Our host

Susan Ahlbrand is in her 36th year of teaching 8th grade English/language arts in the small southern Indiana town of Jasper.  When not preparing lessons or grading papers, she enjoys reading and writing, binge-watching shows with her husband, attending sporting events, and heading off to visit one of their four kids who are scattered across the Midwest and South.  April is her favorite month since it’s filled with daily poetry-writing challenges prepared by the most incredible community of humans.   She is pictured above with her six BFFs who have loved and supported one another for 53 years!

Inspiration

One of my besties since elementary school (at age 58 I’d say I am blessed to still be in close contact with six of my childhood friends even though we are scattered around the Midwest) sent me a message the other day sharing that she found a bag of our notes from junior high/high school.  Of course, today’s kids have very little understanding of what note writing consisted of in the late 70s and early 80s.  

She photocopied many of them and mailed them to me.  When I opened the package, I was instantly taken back . . . to the workings of the teenage brain, the pre-occupation that comes with young love, petty worries that seemed huge, the very real fear of being betrayed.  She even shared one of my early attempts at poetry.  I’ve come a long way, baby!

Process

Reflect on communications you’ve had in the past . . . notes like mine, phone calls, letters, texts, Facetimes, etc.  If you are lucky enough to still have evidence of any of those, work them into a poem.

Or, write about a friendship from your childhood and how it has stood the test of time.

Or, create sort of a hybrid . . . write about a relationship and work in bits of communication that have happened within it over the years.  

Or, show how communication with a key person in your life has morphed over time, especially as different means came into vogue.

As always, any output is fine.  I think free verse works well for this, but feel free to tinker with an inventive form.

Susan’s Poem

Noteworthy

Looseleaf paper
full of thoughts
cursive scrawls
revealing
plans, secrets, crushes,
gossip, worries.

Signed
BFF and
LYLAS
with the latest
edition of my autograph
perched
underneath
as if anyone else
would have
jotted those words.

Origamied
artfully into a triangle,
other times folded skillfully
into a rectangle with a pull tab
“Open Here”
carefully penned with an arrow
pointing up.
often there was a To:
and hearts
and other adornments.

Easy to conceal,
to covertly pass across the room
or hand-off in the hallway,
sometimes becoming a football
in the cafeteria
tumbling through finger goalposts.
ultimately stuffed in the front pocket
of my Jordaches
for the trip home
to store in a shoebox
under the bed . . .
a treasure trove
of memories.

Discovered
decades later
better than any Facebook memory
or forgotten texting chain.
Not lost to cyberspace
but noteworthy
forever.

Your Turn

Now, scroll to the comment section below to write your own poem. (This is a public space, so you may 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. Also, please be sure to respond to at least three writers. 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.

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Saba T.

It is you I have loved all along.
You are the
Black cat to my golden retriever,
Greys & blacks to my pinks & yellows,
Silent Hill to my Notting Hill,
But
It is you I have loved all along.
Because
You are the
Peanut to my butter,
Sour cream to my nachos,
Alfred to my Batman.
And
It is you I have loved all along.

[Wrote this to commemorate 25 years of being best friends with this chick who says she hated me when she first met me in 4th grade. lol]

Reagan Detrick

Hand written is our love language 
Sometimes it’s our only language
From then until now, miles apart 
Your words still bring me a smile 

Smoothly written
Your words so wise
Your love so gentle 
Your touch so soft 

Until we meet again 
We will hold on 
To your words
We will hold on 
To your love 

Jeania White

Not a day went by that lacked a handwritten note
Often from the friends
That we didn’t see in class
Every now and then there
Would be a boy who wrote to declare
Only friends could we be.
Rendered “just a friend” in Junior High
Tragedy! The world will end until
HE passed by, and spoke and smiled–
YES!! He really sees me! I wonder if he thinks
I’m note worthy???

Denise Krebs

Susan, I had notes on my mind all day. Thank you for the fun memories of origamied notes to girlfriends. Such a fun poem. I love, love your photo of you and your childhood friends.
Since I’m away from home, I didn’t have any memory boxes to look though, so I looked on What’s App.

For Vinolia

It’s taking me minutes to scroll through
all the What’s App messages–
Back to the beginning of our friendship.
At this late hour, I thought I would just
look for something funny
we had said to each other.

As I start to write this, I’m still scrolling.
When the rolling stops, I roll again,
like a gambler–through dozens,
Hundreds. No, it’s got to be thousands
of messages we have sent since 2014.

Starting when we lived in the same town,
now 7000 miles apart, and we are
still texting. Instead of something funny,
though, I’m finding all the messages
are making me homesick for you.

As I remember all the mischief,
all the memories, all the ministry fruit,
all the fancy foods, all the plans,
all the prayers, all the purple,
and now these messages are
tonight’s balm for my tears.

Glenda Funk

Denise,
Those last two lines are so touching. I feel the emotion and homesickness for your friend. The repetition of “All” is very powerful, and in your poem “scrolling” becomes a metaphor for how we remember, how we let memories tumble one right after another through our minds. I’m glad you made it to this space tonight. Hugs.

Fran Haley

Denise, this is the advantage of our digital age, being able to write often and freely to a friend, and to have a readily-accessible archive (a different sort of memory box). Your poem reminds me of sorting through photos recently, when my youngest, who’s getting married this summer, asked for some from his elementary school years. I started with a mission and ended up reliving so many other memories and feelings as I encountered long-ago moments – akin to your looking for a funny exchange with your friend and becoming homesick for her. What a loving tribute, culminating in that final alliterative stanza – all the mischief, memories, ministry fruit (love that), fancy foods, plans, prayers, “all the purple” which is somehow so evocative – I hope you will send this to Vinolia, because she will cherish it. So lovely, Denise. Your words read like a blessing,

Susan

Denise,
I love how you really tried to stay true to the prompt by going through messages for fodder. Yet, what you ended up with was a trip down memory lane and a realization of how much you missed your friend. I love the image of those messages being

balm for my tears.

Barb Edler

Denise, such a lovely poem and your end is amazing! Sometimes rereading messages does bring us a sense of peace. Hugs!

opager.judi@gmail.com

Thank you, Susan, for your wonderful prompt. It instantly brought to mind last week’s meeting of my girls group – which sent me into gales of snorting laughter!

Noteworthy Dating Differences
 
I will purposely out myself
always loud and proud,
not a single closet
in which to keep a skeleton.
I’m much to verbose and open,
accused of TMI before that was a ‘thing’.
 
I shared with my girl’s club
what life was like in 1970
and the dating scene,
so they could compare it to
their current ideology of
3-texts-shared-and-they-are-going-together
 
screwy . . . limiting
 
I cheerfully explained dating in 1970:
Friday night a hockey game with Jack
Saturday ice-skating with Geno
Saturday night movies with David
Sunday church with Paul
and maybe a Wednesday trip to McDonald’s again
with Jack after Young Life
 
With eyes growing larger with each admission,
looking truly dumfounded,
their question to me,
when they were able finally to get past their shock,
Miss Judi, were you a Ho?”

Judi Opager
April 20, 2024

Glenda Funk

Judi,
LOL! That question at the end cracked me up. I grew up in the 70s so know it was the decade of “free love,” but dang, girl, you got around! Also, I’m a TMIer, too.

Fran Haley

Hilarious, Judy! Yet…your words make me nostalgic for a simpler time when everyone wasn’t glued to their phones and time spent together was more focused. This “cheerful” explanation of a week of dating in 1970 sounds like wholesome & healthy fun to me! It’s the true meaning of “social” compared to the online world of today…a universe of difference.

Susan

I love this so much! The dating rituals have changed so much! Your experience is similar to mine, and once upon saying something once again along the lines of “I had a date with ____” I got barraged with questions about how many people I dated with the dagger, “Mom, were you a slut?” They just don’t get it.
Your poem perfectly captures what things were like but also showing very simply the massive changes evidences with that classic culminating question!

Dave Wooley

Judi, lmao!!! I was thoroughly enjoying the narrative and the rhythms of the poem when you hit us over the head with the last line. That was so funny and unexpected!

Dave Wooley

Susan, this was such an interesting challenge today. I kept coming back to the early messages that my wife and I sent back and forth to one another when we were first dating—a relationship that had more hurdles than an equestrian obstacle course!

Notes on an unadvisable relationship

The sign off was always the same
”No pressure. No worries.”
Her: troublesome 2 year-old. Abusive ex lurking in text messages, stalking
around corners.
Me: Recently wrecked marriage,
debris still smoldering. Anxious 5th grader
…and a troublesome 2 year-old.
No Pressure. No worries.

Socrates, Confucius, Hypatia, Amina
would have swiped left.
We swiped right. No pressure
Kids in tow. Exes nipping at our heels
like jackals on the scent. We
defied wisdom and embraced hope.
No worries.

We debriefed every early date.
Pursued pressure. Willed away worries.
Leaps of faith feel foolish. This seemed
something else.

Today: Plenty pressures. Wondrous worries.
Small things in this big life
we built
together.

Mo Daley

What a beautiful love story, Dave! I love the thought of Socrates, Confucius, Hypatia, Amina swiping right! Bravo!

Fran Haley

Dave, that repeated phrase of “no pressure, no worries” was laying the foundation, stone by stone, for the building of a solid relationship that can withstand “plenty pressures” and “wondrous worries.” Love this phrasing “small things in this big life we built together.” Never mind the ancients and their wisdom (sometimes, anyway!) So much of life is about “embracing hope” and overcoming – I celebrate exactly that as I come away from reading your powerful story-poem.

Susan

Dave! This is beyond sweet. I love the history and the defiance your interest in each other displayed against the obstacles. If someone ever puts together a book about second marriages, this poem needs to be notable . . . the very first page.
I really love how this reaches the end with keeping the words pressure and worries as key but twisting them to show the strength of your love.
I honestly couldn’t love this more! As I like to say, “Frame that baby!”

Ona

Susan – this is a great prompt. I have so many ideas!
First thing that came to my mind was the phone that I got for my birthday one year … and all the trouble I got into for being on it too much.

I got a phone for my birthday once
like a corded one
for my room
pink
landline
land
line
I got in trouble for talking
on my phone too much
not being
not using
talking
Talk
ing
with my voice
to my friend’s
into their ear on the other end
to my boyfriend
sometimes all night
until we’d fall asleep
the phone would fall too
Luckily he wasn’t long distance
Not to get all
Taylor Swift on you
but I’m not sure
lucky
would be the word I’d use for
him
even though HE dID latEr know how
to
get lucky
with the other woman
At some point we must have gotten
call waiting
We’d have
had to
since I was on the phone
all night
long

Susan Ahlbrand

This is so awesome! I, too, had a pink, corded phone and I spent hours and hours on it, falling asleep a time or two mid convo.

I simply could not love the clever Taylor Swift reference more.

Glenda Funk

This brings back some memories. Did you have a princess phone? Love seeing TS appear in your poem, and I can’t help but think about how parents now wish their kids would talk on the phone instead of text.

Kim

Susan–I can’t even imagine finding notes from junior high and high school! I went in a slightly different direction with a watery communication today. You can find a few more details on my blog post. https://thinkingthroughmylens.com/2024/04/20/conversation-with-the-sea-npm24-day-20/

Conversation with the Sea

I hear her whisper
hush shush
hush shush
an echo of my own heartbeat
a lullaby
lifting the weariness of the workweek

Shorebirds whistle
collaborators
“on your right” and “I have your back”
singing as they run and fly in unison

Sandy squelches
a give and take of my feet
and the wet sand
we play cat and mouse
who can catch who

Seagulls squawk
complaining
wanting more
impatient
annoyed and annoying
this is our beach
they squawk

She whispers
and I hear history
and her story
hush shush
hush shush
the sound of wombs, of new life
ancients, primordial
salty tears of the planet

Letters in the sand
message in a bottle
whispers and echoes

I’m listening

Leilya Pitre

Kim, what a heartwarming conversation with the sea. I love the calm and inviting tone with soft whispers. Each line draws me into the poem. What attracts me is that the speaker is listening too. Love the poem’s ending four lines. Thank you for sharing!

Susan Ahlbrand

So beautiful! I love how you took your own path and honored the upcoming Earth Day. There are few sounds I love more than the ocean.

Barb Edler

Susan, thanks so much for sharing your wonderful friend’s actions of sharing these notes from long ago. What a treasure! Your poem made me think of the kinds of people I want for friends. The ones I can trust to empathize, listen, and be generous with their time.

A Friend in Need Is……

a friend indeed
is the one who accepts me
when I’m walking backwards glowing green
who inhales my rank words
embraces its vile stink
treats them tenderly
like a newborn babe
who sucks the blood from my open wounds
savors its bitter taste
then pulls out needle and thread
murmurs, hold tight
this is going to hurt

Barb Edler
20 April 2024

Anna J. Roseboro

BARB, your sensory images evoke so many personal and observed relationships in middle school. Particularly powerful is the images relating the jealousy as the friends “inhales my rank words”

then later is there to “Suck the blood from open wounds”:I experienced
often incurred from people who acted had at that age!

Glenda Funk

Barb,
This is a tender poem, one that reminds me how difficult it is to find true friendship, friendship w/out strings attached. The image of “walking backward” evokes how we must be aware of the backstabbers. “who inhales my rank words” identifies that friendship listens, who takes in all the one in pain has to unburden, who doesn’t immediately jump to offering advice, something I constantly remind myself to work on. There’s ambiguity in the last lines. Does the blood sucker extract venom and stitch up the friend, or is the image of sucking blood and then stitching up a wound while saying “this is gonna hurt” add to the pain w/out offering healing. I like thinking this ambiguity leaves both possibilities in play. Gorgeous, painful poem.

Susan Ahlbrand

Unconditional friendship right there!!

Leilya Pitre

This is a beautifully written poem, Barb! I like how your titled is weaved into the poem completing the proverb many know from childhood. You take it out of the cliche overused meaning. True friends accept us for who we are knowing our strengths and weaknesses, good and ugly sides. Your rich imagery allows me to follow and visualize the progression of your thought.

Denise Krebs

Oh, my goodness, Barb, wow. You are able to get so much emotion into so few words. This is truly beautiful. Oh, friends like that are hard to find, but so important too. This is making me want to be a better friend and have a friend who would do this for me. So rich.

Stacey L. Joy

Wow! Mic dro kind of poem! I would love to hear you read this one aloud.

🔥🔥

WOWilkinson

Dear Future Self,
Be gentle with me.
I’m doing my best:
I wish I knew now
what you know then.
But,
I don’t.
I don’t know how
to do it all, how
to predict, how
to square all the corners
and take care
of us. Be 
gentle.

Dear Past Me,
Be gentle with me.
Do your best:
Take care of us
so we have
what we need, have
a chance, have
those opportunities
(but not too many).
Be gentle with
us.

Dear Current Eric,
Now is the moment. Be
here. Let your past you, be.
He did his best and now you’re
here. Do what you can for future
you, but he’ll figure it out. For now, just
​be.

Susan Ahlbrand

What great advice! You need to print this off and hang it on your mirror to look at each day.

Barb Edler

Eric, I like the wise levels of this advice. I appreciate the lines that emphasize gentleness. Such an important action for all the ups and downs in life. Really enjoyed your last two lines, too.

EMVR

Secret Code

A different symbol for every letter
of the alphabet
Extra e’s and t’s to prevent some cipher-worthy person from decoding our text
This way we could write notes in class
Without fear of embarrassment
I just wish we had written about
Those things that don’t get talked about.
Would that have made a difference?

Mo Daley

Ooh! The secret code evokes strong memories of childhood. It’s a wonder most of us don’t get recruited by the CIA with our ingenuity. Your last two lines are really intriguing.

Susan Ahlbrand

What an intriguing ending!

Barb Edler

I really appreciate your poem’s message. I like the idea of the secret code to save yourselves from feeling embarrassed if they were to be intercepted, but the discussion of difficult things is especially provocative. Difficult conversations can be so beneficial, but difficult to travers.

Ona

Yes! All the secret codes. Your last line really makes me stop and think – Lately I’ve had so many things that I wish I could remember from childhood/adolescence and I always wonder if I had just written it down then!

Mo Daley

Today I’d like to dedicate my poem to Dawn and Michelle, friends of nearly 50 years. I used this quote from Marcel Proust as inspiration for my Golden Shovel.
“Let us be gratefulto people who make us happy; they are the charming gardeners who make our souls blossom.”

The Charming Gardeners
by Mo Daley 4/20/24

When you were a child, did you imagine having a friend who let
You be you? Now imagine doubling your luck and finding two friends who let us
Be
Us. You would be eternally grateful,
As I am, to have friends to laugh with, cry with, and to
Love with. We tend to our people
Like a Master Gardener tends to his plants. Who
Else but each other could help us make
Hay when the sun shines? We have always been only us
Happy
As three peas in a pod. They
Have often asked us what the secrets to lasting friendship are.
We can only reply that we are the
Ones who tend to each other’s charming
Landscapes. We are the gardeners
Who cultivate and nurture each other’s roots. We are the ones who
Make
Each other flower. Our
Friendship, like our souls
Will ever blossom.

Susan

Mo,
Your trio is certainly blessed! I love your golden shovel line, and you sure craft it in so well . . . some times ending, sometimes standing alone. And you artfully create lines that sometimes have sentences start in the middle. But most of all, your poem expressed genuine appreciate for a treasured and rare friendship.

Ona

Mo – I love this, the golden line works so perfectly and the message in the poem to appreciate friendship is loud and clear!

Stacey L. Joy

Mo! Oh my goodness, what a sweet treasure of a poem on friendship! You chose the perfect line for a GOLDEN Golden Shovel! Your friendship is a gift and I know you all cherish each other.

Sarah Fleming

This was so much fun to write, thank you! As a teacher, I try to be conscious of what power such communicae hold for our young people (as expressed in so many of these poems today), and to know that we must respect that.

Circle Yes or No

My stomach lurches – 
“Bring that up here, please.”

Will she read it?
My hand clenches around the little folded triangle;
A cold sweat breaks out
And adrenaline curses through my abdomen.

Will she read it?
I slink out from behind the desk
And slowly make my way up front,
Quietly depositing the note (my life) in her hand.

Someone snickers.

WILL SHE READ IT?
He’ll know!
I can’t breathe, I’m going to vomit.
I slink back down into my chair and wait, my fate sealed.

She drops the little triangle into her drawer.

I slowly exhale
And from somewhere comes a disappointed, “aww.”
I’m safe, for another day.
I look up, and she winks. 
And I wonder still, will she read it?

brcrandall

Love that she winks, Sarah. I used to tell my 9th graders, “Why would I stop you from passing notes? You’re writing, communicating, sharing and moving your world forward. Write all you can…that’s how you survive.” And I am remember all the Yes/No scenarios. Great that those days are behind!

Mo Daley

Oh, the drama, Sarah! You’ve written something I’m sure that most of us can relate to. I love the teacher and the wink at the end.

Susan

I bet you never felt more relief than when you saw that wink and the hand drop the note into the drawer. Can you imagine how mortifying that would have been? And I know many of us felt that same fear and even had teachers humiliate and read those private thoughts to a room full of snickering teenagers.

Ona

Sarah – You had me at “Circle yes or now” this is such a classic drama!

Love the wink!

Anna J. Small ROSEBORO

Susan, you’re taking back a long, long time ago! Thankfully, it’s a good memory. And, here you are!

PEN PALING NOT TEXTING

Pen pals were the thing back in the day
When most guys were drafted for service
Girl teens wrote guy teens
Who were serving our country that way

Before long distance calls were cheap to make
After any out-of-town event and such
Teens exchanged addresses
We promised to stay in touch

One year at church camp, I met a former
Air Force man; we both were first year in college
So what was the big deal that summer one day
When he asked for my address, I just said okay.

Who knew within three years of exchanging letters
From his college in PA and mine in the Mitten
Making phone calls paid for by our betters
He’d ask me to be his bride. Yes, I was smitten.

Now, after half a century, here I am by his side
No longer writing letters or making long-distance calls.
Unless it’s texts or calls from his cell phone to mine.

Pen Pals.jpg
Susan Ahlbrand

Anna,
This is wonderful! It sure shows the value of the written word in developing a relationship. And the selflessness people showed by taking time to write our servicemen…so patriotic!

Stacey Joy

A beautiful love story!! I’m sure you both know you’re a match made in heaven!
🩷🩷🩷

Juliette

Anna, your poem makes me think about the significance of letters back in the day compared to the different modes of communicating now. Are the modern modes as effective? Interesting thought.

Barb Edler

Anna, wow, I love how you show how you connected with your husband. I appreciate all the details that show the time and place in your poem. Your ending lines are relatable and fun. Sweet, sweet poem!

Stacey L. Joy

This is for my longest and dearest friends who are sisters to each other but also sisters to me and my sister. Our moms became sisters and have both passed away so we cherish our loving bond.

Fifty Shades of Memories 

A moving van parked
my sister and I with
eyes fixed on each unloaded box
hoping for signs
of children’s belongings 

The blue sedan swung
into the driveway 
out popped two girls
dark ponytails and smiles
carrying small suitcases into their new home

My sister and I waited
how would we know 
when we would be welcome
to welcome them here 
a wave… a beckoning… a call

That was fifty years ago 
now we welcome each other 
into our own homes 
and make new memories
with gray hair, wrinkles, and smiles

©Stacey L. Joy, April 20, 2024

Susan

I can perfectly picture the anticipation of seeing whether children would be living there! And what a blessing that children did indeed move across the street and an even bigger blessing that you are still treasures to one another!

Maureen Ingram

I love that you begin with the moving van and “eyes fixed on each unloaded box,” seeing through your young eyes. What a treasure, to have become lifelong friends. Really lovely, Stacey.

gayle sands

Stacey— I can see the anticipation, the hesitation. The lifelong connection. Beautiful.

Sarah Fleming

What a beautiful poem! Dark ponytails and smiles, how lovely. I can see this all so clearly and it speaks such volumes of friendship!

Juliette

Stacey, I can relate to the part in your introduction that stated, “Our moms became sisters and have both passed away so we cherish our loving bond.” We have family friends from our mothers’ friendship. They were like sisters and we are like sisters. The last stanza is so familiar because that is what we are doing;
“and make new memories
with gray hair, wrinkles, and smiles”

Barb Edler

Stacey, I had to laugh at your title, but I love it. I appreciate how you immediately set the scene through your opening line. The gesture of welcoming one in is such a wonderful feeling. Fantastic job of creating strong images throughout this poem. Love your end, too!

Seana Hurd Wright

Tribute to Phillip

Childhood friends from church
juvenile youth activities
Methodist young adults coaching
and supporting preteens
“You’re one of the coolest girls
in this Sunday school class…”
he’d often say to me.
Parents knew each other so
there were swim parties,
Friday evening supervised dance
competitions in the church basement,
quads playing Spades,
weekend retreats,
Friday nights at Disneyland
and car wash fundraisers.

Phillip and I were always
platonic friends and confidants.
We enjoyed many of the same things.
From him, I learned how much
teenage boys love and
dream about cars, food, and girls

Since we didn’t attend school together,
(High Schools were crosstown rivals)
we wrote notes to each other and talked
on the phone, sometimes, for hours.
Once, I was in Dallas for a week visiting
family and I called Phillip and we talked
for almost two hours.
My aunt called my mom weeks later
and I was fussed at about a long
distance phone call during the day
state to state.
He called me once long distance
and also was fussed at by his mom.
There were a few events where we planned to
wear the same colors and that was superb.

College and beyond separated us
but not our friendship.
We lost my cheerful childhood confidante
a few years ago and I dearly miss his
smile and brilliance.

by Seana Hurd Wright

Susan

Seana,
What a wonderful homage to true friendship between a boy and a girl, a rare thing. I love the part about the long distance phone calls, yet another of those things that people today don’t understand.
I’m so sorry you lost Phillip. I hope writing about him brought up more gratitude than grief.

weverard1

Seana, this is such a great tribute to Phillip! Loved how close you were, and that story about the long distance phone calls was so cute and funny. Loved this!

Maureen Ingram

You have described a profound loss; I can feel the depth of this friendship. A two hour phone call, oh my! Back when every minute cost. This made me smile 😊

EMVR

Oh, that’s so special! You might share that with his family.

Dave Wooley

Seana, this is a beautiful recounting of your friendship. There are so many tender and specific moments in your poem. You really paint a vivid picture of your friendship and the importance that it had for you growing up.

Heidi

Noteworthy

It started with birthday cards and the like 
   when we were in elementary school,
But the handwritten notes inside grew more meaningful
   in high school and beyond,
College found us sending letters about boyfriends
“I just know you’d love him” and 
   how much we missed each other being in different states,
All saved in a large box
Usually requiring Kleenex now to take out and re-read

With cellphones we could text in addition to calling
But it wasn’t the same
Something about seeing your cursive writing
Love Always
But the best was the holiday cards with personalized notes
And then typed-up diatribes about the family
Not quite as personal but time-saving with the mass mailing

I remember a poem I wrote for your first born’s baptism
Proud Godmother I was
“I would lay my life down for you”
 Then the years passed too quickly
And the next “note” was an email from your husband
Telling us you had cancer
You couldn’t bare to tell me yourself
The Caring Bridge updates were unbearable

On the flight to Georgia to say my goodbyes
I wrote to you in my journal,
Page after page of sentiments I hoped to say in person
(and I did)
But that I knew would never be answered in writing again

Now every card, every note
Is all I have left
Along with my memories
They are everything

HMA
4-20-24

Susan

Oh, Heidi . . . this is beautiful. What a treasure a handwritten “Love Always” is. I sucked my breath in when I read

And the next “note” was an email from your husband

Telling us you had cancer

You couldn’t bare to tell me yourself

The Caring Bridge updates were unbearable

Tangible reminders of priceless memories are so special. While I am not quite a hoader, I do want these tangible things . . . not just the memories.
I hope writing this poem brought you comfort.

weverard1

Heidi, this was beautiful and heartbreaking. I’m so sorry for the loss of your dear friend. This was just a lovely tribute to her.

Maureen Ingram

What a heartbreaking loss. So painful. So much history and love together. I, too, feel a lot more from handwritten notes – “Something about seeing your cursive writing”; I am so glad you have these precious mementos from your friend.

gayle sands

Oh, Heidi. I know the pain, the hitch in the breath…

Sarah Fleming

Oh wow, how beautiful, thank you for your words. I think you’ve paid such a beautiful tribute here in this poem. Page after page of sentiments… I think of all those words you have left, may they bring you some comfort.

Sarah J. Donovan, PhD (s/her)

When it comes down to it,
I’ve never been a best friend.

When K picked me up in her conversion van,
it was already full of people. I wanted to sing
in the air of the night, but the drum solo signaled
I missed it. Cruising downtown with the windows
down, it seemed we might tip over in the
collective groove of I want your sex, only
I found myself watching not singing and
gripping the armrest not the hand of a friend.

K’s eyes caught mine in the rear view mirror,
always looking for ways to include, knowing
I’d decline a smoke, but might have a sip of
pabst in the back. I remember this opening to
engage as if to swallow the whole crew in a
gulp of belonging. That stale sip did not make
me appear in any new way to them nor them
to me. I tried to lean in, reach for their lipgloss
borrow a pick. I wanted to catch something from
their being that’d make me part of it all.

Being a friend is not like being a sister; I was given
seven without having to sing or inhale or swallow or
gloss or pick to be a sister, too. I was for no other
reason that I was born. But friendship eludes
me in the knowing and being known in any way
other than poetry. I am best at being a friend in
the margins of lives, in the line breaks of grief, in
the air between post-comments where I get to
witness lives in verse and show my friendship in
a reading of their poetry,
in the witnessing of their lives.

When it comes down to it,
I’ve never been a best friend, but
I am a pretty good poetry friend.

Susan

Sarah,
You are a top-notch poetry friend. And that’s the best. You started this space and have cultivated it with so much care. We all value it–and you–so much.
I love how you bring poetry terms in . . .

But friendship eludes

me in the knowing and being known in any way

other than poetry. I am best at being a friend in

the margins of lives, in the line breaks of grief, in

the air between post-comments where I get to

witness lives in verse and show my friendship in

a reading of their poetry,

in the witnessing of their lives.

Ashley

Sarah,

I identified so much with this. I often was just on the brim of friendship like you describe “gulp of belonging.” You tap into the loneliness of being on that brim so well, and although I may never have had the friendships depicted in movies, this poetry friendship I find in this community is so welcoming and helps heal that. You created this space for so many of us that I imagine feel closest to our poetry friends. Love the honesty in this.

weverard1

Sarah, I loved, loved this confessional poem. What a scene you set in that van with its wealth of sensory detail! Love that you have built-in friends (you have 7 sisters??). Love how this highlights the difference between family as friends and outside-of-family friends. And I really enjoyed the prose poetry structure of this. You are, indeed, an excellent poetry friend!

Stacey Joy

Sarah, the raw and honest truth is what makes you a very special friend here to me. I appreciated seeing you in a different light and I would have loved to have been there to make you part of it all, and to say, “Hi, I need a friend. Do you?”

I wanted to catch something from

their being that’d make me part of it all

Maureen Ingram

There are so many bittersweet, beautifully-poetic lines of feeling like an outsider –
gripping the armrest not the hand of a friend.”
”as if to swallow the whole crew in a
gulp of belonging.”
“wanted to catch something from
their being that’d make me part of it all.”
I can relate to that sensation. Is it not the plight of a more introverted soul? What a dear friend you are to all of us here!

Scott M

“I am a pretty good poetry friend.” I just pointed and shouted, “This is an excellent example of Litotes ‘in the wild’!” (Which was strange because I’m the only one in the office at the moment, talking to myself is not unheard of, but shouting to myself….but enough about me…) You, Sarah, are the best poetic friend that one could want! 🙂

Sarah Fleming

Oh Sarah, this is delightfully beautiful in its raw honesty. I love this line: “I am best at being a friend in
the margins of lives, in the line breaks of grief, in
the air between post-comments” – You are a good poetry friend! Thank you for being that friend to all of us!

Dave Wooley

Sarah, a pretty amazing poetry friend, I’d say. Can’t say much about being a sister, but I can say that this poem really captures the complexities of trying to fit in in a friend group and how that all feels so fragile and perilous.

Juliette

Sarah, this is revealing and beautiful at the same time. This part of the poem was so special,
“I am best at being a friend in
the margins of lives, in the line breaks of grief, in
the air between post-comments where I get to
witness lives in verse and show my friendship in
a reading of their poetry,”
Your use of metaphor and personification used so cleverly to communicate the message
about your friendships.

gayle sands

I know that “edge of things”feeling so very well. I wonder if all people who love poetry lived on those edges? Words became our friends. Your poem is so wonderful, so true. And if it is what brought you to us, we have benefited from it more than you can know…

Juliette

Timeless Words

Thin, blue, lined paper 
With strokes of purple ink
Found, still speaks 
Like old times
Mama’s handwriting
Had its own dance
Recognizable for miles

She wrote often
It took weeks
She still wrote
Knew the letters would 
Get to us one day

Timeless words 
Words of direction
Voice of wisdom
knew when they landed 
would still have power

Strongly cursive
Learned in the past 
Still works now
Our link
Connection to home

Words of wisdom
Still alive in us
Captured on paper
To be passed on to
generations to come.

Susan, thank you for helping us remember the “power of words”. Mama’s letters written in the 80s were delivered weeks later. We lived in different continents. Recently we found a few when packing up our childhood home.

Sarah J. Donovan, PhD (s/her)

Juliette,

I loved following the lines of our poem from the “purple ink” and the time in between. The “strongly cursive” stirs in me memories of the scripts that are most familiar to me, too. I see my mom’s handwriting in my sisters — such a way of knowing that we don’t get in the mechanized fonts of typing, right? You show the legacy and inheritance in “Captured on paper” and “generations to come.” Yes, the paper is a archive that cannot easily be deleted.

Love this,
Sarah

Susan

Juliette,
Right now, I’m sitting here reflecting on this is a daughter, recalling my mother’s handwriting and her occasional words or wisdom, yet I’m also thinking of my legacy words that I have handwritten to our kids and wondering if they will mean much to them down the road. I love how you connect cursive writing to times gone by, and I especially love these lines:

Timeless words 

Words of direction

Voice of wisdom

knew when they landed 

would still have power

Stacey Joy

Mama’s handwriting

Had its own dance

Juliette,
Yes, I instantly recalled the dance of my mother’s cursive. If I saw it today, I’d know it immediately.
I have so much gratitude for the connection your mom continued making across continents. That speaks volumes about her love.

Maureen Ingram

“Strongly cursive
Learned in the past”
I feel the supportive weight of these precious letters from your Mom in these six words

EMVR

It’s interesting how words have such power, even across great distance and time. It makes me wonder if someday someone will come across an archive of these poems and if they’ll have the same reactions we are having?

Leilya Pitre

Susan, thank you for hosting today and sending me down the memory lane! It is so great to friends from your childhood and meet with them sometimes. I found a tiny notebook with my first poems, one of them became my first publication in the town’s newspaper. I was afraid it wasn’t good enough, so when I sent it to the newspaper, I only put the home address without my name on the envelope. Turns out the editor lived a few houses down on the same street, so he put my last name changing one letter in it and the first name initial. You can see it in the picture below. 
 
 
Echoes of Becoming
 
Staring at the neat, inked lines
In my ninth-grade notebook’s pages,
I glimpse a poem, once young like me,
Now fixed in the town’s history.
 
Approaching high school’s endgame,
Unlike Hamlet’s soliloquy,
My mind grappled with questions,
Who would I be?
How would I fare?
What kind of person
Would I become
In a world of limitless paths,
With family pockets shallow,
Yet dreams so vast?
 
To tread the halls of a great school,
The pockets had to be deep
(Soviet Union, corruption)—
Everything had its price.
I only had my heart, head,
An impressive GPA (Yay!),
I imagined shaping tomorrow,
Saving our beautiful, blue planet
From the clutches of moral decay,
And the siren song of consumerism.
 
Now, some four decades later,
I find myself in familiar space,
Asking anew, in altered tense—
Who have I become?

Poetry Collage.jpg
Sarah J. Donovan, PhD (s/her)

Leilya,

This is a lovely ekphrastic poem opportunity to have your artifact beside your poem of becoming. This line hit me “I imagined shaping tomorrow” and “From the clutches of moral decay” and “siren song.” So many beautiful phrases here.

Sarah

Leilya Pitre

I didn’t quite follow the prompt’s task to remember the communication and connections, Susan. Somehow when I opened that “memory” draw, I came across this notebook and got lost in it. I need to be more focused 🙂

Susan

Oh, Leilya! We are never limited to what we write. You needed to go where you went and it’s perfect!

Susan

What a treasure, Leilya! I am not at all surprised that you were a published poet at such a young age! I really love these lines:
With family pockets shallow,
Yet dreams so vast?
Knowing a little about your background, this was a gut punch, yet at the same time it’s so heartwarming in terms of what you have accomplished.

Maureen Ingram

How amazing, to see and hold this writing from your youth. My heart filled with joy and excitement for you at “I glimpse a poem, once young like me” – I should think it is as if you looked again /got another peek at your younger self. Just wonderful!

Juliette

Leilya, I noticed you used symbolism (pockets):
‘With family pockets shallow,
Yet dreams so vast?”
This was very effective s it helped your reader infer.
‘The pockets had to be deep”
Helped share part of the story of your life.

Barb Edler

Leilya, wow, your poem is so relatable. I understand the difficulty created when a family’s pockets are shallow. I love how you share all of your dreams in the second to last stanza, but then show us how you are still asking deep questions about yourself. Such a lovely, compelling poem. Thanks so much for sharing the image of your poem!

Denise Krebs

Maureen, you had some thinking today about this beautiful image and the memories around it. The title is beautiful. Yes, Becoming, and I would like to think you are still in the tense–becoming. Yet echoing through the decades. It is a beautiful image.

Denise Krebs

I’m sorry, Leilya, (I thought it was Maureen’s poem first.) Then, I had to read it again. (It’s late here!) I still mean what I said about the title. Now, it makes more sense that it is you, though. I love all the dreams you had and the resources, even in the corrupt time: “I only had my heart, head, / An impressive GPA (Yay!),” Beautiful poem.

Maureen Y Ingram

College Freshmen

high school besties
off to college, many miles apart 
we wrote
effusively

I, from my sad room at home,
a commuter to university,
she from her loud dorm 

we penned our raw feelings 
of new and overwhelmed

every week 
several times a week
our letters criss-crossing
we opened our hearts
to the page

never had either of us 
known 
another
who listened so well

we created festive envelopes 
from magazines and cardboard
to hold our words

and one another

Leilya Pitre

These are some dear memories, Maureen! These lines are so telling about your friendship:
” never had either of us 
known 
another
who listened so well.”
It’s a blessing to have people like that in your life.

Sarah J. Donovan, PhD (s/her)

Maureen,

This is a lovely journey you’ve taken us on. I think this part of friendship is especially special “who listened so well” and the feeling of being heard while also reciprocating. That is everything.

Sarah

Susan

Aren’t written words such a treasure, Maureen? I suppose an exchange of text messages for two friends in college today would serve the same purpose, but I can’t imagine it does. I often think about the time lapse (and you mention in when you reference “criss-crossing) that happened/s with letter writing . . . you write it and it was days until they read it. And often a letter would be received that was written without having received a letter with certain things in is. Kids today spazz out if 30 seconds pass without a response to a text.

Barb Edler

Maureen, what a beautifully crafted poem. I really loved how you created the images of these special notes and how you revealed your friend and your situation. Loved your line: “we peened our raw feelings/of new and overwhelmed.” I sure do remember being a college freshman, and it is definitely a new kind of world to traverse. Lovely poem!

Denise Krebs

Maureen, how special that you two had each other and these priceless treasures of written communication and community over the miles. I love the envelopes “to hold our words / and one another” Beautiful!

Rachel S

My three year old has been passing pictures to her little friend who lives behind us – so this prompt brought my thoughts to these cute little girls, just learning the art of note writing!!

Inklings
notes slipped
through the fence by
little hands: scribbles drawn
with care on paper scraps, each one
treasured.

IMG_5357.jpg
Maureen Y Ingram

“Inklings” is such a perfect word for little ones’ writing! Oh, this is precious. I’m a retired preschool teacher, so the image of this is close to my heart. “with care on paper scraps, each one” – so wonderful that you are documenting this pen pal fun. Two young writers!!

Leilya Pitre

Oh, how sweet, Rachel! Just the view of these pictures make me smile. My grandkids draw all the time, and I have piles of their “masterpieces,” which I just can’t throw away. Each word in your poem is gentle and precious as “little hands” passing notes through the fence. Thank you for sharing!

Sarah J. Donovan, PhD (s/her)

Rachel,

This is so great — to see the poem alongside the images. “Inklings” is a perfect pun of the ink and the scribbles made by young hands. Yes, treasured and treasures.

Sarah

Susan

Isn’t this just special! To be three and already thinking about gifting your works to a friend. I just love it!!

EMVR

Aww that is sooo cute and appropriate for this prompt. Thank you! I am there in your backyard (but not in the creepy way)

Juliette

Rachel, your poem reminds me of scribblings by Early years students and their interpretation, especially when sharing their work.

Scott M

And the response was as follows:

Dear Mr. M–,
Thank you for using
the portal to send us
your technology questions
and concerns.  We hope you
found the interface manageable
and helpful.

We are here to serve you.

Unfortunately, at this time,
we are unable to honor
your request to rewire all
of the districts’ keyboards
to produce a severe shock
to anyone who hits “Reply All”
to any email messages.

Be aware that we have
forwarded your numerous 
(and increasingly belligerent
and profane) requests to the
HR department, the ad
building, your principal, and
your mother-in-law, one of
whom will, hopefully, be in 
contact with you very soon

and in the time before
your computer privileges
are inevitably revoked
and you are escorted
off campus, please
feel free to contact
us further with any 
and all of your
technological
needs.

Sincerely,
The IT Department

___________________________________________________________

Thank you, Susan, for this fun prompt!  I love the story behind the prompt and the pictures of your BFFs and all those notes.  I remembered phrases like TTYL and KIT, but LYLAS was new to me.  After I googled it, I realized, oh, that’s why I didn’t remember getting any notes signed with that, lol.

Maureen Y Ingram

I am laughing, and very much in agreement with the annoyance (and exhaustion) of “Reply All” You have me wondering how our behaviors might change if entities cc’ed our mother-in-laws and other family members, lol.

Leilya Pitre

You made my day, Scott! I wouldn’t revoke any of your “computer privileges” just for the opportunity to read your masterpieces. I can’t imagine you sending “increasingly belligerent and profane” emails to anyone though. Thank you!

Susan

Scott,
I worried that my prompt would not have universal appeal, and you were one that I thought of who probably never exchanged folded football notes. Perhaps I was wrong! LYLAB!

Of course, you were able to take this down a very entertaining road! Every single dang time your wit just astounds me.

Stacey Joy

Happy Saturday, Susan! I love the longevity of friendships like yours. I immediately saw a scene in a hallway of my middle school back in the 70’s. I’m excited to write this morning. Thank you!😊

sometimes becoming a football

in the cafeteria

tumbling through finger goalposts.

Christine M Baldiga

Susan, I loved thinking about your letters “not lost in cyberspace,” rather “noteworthy forever.” And I appreciated the trip down memory lane. I don’t ever recall writing letters to friends or hopeful boyfriends, but I did go back to my college days when my boyfriend and I wrote lots of letters to each other in our colleges states apart. Each week I received a card in the mail. It brought me such joy. I need to say thank you to Linda Mitchell for the new to me Trinet form:

Letters from Ziggy

Mail call
For me?
Yes! And not just a letter
But a Ziggy card, our favorite.
Weekly joy
signed: Always,
All ways!

Maureen Y Ingram

Wow, I haven’t thought about Ziggy in years! That is a fun memory, this ‘weekly joy.’ Sweet!

weverard1

Christine, I loved your sweet tribute!

Susan

Yes . . . Linda’s trinet works perfectly for this! Ziggy . . . I know I sent a ZIggy card or two to my college boyfriend, too. Thanks for the memory.
I love the Always
followed by
All ways!

Donnetta D Norris

Cheryl

Never had a penpal before now.
Often, it starts as a childhood thing;
Though, it doesn’t have to be. We send
Each other love every chance we get – exchanging
Words of encouragement along with the latest happenings in life.
Oh! How I need this connection; this old-school,
Retro life line that has hitched my heart
To yours and yours to mine. Your letters pull me into your
History – your story. And I hope you know
You have become a main character in mine.

To my penpal, Cheryl. Thank you for being a listening ear all those miles away.

Christine M Baldiga

Donnetta, I always wanted a penpal – your words make me realize it’s not to late!

Rachel S

This is so sweet! Makes me want to find a penpal. I love the acrostic down the side, and the idea of becoming a main character in someone else’s story! How neat!!

Maureen Y Ingram

This sweet poem must be sent to your dear pen pal! These words tug at me,

this old-school,

Retro life line that has hitched my heart

We need this so badly, immensely, I think, to connect in real ways with one another. Beautiful poem and what a gift to have a dear friend to write letters with.

weverard1

Donnetta, I love that you still have a penpal. My cousin was mine, growing up — she lived in Rochester, I in Buffalo, and I still have a huge chunk of our correspondence. Kind of wish we still “penpal’d” but it’s harder now and Facebook is so much easier?

Susan

A pen pal!! How wonderful, Donnetta! How long have you had this particular pen pal? have you met in person? It’s such a throwback concept that we need to bring back as you have! I love these lines:

 this old-school,

Retro life line that has hitched my heart

To yours and yours to mine. 

Anna J. Roseboro

Donnetta, your poem shows the power of the written word…for the writer and for the recipient. Researchers who’ve followed up with students who hand write the notes find the heuristic values of physically moving the pen or pencil across the page! I’m confident your pen is as blessed by being a blessing to you!

brcrandall

Susan, this was a dangerous prompt for me, as I’ve kept every correspondence in shoe boxes (and they’ve traveled 3 states with me). And yo, I went to school with this girl,

in the cafeteria

tumbling through finger goalposts.

ultimately stuffed in the front pocket

of my Jordaches

Love this prompt and your writing.

Time for a Check-up
b.r.crandall

I told a joke once
that started a friendship.

Herr Doktor, Herr Doktor,
ich hab jeden Morgen um 7 
Uhr Stuhlgang!” 

“Ja, das ist doch sehr gut!” 

“Aber ich steh erst um halb acht auf!”

She was a year younger,
ran with horses, 
& Bono, & found
my boy humor
in the mailbox.

Clay. Adams.
NY State af-Fairs.
The letters soon
became books.

Friends don’t let friends
get weird alone.

We launched
the next generation
with monarchs, the moon,,
& our zodiac poetics.
Nudity. 
Penelope.
Odysseus.
& welcomed ourselves
to a civilization
that belonged 
only to us.

I still have lots of questions,
lots of answers, but all of them
are not to be.

She was a redhead then,
the color of fire mixed with eggplant
and her letters were my 
Pines of Rome.

Scott M

Bryan, I LOLed at your joke (and learned a new German word — Stuhlgang — that I may or may not start incorporating immediately into all of my future correspondences, lol). I love the wistful feel of this piece, thoughts of the “civilization / that belonged / only to [you]” and of “the color of fire mixed with eggplant.” This was truly lovely!

weverard1

Bryan, loved this — and the cringey joke, included. The enigmatic imagery that teased my brain with questions, too. Loved this line:
She was a redhead then,
the color of fire mixed with eggplant”

Beautiful poem.

Susan

This is smart and nostalgic and memorable, Bryan! I think we humans are really drawn to the feeling of intimately sharing something with another person and you capture that so well in these lines:

welcomed ourselves

to a civilization

that belonged 

only to us.

Heather Morris

Today’s prompt was perfect as I am just a few weeks shy of my 30th wedding anniversary, and it all started with a letter.  Susan, your poem brought back so many memories of my middle and high school years, and it really drove home how different communications have changed with technology.  

Origins

Our entire relationship 
began with a simple plea,
“Will you write to me?”
and a slip of a piece of paper
in the bright pink
Hong Kong in Cambridge.

I answered
while visiting home
over spring break
of senior year
on the brink of
new beginnings.

Who could have known then
that first letter
would have led to 
scrapbooking the arrivals
of two children and
a thesis for a Masters
in Education.

30 years later,
after scrapbooks, photo books,
texts, letters, and poems
documenting our family’s lives, 
it is wild to think
that this present life and
our origin 
was hinged 
on a
letter.

Rachel S

So cool! My husband printed out the first few months of our text conversation from when we were dating, and I have treasured that way of remembering our first “letters”! I love your third stanza – “that first letter … led to / scrapbooking the arrivals / of two children” etc. Beautiful!!

weverard1

Heather, the hints here at your origin story were so intriguing that I wanted to know more! This is such a sweet tribute to love. <3

brcrandall

Heather, It is this for me,

our origin 

was hinged 

on a

letter.

I still appreciate a good postal hug in the mail. It saddens me that kids today might not know the way such communication made one feel when the mail person came down the street and something came for you. Phew.

Susan

Do you have that very first letter framed somewhere in your house? It’s truly amazing that something as simple as a letter led to your life together with so much joy! Beautifully expressed.

Sharon Roy

Susan,

You’ve brought me right back to middle school—LYLAS, origamied triangles and Jordaches. Thanks for the trip down memory lane and the poem you led me into. I followed in Linda’s footsteps, writing first in free verse and then feeling like it needed some structure, I tried out my first trinet.

Passing

We waited
Bored, watching 
Until the teacher turned her back
Passing our handwritten, memorized Springsteen lyrics
Purple notebook
Across rows
Of desks

Decades later
When teaching
I pick up students’ phones, exasperated
Cries of my mom was texting
Constant contact
Lost independence

Next year
Phone free
Will students not tethered to parents
Return to footballed notes of youth
Folded Secrets
For Friends

Heather Morris

Your last stanza has me wondering about the future. What is the next step in communication? Will we ever be so free from technology again? I miss those days of passing notes.

weverard1

Sharon, is your school truly going phone free next year, for real? That would be a dream lol. It is really funny how many parents text their kids during school. I loved the trinet form, btw, and love how it distills ideas to their essence.

Sharon Roy

There’s a good chance we’ll be phone free next year. There’s a group of parents who’ve been lobbying for it and one of my teammates has been collecting research on the impact of phones on mental health. Our principal asked the team leads and department chairs if we wanted to explore the concept and asked campus advisory council the same thing. So far adults have been quite enthusiastic. The senior on the CAC also thought it was a good idea. She thought it was sad that our middle schoolers spend lunch on their phones. Some of my seventh graders heard about it yesterday and are ready to do everything they can to stop it from happening.

I’m ready!

Susan

Our state–Indiana–passed a new about no phones in the classroom. My school actually has a policy already but the new state law sure puts some teeth in the policy!

Susan

Sharon,
I love how you connect notes and notebook passing to texting. For some reason, we don’t seem to put them on the same level when they are all efforts at communicating with our friends. Students in our building aren’t allowed to have phones in class, so I do still spy an occasional purple notebook being passed, and I have to admit, my heart soars.

Kim

I love the ways you connect past, present, and future. “footballed notes of youth”–such a great phrase.

Erica J

Susan,
Those styles of note passing did extend into the 90s and early 2000s — at least that was my lived experience. My friend is also the one who kept the baggy full of notes, but I had a few buried in a shoebox somewhere as well. I appreciate having a sorting party this morning, looking back at all these cards and letters of people who have written to me over the years.

What caught me off guard was finding two notes from my Grandma who has been gone now for many years. One of her lines is what I decided to use for a reverse Golden shovel. Though I may return to it and try a true golden shovel with it later. I just didn’t have the time to do that this morning:

A Line from My Grandma’s Letter — Undated
by Erica J

Is life just a series of repeating:
it would be nice to do this again soon.
anything to collect and tuck away
like we’re hoarding the most precious treasures
you eventually pull out the faded purple shoebox
expected to find scraps and junky Hallmark cards
it makes you cry
to sort through the cards, the photos, the notes, the doodles
being touched by the love across time and space.

Angie

How LOVELY. Omg. I need to golden shovel one of my grandma’s poems now. Thanks for the inspiration. And I guess our “faded purple shoebox”es are the closest things we will ever get to returning to the past and “being touched by the love across time and space.” So beautiful.

Heather Morris

Erica, your poem brought tears to my eyes. I, too, almost wrote about the letters my grandma used to send me. I loved her cursive writing and the sentiments of love included in her letters. I hope I have kept a few of them somewhere.

Kim Johnson

Erica, the raw emotion in these boxes is gripping. It’s the one thing my father has asked of my brother and me – – to sort through the pictures, the letters, the cards, the feels – – he says he can take care of the other stuff, but not the stuff that makes him cry. I understand that line: it makes you cry. Such truth here.

weverard1

Erica,
I loved your first line. It’s a sentiment worth considering: is life “just a series of repeating”? Seems that way sometimes; today’s exercise highlights that. The Golden Shovel was the perfect form for today — loved that you mined your grandmother’s letter.

Susan

Using Grandma’s letter for source material–a golden shovel–is such a wonderful idea!
I may a borderline hoarder, but I would never want to be the type willing to part with treasures of all shapes and forms. I love your last line . . .

being touched by the love across time and space.

Ashley

I remember those little triangle notes! What joy you have brought me! Mine is a little darker and cathartic.

I can’t say we stood
The test of time
But I can say I stood
For what was mine

I can’t say we remain
Close like sisters
But I can say I remain
Evergreen among your winter

I can’t say we regret
Not speaking or writing
But I can say I regret
My scarred tongue from biting

I can’t say we fought
Over something scandalous
But I can say I fought
To escape a narcissist

I can’t say we grew
Sharing the sun’s rays
But I can say I grew
My roots against your hate

Angie

Ashley, powerful line here: “But I can say I regret / My scarred tongue from biting” the word choice is strong. And the overall form you chose, works great here.

Kim Johnson

If ever there were a poem so real, so true, so hopeful and triumphant about the success of escape from the talons of a narcissist, I believe your last stanza is the cherry on top of a delightful dessert, the sweetness inside the tough skin of the blood-red fruit of the tree of knowledge and wisdom. For all those who have suffered the manipulative tactics, the trauma bonds, the flying monkeys, and have practiced gray rock, you have delivered a poem to attest to the success that there is HOPE beyond the hate. Cheering and whistling, friend!

Ashley

Thank you! It was a long journey to open eyes.

Heather Morris

Wow! Your poem’s power grew word by word and stanza by stanza. The “I can’t say” versus “But I can say” is so effective.

Rachel S

Your poem brought me back to some high school memories I would like to forget haha. “I can’t say we stood / the test of time / but I can say I stood / for what was mine.” Way to go. I did, too, eventually – those friendships are hard to break from when you’re young & they seem so important! Your form is so effective in this poem. NICE.

weverard1

Ashley, I love that you decided to write about escaping a toxic friendship — the quatrains seemed to fit the meaning perfectly, measured and reflective. Beautiful poem!

Susan

Ashley,
For as lovely as friendships can be, there sure can have an awful side. Your raw honesty here is very powerful. There are definitely times when we recognize that a relationship isn’t serving us. I love how you used anaphora to start each stanza with sharing different verbs to express what was happening to your friendship. I’m sure you are glad grateful that you were able to create the necesary distance as you express so wellw ith those last two lines . . .

But I can say I grew

My roots against your hate

weverard1

“Charmed”

Kids nowadays!  Their tech has made
communication easy:
A text, a tweet, a post – and notes
just fade into the breezes.

I hold a box (or two) in cellar
that contain my life:
Golden Days and Months and Years
from Glory Days to strife.

Grandstand Books were all the rage
(Who remembers these?)
You had to pass them, girl to girl,
no sending texts with ease.

Where’d they come from?  Where’d they go?
Didn’t have a clue.
They held our favorites – colors, crushes
Every word was true.

Cringey phrasing, cringey loves
comprise these little books
But Catholic school math was dull
and with these, we were hooked.

So, thanks to Susan, prompting us
to open up our pasts,
when present’s so demanding:
This prompt was such a blast.

P.S.: If you’re curious, see this link to see what the inside of them looked like: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1GLx-WwDqlbxHsoKqjP7pTJMMrGt884fCaT7LbJQ30cQ/edit?usp=sharing

IMG_9989.jpg
Angie

Ohhh dang, Wendy. Neatest Adult You Know: mom twice and then NO ONE, NONE!! The mooods!!! 🤣🤣

About your first stanza, it made me think of a post I saw on Facebook about parents discussing the problem with disappearing messages, which I’m sure some of you have had to discuss. Craziness.

weverard1

RE: the “adults” — I know, made me laugh too!

Heather Morris

Thank you for sharing the Grandstand Book. I love the rhyming in your poem and your last stanza. This is a prompt I could come back to in so many ways because letters and notes were so important in our pasts.

weverard1

Agree! Once I started digging through my memory boxes, I wanted to write about all of it!

Jennifer Guyor Jowett

Wendy, these books are fascinating. I don’t think I’ve ever seen one, but sure wish I had. I can only imagine the memories their pages would pull up. I’m tempted to drop one into my classroom (updated cover, of course) and see what happens. I’m betting MGers would make good use of the prompts. Your line about fading into the breezes is so true. I keep telling them that writing is indelible and gives importance to words. This poem sure shows that!

Kim Johnson

Wendy, yes!!! I remember these! Your poem takes me back, back, back to the bus days when everyone would be getting their book they’d passed around back. We called them Slam Books. You signed on the line of your number and answered questions next to your number all through the book. What a fabulous walk back to Middle School – – one day, I am convinced, one of these Slam Books/Grandstand Books from my past will come back from the dark recesses of an attic box somewhere in the heap of my parents’ things, and I will be mesmerized by the memories. Thank you so much for writing this today. My favorite line: Every word was true. At least, in the mind of a young teenager/preteen whose perception was the only truth to know – – yes, yes! We bought in, hook…line….and sinker, and tossed our own bait out there to see who would bite and how hard. I love what you’ve done here.

weverard1

Kim, where did these books even COME from? Who made them? lol! A Google search revealed absolutely nothing, not even pictures: a mystery, indeed!

Susan

Wendy! I thought I knew about most things in our generation, but this is something with which I am unfamiliar . . . these Grandstand Books. Now, we had various things that asked similar questions, but the name of format of what you have pictured is something new to me. I absolutely love it! Anything that can shed such specific light on what a person was interested in and what their beliefs at the time were is a true treasure.
(Thanks for putting my name in the poem; I’m not sure I’ve ever been referenced in a poem before!)

Angie

Hi Susan,

This prompt is right up my alley because in multiple places around the US, I have boxes of things I’ve kept for this exact reason. But that’s the problem, who knows where they are and I certainly can’t access them. But no matter, I chose to write about communication with my grandma who I’ve never had a chance to live close to. In your poem the “LYLAS” stood out to me because in looking through my texts with my grandma, she once told me her sister signed things with “LYALY” (love you and like you).

It’s like 1996 or something.
You sit at your desk, connect 
to the internet and wait a while
~single yellow man,
dial tone, 
speedy yellow man,
ring tone, 
handshaking
(you just learned this)
group of happy people… 
“You’ve got mail.”~
It’s from your grandma.
You communicate through email
up until about 2012.

Your tech-savvy grandma
with pen pals in different countries.
She writes poetry and surely that’s
who it came from in you.
She wrote a poem about each of her 
kids
grandkids 
great-grandkids now.

It seems you can’t look up any past emails
because you haven’t logged into blueper72@yahoo.com for probably more than 10 years and they say,
“if your period of inactivity was long enough, we may have deleted all of your emails.”
This is the problem with technology 
or maybe just a problem with me.

In 2012, you get your first smartphone.
Grandma probably texted sooner than you. 
Can you look up the first text you sent to her? 
Of course not.

You can see your first Facebook message, though, so reliable.
You keep her updated through pictures 
and paragraph long texts or FB messages
every so often but not often enough.

Facebook is the most reliable form of 
communication while you’re overseas.
These days she sends you daily digitally colored pictures and tells you your cousins are pregnant through a poem about her new life.

Since your grandpa died, she’s been able to:
attend your father’s 60th birthday party in Texas, 
visited him a couple other times, 
visited her sister in Florida, 
moved closer to her daughter
and two of her grandkids,
saw the birth of their kids,
and gets to spend time with them
whenever she wants. 
These are things she’s able to do now.

You don’t think you’ve ever been happier for anyone;
if anyone deserves this kind of joy, it’s her,
and that’s what you tell her now on Facebook,
while you write this from ten thousand miles away.

*picture of my grandma living her best life with my dad in Texas

IMG_6564.jpeg
Kim Johnson

Angie, those boxes of memorabilia will resurface in their own time, right when you need them most, I’m convinced. They serve such purpose in our lives, to conjure up the days we almost forget except for the boxes of things. Your grandmother is an amazing example of someone who loves life and wants to squeeze every.last.drop of living out of all her days. I can tell from her picture and your words that she is one of those rare grandmothers who has that unique character about her that overflows with stories – that time when…..remember that day…..you know when we….. And those are the best! I would love to see her face as she reads this poem.

Glenda Funk

Angie,

  1. I feel as though I’ve been on an archeologist unearthing the artifacts of technology’s communication detritus. And I feel old ancient! I’ve lived through all of this and recall party lines, and your grandma sounds pretty young in my old mind. Love that she shared news via poetry. That is so cool. Love that she’s living her best life and that you’re celebrating her in verse.
weverard1

Angie, I love the idea of tracing your communication history with your grandma! This was a trip down memory lane as you detail all of those different modes. Loved the picture, and I really loved that last stanza that was so filled with love and good wishes for her. <3

Jennifer Guyor Jowett

Angie, what a life lived! And she certainly lived it, keeping up with tech as much as she did family, and using tech to do so! I love that you shared this relationship with her. My grandmother was the last person I continued writing letters by hand to as she was an extraordinary letter-writer. I could follow along with whatever happened in her day that way, whether she’d been to the garden and was shelling peas or if they’d trimmed Christmas trees on the farm, it is all there, captured, and now resting inside boxes I carry with me from place to place. i could feel the love you had for one another throughout your poem. So beautiful.

Linda Mitchell

What joy! What celebration–I love all the crazy, wonderful ways your Grandma is cool! And, you definitely got some poeming from her.

Susan

I’m not sure there is a more precious relationship than a grandchild/grandparent one. You honor it so well by showing how your means of communication morphed over the years so that you could stay in regular contact. So heartwarming.
Thanks for adding the picture. You can just see how special she is!

Glenda Funk

Susan,
I recall those notes passed among friends, too, although I rarely wrote or passed them myself. The details in your poem are divine: the goalpost fingers, the triangles w: “open here,” those organized ones—my favorites. I kind of miss those days of sneakiness using real paper. Delightful poem.

Literary Analysis

my son texts 
me instructions to
send him the 
book i described
as beautiful so
he can vet
it. 

not liking the 
assignment i ignored 
his directions and 
opened the book
again to see
each twilight-hued
page 

Glenda Funk
4-20-24

IMG_3956.jpeg
Angie

Haha when I read this:

not liking the 
assignment i ignored 
his directions”

I thought of students who might feel this same way!

also, which book, which book??

Glenda Funk

I received this book to evaluate from the publisher as part of my responsibility on the NCTE Children’s Poetry Awards Committee.

IMG_3958.jpeg
Kim Johnson

Glenda, I love the short form here and the seven-lines with 3/3/3/3/3/3/1 words. Your title is PERFECT for this, and I remember a day when I had marked little X letters on certain poems I chose not to read aloud in Mother Goose for fear it would scare my first newborn. Oh, how that instinct to protect sometimes charges in so unannounced, so unexpected. Needless to say, life taught me that I was not in control of much, and this brings memories of those days of still wanting the cocoon when I thought it could be spun. Keep suggesting those beautiful books – – the seeds will germinate and E. will know that his grandmother held a universe of reading and writing and traveling and living and loving…..and that he has a huge spot in it!

Jennifer Guyor Jowett

Glenda, you are bringing all the art this week, in your beautifully crafted words and in the layering of the graphics (which I am delighted to open each time).I adore the wording “twilight-hued page” and the ignoring of the assignment. How many times have we wanted to do just that? Certainly, you are going to share this book with us, yes?

Heather Morris

I can relate to your poem. I received an “assignment” from my son via text. Unfortunately, I don’t think I can ignore his and enjoy an alternative. I have to review his thesis. I love that you ignored his directions.

Sarah J. Donovan, PhD (s/her)

Oh, this made me smile so much. You can certainly read between the lines, and the poem is a perfect way to use the white space to break away from the “vet/it” to the “twilight-hued/page.” I love that phrase and read it several times to swim in its beauty.

Sarah

Barb Edler

Glenda, I feel an underlying level of pain here when you open the second stanza with “not liking the assignment”. Then the “twilight-hued page” adds another layer of subtext. It’s difficult to know how to navigate our closest relationships when we see things differently especially if they connect with our most passionate feelings from politics to raising children to religious beliefs. Fantastic job of structuring this poem. I appreciate the three-word lines and the one-word final lines to each stanza. Powerful poem. Hugs!

Susan

Glenda,
What a powerful punch this delightful poem delivers. I love how diverse these poems today have been.

Denise Krebs

Oh, Glenda, that is perfect. “not liking the assignment” and you opening the book again. “to see each twilight-hued page” makes me want to sit with that book myself.

weverard1

Susaaaaaan! Best prompt ever! Loved this so much:

sometimes becoming a football
in the cafeteria
tumbling through finger goalposts.
ultimately stuffed in the front pocket
of my Jordaches
for the trip home”

Oh, the memories!

Today is the first day of Spring Break, and you’ve given me permission top root through my memory boxes — something I’ve been wanting to do for so long. Thanks for this, love your poem, and I’ll be back later!

Jennifer Guyor Jowett

Wendy, I can hear the cheering and feel the energy of paper football, from the shout out of Susaaaaaaan! all the way through that last exclamation point. Love seeing all these past memories resurface in our poems today.

Jennifer Guyor Jowett

Oh, boy, Wendy and Susan, I woke up at 2:30 today with some kind of illness and somehow read and wrote a poem in the middle of throwing up and am just now getting to responses and somehow looked at this as Wendy’s poem. Please forgive me. I am not functioning at all right now. Wendy, I’ll respond to your post above.

brcrandall

Wendy, You just captured the joy of middle school everywhere, although I’m not sure “Jordaches” are even purchasable any more.” Love it.

Fran Haley

Susan, you brought so many memories rushing back to me today. What an amazing gift from a lifelong friend, those notes written so long ago! I know that feeling of suddenly being plunged back in time to relive what I felt in my “teenage brain.” These notes ARE the best, as you say in your poem, far better than a FB memory or lost text chain. The handwritten notes, it strikes me, ironically, are far less ephemeral.

Here’s what your “noteworthy” prompt triggered for me – thank you with all my heart.

Notable Reflection

We were so alike
when we met in seventh grade
long brown hair, glasses

inward and outward
like looking in a mirror.
Other kids asked us

are you related?
Yes! We’re great-great-great-great-great
great-great-grandsisters

(counting seven greats
with our fingers). The askers
blinked and scratched their heads:

Is that a real thing?
We nodded in unison
before cracking up.

We were different, too.
She could play the violin.
I played the kazoo.

I had two pet dogs.
She had two Siamese cats.
I envied her breasts.

Reading and writing
were the loves of my young life.
I could always spell.

She struggled with it
like in the note she wrote me
about a boy who 

gave her a neckless.
I laughed ‘til I cried. Oh, Lord,
girl, you’ve got no neck!

We made our way through
high school, inseparable, 
until she married

the summer after
our graduation. Two years
afterward she brought

her little girl to
my own wedding, along with
an ultrasound: Twins.

She was overjoyed.
A few months later she called
to tell me the twins

died in utero.
Two perfect tiny girls, gone.
She got to see them

for a few moments.
I held the phone, tears streaming,
words inadequate.

The years would take us
further and further away
but I don’t forget the day

we met, at thirteen
never feckless or neckless
there in the mirror.

gayle sands

Fran— such a mix of joy and humor and deep sorrow. Truly a poem of a deep and long lasting friendship. (Loved the neckless!)

Kim Johnson

Fran, your young friend humor is hilarious here, from grandsisters to that neckless. I laughed so hard at that, and the way you worked in feckless at the end is just creative brilliance. I thought of a violin today, too, and that was my instrument of choice but I never got to go with the strings group (from Gayle’s post). I went from laughter at the teasing of little girls to sadness at the grief of the loss of those baby girls. And I see that sometimes, even the literal truth of the death of twin girls and the real sadness there, there is the symbolic release of friendship from the two who looked alike at the start of the poem, for those two that time and distance separated. This is powerful in all its layers, and I keep reading. That neckless, though.

Angie

Fran, the many details from long ago amaze me, like this:

are you related?
Yes! We’re great-great-great-great-great
great-great-grandsisters
(counting seven greats
with our fingers)”

The image of the counting is so funny. In the past, I’ve tried to write a poem about my first best friend, which only lasted a few years, and I couldn’t really remember anything specific.

This is lovely with its range of emotions and the form fits well.

Heidi

How poignant! This poem reminded me of my best friend from childhood — such memories, such love. I love the “neckless”. A mix of the highs and lows for sure. Thank you.

weverard1

Oh, Fran, this was a real roller-coaster of emotion. I jut loved the authenticity of this stanza:

I had two pet dogs.
She had two Siamese cats.
I envied her breasts.”

Made me remember those conflicted feelings of support/love and envy that we had for our friends in middle school. <3

I was so sad for her when you described the loss of her twins. It’s a testament to your poetic prowess that you made me feel this so deeply. <3

Susan Ahlbrand

Jeesh, Fran.…I tru have goosebumps at your poem’s ability to make the laugh and cry within a few lines. Initially, you include so many cute little details to reveal how endearing this friendship was. The specifics you recall make it so real. Then to see the changes, sadly, that come when life brings change to that treasured friendship. Then, the loss of the twin girls.…so so heartbreaking. Then you end so…I don’t know…complexly.

Jennifer Guyor Jowett

Fran, the pairing of you two, emphasized in each stanza of similarities, and the utter joy you had in inside fun of 7 layers of grandsisterllness is precious. I was dying at neckless. You share the high’s and low’s, the in’s and out’s, the dichotomy of a pair of friends so clearly and in a way that I can experience alongside you. The true beauty here is the way you both started so similarly, like sisters, and continued down your own paths, very different, but the connections remain.

Linda Mitchell

What a friend…what an amazing sharing of highs and lows. I have a friend like this. What would I do without her? My goodness. the depth of friendship that must exist for you two. Beautiful.

Margaret Simon

I wrote notes as we all did, tucked them through the slats in the lockers. The football fold, the arrow pointing “Open Here.” Ah, the memories. But my poem didn’t go far back. Yesterday I asked my students to write thank you notes to an author who visited by Zoom. They were less than perfect and I need to leave them as they are.

They are still children after all.
I remind myself when I see their scrawled
thank you notes to the author.
Elementary handwriting crooked
and carefully drawn, letters scratched out,
redrawn, a name that couldn’t fit “W-i-l-l-i-a…
m” Sadie writes “Hey, it’s me”
alongside a cartoon version of herself.
I want to apologize for their mistakes
then realize innocence and charm
resonate in every scribble drawn.
Thanks.

Thank you note.jpg
Kim Johnson

Margaret, I am so glad you included the picture – – this is precious, the detail and work. Those eyes. The scratched-out letter. Somewhere in our teacher quests for mastery and perfection, I think we miss so much that you see and celebrate here – -and I couldn’t agree more with you. The charm is in the draft, like life lived with its little sideways jaunts and imperfections. I was judging high school writing yesterday, and there were 16 pieces in my assigned grades to select – one was about a student who took up watch repair and fixed a timepiece, only to realize at the end that the writer missed the broken watch. There is something about the brokenness that stays with a reader in a way that happily-ever-after-final-draft-perfection can’t, because the work and emotion seeps into the picture. I’m so glad you left the “mistakes.” They speak.

Fran Haley

The experience, the poem, the story, the photo are all so precious, Margaret. Somehow the little mistakes make it even more so. Learning and life are not about perfection, but loving…it’s a lesson for us all.

gayle sands

Love, love, love!! The picture is wonderful, as is your love for their mistakes— the wonder of it all! “Tanks” for the smile this morning!

Angie

I think the author will love them all the more!! Yes, I’m glad we get to see the picture. The “Hey, it’s me” is awesome. I love to wonder how kids think at that age when we read or see stuff like this 😀

weverard1

Margaret, your little note was so adorable (*Tanks!”). This was so relatable — I’ve been in situations like that with kids where I wanted to correct something that they’d done and had to restrain myself. Your reminder that they’re “still children after all” was a refreshing reminder to accept them the way they are sometimes. Lovely poem — loved the emjambment in the line where you talk about the text not fitting. <3

Susan Ahlbrand

You know, Margaret, this poem helps us all realize that it’s in the innocent imperfections where truth and genuine feeling really are. Your author will treasure these gems more than perfectly typed, perfected worded notes that lack the voice of a real person. Thanks for this treasure and this reminder this morning. After all, it’s our imperfections that are often the most endearing.

Jennifer Guyor Jowett

They sure do resonate, Margaret. I have this same struggle with writing/art that goes out. I think people expect MGers to have gotten beyond all the errors and to know all the things. But they don’t. The good thing is that authors make mistakes too and know the writing process so well. Your kiddos wrote delightful thank you’s. I love that image you’ve shared.

Linda Mitchell

oh, this is fabulous…the picture is precious. And, they are still children.

Barb Edler

Ahhh, what a beautiful, loving poem, Margaret. I love the image you’ve shared. The student’s illustration surely looks colorful and carefully drawn. Your opening line was a perfect opening to this precious poem. Loved “Hey, it’s me”. Very fun and insightful poem!

Kim Johnson

Susan, the blessings of lifelong friendship are rare these days as people move away from the places they’re from. What a treasure to have found all those notes and to be able to return to them all these years later, like a little time capsule waiting to be opened. I’m grateful you are hosting us today. I recall a text I received, and since I have been playing with forms of repetition lately – anadiplosis, gradatio, symploce, and epistrophe – this form came to me in the wrinkles of the memories of the picture.

Getting the Picture

there was this picture
this picture of watermelon

WATERMELON!

watermelon sliced
sliced like cries
cries of a mother
a mother with cancer
cancer that consumed
consumed her, piece by piece
piece by piece, like a watermelon
like a watermelon, there was
there was this picture
picture a mother
a mother crying for mercy
for mercy denied
denied until the end
the end, after the pain
the pain of loss
loss of a body, loss of a family
a family broken, a shattered picture
picture a mother
a mother who mattered
mattered to her sons
her sons who loved her
loved her and listened
listened and heard
heard her pleas
her pleas for mercy
for mercy denied
denied by others
others who refused
refused to believe
believe she felt pain
pain that consumed, piece by piece
piece by piece consumed a mother
a mother who mattered

Britt Decker

What a stunning poem. I love this format. From sliced watermelons to a mother who mattered – I’m eager to try my hand at this structure. I have chills – thank you for sharing.

gayle sands

Kim— first tears of the morning. This is raw and honest and you put us in the room with that mother who mattered.

Fran Haley

Kim…that watermelon makes an incredible image for the rawness of the suffering and loss, piece by piece, of the mother who mattered…it’s stunning, the repetition drives home the rage, pain, and denial…this in an unforgettable poem, my friend, shining bright as the sun on green rind even as the sweet flesh is split and destroyed. I will be rereading it for a long time to come…

Glenda Funk

Kim,
This is powerful and painful. The repetition creates a cause-effect analysis of both the situation and the picture, suggesting the words juxtaposed w/ the photo tell only part of the story, a story of history and our time, one about how women are treated by medical professions, how their pain is diminished, ignored, silenced. You have elevated the subject of the poem, the woman and her voice, through your words so that her voice rises, and the volume increases, even though you don’t specifically use her words. This really is so good, so honest, so necessary. Love it.

Angie

I am in disbelief, starting from you stating you are playing with forms of repetition and listing devices that I’ve never heard of. Shows me how much I have to grow and learn. Thank you for adding that. And then the movement from watermelon to this mother. I mentioned in a comment another day to someone else about trying to teach my students about purposeful repetition and here is another perfect and meaningful example. I love the change in meaning of these phrases: “there was this picture / picture a mother”. This form also reminds me of a Blitz poem. Beautiful.

Heidi

Oh how lovely! My best friend was also taken by cancer and left 2 beautiful boys. It was as if you wrote this about her. I feel ALL of your poem, every line…matters!

weverard1

Kim, this was just amazing. Arresting from the first image. And the way that your repetition gained and added meaning depending on where it appeared in your lines was just crazy good. Heartbreaking and beautiful at the same time, it inspires me to play with these rhetorical strategies!

Susan Ahlbrand

Holy cow, Kim. What a writer/poet you are! To experiment with craft on your own, without it even being part of the prompt, shows how advanced you are! Your use of repetition not only works, it drives this poem through and to its stunning ending. The images of the watermelon juxtaposed with the cries create such power. This is magnificent.

Jennifer Guyor Jowett

Kim, this is incredibly crafted. The repetition of ends of lines to beginnings makes this read like someone hiccuping through their grief as they try to speak of what happened, having to stop and start again as they try to collect themselves. But at the same time, there’s a strength that’s offered the reader with those repetitions too (lover her and listened/listened and heard/heard her please). I’m interested in finding out more about the forms of repetition you’ve listed! Thank you for writing this.

Linda Mitchell

Oh, that word, “consumed.” My goodness…this poem hits hard. Too many, too much of this for all of us. The connections are many and tight.

Margaret Simon

Wow! The whirl of the repetition magnifies the heartache, the pain, the loss. Tears.

Barb Edler

Oh my gosh, Kim, I am overwhelmed with emotions and tears. I love how you show the incredible difficulty of losing your mother. The repetition in your poem adds a weight and emphasis to the pain of this endless loss. Hugs to you. Thanks for sharing your deeply moving, truthful poem of loss.

gayle sands

Band Notes

Seventh Grade
First chair
Oboe player 
(NOT cool)
Drum player
(Very cool)

Note passed
Drum to clarinet
Clarinet to flute
Flute to oboe

“Do you want to be my girlfriend?”

Note passed
Oboe to flute
Flute to clarinet
Clarinet to drum

“Maybe. I’ll have to ask my mother.”

Romance quashed
Dead on arrival

GJ Sands
4-20-24

Kim Johnson

Gayle, I love the way you used the instruments as the note passers’ names…….the awkward social classes of the instruments themselves (cool, not cool) with the faces of the students at that age wanting acceptance and independence, but still asking parents. Such imagery, that note, I can see it moving, hand to hand, down the line. You take me back to those not-long-lived days of playing the clarinet, when my heart was firm on the strings of a violin I never played.

Britt Decker

Hehe “I’ll have to ask my mother.” Love this so much! What a creative way to “name” them both.

Margaret Simon

I was not a band kid, but I love how the note was passed to each instrument. I can totally imagine this scene.

Fran Haley

Gayle, this is utterly precious…I’m amused that we both landed in seventh grade today. I was never in band but I could see this whole note-passing through the instrument lineup as plain as if I were there, even handing it in turn…I’m still chuckling over cool/not cool with drum and oboe because cool is the pinnacle of importance at this time in life. Alas to the quashed romance!!

Angie

Omg Glenda this is awesome. The movement of the note from different instruments – so creative and works so well!!

Angie

*Gayle, sorry.

Susan Ahlbrand

Oh, Gayle! The specifics of the note passing and the “Maybe. I’ll have to ask my mother” make this such a gem of a poem. Then, those last two lines…🤣🤣. Your words bring up so many emotions and memories.

weverard1

Haha! Love the structure, Gayle, that mirrored the passing of the notes, slowed us down, and took us across the room with you! This was lovely.

Jennifer Guyor Jowett

Haha, Gayle! Your response is perfectly indicative of how that would have gone down at the time. Today’s kiddos have no idea of the art in note passing. Tech has taken away the anticipation of who might open it, if the teacher would intercept it, the span of time between send and delivered. I love what you did with the parentheses and with the hand passing!

Scott M

Band Notes. Band notes. I love that that second reading only clicked in for me after the first reading of your poem. So good! And I loved watching the note travel from instrument to instrument in stanza two and then in the reverse order in stanza four. This was a fun and clever way to increase the suspense/tension of the reveal: “‘Maybe. I’ll have to ask my mother.'” Lol. This poem is great, Gayle! I really enjoy watching The Maestro at work!!

Linda Mitchell

Ha! Oh, my gosh this is so fun and funny and real. What a great poem…all those instruments “playing” a part in the nonromance.

gayle sands

Susan— Before I get distracted by writing— you have thrown me right back through time! Now—what to do with all those moments!? Those triangles memories…wow.

Linda Mitchell

Susan, what a great treasure–to receive notes from school days. I had a lot of fun with this prompt. I wrote a free verse poem and then tried out a form I learned of a couple of weeks ago called a trinet. It’s 7 lines. All lines have 2 words (no syllable count) except lines 3 and 4. Lines 3 and 4 each have six words. This short form summed up my giant free verse poem.

Rip-up and Flush After Reading

It’s secret
don’t tell
I would die if he knew
but, I really do, kind of
like him
like him
love him!

Linda Mitchell

Dang it–I hit enter before adding that I agree that those letters/notes are better than any Facebook post. They are the raw material of child/teen heart. Best stuff to write about!

Susan

Oh, I really love the trinet !! It’s such a perfect way to get language and ideas more compact, something with which I struggle mightily. And your trinet screams the thoughts of a teenage girl. The concise words and lines seem to be made for your writing. This is simply perfect, Linda!

Kim Johnson

Linda, those days of the secrets we want to both keep and tell the world all at once – – the joys of young teenage love, crushes shared with a friend….waiting for the ripple and the knowing to unfold…..and the answer, the checked box…..I like you. Do you like me? Check here: yes or no. And those album covers that we all talked about. Leif Garrett, the one where he’s standing in the smoke with the white suit on, and the unbuttoned purple shirt….and those rumors, wondering if they were true…..and all those days of not having to pay bills yet. Your note brings back all these memories like they were last week – – oh, the fun! Thanks for this simple form that built a wide path for this walk down memory lane.

Margaret Simon

The title says it all!

Fran Haley

Yup-! I so remember this myself, Linda! That title is a gem of a poem-starter about this note. The trinet is a perfect fit here.

Angie

What a neat form. I need to start collecting all of these so I don’t forget them!! That title, so good!!

weverard1

Linda, loved this poetic note! <3

Christine M Baldiga

Linda, I was brought right back to middle school with the “I would die if he knew!” Oh the angst of teenage love. Thank you for this short form. I’m going to try it on a poem today.

Sharon Roy

Linda,

I, too, wrote in free verse, but felt my poem needed some structure so I stole your idea of writing a trinet. My first one. Thanks for giving me a form to try out.

Your poem brings me write back to telling my friends in fifth grade about a secret crush. You nailed the feelings—struggling with embarrassment and intensity.

Thanks for sharing and leading me into the trinet.

Stacey L. Joy

What a fun form for this prompt, Linda! I haven’t heard of a trinet and will save it for future use. I am in love with the innocence of this poem. Love and romance were so much more exciting in the old days, in my opinion. Nowadays, it seems kids just text the message and then they’re jumping on each other. Icky!

I appreciate this tender moment I can hold onto for awhile.

Jennifer Guyor-Jowett

Susan, thank you for bringing back a bit of childhood today. I could imagine your letters fitting into my hand with your description of their shape, “origamied artfully into a triangle.”

Playground Games

i find the folded paper
in the back of an old box
the words faded and worn
left to wander in the past
(pick a number)
i peal the edges up
gently press the folds down
run a hand along letters
softened into the creases of age
(one, two three, four)
it speaks of futures
this writing of the past
and possibilities
foretelling fortunes and hardships
(pick a color)
cootie catcher catching cooties, 
birds whirling in the whirlybird
chatterboxing
snapdragon fortune teller
(b-l-u-e)
you’ll live in a one story cottage
with two kids
and a dog and
drive a red mustang

Linda Mitchell

Love this! Oh, the hours spent playing with these. This line, “softened into the creases of age” got me. I feel like that’s me, my physical self these days. And, chatterboxing is a fantastic verb!

Susan

I love how your brain went to cootie catchers! What a name and what a concept. I’m sure you’re loving that red mustang! Wouldn’t it be an absolute riot if these came back? Your way of putting the choices in parentheses really works, and I especially LOVE these crafty lines:

it speaks of futures

this writing of the past

Kim Johnson

Jennifer, the cootie catcher days of our crystal ball futures seem like yesterday, and you capture this like it’s our moment, standing on the playground, choosing those flaps and folding them back to reveal our destinies as we ran off building the castles of dreams in our minds…..wondering what we’d name the dog and whether our kids would be boys or girls sitting in the back of the shiny mustang, hoping it would be a convertible.

Margaret Simon

The parenthesis is a great craft move for this poem. I remember and still see fortune tellers. This is a classic that has withstood the test of time.

gayle sands

Cootie Catchers! I had completely forgotten about them, and now my muscle memory is kicking in as I wiggle the corners. This phrase—
“the words faded and worn
left to wander in the past”

it made me sigh…

Angie

Haha, the description of this cootie catcher is everything. I know I have some somewhere but who knows where. Thank you for bringing it to life for me. I did actually make one last year through this activity: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/157106/cootie-catcher

I love “it speaks of futures / this writing of the past”

Jennifer Guyor Jowett

O M GOSH! I am going to fit this into the remainder of the school year somehow! How fun!! Perfect for MG!

weverard1

Jennifer,
Ah, the cootie catcher! Love this vivid memory — how’d yours turn out? XD

Stacey L. Joy

Jennifer,
I can see the cootie catcher like it was mine! How fun to remember the intrigue of what our futures would be. Thank you for bringing this special time back to me.

cootie catcher catching cooties, 

birds whirling in the whirlybird

Barb Edler

Jennifer, oh gosh, do I remember these wonderful folder paper gems. I so enjoy the way your poem flows and shares each action, and by the end, I am flat out laughing. Love those final details. Golden poem!

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