the recesses of the human soul: Care for the creatures.”
Fran, your beautiful story of a family built from love and commitment has brought me to tears this morning. That little pup, tortured for long, has found the kind of love that poets and song writers describe. Beautiful
Oh, Fran, where do I begin to comment? Such a tender story of humanity. I am especially touched by the fact that it is a young couple who brought their pup to the vet. Our youth gives me hope. The people who do this can save the world, one creature at a time:
“They’re already housing two cats, a skittish dachshund, and two chatty guinea pigs…but they opened their doors and hearts for one more creature who needed them and now that they have him, they cannot imagine not having him.”
Thank you for sharing this heartwarming story with us today!
I love the intro to this that tells us the backstory – “they never asked for” (but still kept) “oversized shock collar they cut off and threw into the woods”. Tells us a lot before you get to the main event. And wow, as soon as you mention “Tell me about the blood” I wondered how in the world this was a “minor” ailment but definitely the point with the title you chose. I am fiddling with the idea of when something is no longer considered a “minor ailment. Not sure if I’ll be able to get in writing what I’m thinking! I really liked Mietner’s poem also and since I didn’t write the prose poem a few prompts ago, I could do it this time.
Fran, I’m glad you clarified that they vanished……I was having flashbacks to my poem about needing to wipe my glasses again, because I knew I had commented and seen it stick and now it’s gone….so I came back to say that my heart goes out to this beagle and to the young couple (I know who they are) and think how fortunate that Buddy is to have a family who is committed to loving and caring for him! I like that you made it a prose poem today.
Fran, your prose poem captures so many important details from this experience. I’m glad the ailment was treatable, and your closing lines show a happy end to the story. Your love for pets surely shines in this poem full of fur-baby love.
Ah, Fran, I love this story, and I’m so glad it was a minor ailment virus after it sounded so awful! I think this is about your sweet son and daughter-in-law.
Beautiful! Your poem so lovingly recreates this scene and tugs at the heartstrings, particular for a dog lover.
Fran, thank you for your kind words and wishes. They are truly appreciated as are you! Your poem was so vivid and moving. The “It’s all right, Buddy, it’s all right…” nearly broke me! The whole scene of being on the floor in the exam room with the dog reminded me of the time Heather and I had to put our first dog down. I’m glad this ailment turned out to be “just a virus, a minor ailment.” Thank you (I guess, lol) for nearly sending me to tears! Such a powerful prose poem!
Scott, thank you for hosting us today! Your poem is hilarious with this play on the “minor” ailments, piled up in a heap of reasons to call in sick. I like this prompt for so many reasons – – especially at my age. There is always some minor ailment happening.
Blurred Vision Apparition
glancing out the living room
window in the early morning
after a night of fierce storms
I see it ~
there behind a tall pine
its left half still obscured
by the tree
an alien-looking specter
with a long right arm
peering in my window
eyes so real they’re trying
to tell me something
I remove my glasses,
rub each lens between the soft
cotton fold of my pajama shirt
and look again
the apparition is still there
with a sense of urgency
in its eyes
but as the sun rises
I realize
it is only the dry bark
of a tree that
didn’t get rain-saturated
still,
I can’t help wondering
its message
for me
I love this, Kim. Reminds me of a tree that stood across from my home as a child – the top looked like a lady seated atop a throne. Nature DOES have messages for us…if we but take the time to perceive. I can see this tree right alongside you – and yeah, I’d be taking off my glasses and rubbling my eyes, too.
I love this wondering and it is a message for you! And I’m happy that rubbing glasses with pajama shirts might actually be a ubiquitous phenomenon. Every time I do this I can hear my optometrist yelling, “We provided you the special cloth, Crandall. Use the special cloth.”
Ditto, Bryan! I do the same thing
Kim, your words are so entertaining and relatable. Ha, the alien sending you a message, yes, save the planet! Thank you for sharing.
Tee hee…our brains make sense of things in the best way they can. Of course it wasn’t just a tree but an apparition! A great small story in this poem.
Oh, Kim! This could be me! Trying desperately to see what isn’t quite clear. I love that this also speaks to misunderstandings, of us seeing what we think is real but really is not. Definitely a message in there.
Kim — Love the mystery you’ve created and then the revelation at the end that it’s just a trick of the mind and, perhaps, bad eyesight. LOl!
Kim, this is beautifully crafted and a reminder that nature often sends us messages directly or indirectly as we reflect on her beauty, colors, and designs.
Kim, your poem reminded me of my childhood, when I would “make up” figures (mostly monsters) in the dark. Seeing that “an alien-looking specter / with a long right arm / peering in [your] window” isn’t a surprise now too, especially when the light is dimmed. I like how you use the imagery first introducing your vision, and then again returning to it after cleaning your glasses as if to intensify suspense.
Kim, I love that your poem ends on your assurance (or close to assurance) that the mistaken “Apparition,” the “alien-looking specter” with those “eyes so real” and urgent, might still be a “message / for [you].” Our brains do that don’t they (and a poet’s brain, perhaps, compounds this)? We see symbols and patterns in the world around us, and they just beg for interpretations!
Kim,
Were you a child when the tree messaged you? I ask because I think about storms and seeing the flashes of light on trees and conjuring all kinds of ideas in my mind about them. The line “as the sun rises” reminds me that things always seem to look different in the light of day.
Kim, “Blurred Vision Apparition” has got rhythm. I love that your poem is more than blurred vision, but also it’s about possibilities. Fun poem!
Scott, this prompt is brilliant. It made me laugh…and not exactly cry but look some sadness right in the face. My family is also dealing with the big C. I live far from those who are fighting it and that makes me sad. It certainly does put minor ailments in perspective. Your take on how ailments could become a superhero force just cracks me up. I really needed a giggle this morning–your poem got it! Thanks so much.
I’ve made friends
with the bunion on my left foot
Mostly, it doesn’t hurt
until late in the day
or at night.
The throbbing, vibrating pain let’s me know
my feet have served me well.
I enjoyed years of hiking
up mountains,
through woods
along beaches
thousands of miles
of school hallways.
My bunion tells me
that exercise can now come
in the form of chair yoga
or swim.
There’s no big need
to pound the ground
with my feet
to get in touch
with an old friend
who will always be there.
Why do things hurt exponentially worse at night? Mouth ulcers, for example-? Wonderful framing of the bunion by making peace with it, even befriending it!
Perhaps bunions should have names like Beatrice, Betty, or Bonita. “There’s no big need / to pound the ground / with my feet / to get in touch / with an old friend.” Nice.
Linda, I like how you’ve recapped your active life over the years in this short poem about bunions. It somehow says so much in few words. Thank you for sharing.
Linda, it’s the making friends with that makes this so powerful because what else is there to do? It’s not going away. And so, reluctantly, we accept the cause of the pain. Your embracing of how your feet have served you, moved along with you, and the outcome “there’s no big need to pound the ground with my feet” works so well.
Linda — As a suffering of bunions, I feel your pain here and really relate to this: :The throbbing, vibrating pain let’s me know/my feet have served me well.”
I contemplated surgery for a hot minute but I a big baby and I’ve heard the recovery is really rough. I’ve resorted to buying wide toed tennis shoes and hiking boots because I can’t give up hiking and walks, yet.
I love how your poem comes to an ending with a truce like understanding with your feet —
“There’s no big need
to pound the ground
with my feet
to get in touch
with an old friend
who will always be there.”
Those bunions have been well-earned!
Linda, You and your family – and your big C struggles – are in my thoughts! Like the others, I love that you’ve “made friends / with the bunion.” Because, again, what else can you do? And, you’re right, it’s probably best, lol, to take your friend’s advice: “exercise can now come / in the form of chair yoga / or swim.”
Amen! I love the idea of swimming and chair yoga…..that’s about my speed, and you give a great idea for how to exercise into an older age. I hear you with that bunion. They are no joke.
Ah, Linda, you’ve made friends with the bunion. That’s a good attitude. I love “The throbbing, vibrating pain let’s me know / my feet have served me well.” Yes, what a great testimony. It is a privilege to grow old; I’m feeling that today.
Scott, we are also surrounded by the Big C right now and it’s a battle to battle. The Ministry of Ungentlemanly Warfare was a great adventure–lessons to be learned in battling anything evil. I love that you threaded the movie into your poem today (extraordinary these things are not!). I have a lot of older teacher friends and it’s been fascinating to watch the discussion path lean into ailments grow stronger as the years pass. It’s giving me foresight into what is to come.
I’m of an Age
Where we don’t talk about it
(Who wants to think of how old they are?)
but rather overshare
all that is ailing us
Our conversations are knit together
by yarns of aches and pains,
tales of maladies and joints
that no longer function
in the way they were intended,
stories of who’s moved on
from this life to the next,
anecdotes describing what new body part
suddenly stopped working,
dreams (literally) where legs
no longer propel one forward
on this life journey
I’m of an age when…
What was I saying again?
Ha! great last line. True, true!
Jennifer, your poem is about my surrounding and me too. Every day something new stops working properly. Your beginning made me smile — it’s so true we don’t like to takl about age, but aches and pains lead conversations. That final question may become relevant soon too. I smiled, but it’s scary to think about it. Thank you for starting us with your exemplary poem this morning.
Jennifer, I am on the cusp of a milestone birthday this year and am still reticent to reveal my age…although it is what it is… I wonder, if I live a few more decades, if I will reveal my age with the childlike glee that most ninety-year-olds exhibit. They are proud of it! As they should be! And how true that, at this stage of life, our conversations are knit with maladies and all, not to mention those dreams…and your ending is PRICELESS, although, alas, the truth. I am of an age, too, Girl. -Sigh.
P.S. Jennifer – please know I pray strength to you and yours in the battle against “The Big C.”
Ah, that last line…Jennifer. I’ve entered that phase, too. Love that conversations are ‘knitted by yarns of aches and pains’.
Jennifer, ha, good one. Love the yarn metaphor. I feel like the “m” word could also be teasing in your verse. Thank you for sharing and enjoy your weekend.
Jennifer, your poem certainly strikes a message to me! I never thought I would become my mother, discussing aches and pains, but here I am!
My friends and I catch ourselves talking exactly of the things you list!
love the humor in the last line!
Jennifer, You and your family are in my thoughts: keep fighting the good fight against the Big C! And thank you for the truth in your poem: people [insert throat clearing noise] of a certain age tend to “overshare / all that is ailing us.” This is so so true, lol! And, oh yes, there are so many “anecdotes describing what new body part / suddenly stopped working”!
That last line is a winner, Jennifer, and all the ones before it written with such truth. Yes, these maladies just increase as all of it heads south……I have a little toe that hurts lately, my hips need less weight on them, and my lower back needs more exercise. I keep thinking I’ll get up and do something, but here I am in this chair. Happy to have friends who are also of an age……
Yes, when spending time with older friends, organ recitals become common. Your poem is so fun, especially that last question!