Wendy Everard is a high school English teacher and writer living in central New York. Her role as mother and teacher has given her plenty to write about since she started writing personal narrative and poetry, lifelong hobbies kicked into overdrive when she joined a summer institute with the Seven Valleys branch of the National Writing Project a few years ago and began mentoring student teachers. She teaches in Cazenovia, New York.
The Inspiration
By the time you’re reading this, my daughters and I will have visited Emily Dickinson’s home in Amherst, Massachusetts, a prospect which, right now, is filling me with complete awe. We all have our favorite poets. I count among mine the English Romantic poets (Don’t make me pick just one!), the aforementioned Miss Emily D, Nikki Giovanni, Amanda Gorman, Clint Smith, Ocean Vuong…and I loved Misha Collins’ collection, Some Things I Still Can’t Tell You (Supernatural! Amirite??). Okay, I could go on forEVER with my list of favorite poets. But the poet on whom I lean to introduce poetry to students is Charles Bukowski and his poem “Splash.” Kids love it: the “naughty” curse word (!!), the upending of what they expect in a “school” poem. See it here. And, so, Charles Bukowski inspired my poem today.
The Process
You may choose any form that you wish for today’s poem – it doesn’t have to be a proper “ode” – but your poem must be about, to, or inspired by one of your favorite poets (we can even open it up to favorite writers in any genre, if you’d like). Can’t wait to see what you come up with!
Wendy’s Poem
Damn,
that man could jam.
Playing “The Man”
with his heart on his sleeve.
I could see myself
falling for Charles Bukowski:
His drunk, brash
celebration of life,
an intoxicant.
Wife number…
2? 3? 4?
Here’s how it would go:
He would be sitting at the
end of the bar,
half-asleep, a
cigarette dangling from long,
loose fingers
And some wise guy
would roll that
brass handrail at
the edge of the bar – you know,
the one that Bukowski’s elbows would be
resting on
and he’d jolt awake,
yelling at the joker to
f off
and the barflies would explode,
with laughter,
Roaring
Roaring
Roaring
(including the blowsy barmaid)
And I’d sidle up to him,
real shy-like
and ask to buy him a drink,
maybe
make some
witty
joke,
and his eyes would rest on me
his cigarette ash would fall slowly to the bar
And he’d smile a slow smile
and say, “You may,
little lady,
you may.”
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.
Wendy thank you for today’s prompt. For those who have read any of my past found or golden shovel poems will not be surprised to learn I chose 2pac.
Dear Mama-
I know I am the reason for So Many Tears but I’m working on making Changes. I want you 2 be proud of me so you can Keep Your Head Up when people talk about me. Yes, I want 2 have All Eyez On Me even if Only God Can Judge Me. Know wherever I go California Love is still in my heart next 2 you.
DeAnna,
Called it. You are a devoted Tupac fan–he’d be proud. I have to admit my knowledge is much more limited, but your poem fits that well.
I actually used seven of his songs titles in my poem.
A clever collaboration of 2Pac’s work in form the form of a letter, a nice connection to his work. Excellent choices throughout.
DeAnna,
Love this!! Love 2pac, and your poem is a fitting and beautiful tribute to him. <3
Oh, Wendy, you challenged us today! Thank you! I love your poem inspired by C. Bukowski, and especially the ending:
“And he’d smile a slow smile
and say, “You may,
little lady,
you may.”
It is real, playful, and fun.
It was such a busy day, but I kept thinking that I’ve never written an ode before. Since I wrote my nesting poem based on Elizabeth Bishop’s poem yesterday, I went with an ode to her today and tried to rhyme. The more I read it, the more I want to change it, so I am just going to post ))
Ode to Elizabeth Bishop: A Poet’s Poet
Elizabeth Bishop, I celebrate you today,
In verses that awkwardly flow.
Your poetry carries a special light
Aiding us to get through the night.
Sharp wit upon your tongue is dancing,
In every stanza, funny or amazing.
Your verses, full of thought and zest,
A treasure trove of wisdom at its best.
“One Art,” you whispered, of losses and pain,
Carefully weaving them through refrain.
The art of losing is hard to master—
You showed though how to face disaster.
In other poems, you authored
A tapestry of images seems crafted
With a precision keen and clear,
It feels reality is here.
A “poet’s poet,” they called your name,
And I am singing your glory today.
For words that touch, convince, and sway,
Elizabeth, I thank you, for you flame!
Leilya, thanks for reminding me about Bishop. I really like your third stanza. I admire your rhyming throughout. Well done!
Leilya, sweet poem about Elizabeth Bishop. I’m adding her to my list to read; after today my list is growing by a lot! Favorite lines:
Of course, I messed up the final line:
“Elizabeth, I thank you for your flame!” ))
Leilya, loved this! Elizabeth Bishop’s “One Art” is one of my favorite poems of all time. Loved your lilting tribute to her with its beautiful meter and rhyme!
I came across Richard Wright’s haikus a few years ago and was fascinated with such an interesting diversion from his novels.
Ode to a Poet
Richard Wright, a novel
writer of great renown who
at his life’s end found
a fascination
with haiku, four thousand he
wrote in just a year–
his last year–fighting
amoebic dysentery
in his home in France
he studied masters
of the form, publishing eight
hundred seventeen
the mystery is,
will the world ever see the
remaining haikus?
his work was full of
color and strong images–
intriguing haikus
Here are two of his:
Coming from the woods,
a bull has a lilac sprig
dangling from a horn
Their watching faces,
as I walk the autumn road
make me a traveler
Cara,
I just loved this. I never knew this about Richard Wright and your terrific poem got me so excited about reading his poetry! Loved your haiku tribute to his work. Thank you!
Cara,
I so appreciate learning new things about Richard Wright. 4 thousand haiku in a year! Incredible, and thank you for sharing two with us. “make me a traveler” is one I will carry.
Sarah
I had no idea! Thank you for teaching me about Wright’s incredible accomplishment. I love how you’ve honored him with your haikus.
Cara, this is so crisp and clear and tight. It reads like a polished poem. I love the blending of your work and Wright’s at the end.
Cara, thank you for this poem today! The first things that come to mind about Richard Wright are his novel Native Son and autobiography. I enjoyed remembering Richard Wright with you and your touching tribute with his haikus.
Cara, I was curious to see what you would do, and this fits perfectly with your love for haikus. I teach Wright, so I love knowing this fact about him. Lastly, I love the imagery here “a bull has a lilac sprig” Thank you!
Cara, This is great! I didn’t know any of this. Thank you for introducing me to Richard Wright’s haikus!
Cara, beautiful. I love how you used haiku to teach us about Wright’s many haiku. Wow. Great question. “Will the world ever see the / remaining haikus?”
Cara, what a wonderful ode. I really enjoyed your last stanza makes me want to read poems by Richard Wright. Thank you for sharing today.
Ode to a Poet Laureate
By Mo Daley 8/21/23
If I were to have dinner with Billy Collins,
I fear I would blush like a schoolgirl,
trip over my words before they’ve left my mouth,
and just generally make a fool of myself.
But in his calm, mostly monotonous manner
Billy would allay my fears, and patiently
wait for my witticisms.
Our dinner would likely drag on,
silent moment after silent moment
with his majesty the former Poet Laureate of the United States
poised to pay attention to my ponderings.
But then here comes the anxiety
like a semi racing down I 80
because
I DON’T HAVE ANYTHING WITTY TO SAY!
Mo,
This made me laaaaugh! Loved how you drew out lines 8-11 — built my anticipation in the perfect way for the delivery of your final simile and final line — loved this. 🙂
Mo,
This idea of you “blush like a schoolgirl” is adorable, and the way the poet is the rock star in this poem and others, brings me hope. Something tells me Collins will find the poem in your silent wit.
Peace,
Sarah
Mo— excellent! The ending is perfection!!
No! My initial thought when I read the prompt was to write an ode to Billy Collins 😊
I only recently became familiar with his work about a year and a half ago. I took his Master Class and then did a deep dive to learn more about him and his poetry. In doing so, I learned of his Poet Laureate project—introduce poetry into everyday at school. Just for the exposure, no assignment required. I’ve been inspired to start this in my own school with our 7th and 8th graders.
Thank you for sharing your poem.
Mo, I love this! (Billy is one of my favorites, too!) And I love the Interstate 80 and Poetry 180 allusion! So witty!
Mo, I knew someone would write about Billy Collins today. I had a thought too, but opted toward Elizabeth Bishop. “ I would blush like a schoolgirl” sounds like something I would do and then “trip over my words.” Your final line made me laugh. Thank you!
Haha! I would love to have dinner with you, Mo. We can eat and enjoy the food, being unwitty together. I love the description of you feeling like a “semi racing down I 80.” Wow.
Mo, the ending of your poem is so spot on. I feel that way when responding to poems here at times. I am in awe of the wonderful poets in this group. Thank you for sharing today.
Art of the Verse Novel
Room 214, Kesha’s House
both gave me new meaning
to what poetry can do.
Helen, your talent opened
new doors for me.
Connecting poems to tell
a novel-size story?
Brilliant!
Your “notes on form” —
back matter — sent me
diving back in; showed me
even more connections.
Encouraged me to seek
out more verse novel authors.
Helen, because of you
I have reached readers
who claimed they were not readers.
The white space on the pages
provides comfort to those
for which reading has been
a struggle.
Helen, thank you!
Thank you for writing novels
in a
somewhat
novel
way.
©️Jennifer Kowaczek August 2023
My poem is an ode to Helen Frost, verse novelist for middle grade and young adult readers. Her novels all include “notes on form” in the back matter. I learned of many new forms reading her books.
https://www.helenfrost.net/books/
Wendy, thank you for this prompt. My friend who has a Little Free Library posted on her Facebook page that today is Poet’s Day. I knew my poem today would be about poets, so I’m grateful that your prompt acknowledged the day as well.
Hi Jennifer,
Thank you for introducing us to Helen Frost. I love how verse novels pull even the most uninterested readers in. I will have to look into her work. Ahh, today is Poet’s Day? Wonderful to know that. 🍎
I loved these lines:
Jennifer,
I had no idea that today was Poets’ Day! How perfectly appropriate for our tributes.
I loved your poem! I’d never heard of Helen Frost, and am now adding her to my “to read” list. Thank you so much for your heartfelt tribute to her; I loved your poem. 🙂
Oh, this is a wonderful ode to all verse novels in its specificity of Frost’s and what the verse novel can do for our demanding readers.
Sarah
I absolutely love Frost’s notes on form, too! She is a genius. I love your poem.
Jennifer, thank you for this! I love the ending: “Thank you for writing novels / in a / somewhat / novel / way.” And thank you for introducing me to Helen Frost!
Jennifer, thank you for reminding me about Helen Frost and her brilliant work today! I need to read more of her books. I appreciate your gratitude:
“Helen, because of you
I have reached readers
who claimed they were not readers.”
As teachers, we always try to find that right book for the right student, and verse novels often help us do so. I like he final statement about writing in a “somewhat novel way.”
Jennifer, sweet poem. I learned about another new poet here. Love the multiple meanings of novel in that last stanza, and so much truth here:
Wendy,
Thanks for your fun prompt today. I chose Poe today because I always introducing students to his poetry.
Ode to the King of Horror
Oh, how intrigued they are by the story of “Annabelle Lee.”
They ponder the mystery
wonder how she died
& why she lies on her sepulcher by the sea.
Oh, how alarmed they are by mumbling mimes
devoured by the blood red thing that writhes.
So, I ask them to draw what they see.
After all these years, Mr. Poe,
my students would agree,
You still reign as the horror king.
Tammy, I too was always mesmerized by the sound devices and the mysterious details of Poe. He sure is the horror king! I think it’s great you ask them to draw what they see. What a great strategy for building imagery and detail.
Tammi, very fun poem! Your rhyming adds a Poe flair and your ending is sensational!
Since I teach Poe, too, Tammi, my mind goes to having students write a poem similar to yours as a way of showing what they know.
Tammi,
I love that you chose Poe! I think his stories are nearly as poetic as his poems are! He created words and sounds that were so original and effective. He does still reign supreme as the “horror king”. 🙂
Tammi,
I absolutely loved your first line, presented by itself: impactful, and I could just hear the pause after it.
Loved these lines:
“Oh, how alarmed they are by mumbling mimes
devoured by the blood red thing that writhes.”
So deliciously creepy!
I, too, love having the kids draw what they see in Poe stories — and I agree that he is the “horror king”!
Thanks so much for your poem today!
Tammi,
The Oh with the comma and the So with the comma and then the comma before and after Mr. Poe are all doing something for me here as a reader — especially as you made the turn to direct address– like the poem is a conjuring of Poe back to life.
Peace,
Sarah
Tammy, you are so right! Poe is the horror king. I have yet to engage with a student who has not enjoyed Poe. Have you seen this book
https://www.amazon.com/Edgar-Allan-Tales-Mystery-Madness/dp/0689848374
my students love it!
I love your ode to Mr. Poe, Tammi! He really still is “the horror king” for many of my students too although they are in college already. I read your poem out loud, and I like that it sounds like a bard’s song. Thank you for sharing!
Oh, Tammi, this is delicious. I love that your students get to see the horror of Poe. Well told with the rhyming. Fun poem that ties together generations!
Tammi,
You did Poe proud. His poetry is still loved for the chills it gives. Thank you for sharing today.
I love this prompt and have loved reading all of these wonderful poems! Poetry is not my normal creative writing outlet, but I love the prompts to get me doing more of it!! Mine deviates from the prompt but is for Mary Oliver, one of my favorite poets. I love how nature (plants and animals) always gives hope in her poetry. So, I tried to do that here.
How is it possible
That as sirens wail past
And the homeless man perched at the corner of 41st and Goss.
Shouts profanities to his invisible enemies
That the white-crowned sparrow keeps singing as if it’ll never lose its voice?
She’s trying to remind me —
Watch the sun glitter on the sea.
Pay attention to the old man flying a rainbow kite.
Even on a day in August when the rain pours down
When death has the audacity
To hang its black head
That green branches are re-growing beneath black trunks
And the sun hiding behind the clouds
Never stops giving light.
Emily — Mary Oliver is one of my favs, too. The dichotomy between the man shouting profanities and the singing of the sparrows was striking, and I love the personification in the last stanza.
Emily, your poem sheds its own light, giving attention to a man on the street who probably feels out of sight, showing us the birds who naturally sing no matter what and reminding us that through the rain, there is light! Metaphorically, your nature images revive my spirits. Thank you.
I wrote an ode to Mary Oliver, as well! Wonderful to see your take. I am awed by “Pay attention to the old man flying a rainbow kite.” – she slowed down and saw beauty everywhere, in the midst of it all. You captured her wisdom beautifully –
Emily,
I love Mary Oliver, too! She is wonderful in her breadth of topics and always pulls me in. She, like your poem, “never stops giving light.”
Emily, this poem was a show-stopper. Loved:
“How is it possible
That as sirens wail past
And the homeless man perched at the corner of 41st and Goss.
Shouts profanities to his invisible enemies
That the white-crowned sparrow keeps singing as if it’ll never lose its voice?”
Talk about channeling the spirit of Mary Oliver’s poetry!
Loved:
“Pay attention to the old man flying a rainbow kite.”
and
“Even on a day in August when the rain pours down
When death has the audacity
To hang its black head
That green branches are re-growing beneath black trunks”
Your poem did as much reminding for me as Mary Oliver’s do. This was so great.
Emily, this is beautiful. I’m so glad you are writing poetry, even though you feel it’s not your normal writing outlet. This is stunning and Mary Oliveresque. So nice.
Wendy, thank you for hosting today. Your poem is deliciously fun, and I appreciate the closing words that sound authentic.
Footfalls by C. P. Cavafy | Poetry Magazine (poetryfoundation.org)
Seduced
Inspired by Denise Levertov, “To the Snake”
Denise, when I read your poem; felt its weight;
savored its words, pulsing and hissing
like an exotic green snake
with mesmerizing golden arrows
feeling its forked-tongue strike
seducing me with undulating rhythms
that whispered softly in my ears —
Denise —I vowed to read more closely, certain
your voice was everything! Promising
a verdant new field, I hoped to explore, relishing
its taste, its human touch
which left
a blooming desire to devour more, as the poems writhed
and you teased me to follow incredible adventures
delicious worlds and pleasures that I consumed
hungry and mystified, eating insatiably.
Barb Edler
21 August 2023
Darn it, some of my formatting was lost here. Just an fyi.
Did you shape it like a snake?? 🙂
Barb, I felt like it took a sinful “Garden of Eden” turn near the end…which to me gave it a another level of meaning.
Barb — Love all of the vivid verbs — pulsing, hissing, seducing, blooming, writhed. They create a sense of movement.
Barb, you have such skill with choosing words for their sound and suggestive power. Your use of personification adds another level of power to your poetry. Thanks for showing us that word choice makes a difference!
Barb, the sensual nature of your poem today and its title reminds me of those days in school where we all passed around the marked pages of Deenie by Judy Blume. We couldn’t wait to read the forbidden excitement. Thanks for sharing this poet who inspired such an enticing poem! You turned up the heat today!
Bard, your poem undulates with awe. Those verbs! Pulsing, hissing, devour, writhed…all speak to the spellbinding power of this poet. “Mesmerizing,” such a great word – that is what your whole poem is, itself!
Barb,
What an enticingly sensuous poem, snake or no snake! Rich colors and sensory delights all the way through. It was almost as if you weren’t writing about a poet. It leaves me hungry for more…just as she left you!
You always pull me in! Thanks, Barb.💜
Barb, I I had never heard of Denise Levertov, and of course had to read “To the Snake” — loved it!! And I loved your tribute here — the imagery, the sounds…words like “seducing,” “undulating,” “blooming desire,” “devour,” “insatiably” — all so clearly inspired by Levertov’s poem, but so uniquely yours here, and comparing her poem’s effect on you to the snake’s on her was brilliant. Just loved this!
Barb, wow. You have introduced me to Denise Levertov. (I’ve learned about so many new poets today.) And I love how she loved holding the snake, and you loved holding and then devouring her words that “I consumed / hungry and mystified, eating insatiably.” Beautifully written.
Oh, Wendy . . . this is a fantastic prompt with so many directions a writer could go! Thank you for introducing me to Charles Bukowski and “Splash.” I will most definitely be using it.
The first few weeks of school knocked me down hard so I went a little MIA for a couple of days. I am happy to be back doing what I love . . . reading and writing poetry with you wonderful people.
I toiled with what poet to do homage to. I love so many. I started with Taylor Swift, then shifted to Maya Angelou, then ee cummings. Then, I realized that the most influential poet to me is a man from right here in Jasper who taught poetry on Long Island for 40 years before moving back to Indiana and sharing his talents here. He’s a dear family friend, too. While most of you probably haven’t heard of Norbert Krapf, my personal connection to his poetry is so very strong and he is a huge reason I write today.
You Wrote
a poem in honor of Norbert Krapf, Indiana’s poet laureate 2008-2010
You wrote
of life and place
volumes upon volumes
of books of poetry
published while you spent your days
teaching poetry
living states away from home
and an ocean away from your homeland.
You wrote
of your childhood
of a stillborn sister
of your silent factory worker father
of your mother who “went away” due to depression
of a close friend’s suicide, hanging no less
of dropped pigskins and hanging curves
of pin oaks and skinning rabbits and butchering days
You wrote
of your ancestral homeland
of Deutschland
of the ghosts and sprites of Franconia
of saints and Holy days in Erlangen
of Tannebaum in
of ancestors’ ashes in Wonfurt
of Bach and Goethe and Dürer and Brueghel
of visiting Dachau and Theresienstadt
You wrote
of your time teaching at Long Island University
of Paumanok
of Walt Whitman
of Roslyn and the 1925 Dutch Colonial house
of William Cullen Bryant
of life with his Cajun transplant wife
of Richard Wilbur, William Stafford, James Wright, and David Ignatow
of the adoption of two Colombian children
You wrote decades later
of being sexually abused
by your priest
the holy man you served mass for
who dined frequently at your home
with your family.
who was your Boy Scout leader
who took you on campouts
and taught you to fish and tie knots
and the town icon
who stole your innocence
and cast your faith into the shadows
leading you to decades of silence and repressed memories
You wrote
at every stage of life
about the things of your life–
of our lives–
becoming your home state’s poet laureate
and sharing verse
from Lake Michigan to the Ohio River
collaborating with
artists and photographers and musicians
to bring words alive in new ways
You wrote
a verse featured on a floor-to-ceiling stained glass
in Concourse B of the Indy airport:
“Back home on the ground we discover that the gift the great wings gave us is new eyes to see that this place where we live we love more than we knew.”
what a vision to come home to.
You wrote
and guided this young teacher
(whose dad was your teacher)
to bring a sense of place and a pride of home
into the classroom everyday.
You wrote
So I write.
~Susan Ahlbrand
21 August 2023
Unfortunately, the formatting didn’t hold, but I think the effect of the words remain.
Susan, I had the same thing happen to me as far as the formatting. Your poem is full of powerful emotions and specific details to show us a clear picture of Norbert Krapf. I was so saddened to read about the sexual abuse he suffered from someone who he should have been able to trust. I love your closing lines. What a wonderful tribute!
Wow, Susan! What a beautiful ode! Love the use of anaphora and all the many details you include. The ending “You wrote/So I write” is perfect and inspiring.
Susan… every stanza built like stones upon stones in a monument to this great man and poet. Those final lines – bam! The inspiration is palpable. I am thinking how other writers help set us free to write through their writing and overcoming. So, so powerful. And so fascinatingly personal, the connection between you, Krapf, and your dad!
Susan, this was so gripping — your beautiful refrain of “you wrote…you wrote…” carried me through your poem effortlessly and taught me about a poet that I’d never heard of. My Dad’s parents lived in Indianapolis for many years, and I loved learning about Norbert Krapf — and loved this:
You wrote
a verse featured on a floor-to-ceiling stained glass
in Concourse B of the Indy airport:
“Back home on the ground we discover that the gift the great wings gave us is new eyes to see that this place where we live we love more than we knew.”
what a vision to come home to.”
So cool! What a beautiful quote, and what a beautiful tribute! <3
Wow, Susan, what a wonderful poem about this person we get to know through this poem, which seems almost like an index of his poems. That one stanza about the priest is so heart-wrenching. The italicized words adding emphasis to the crime shows how it affected you too. How interesting that your dad was his teacher. Those last two lines are perfection!
Thanks for the opportunity to take a shot at the poem, Wendy.
LAST STRAND
When my blood had surge in it
the back cover publicity still of the poet
was formidable, above and beyond me.
Now old and older,
I see him as the awkward husband
cornered at the reunion with a tired wife,
and we could exchange yarns,
of stained shirt collars and crabgrass.
I move the book, cover side down
So he can look at the kitchen table,
I nudge it,
and he looks at the philodendron,
I spin it and he focuses groggy
on the refrigerator magnets,
stoic but upside down.
I think he died about eight years ago
but for now,
he gazes quietly out my window
with me,
as I drink in my bitter coffee
with his gentle verse.
Wow, Rex, I feel like I am there with you and with him. I don’t know who he is, but your important and close relationship with him is clear through your poem.
Mark Strand…one of my favorite poets.
Oh, that makes sense! I should have read the title. Thank you. I’ll add him to my list of poets I want to read after today’s open write. 🙂
Rex, great nod to Strand. You pulled me into this poem immediately and I like the focus on images and attitudes. I especially enjoyed your last stanza and the contrast between the “bitter coffee” and the “gentle verse”! Brilliant!
Rex,
This was awesome. Some favorite lines:
“When my blood had surge in it”
And this bit of dizzying tactile imagery:
“I move the book, cover side down
So he can look at the kitchen table,
I nudge it,
and he looks at the philodendron,
I spin it and he focuses groggy
on the refrigerator magnets,
stoic but upside down.”
And:
“as I drink in my bitter coffee
with his gentle verse.”
Artless and artful rendering of your inspiration. Thanks so much for this.
Welcome class!
Let’s get started,
shall we?
Ok, could I have
everyone mute
themselves?
Yep, just go ahead
and
What? No, we’re
going to go into
our Breakout
Rooms in a
moment.
Uh, Walt…?
Walt?
Mr. Whitman!
Could you please
put on a shirt?
Yes, yes, I
see, your
body is, indeed,
quite electric
and certainly
contains
multitudes
(I’m quite
certain I
shouldn’t
be saying–)
No, you’ll
need to or
I’ll have to
turn off
your camera.
W.C. is that
a white chicken
eating some
plums?
Ok, let’s all,
no, this isn’t
the time to
share our
pets.
Ok, ok, alright.
Let’s see them.
Nice!
Is that a fish,
Elizabeth? And
Frost that looks
like a spider,
I’m guessing?
T.S. has some
cats, naturally,
and Poe has
a raven (a bit
on the nose,
no) and it seems
like Stevens has
a whole flock
of blackbirds
with him this
morning.
Great, looks
good, folks.
Ok, so let’s
put the Bill’s
in one room:
Collins, Stafford,
Blake, Yeats,
Wordsworth,
Shakes–
Could you please
stop changing
your name to
Billy Shakes?
Thank you.
And, no, Merwin,
I didn’t forget,
I’ll put you with
Cummings
because of
your shared
disdain of
punctuation,
and I see
your comment
in the chat,
Shel, and yes
I totally agree,
Zoom is
definitely
where the
sidewalk
ends.
_________________________________________________
Wendy, this was such fun! Thank you for your mentor poem – the flow and rhythm of it, the “Here’s how it would go” of it – and for the link to “Splash.” It definitely forc[ed] [me] / to a new / madness.” I will certainly be adding some Bukowski to my classroom.
Oh, Scott, how fun! So many poets, and I’m so happy that I recognize them. What a clever way to honor your poets! Walt without a shirt made me laugh aloud. A perfect beginning to the litany of poets and their exuberant participation in your class/poem.
This was so much fun!
Scott, you brought a Zoom premise vibrantly to life with this effort. The shorter lines really help give it a bit more of a craziness, like the Zoom has gone off the rails. I love your imagination and the direction it went.
Scott, I concur with other responders who point out how cleverly you went from a 21st century phenomenon of ZOOM breakout rooms to classifying the classical poets of the canon. I hope you share this with your students and see which ROOMS they put their poets in.
Fun and inspiring all at once!
Scott,
Your skills just flat pisses me off. You are so dang talented. And funny! And knowledgeable.
LOL 🙂
Scott,
This was brilliant and a wonderful (and blessedly fantastical) throwback to online teaching. I’m so glad you included so many of my favorites, especially William Stafford, one of Oregon’s early poet laureates. Thank you, as always for the fun ride!!
Scott— I love this! The rooms, the names, the tendencies. As always— hurrah!
Scott, I guffawed more than once, my husband glancing at me, puzzled. Favorites:
“Uh, Walt…?
Walt?
Mr. Whitman!
Could you please
put on a shirt?”
(Chortled.)
“Could you please
stop changing
your name to
Billy Shakes?
Thank you.”
(Giggled.)
“and I see
your comment
in the chat,
Shel, and yes
I totally agree,
Zoom is
definitely
where the
sidewalk
ends.”
(Bleated laughter.)
Love this. Thank God the Greats weren’t educated this way (will any future Greats be?). Thank you.
Wendy, thanks for this opportunity! You really set the scene in your poem, and I loved how visual it all was. It’s like I was sitting there too.
Though she is known for her poetry, which I’ve also read, I will be teaching Joy Harjo’s memoir, Crazy Brave, this year. This prompt allowed me to settle in next to her and show gratitude for what she has shared with the world.
An Ode to Joy Harjo
East
is the direction of sunrise
and Joy’s beginning
in Oklahoma. Her parents
meeting and merging.
Her own children and
grandchildren being born.
North
is the direction of cold
winds and difficult
teachers. A troubling
childhood. An early
pregnancy. And another.
Single motherhood
and going to school.
West
is the direction of endings.
Goodbye to abusive
fathers and husbands.
Running from alcohol addictions.
Severing unhealthy relationships.
South
is the direction of release
and fire. Poetry, prose, music, art.
Continuation of Muscogee Nation
traditions and stories.
Oh, Rachelle, this was great. Loved the structure, and thanks so much for introducing me to Harjo’s memoir. Added it to my reading list. Loved the anaphora in the beginnings of each line of your poem and lent this such a distinct tone. Thank you!
Rachelle, what a beautiful tribute to Joy Harjo. I love how you use the directions to hang each stanza on. Beautiful. That last one is hopeful and shows all she has overcome and accomplished. A favorite…
“South
is the direction of release
and fire.”
I love how you start each stanza with a cardinal direction. Thanks for linking her poetry foundation page so we could delve into her life and work!
Rachelle,
I love how you both honor her and reflect her heritage in your ode. I’ve read a few of hers, but I need to dig deeper, she’s a fascinating person and I’m so glad you get to teach her memoir.
Rachelle,
I love how you structured you poem with directions, it reminds me of The Rose Ceremony the young men of DeMolay put on for the newly installed Honored Queens and Worthy Advisors. Thank you for sharing today.
Wendy, this prompt and your poem made my morning all the better. LAUSD is closed due to yesterday’s storms so that gave me time to pause and enjoy your poem and Bukowski’s too. I love the sensuous flow of yours so much. I see it like I’m watching a movie.
Here’s my ode to all of my loves!
A Poet Who Claims You’re All Her Favorites
Wendy prompted me to write an ode
to honor my favorite poet
it’s like asking a mom
to choose her number one favorite child
Imagine how Jacqueline would feel
if she knew I chose Kwame over her
or how Kwame would feel
if I chose Jacqueline over him
Imagine how Maya would sigh
if I said Nikki is my favorite
or how Nikki would smirk
if I chose Maya over her
Imagine how Lucille would grumble
if I claimed Langston was number one
or how Langston would glower
if I chose Lucille over him
Imagine how I feel loving each of them the same
Imagine if one day they all chose my name
©Stacey L. Joy, August 21, 2023
Stacey, you’re cracking me up. Yes, yes – – it’s okay to not proclaim THE favorite. You’re right….it’s like a favorite kid in the mix. They’re all loved for so many different reasons that it’s just too hard to choose. We can’t have Langston glowering and Lucille groaning and Nikki smirking and Maya sighing…..or J or K getting their feelings hurt. I’m standing with you on the nondeclaration clause.
Stacey— you are right! You can’t choose just one! This is so fun, and so true…
Stacey, I was struggling to pick a favorite too, so I really love what you did here. You ended it with such an interesting touch “Imagine how I feel loving each of them the same / Imagine if one day they all chose my name”. That is such a fun thought.
Stacey, I loved, loved the verbs in this poem: I could picture Maya “sighing,” Nikki G “smirking,” Lucille “grumbling” and Langston glowering: the alliterative quality of them also made them so memorable. And that last stanza made me grin — loved this. Thank you!
Stacey, enjoy your day today. I hope all are safe where you are. I think a day off was a good idea. The schools in the desert are closed too–so many closed roads. I’m sure it would have been hard for people to get to school.
I so love how you use the first names of your authors, and I was happy I recognize them all. I’m going to go read a few from each now in honor of them. I love that beginning (comparing to children–so good) and the ending! Yes, I can definitely imagine that these icons would choose you. Just look at you here: https://twitter.com/Joyteamstars/status/1691894003606892679
Denise, thanks so much! That tweet (or X Post, whatever they’re calling them) caught fire and took off. I wasn’t expecting that at all. I hope to always give honor to those who’ve paved the way and allowed us all to have voice!
Hugs, my friend!
Fantastic poem, Stacey. I love how you were able to capture some of your favorite poets in your poem, but your ending is the real kicker! The “favorite child’ is definitely a striking and accurate metaphor!
Stacey!
You don’t just capture how hard it is to chose one, but you work through some of your faves so cleverly!
Hello, Mary Oliver, Hello!
I wake early
to sit here
in this field of words
watching them
fly buzz lope
across the page
watching them vanish
where have they gone?
all I can say is
how grateful I am
to you
how you hold the ordinary
in wings of light
so precious
leaving me
in singular amazement
Maureen–words fly buzz loping. What an image!!
Maureen, this was a perfect tribute to an amazing poet. Loved your attention to Oliver’s beautiful verbs that “fly buzz lope” across the page and how her poems “hold the ordinary/in wings of light/so precious.” Indeed. Beautiful poem. <3
Maureen, Maureen, Mary O is really my favorite too. I love that you say she holds the ordinary in wings of light that leave you in amazement. Yes, that’s exactly what she does. Masterfully.
Maureen, Mary Oliver has helped me slow down and appreciate the little things in nature too. I love the phrase “field of words” merging natural imagery to the poetry.
Wow, Maureen, you have captured Mary Oliver in this sublime and ethereal ode to her work. “field of words” “hold the ordinary” “wings of light” You have created so many beautiful Oliveresque phrases here.
Maureen, wow, your poem is such a beautiful nod to Mary Oliver. You have such a perfect flow of nature sounds and images, and your ending is priceless. Loved the question standing alone and “winds of light/so precious”. Truly gorgeous poem!
Wendy, thank you for this challenging prompt. I have been inspired in two ways this month to read and embrace more poetry. First, doing the Sealey Challenge, where I’m reading a poetry book each day in August, and now with your prompt I realized I don’t really have favorite poets, like you so beautifully wrote about yours–having so many to choose from to write an ode. So you have inspired me. If I do have a favorite, it would have to be Emily D. too. So that’s where I went today, and thank you for the challenge to develop more favorites.
Oh, Emily Elizabeth — Quiet and Elusive
Did you want her to burn everything?
The 1,800 – Poems – we now enjoy?
Your Hills, Sundowns, and Carlo made you Sing
As — Nervous Prostration — kept you Home
You Baked and Gardened and tended the ill
When your mother finally joined the Dyings
“Home is so far from Home,” you distilled
raw emotions about Home. What would you think
About this Home today? Would you be upset
To see Thousands of volumes opining about You
Or 10,000+ words on Wikipedia on the Internet
Goodbye! Dear Somebody!
They’ve advertised, you know
But under the field of buttercups
Do keep your sweet repose
Love love love this question, “What would you think/About this Home today?” Wonderful ode, Denise.
Denise, I can’t love this enough!! So many allusions and references that made me smile, not too mention your imitative form that proved the perfect homage. Loved especially:
“Goodbye! Dear Somebody!”
Just perfect. Thanks.
Denise, I’m impressed by the Sealy Challenge and the reading of a book of poetry a day. That’s better than any dessert. What a great way to expand the repertoire of poets – – and a terrible way to try to pick a favorite after all the tastings of the best of each. I so love Emily. I think of her and of Mary O often when I’m out loving nature and seeking the right words for the beauty. I like that you ask what she’d think of the home today. All too often, I tell my husband as we’re driving the rural countryside that it hurts my heart to try to imagine a Target here or a WalMart there in fifty years. Yes, I wonder what our Emily would think of things today.
Holy cow, Denise! I’ve studied Emily’s work extensively and I absolutely adore the way you’ve captured so many essential things about her life along with the hymn-like formatting you used to create this poem. Your closing stanza is absolutely brilliant. I am in total awe! Love that “Goodbye! Dear Somebody!” which had me laughing thinking about her “I’m Nobody!” poem. What a delightful read! Thank you!
I am far from being familiar with Emily, but the “Goodbye! Dear Somebody,” resonates with me like something she’d write…Now I am thinking I have to read more of her work.
Yes, I should have mentioned that I quoted from her “I’m Nobody!” poem there. I also learned a lot on Wikipedia this morning. I should have added that too.
This is wonderful, Denise. You pose so many things for us to ponder; you converse with her so intelligently about many things in her works and life.
Denise, I cannot help but feel Emily stirring in your lines. What WOULD she say about all the opinions of her today?? Although she sleeps well in that field of buttercups, her poetry remains so alive. That is what she wanted to know, was her verse “alive.” Dear Emily… it is immortal. This is a gem, Denise!
Ode to W
Oh, she is intense.
I thought as white flared
finger tip pinks, as lead
pressed nearly piercing
the page, as tongue juts
past her pout to catch
a phrase conjured.
Oh, this is a poet.
Oh, Sarah, what a lovely ode to someone you got to see poeting–with her fingertips, tongue and pout. I love the image of this young poet you put into our heads today. I wonder if W will get to see it?
Boom! 🎤 drop!
“…to catch/a phrase conjured.” – fabulous!
Sarah–once again, you have given us a photograph in your words. A phrase conjured…I see her.
Sarah,
Love, love this. The alliteration pops
“as lead
pressed nearly piercing
the page, “
…as you paint a picture of your intense poet. I can just see her.
Sarah, the intensity of the pink fingertips…..your observation of her mannerisms at poeming as an intense poet give us the full picture of W!
Sarah, I love the imagery in your poem and how you opened and closed this one. Your poem captures the intensity of W’s poetry. Really enjoyed “as tongue juts/past her pout to catch/a phrase conjured.” Brilliant!
Wendy, please know this is not a slam for your poem with “Damn”.:-) . To broaden their vocabulary, I encouraged students to find alternative words. When there was no other way to express authentic feelings in their writing, profanity was not disallowed. But ….
Ode to Student Poets
Students, you honored me
Each and every time
You attempted to write a poem
With or without rhyme.
When you opened your hearts in words
Resisting foul language for words like turds.
You found other words to say that day
To express yourselves in my class.
I’m not obtuse; I know about use,
That sometimes, such words are needed.
But I thank you all for honoring me
And my advice you heeded.
You learned other ways to express yourselves.
And now some of you have books on your shelves,
Collections of poems we wrote together
About feelings, and times and about more than the weather.
So, I write today to share my view
And shout for joy with glee.
On this special day, I honor you,
The way you honored me.
Anna, I like that you wrote an ode to your student poets. I love that they have anthologies of theirs and their classmates work.
There is wonderful rhyming irony in “Resisting foul language for words like turds.” So fun!
Anna–“words like turds”–excellent rhyme there… It made me think of my students!
Anna, what a beautiful ode to your student poets! Loved your rhyme scheme, the way it lilts and bounces. Love the word choice and rhyme in:
“I’m not obtuse; I know about use,
That sometimes, such words are needed.
But I thank you all for honoring me
And my advice you heeded.”
Beautiful poem!
Thanks for inspiring us to write such odes!
What a neat way for you to reach out to the kids in their reaching out through poetry. If your students are like mine, they probably loved this in its honoring them. It is a special way of giving back.
Wendy— your poem was so intimidating that I was afraid to write my own! How could I compare to the energy you started us out with??? It then I came back to my favorite poet, and wrote a much calmer ode. Thank you for the reminder of who we love to read, and for the intro to. Bukowski (I did go down that rabbit hole…)
An Ode To Maggie Smith
You are so much more than good bones,
although your bones are excellent.
Because life is short
and somewhat terrible,
I need your words.
You are the mother we all are,
or, at least wish we could be.
You observe and hold dear
the small things of life—
your sky is a tunnel we move through.
You stitch a dress of darkness
for your daughter
so that she can unravel it
When you are not there to weave it for her.
You worry and console as exercise;
you worry about the past and the future and the now.
That is the workout mothers must do—
the “ands” of love
Honey comes from sweetness and fear.
Motherless children have nothing to lose.
Your babies made you invincible and essential.
You carry the fear of the world
and it tells you that you are right to do so.
You love the world’s flaws
even as you admit there are so many of them.
Because, you know, this world could be beautiful.
We can make this place beautiful, right?
GJ Sands
8/21/23
Lines from Good Bones, Sky, At Your Age I Wore a Darkness, What I Carried, Rain, New Year’s Eve
https://maggiesmithpoet.com/poems/
Aaaand now I need to read all of Maggie Smith, based on this poem! I love how you wove those allusions in, and I got the theme of motherhood even though I have read zero poems by her. I particularly love the lines, “Because life is short and somewhat terrible I need your poems.” Yes, ma’am.
Gayle, wow, Like Emily, I’m on my way to read these beauties from Maggie Smith. I love the opening stanza, and then the so hopeful and beautiful ending. Well crafted!
“Because life is short
and somewhat terrible,
I need your words.”
I need to read more Maggie Smith – your poem has captivated me. I love these lines,
and wonder at the story behind it. Thank you for this poem, Gayle!
(Also – selfish p.s. here – I had a blur of a day yesterday, and loved your prompt so! I just now added a nestling poem. Thank you for this inspiration & instigation!)
🙂
Loooooved this, Gayle! “Good Bones” is one of my favorite poems of all time. So many gems in here! My favorites:
“your sky is a tunnel we move through.”
“You stitch a dress of darkness
for your daughter
so that she can unravel it
When you are not there to weave it for her.”
These two parts made me sigh at the beauty of your expression — the second, especially, reminded me of my own daughters. Thank you so much for this!
Gayle, thank you for sharing Maggie Smith with us. I am loving that today’s prompt is turning up some new names that we can explore for inspiration and amazement. I think the line that resonates most with me is
Motherless children have nothing to lose.
Oh, that just takes my breath for a moment. You packed a punch today and wrote a beautiful truth all at once.
Gayle, fantastic job of weaving in so many different poems to develop your poet ode. Love the imagery and emotions throughout. I especially enjoyed “You stitch a dress of darkness/for your daughter”…what a compelling and provocative image! Your closing question is perfectly placed!
Gayle – this is just gorgeous. From good bones to the dress of darkness for a daughter to unravel, I was completely captivated. The flow of your lines is just right. It is a spark of beauty, itself, in this world.
Wendy — the poem you wrote is just RICH with marvelous humor and specificity…words so well chosen (blowsy barmaid…LOL), the falling cigarette ash. You did what great poets do so well, you slowed this down into slo-mo so I could inhale the smoke (cough, cough…hahaha), and watch that smile spread across his ol’ lecherous face. Just LOVED this. Let’s hope I can get my Ode on today. Lots flying around here right now, but I’m trying between packing, laundering, watering, sweating, doggo-tending, and …. But more importantly, I sing praises to those walking into classrooms this morning to see the roster of fresh faces come to life with teachers who love writing poetry. Lucky kids. Great prompt, Wendy! Abrazos, Susie
Susie, I can’t WAIT to see what you come up with! Thanks for the kind words! A couple more weeks of freedom here in CNY, but I join you in singing praises to those teachers who are boldly riding well into the fray this week!
Wendy, thank you for this inviting prompt today and for investing in us as writers. Your ode to Charles is the epitome of the reader’s crush! I love it. Oh, to sit next to our favorite poets. Which reminds me of my first poet I ever knew, long ago. We lived next door to a retired school teacher in Reynolds, Georgia, and one day I got loose and barged into her house…..and the rest is history. After she died, two of her granddaughters compiled a collection of her poems, and I got a copy as a gift. I still believe that she pulled my poetry strings out and brushed them…..maybe even crocheted them.
Ode to Mabel G. Byrd (December 10, 1900-1/20/1987)
Mama Byrd’s poems
mainly quatrains
ABCB rhyme scheme
Crafting 4-line verse veins
Born in 1900, Taylor County
Little Sweet Georgia Peach
Died 1987, Taylor County
Lived her life to write and teach
I barged right in, in ‘69
(She was 69, I was 3)
I still remember visiting
Listening to poems at her knee
She went blind
But still knew color schemes
She’d crochet blankets as gifts for folks
In gilded yarns, bright blues, and creams
She still wrote, even blind
Poems were her favorite forms
And when I read her words today,
Time turns back, my heart warms
In 1987, I went for one last visit
Dad and I, next to her bedside
Told me she’d meet me at Heaven’s Gate
About a month before she died.
The very first poet I ever knew
Still speaks to me today
In rose gardens and peach blossoms
…..and in Granny Square crochet.
Kim, how appropriate to honor your poet friend with a poem and one in her native ABCB! After reading your poem, I feel as if I know Ms. Byrd a bit–how fortunate you were to be her friend.
I also liked the fun you had with numbers in your poem. Good work!
Kim, this poem just touched my heart: such a moving tribute to “Mama Byrd” (that phrase!). That second-last stanza made me tear up when I read her words to you. Rich with imagery, this poem was as much a treat as the peaches, crochet, and colors that permeated it! Thank you. <3
Kim–so I may or may not have teared up a little on this one. What a beautiful tribute to your very first poet–in rose gardens and peach blossoms and Granny Square crochet. Breathe deep…
Oh, Mabel G. Byrd–how lovely that you wrote this ode to her. I love that age difference, and how she laid a poetic foundation in that sweet precocious three-year-old you. I love this poem. Is there a relative you are still in touch with to share it with them?
Kim, what a sweet and loving ode to your Mabel! She must be dancing in heaven.
Surely, one day many years from now, you’ll do the same and someone will write an ode to you!
I love you and Ms. Mabel too!
What a gift of a poem to commemorate your dear Mabel! I love the image of three-year-old you bursting in on her; I bet she found that so very sweet. I love storytelling poems, and here you have introduced us to your poet friend and shared some of her magic – especially poignant to do so in an ABAB format. Just lovely!
Ahhhh, Kim, your poem is so precious. I love your tribute to Mama Byrd and how she still speaks to you today. I can smell the roses and peach blossoms from here. Truly beautiful poem. Thank you!
Kim, what a lovely, lovely ode to the extraordinary Mabel Byrd. I’ve no doubt she crocheted your poetry strings long ago. I can just see little you at her knee. I can see her eyes clouding and her hands continuing to create beauty for the giving. Your rhyme, the imagery, all of it, pulls on my own heartstrings.
oooooh! Wendy, I dig this prompt. And, of course, Bukowski’s poem puts one in a mood to write. Fabulous mentor text. Thank you! I know he’d buy you that drink.
I just started writing thoughts and then turned them into a haibun with a tanka. I “ound” lines of 5 and 7 syllables from my free write for a tanka. It was super fun. Thank you!
she became a friend
and she didn’t even know
the first poet that
made me feel life in the way
it bleeds was Linda Pastan
Linda, this was just gorgeous! This just pops:
“the first poet that
made me feel life in the way
it bleeds “
…and your journal entry was so lovely — it absolutely touched my heart. Would that we all had a Linda Pastan who made us feel like our writing really matters, giving us permission to write about the everyday. Loved this, thank you!
Linda–the ending–I sat at her feet and she didn’t even know. I’m just sitting here thinking about it. And going to look up her poetry–right now!!
Oh, Linda, you were inspired today! This is gorgeous. I love the prose piece you wrote, in fact, it gave me goosebumps (in a good way). So so beautiful. Now I’m off to read some Linda Pastan.
“The first poet that made me feel life in the way it bleeds” – so magnificent a line. Such a truth about the effect of poetry on the soul. From your notes to final form, Linda, a glittering gem of a poem, a jewel of an ode.
Wendy, your poem unfolds like a movie scene – I see the brash Bukowski in the smoke-filled room, the “blowsy barmaid,” you sidling up (like a young starlet), and his slow smile- it’s so real, and so compelling! I adore story-poems.
Thank you for this extremely fun challenge today… so, here’s my “ode” to Edgar Allan Poe, which is really a pretty heavy borrowing from his opening stanza of “The Bells“:
On Reading a Collection of Poe At Bedtime
Drink your fill now, from the wells—
wording wells!
What a world of imagery their substance foretells!
How they trickle, trickle, trickle,
In the still of starry night!
The moon, a silver nickel
Sets the dreaming brain a-tickle,
Pouring forth its crystalline delight.
It’s all timing, timing, timing,
To the beat of life, a rhyming,
With the heart’s throb-throb-throbulation that so magically swells
From the wells, wells, wells, wells,
wells, wells, wells—
From the tinkery and trickling of the wells.
–you may also have caught a glimpse of a favorite artist 🙂
“in the still of starry night” is such a great phrase as is, “sets the dreaming brain a-tickle.”
And, yes I did spot that artist. What a great take on this prompt. Love it all!
Fran! Ring-a-ding-ding, girl. You nailed this. No greater compliment than imitation… Poe is smiling at you. Your poem rings…I can hear it…it demands oral recitation! Just delightful. Share this with your kids! You may well have a gaggle of Poe-tish poets in your class who will love creating such an effective “sound” poem. Hugs, Susie
Fran, this was a romp!! So fun to read! I love “The Bells,” and loved your brilliant riff on it. My favorites:
“The moon, a silver nickel
Sets the dreaming brain a-tickle,”
“It’s all timing, timing, timing,
To the beat of life, a rhyming,”
Loved, too, your allusion to van Gogh that made this even richer and added another layer of imagery to this. What a sparkling gem.
Fran–you nailed it!! I read it with all the urgency with which it was written–and out loud, at that! Throbulation needs to be a word, you know!!
I know, Gayle, I loved that word!!
Oh, yes, we did catch a glimpse of your beloved Poe. So sweet that I wanted to read this before bed to set my “dreaming brain a-tickle.” “throb-throb-throbulation” and the repetition of other words makes it an invitation to read aloud.
Fran, your poem captures the musicality of Poe’s “The Bells” so effortlessly. Loved “silver nickel/…dreaming brain a-tickle”. Lovely poem full of sound and beauty!
Oh, goodness, Fran . . . I truly felt like I was indeed reading Poe. Its rhyme, repetition, and word play definitely has that Poe feel. You are a genius.