This is the Open Write, a place for educators to nurture their writing lives and to advocate for writing poetry in community. We gather every month. This August, three of the contributors to an anthology for students, Picture Perfect Poetry, have shared prompts related to one of their poems in the anthology. Denise Krebs and Patricia Franz were here and now today, Joanne Emery will help us poem together. A few invitations:
- Next month and through March 2027, the Open Write will be four days. Friday to Monday. A few years ago, we had a five-day Open Write, now we have a three-day Open Write, so we are trying a four-day. Friday we ease into our practice with something low-stakes; Saturday we experiment with a new form or craft move; Sunday we meet a living poet or read some new poetry to write alongside them; and Monday we invigorate our week with a little something extra, easing out of our mini-online asynchronous 4-day retreat. Yeah, I like to think of it as a retreat or renewal — Open Write. Will you host a day? Sign up here. We will see you September 18-21 with Mo, Kim, Aida, and Leilya.
- And, we are launching a new series: The Poets We Return To. For this, there is no sign-up, but the due date is October 1, 2026, and, who knows, maybe we turn these into a beautiful book! Think of it as an opportunity to introduce others to formative poetry experiences through your eyes and how that can get these poems into the hands and hearts of students. We need more poetry in the schools! Right? What if this essay was the kind of writing students did and could do? Leaving high school being able to say: These poets have been a comfort and thinking partner for me, and be able to name them. And what if students then say, I know what I have to say matters, too.
- Also, we are gathering short poems, fiction, and creative nonfiction written for children in grades 1-6 for a new open-access anthology. Submissions are due September 25, 2026. The detailed call is here at Just Words.
Our Host
Joanne Emery has worked in education for more than forty years as a classroom teacher, learning specialist, and curriculum coordinator. She regularly presents her work in educational journals and academic conferences. Her article “Fostering Curiosity and Imagination” was published on Arts Integration website. Joanne has also published many other educational articles and poetry. Her most recent children’s poems were published by Janet Wong and Sylivia Vardell in their anthologies, What is Hope? and Clara’s Kooky Compendium of Thimblethoughts and Wonderfuzz. Joanne’s poetry and photography were also featured in Carol Labuzzetta’s anthology, Picture Perfect Poetry. She often gets inspiration from nature and finds it to be both healing and inspiring. Joanne was an original member of Judy Chicago’s Birth Project, and her quilt is on permanent exhibit at the Albuquerque Museum of Art and History. She has exhibited her award winning photography throughout the United States including the Salmagundi Gallery in New York City and the San Diego Art Institute. Joanne maintains a weekly blog on literature, art, and education called WorDancer Blog.
Inspiration
I often go on nature trips with my husband throughout the eastern coast of the U.S. I indulge in the shoreline, mountains, and forest. I think my favorite place is the deep dark woods. And a few years ago, I learned about the Japanese practice of forest bathing, which is taking long walks in the woods. I find this practice especially healing and rejuvenating. I use my photographs to remind me of those times bathing in the forest or watching waves crash upon the shore.
Process
I used my memory and my photography to describe the art of forest bathing. I used free verse to construct my poem so I could continue to play with images and feelings. I love using repetition, alliteration, and onomatopoeia to create mood and tone.
Think about a time when you went deep into nature. It could be in the woods, at the ocean, in a garden, on a mountain trail, in a meadow full of wildflowers, or on a dark starry night. Think back to those images and how that moment made you feel. You can use a photograph if you have one handy to help you remember. Then write a poem in your favorite form or in free verse and play with the poetic devices you know to bring the reader into your special moment.
Joanne’s Poem
Autumn Plunge
I am here,
in this once green place.
It is now dancing with
Autumn colors:
Red and orange swirl,
Yellow dazzles,
Brown and russet soothe.
I am here in the woods
wading into the fall unafraid.
Wind rustles the leaves,
birds chirp from branches,
water rushes over river stones.
I am here soaking it all up,
bathing in color-filled woods.
I dive between the trees:
maples, elms, oaks, and the white birches.
I glide up the path,
filling my mind with as much color
as it can hold.
I submerge myself in yellow,
In deep red, in bright orange.
Plunging headfirst into Autumn,
The trees take me over,
hold me and care for me.
Then ever so slowly, so slowly…
I return to the surface.
I am here peacefully floating,
resting in the arms of the woods.
Your Turn
Now, scroll to the comment section below to write your own nature 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.
I realize the focus was forest, but this poem is nature anyway. I wrote it last year when I was home in the Philippines.
The water is high;
it is the rainy season.
For the past three days,
sometimes all day – a gentle rain.
Sometimes like yesterday,
it began at 5 pm,
a deluge!
Water lilies abound,
tough roots deep and entangled.
Growing in the lake it is beneficial.
But
growing in the river
flood water threatens,
only a sharp bolo will rescue homes
from unruly water.
Today the lake is calm,
fishing nets keep fingerlings safe.
Which when bigger,
they will nourish people of Pililla
and beyond.
Laguna Lake, a view from the lighthouse
Pililla, Rizal, Philippines
Cayetana, I love the beauty of this, as well as the science. I learned that water lilies in the lake are beneficial but not in the river. I loved the idea of the small fish growing to nourish the people. And ‘unruly water’ is so great.
Dear Ethical ELA Community,
Thank you for an extraordinary day of writing together! My heart is full reading through the beautiful, vivid, and deeply personal spaces you all carved out in response to today’s prompt. My own mentor poem, “Autumn Plunge,” was written to invite you into the woods as a healing, immersive canvas. What blossomed in our comment section was a breathtaking exploration of how deeply our human memories are rooted in the physical world.
Hope you all get some time to forest bathe and write this summertime into fall!
Joanne
Joanne, thank you for the inspiration. I love the idea of bathing in the forest. I wrote a bit about bathing in my Joshua tree forest. This poem is using the monotetra form.
Hike quietly around the back
Blistery heat, protecting hat
Pokey desert, water in sack
Nothing lacked, nothing lacked
Stately skeletal Joshua trees
Their steady movement in the breeze
Bathing in sunshine, coming clean
Refresh me, please; refresh me, please
I love the rhythm in your poem, Denise. Thank you for inviting me to host today!
Denise, this is lovely! Your adjectives (blistering, pokey) make this come to life for me!
Denise,
I’m bathing in this conversation you’re having w/ the gorgeous Joshua trees. They are truly special. When we are w/ the trees, there is “nothing lacked.”
Love your poem, Denise. This form works well. I feel as though I’m on the walk with you. I also like the coming clean phrase and use of repetition! Gorgeous poem!
Today’s offering is a clerihew.
You Learn Something New Every Day
By Mo Daley 8/17/26
When I was today-years-old,
I learned not to expose every flap and fold
For a mid-day forest bath
So as not to incur the ranger’s wrath
Mo,
LOL! You’re taking the bathing part of forest bathing a little too literally.
Mo, so funny! Love the form you chose, and your clever and comical dealing with forest bathing today.
Just what we all need, Mo – lightheartedness! Thank you for your offering today.
Mo, I’m pretty tired as I read this now, but LAUGHING out loud. Such imagery!
Hilarious! Those flaps and folds of forest bathing can get us in a real pickle.
Hi, Joanne, thank you for hosting. I love your lovely poem’s closing “resting in the arms of the woods.”
Boop
We prayed for a cool breeze
before the derecho
annihilated our shade trees,
wiped out our air conditioning.
We prayed for rain
before the thunderstorms raged.
Now we’re drowning
and Noah’s Ark left us long ago.
Barb Edler
17 August 2026
Barb,
You’ve painted a tragic natural disaster w/ your poem, and I can’t help but think about the human choices that help create these crazy storms and droughts. “Noah’s Ark left us long ago.” has an apocalyptic tone and captures the zeitgeist of the year, that feeling of abandonment. Superb poem.
Barb, yikes! It sounds like you’ve been visited by some of nature’s wrath. The juxtaposition of the first lines with the rest of each stanza is stark, “We prayed for…” and then boom. Powerful poem.
Ah – the opposite of healing nature – the derecho. Interestingly, nature can bring both comfort and despair. This summer, I am clinging to its healing side.
I heard about all the storms up your way and I’m hoping you fared well. Nice to capture this in a poem – – and the reference to the ark gives the imagery.
Her Nature
On the Rapallo train platform, nearly ten
months ago, you balanced a snow globe on
your orange Adidas backpack fastened with
my black headband to the pulley of your roller
bag (shaken just so, so I could watch the falling
flakes while we waited for our train). What shoes
was she wearing? Something pointy, blue, high to
match her baby blue miniskirt to make her look
sexy. And she was. Like no grandma I’d ever
seen. She skated right through the snow, even
pirouetted under the clock tower. How to say
this made me love her. Not the shoes,
of course; I didn’t want to wear heels, but to live
in a skin not asking for permission.
Sarah, the imagery in your poem is striking. It’s easy to visualize a baby blue miniskirt above the snow. I also appreciate the orange backpack, the black headband and the image of a clock tower. As rich as the images are, the end is a gobsmacked, and I love the idea of embracing one’s self and skating confidently in a baby blue miniskirt. Gorgeous poem!
I’m so glad you captured the nature of this self-confident individual. “Her Nature” is a confidence to which I aspire…the freedom to skate in a mini-skirt, haters ignored. While reading this poem, I loved how you narrowed my focus to the tiniest details – fantastic!
Sarah, after reading the first two lines, this reader was enthralled. Every word, every image. What a delight! “Her Nature” is a perfect title. And wouldn’t we all love “to live in a skin not asking for permission”? Beautiful!
Sarah,
I have read your ethereal poem several times. It speaks to what I wish for all women: “to live
in a skin not asking for permission.” I want to tell the woman in your poem to keep pirouetting.
Joanne, I lovelovelove your swim through the woods! What a wonderful journey from summer to fall. The first thing that came to mind when I saw nature and memory was an incident from my childhood (circa 1979). Thanks for hosting today!
Winstonville
Though I grew up in Appalachia,
I did not grow up near woods.
The only patch of wooded land
in walking distance
belonged to Winston Oliver
(or so he led me to believe).
A 13-year-old entrepreneur,
Winston told me
I looked like a girl
who appreciated nature.
I was nine at the time.
For 50 cents, Winston sold
me a one-year membership
to Winstonville, the thin strip
of woodland
that bordered his backyard.
“You can see all kinds
of wildlife,” he said.
“Squirrels, raccoons,
skunks. Snakes, too,
so don’t wear sandals.”
I marveled
at his faint mustache.
I forked over two quarters;
and the next day,
Winston gave me a
laminated membership card
with Winstonville
and my name
printed in permanent marker.
I slipped it in my shorts pocket.
That afternoon,
book in hand,
I set off…
up the dirt path
between Winston’s house
and his neighbor’s.
I half expected to see
Winston,
set up at a card table,
checking credentials;
but the path was empty.
Stepping over exposed roots
and stopping to examine pine cones,
I entered a cooler, darker world.
I tuned my ears to bird song,
but could only hear the sound
of Winston’s mother’s radio,
blaring from her open
kitchen window.
Deeper into Winston’s
pricey wilderness,
I found a wobbly bench,
burgundy paint clung
in flaky tatters
to the weathered boards.
I guessed Winston had
dragged it there.
I sat down and waited
and waited
for the animals
Winston promised.
I sat, still as stone,
for the better part
of an hour…
until I could no longer
ignore
the smell
of Kentucky Fried Chicken,
wafting in greasy waves
from the restaurant
over the hill.
I knew I’d been duped.
Winston was right, though,
I was a girl who appreciated nature;
and, looking back,
the memory of
that little piece
of Appalachia
is priceless.
Lori, what an incredible memory! Your details make Winstonville come alive. I love details like this:
Deeper into Winston’s
pricey wilderness,
I found a wobbly bench,
burgundy paint clung
in flaky tatters
Oh my, Lori, you have captured an incredible moment. I love the opening encounter, the self-realization at the end, and the sound of the radio and smell of fried chicken. I can easily visualize a young girl sitting in the woods on a painted bench, anticipating the arrival of an animal. I love that the card was laminated, too. Very entertaining piece.
Lori,
I love that you characterize Winston as an “entrepreneur.” He sounds like a little con artist to me. Do you know what shenanigans he got up to in later years?
I love that you bought a one year membership to Winstonville for fifty cents. This makes me chuckle and brings to mind that move that had the town called Winchestertonfieldville Iowa in it. It could be in a YA novel and bring many smiles. Your Appalachia of childhood was all yours. Your first real estate transaction at a young age. I hope you kept your card.
Hello Joanne, I enjoyed your poem and it reminded me of a hike I went on about two years ago. Your imagery inspired me, thank you!
Night Hike
“This sojourn into the woods at dusk better be short and sweet”
I thought to myself as I began it with 18 of my 5th graders.
We were on Catalina Island for the weekend, I had reluctantly
agreed to go, and darkness was creeping in like heavy
raindrops on a grey overcast day.
There were 5 teachers and about 100 students.
The youngsters were thrilled yet a few were anxious, like me,
about hiking up a small mountain to see constellations that
city children seldom get to be mesmerized by.
The Naturalists kept walking up the path explaining things and
highlighting certain trees and bushes.
I could hear teachers reassuring frightened 10-year olds and I was
determined to enjoy this night hike.
Most of the students had flashlight headbands
(who invented that amazing contraption?) and we were
chattering away.
Suddenly, I stepped into an enormous circle of wet mud, slipped, and
fell forward. Thankfully my brain said, “stick out your arms to break
your fall!”
“I should have purchased the headband flashlight that I thought was
was unnecessary,” I grumbled to myself.
Thankfully, I wasn’t hurt too much, but was filthy. I wasn’t able to return
to camp immediately and shower like I wanted to, so I had to keep going.
Once, I got over my embarrassment, I began to notice the
sounds of the animals, the rustling in the bushes, and the darkness
that happens as dusk spills over into nightfall. The chill surrounding
us felt like it would last forever as we finally reached the top
and the Naturalist began the constellation teaching.
Two teachers came over and brought me water bottles so
I could attempt to clean my hands and jacket sleeves.
When they shined a light on me, I was mesmerized by what I saw.
My jacket sleeves and hands resembled thick Devils Food cake batter with
rocks in it along with some grass and twigs.
Once I was cleaned up, I was able to sit on a log and enjoy the
overhead constellations lecture and was fascinated seeing them up close
and personal in the pitch black starry sky.
We took a different safer path to return to camp that had illuminating
lights along the way and I was thankful for it!
This is great! i used to go on night hikes with my 6th grade class. My night vision is bad and we weren’t allowed to use flashlights. For my 55th birthday, I declared that I would no longer do night hikes! Best decision ever!
Seana, I’m glad you weren’t hurt, just dirty! Your poem sparked another memory for me of hiking at night with a class of 3rd graders in Connecticut woodlands – gnats, mud, and stones to twist an ankle on. I miss those days!
Seana,
This is quite an adventure you took us on. Mud like devil’s food cake is a strong image and I can’t help see the mud in my mind. You had the best attitude throughout the ordeal. I would have cried!
Joanne, thank you for hosting us on this final day of Open Write for August. Your gorgeous poem beg me to submerse myself in colors! I adore this and the practice of forest bathing. I had a photo saved on my Pinterest about Shnrin-yoku so I created a golden shovel poem. This makes me want to seek out the nearest forest for my free therapy. My striking line came from the pinterest post:
Shinrin-yoku is a leisurely trip to the forest for recreation, relaxation, meditation, & therapy.
Forest Bathing
Shinrin-yoku is a
Japanese noun for forest bathing, leisurely
immersing yourself amongst forest trees. A nature trip
intended to calm your nervous system, to
offer healing and peace that only the
quiet, green, glorious forest
gives. Your hustle and bustle life longs for
a pause, a break for your recreation,
an organic reset into relaxation,
your sacred invitation to meditation,
sinking your toes in soft soil &
thanking Mother Nature for free therapy
©Stacey L. Joy, 8/17/26
Stacey,
Reading your poem with its lovely descriptions of forest bathing is a relaxing experience, the next best thing to being in a forest. I love your Canva, too.
This is just the prescription I need…I love sinking my toes into forest soil. Beautiful!
Lovely, Stacey – what a great definition poem for forest bathing. I love your word choices: organic reset, sacred invitation, hustle and bustle, sinking toes in soft soil, free therapy. Thank you!
These lines are so melodious, they beg to be read aloud: “a pause, a break for your recreation,/an organic reset into relaxation,/your sacred invitation to meditation.” Thank you for sharing this wonderful poem!
Ah, Scott’s poem yesterday was about forest bathing. How neat to learn more. To sink toies in soft soil. I think that is one thing I love about Mexico, my toes in the sand, and, really, my feet never felt better. But, of course, you live in California, so sinking toes into soil — that also sounds nice, therapeutic, and, yes, free.
Stacey, I love the idea of forest bathing. I have always felt transported inside a wooded area. Love the way you weaved the definition into a golden shovel poem. Lovely!
I love your craft here, Stacey; it’s just so beautifully done! “[T]o / offer healing and peace that only the / quiet, green, glorious forest / gives” and “your sacred invitation to meditation, / sinking your toes in soft soil” are my favorite lines!
I love the way you created a definito poem with a golden shovel poem all on the idea of forest bathing. Clever mix of forms and a lovely feeling of peace prevails as I read it.
Sweetgum Decree
Deep and far into the wilderness,
Into the ivy to reminisce,
Blanched blossoms of sun drop bliss,
Fluttering mimosa with a blackberry kiss.
Alone with songs of thee,
Nestled in persimmon trees,
Inhaling the sweetgum’s decree,
A command only closed eyes can see.
Gales wisping above gurgling brooks,
Herrings creeping for a look,
Squirrels fiddling as dogwoods shook,
Unlocking the pages of a storybook.
Sunbeams reflecting a terrapin’s shell,
Red-Tail screeching his threating yell,
Acorns falling, echoing supper’s bell,
Turning the pages of a wilderness tale.
Eased in the shade of evergreens,
Rooted thoughts in between,
Shadows of doubt and chipmunk dreams,
Painting the pages of forest scenes.
Exhaling heavy woes,
Maple leaves chariot -to and fro,
In a hideout, where dirt flips to peacock glow,
As Storytime chimes through cedar rows.
Though visits are persimmon wild,
As Hoofprints in oak leaf tile,
Returning often, all the while,
Revisiting the fables of a child.
Peace forever, in a Sweetgum’s Decree,
Forever in Spirit, Forever to be,
Deep in the Wild, Open eyes can see,
A Wilderness Story written by Thee.
– Boxer
You wrote an absolutely perfect hymn! I am in awe.
Clayton,
This poem reminds me of Gerard Manley Hopkins poems. The juxtaposition of botanicals with animals and fish create lovely images.
Clayton, I loved the images that flashed before me as I read your poem. I enjoyed it and the rhyming too! It reminded me of trees I used to see when I lived in the South. I enjoyed your descriptions and I wondered if your poem could become a sweet song?
Thank you !
Boxer,
Just in total awe of how lyrical and soothing this poem is. I imagined reading it aloud as a picture book with all of the wilderness vocabulary defined in illustrations. Children completely captivated as they enjoy your work.
Truly a gift!
Oh my gosh, Clayton, this is truly beautiful. I think you should turn it into a children’s picture book. I would buy lots of copies! I’m so glad my little prompt sparked this wonderful story-poem.
Boxer, I don’t think I have ever used the word persimmon in a poem or even in speech. I love seeing the words you choose from your place in the world and also how so many have such a feeling on the tongue that makes the poem live in sound, spoken. And Sweetgum — another new word for me. Written by Thee, for me, today. Thank you.
I love this poem, especially the last lines in the stanzas that allude to story and art. Your poem is a lovely reminder that nature and creativity go hand in hand.
Joanne,
Thanks for hosting. I love forest bathing and had a student who gave a speech on it when the concept was new here. That’s quite a bio you have. Congratulations on all your accomplishments. Your poem is filled with lovely, healing nature imagery. i particularly love all the sounds of birds and leaves.
Snipe Hunt at the Spook Light
In summer’s inky sky night
we invite an innocent to hunt for snipe.
The best place to find this elusive bird
is at the Spook Light, or so we’ve heard.
Into the forest we run and play
with only a flashlight showing the way.
Once surrounded by towering oaks
we explain the game that’s really a joke.
We leave the newbie holding the sack
as we run away and try not to laugh.
We dash around trees black like night
and hear our friend call to the snipe.
If you snipe hunt with a smart friend
the game will quickly come to an end.
But if your bag-holding friend is a dunce
they’ll never suspect you’re in on the stunt.
Glenda Funk
August 17, 2026
*The Spook Light is near Seneca, Missouri. There’s a Wikipedia article for the curious.
A delight. Pure delight, Glenda. Oh, what meter and rhyme can do in the hands of a brilliant poet. I loved every line and the uncovering of the prank in the end. Please send this to the Just Words anthology or consider making it a short story. It is just what would bring joy to kids and teach some lovely craft moves of poetry, including a little research. Oh, made my day.
Ah, yes, snipe hunting! A classic! I loved your ending lines, Glenda, “But if your bag-holding friend is a dunce / they’ll never suspect you’re in on the stunt.” Lol. (And since I wasn’t familiar with “The Spook Light,” I spent a bit of time learning about swamp gas, piezoelectric earthlights from the stress of shifting rocks, and natural gas seepage, which are all things I didn’t know I’d be learning about today, so, thanks for that, too! 🙂 ).
Very playful poem, Glenda. Reminds me of the first time I went west by train, and they had us looking for jackalopes (part jackrabbit, part antelope.
Glenda— we lived parallel lives, I think! My freshman year of college, we set our city friends up on a snipe hunt! Your poem does it every bit of justice it deserves. I hadn’t thought of that for years. Thank you so much!
Glenda, omg, I fear I would be the dunce friend. This is hilarious!
Haha! Love it- you haven’t lived until you’ve hunted the elusive snipe!! Well – played!! Now let’s hear about cow tipping !! Love the rhyme and the “ I gotchA” !!
Clayton,
As you know, “Nothing Tips Like a Cow” and an outhouse, which my father told me he and his friends toppled when they were kids.
Ha! What a fun poem…it’s written so well for a response to today’s prompt! The rhyme and the beat are perfect. Bravo!
I can’t stop smiling about this fun take on nature and memory. They rhyme adds to the playfulness.
Glenda, the rhythm and rhyme of your poem adds a lovely layer to this mischievous poem. It honestly reminds me of a time when I was a kid and was the one who was counting for hide and seek, but everyone just left. Loved the line “But if your bag-holding friend is a dunce”…great word choice throughout! Very fun poem.
Glenda, masterful! Your meter and rhyme is perfect. Magical, really. (I’ve never written a poem like that!) This is so much fun. I’ve heard anecdotally about snipe hunting, but I’m a bit of a dunce about what it actually entails.
Glenda, I’m laughing because my daughter went on a snipe hunt when she first moved to Tennessee, and neither of us had a clue what that was. As a bird enthusiast, I had never seen a snipe or heard of anyone hunting them. Now we know the joke was on her (and me, for buying it). Awesome!
Uh, sir? I didn’t want to
be the one to tell you–
no, no, I’ll just come out,
and, you see, I was
outside the castle walls,
attempting to do a little
Japanese forest bathing
when– no, it’s just the practice
of taking deep walks in the woods,
no, no, I wasn’t going to
actually wash any of the trees,
it’s therapeutic, lowers stress,
reduces blood pressure, helps
with mental clarity, you should,
absolutely, try it, but, um, more
importantly– yes, it’s a Japanese
practice and, What? Love Letters?
no, uh, no, I didn’t see any love letters
hanging from the trees, are you,
maybe, thinking of the Forest of Arden?
anyway, at this specific moment, the,
uh, how do I say this, the forest, Birnam
Wood, Lord Macbeth, sir, it, uh, seems
to be moving, and, uh, getting, uh, closer.
______________________________________________________
Thank you, Joanne, for introducing me to Japanese forest bathing (and for giving me the opportunity to introduce it to Shakespeare, lol). Your mentor poem is so peaceful and lush with such vivid details! Beautiful!
Wow, Scott – you always take us on a creative, magical trip! This is just a wonderful and unexpected surprise.
Scott,
That’s a fun stream-if-consciousness lesson on forest bathing you’ve offered. I looked through my photos for a Japan forest, but the pics I took last December are all fall colors. Very clever throwing Birn Wood into the mix,
Forest bathing. Ha and yes, please. This is such a fun poem to move through from Japanese practice and love letters hanging from the tree. Unfamiliar, surprising. And then the final lines, the uncovering, the suspense. Whew.
Scott—I always look forward to your offerings and I m never disappointed! The conversation made me chuckle, and then hanging letters and then Shakespeare…
Another winner, Scott!!👏🏽👏🏽👏🏽
Wherefore art thou, forest bather? This is like so much tongue in cheek humor the Bard would have employed. Love it!
I stand on the hill and the pain in my leg
Tells me,
“Sit down!”
My dream
Tells me,
“Keep going! You can do it! You can be a hiker!”
I compromise.
I sit until my leg stops screaming.
Then I rise, turn my eyes up the verdant path,
And climb again.
Yes – I have been there too, Melissa. I love your ending – and climb again.
So relatable, Melissa! In fact, I’m planning the trip of a lifetime right now and am nervous about what I want to do and what I’ll be able to do. I love your compromise.
Melissa,
Your poem resonates w/ me. I want to hike and climb, too, but I hurt myself ten days ago and can barely walk. I like the hiking compromise and may have to settle for that next month when we travel to leaf peep.
This is the way to do it, Melissa! “[C]ompomise” keeps the “dream” alive. And I love your last two lines: “Then I rise, turn my eyes up the verdant path, / and climb again”!
Verdant path. I love this word. This phrase, but I have never used it in a sentence. I think I just love to see it in a poem, and you have offered this vivid line from what pain speaks to what dreams tell toward the elusive compromise that allows us to persist somehow.
Hi Melissa,
I needed this reminder because I’m going on a hike with my son this week. I am praying he doesn’t think I’m the same mom who hiked with him 25 years ago. 🤣
Thank you! This is almost exactly how I walk many a path.
Joann, Thanks for the prompt that prompted memories of nature and what comes naturally! Wishing you and our group here a fantabulous school year. You’ll be in my prayers.
Astounded by Nature?
Nature comes naturally
Year by year, month by month, day by day
So why are we surprised
By its beauty.
Seeing the blossoms in the spring
Hearing the birds chirping ring
We’re still astounded
By its beauty.
The same is true each new school year
Seeing wee ones and tall ones
Skipping, strolling and stomping down halls
Grinning and high-fiving to each other’s calls.
Why don’t we see that as beauty?
Ah, ‘cause we know they naturally will challenge us
In the classroom or on the bus
Going on the field trip
To experience, then write about
The beauty of nature that surrounds us.
That’s natural
Day by day, week by week
Year by year, let’s continue to cheer
All that comes naturally
Inside, outside and all around
From up there in heaven
And down here on the ground.
Anna,
Thank you for sharing your beauty with us. Lovely images.
I love that question, Anna – Why don’t we see that as beauty? The peace of nature juxtaposed with the exuberance of students – both beautiful. This is year 49 of teaching for me – I will need lots of cheering. Thank you!
Anna,
Im contemplating your question:
“So why are we surprised
By its beauty?”
I think it’s because nothing in nature is repeated. Each flower, each tree is different. I do think teachers see those frolicking kids as beauty. It’s only as time passes that the beauty of a new school year begins to fade and wilt.
Glenda, you offer an important alternative view. Nature is different; we shouldn’t be surprised at the individual uniqueness that each student brings, and we shouldn’t try to get them all to look and act alike. Thanks for reminding us to remain open to what students bring to the classroom.
“So why are we surprised by its beauty?” Love that line!!
and I say Amen! It’s the cycle, beginning again next week for many of us. Beauty all around.
Joanne, your poem has me feeling all the fall feels as well as thinking about the need for more nature hikes after a hot and humid summer. I focused on beach memories at first and then I thought about your Forest Bathing! I reflected on those hikes with my dad to fire towers and with my children, long ago, on Sunday afternoons. This moment of family lore should have became a lesson to us all on hiking responsibly!
Laundry, dishes on hold,
I followed eager hikers
Trudging through protected
Ice and snow remains, family
Banter entertaining us until
Our path disappeared into
Darkness.
It may have been hours, or
Minutes as time was lost to
Internal panic, crushing cold,
Only the sound of our breathing,
Our steps cautious, labored until
A glimmer in the darkness.
This is beautiful, Anita. I love how you play with images of light and darkness.
That glimmer leads. Was it a fairy? I like to think so – – or a firefly, or a will-o’-wisp – something that appears in our time of dark need, showing us the way. Gorgeous!
You really captured this memory with your description. That moment of panic in the sudden darkness, then the glimmer. We know all is well.
Anita,
Your poem speaks to a fear I still have: getting lost in the forest. I feel the tension in each line of the second stanza and the hope and relief in “A glimmer in the darkness.”
Ooweee, I don’t know if I’m afraid or just filled with suspense. There’s a certain amount of courage needed to hike in the darkness, and I don’t have it. I’m curious about the “glimmer in the darkness” and hope it was your light towards home.
The winter woods at night would be such a haunting place to be, and you capture it perfectly! I’m hoping that glimmer was the porch light of home.
Anita, I can feel the turn here. What started out as a fine time shifting towards an uncomfortable realization. I glad there’s “A glimmer in the darkness. ” at the end. Powerful poem!
Anita, wow, what a family story/memory! “Internal panic” would take away the sense of time, especially to a young one. And “crushing cold”–you captured the trepidation and the hope in see the glimmer of light. I like how the stanzas both end with the word darkness. And in stanza 1, the abruptness of disappearing into darkness is punctuated by that one word standing alone.
Joanne, plunging headfirst into autumn sounds divine. I will carry that line with me into the hours, days, weeks ahead. I heard there are only like five or six Fridays until fall, and that makes me happy. I found some signs of fall over the weekend, and your poem inspired me to think through that lens. Thank you for hosting us today, and thanks to Denise and Patricia too. You three make an awesome hosting trio! Best wishes on the picture book, and deep gratitude for inspiring and encouraging your writing community! I added photos of the trail walk on my blog post today at http://www.kimhaynesjohnson.com if you’d like to see the trek through the woods.
On Mountain Creek Nature Trail, Saturday August 15
Boo Radley leads
Ollie follows
four-wheel drive kicks in
along the trail
splashing in creeks
crossing bridges
inhaling fresh air
underfoot crunch of pine needles
and acorns giving us
out-of-office peace
resetting the focus
to the moment
with each step
deeper and deeper
into the woods
red leaves bringing
the hope of autumn
Kim, you (and Joanne) have me starting to feel all the fall feels! There really is something about a hike in the woods and, “resetting our focus” that is very special. This morning, it is rainy and colder for the first time in a long time and I eagerly pulled out a tattered sweatshirt to wear over my suit to the pool!!!
Glad to read a poem with Boo Radley and Ollie in it again, Kim. I love your lines: “out-of-office peace resetting the focus. Nature definitely does that!
I love this, Kim! Thank you for taking us along with you on your hike. (And thank you for the link; all the pictures are great!) My favorite lines: “giving us / out-of-office peace / resetting the focus / to the moment.”
Fall is my favorite season and your poem makes me long for it, Kim. I love the hope of autumn, especially. Also, your walk sounds perfect!
Red leaves bringing the hope of autumn…yes!
Loved traveling with you again!
Kim,
I love the idea of “red leaves bringing / the hope of autumn.” The trail you describe reminds me of those I traversed in Missouri when I was a kid, although I’m more at peace w/out the sounds of engines.
Yes, Kim!! I enjoyed the pace of your poem with the short lines. It took me on the path with you. Enjoy every “out-of-office peace” that retirement brings.
🥰
That “hope of autumn” is lovely…makes me think of colors and scents that are so wonderful as the weather turns cool. I hope it turns cool this year!
I love the “out-of-office” peace you describe in this poem. The “splashing,” “crossing,” “inhaling,” and “resetting” inspire me to get out there.
Forest bathing—a term I have never heard before. Your poem took me bathing with you! These lines paint a picture full of fall colors. I can see them! Thank you for your poem, your prompt, and bringing me this memory.
“Autumn colors:
Red and orange swirl,
Yellow dazzles,
Brown and russet soothe.”
(in today’s world, would I be allowed the freedom I was given? What a privilege it was…)
The Pond
We had our own pond,
full of minnows and peepers
and harrumphing bullfrogs.
It had cattails
and read-beneath trees
and soft breezes.
But it was too close to home,
in our back yard.
My imagination needed more room.
Mr. Leet’s pond
was perfect for my dreams.
A cheese sandwich,
a thermos of water,
a tattered quilt,
a notebook to write in
and a book for reading.
That was all I needed.
Up over the hill,
through the meadow,
and I was free.
A small hillock overlooked the pond,
a ready-made lounge chair
with cushions made of tall grass.
No noise, except for birds’ trills,
frogs’ croaks,
milk-cows mooing in the distance,
and the always-present breeze
through nearby trees.
I spread my quilt,
opened my book,
and traveled into some other place
far from Mr. Leet’s pond,
a quiet place just for me,
my books,
a warm breeze,
and my dreams.
GJ Sands
8-17-26
Gayle, you were indeed very lucky to have such opportunities to explore AND spend lazy days entertaining yourself without screens! I try hard to create screen free moments with my grands when I see them but they are scheduled (overscheduled?) and have learned to be passive recipients of their relaxation moments, sigh. I can absolutely imagine joining you on that quilt and reading for hours.
I can picture Mr. Leet’s pond. I’m right there with you, Gayle. I love the line: My imagination needed more room.
You could sell movie tickets to this poem, Gayle. It’s a portal I want to go through! You remind us that sometimes the emotional and mental distance from a place is as important as the physical distance. This is like a balm for peace, and I’d like to dip into a jar, please.
Gayle,
Both ponds feel idyllic, relics of bygone days. I have a vision of you reading and writing on the pond’s shores.
This place sounds divine. There’s a pond in my growing up place that still holds magic for me very much like what’s described in your poem. I was there as I was reading.
Oh, Gayle! We could have been friends. This is exactly the kind of place I would have loved as a child (and now, too). The quilt, the book, the pond…exquisitely captured.
Gayle, I love you “read beneath trees.” Sounds odd to be sitting in a place we’re reading about!
Joanne, Thanks for this prompt. I once went on a retreat and had a forest walk in which the awkward leader talked the whole time. I’d rather silence, of course. I love all the “bathing” words in your poem, wading, submerge, plunge. I thought of a tree that recently fell on my walking path.
There is life
in the death of a tree
felled by storm or circumstance.
Look closely into its core,
years ring-marked and sore.
Roots branch like petals.
Stories buried within.
I stop on my walk
to offer a blessing,
thanks for this Godly creature-
nature’s sacrifice.
Wonderful poem, Margaret. I often stop to offer a prayer to a fallen tree. We had a 200-year-old tree fall in our town. Everyone grieved. I love the lines: Roots branch like petals/Stories buried within. I always wondered what the 200-year-old tree had seen and thought in the center of town. – how many changes she had seen.
Margaret, your poem makes me think of our hike yesterday, seeing the fallen and decaying trees. I took photos of a few also, and also of some of the little openings at the base that hold water for frogs and other critters. This makes me think also of Braiding Sweetgrass – – such a modern classic to remind us to offer thanks for every living thing on this planet. Your poem does that today, friend.
Margaret,
I love that you’re honoring the fallen tree and reminding us that once vertical tree that’s now horizontal is a home for many forest dwellers.
The life in the death is beautiful…so is offering a blessing. I don’t often do that. But, that’s a really good idea.
Margaret, your grieving the death of a trees makes me teary, until I think of all the life it probably fed and protected when it was standing, and the life it will fertile as it decomposes there on your walking path. Greet it for me next time.
Thank you and for your photo. Just last week several trees were felled in my neighborhood. They were getting too close to the electrical wires. I too walked amongst the stumps after the workmen left and said thanks.
Good Morning Poets,
Joanne, thank you for this prompt. I sent your article on fostering curiosity and imagination to my work e-mail so that I can ponder it during teacher return week that starts at my school today. Fostering curiosity is a focus of mine this year. Thank you for the link!
I too am a forest person. I just feel better in the woods when I need a break from regular life. Your line, “wading into the Fall” resonates with me as I see my retirement year approaching. How to keep the pace of today while making a landing on that date is something I’ve been thinking about these days.
This morning, I didn’t worry about a full poem…but enjoyed jotting some poetic thoughts. Super fun. Thanks again!
I walk into the forest.
Light is the puppet master of each leaf and branch.
Words, silent and dark, calm and green,
fill the space between small me and enormous sky.
Words blanket the ground in layers of awe.
Startled squirrels question-scamper.
Wise spiders tend nets without looking up.
I have not found food, or a house, or warmth yet.
I have discovered shelter, though.
It is enough.
Just call it poetry. That’s what it is. The images are strong, the emotion deep. I love “Light is the puppet master of each leaf and branch” and the kenning “question-scamper”. Enough was my OLW years ago and I am still drawn to it. “It is enough” is both spiritual and affirming.
Yes – I agree with Margaret – call it poetry, Linda. Your poem is filled with so many lovely details: light is the puppet master, fill the space between small me and enormous sky, squirrels question-scamper, wise spiders tend nets… And the ending made me pause –
It is such a comforting feeling to have – enough. Nature does that for us.
I can hear the voice of Morgan Freeman reading this, entering a place of peace and quiet, and that last line of your poem says what nature offers: enough. Not too much, not too little. And that feels wonderful.
I have fallen into your words! These lines— paint words blanketing the ground, the squirrels question -scampering (wow), the wise spiders….
Linda,
This is a lovely fragment of nature. Yes, finding shelter “is enough.”