I could tell you that I’m a high school English teacher in Michigan, and that, I guess, is true enough, but, just now, I’d really rather strive – as Hemingway would say – to write “one true sentence” about myself: I’m a person who thoroughly enjoys reading and writing poetry.
(Side note: it took way too many drafts to get that one, still rather clunky, sentence. It’ll just have to do. 😀)
Inspiration
Do you have those moments while you’re just drifting off to sleep and you think to yourself how some event or interaction (during the previous day) could, or, perhaps even, should, have “played out” differently? Do you ever think that oh, I should have said this or you know what? I could have done that… We live our lives in a rough draft. Now, this is nothing new, no stunning insight, but let’s use poetry today to change our past, to rewrite what has already been written.
Process
Imagine a time or event that you would have “rewritten” if you had the chance. This can be real or imagined, serious or comedic. I’ll leave the details to you. And you can explain/describe the event and then the “rewritten” version or leave either (or both of the “situations”) vague. You could even just “note” or “witness” the “event” and maybe ponder its significance (or lack thereof?). The choices are yours.
In terms of mentor pieces for this prompt, many poems “fit the bill” regarding this theme of “reflecting on past events,” so I’ve chosen three that I just stumbled upon this past week. They all three (in some way) capture “the spirit” of what I was thinking for this prompt.
“Ship” by Mag Gabbert: https://poems.com/poem/ship-by-mag-gabbert/
“Why Did It” by William J. Harris: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/159452/why-did-it
“The Mower” by Philip Larkin: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/48423/the-mower-56d229a740294
The form of your poem, as always, is up to you.
Have fun with these “reimaginings.”
Scott’s Poem
On second
thought,
after giving it
the briefest bit
of reflection,
I’ve decided to
decline your
seemingly
generous
offer
to participate
on, yet, another,
unpaid, after school,
but (apparently?)
occasionally
also during school
hours (but don’t
worry, it’ll just
be during your
planning period)
Committee
or Team
or Task Force
to assess
and leverage
or was it
to scaffold
and impact our
synergistic
stakeholders
in our learning-
intensive, inquiry-
centered, evidenced-
based, flipped, yet,
traditional, backward-
designed, blended,
constructivist, cross-
curricular, customer-
driven, authentic,
actionable, brain-
compatible and child-
centered curriculum.
I would like to say,
and, in fact, am
currently, definitively,
decisively, and quite
unequivocally saying,
No
to your most magnanimous “offer.”
Your Turn
Now, scroll to the comment section below to write your own poem. (This is a public space, so you may choose to use only your first name or initials depending on your privacy preferences.) Not ready? That’s okay. Read the poems already posted for more inspiration. Ponder your own throughout the day. Return later. And, if the prompt does not work for you, that is fine. All writing is welcome. Just write something. 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.
Hey Scott! I love thinking of our lives as rough drafts and that we’re always in the process of becoming. Thanks for this prompt!
Can I Get a Redo?
Nope.
Not in life.
Not no Mulligans in life.
And
Honestly
Probably best that way.
‘Sides that.
The you in the infinite number of
Alternate universes
Already did it different
A million times over,
So…
Just hang your hat on that I guess.
Scott, this is the best poem I have read in a very long time. I may have to memorize it and use it in response to every invitation I receive to be on a committee or team. LOL
Nah, I’m Good
I trust there are a lot of things I could redo;
rewrite the outcome, the scenario, the circumstance.
But I firmly believe that some things are
simply meant to be.
Despite the adjectives used to describe these things,
they shape who we are; who we are becoming.
So, to rewrite and redo could be
the undoing of me.
Donnetta, thank you for this truth! You’re right: we are “made up” of our experiences (for better or worse). And I love your word play at the end with “[s]o, to rewrite and redo could be / the undoing of me”!
Scott, thank you for the prompt! There were so many things that I wanted to revisit with this prompt. I might come back to it at a later date. But for now, I chose to “rewrite” the breaks during this school year when I should’ve been resting.
It was summer break.
I should’ve said NO! and spent the two months
working on the novel that is tickling my bones.
It was fall break.
I should’ve said NO! and spent the week
giving my eyes some much-needed rest.
It was winter break.
I should’ve said NO! and spent the three weeks
Not panicking about a trivial matter.
It was spring break.
I should’ve said NO! and spent the week
Relaxing in anticipation of the work coming up ahead.
It was Eid break.
When I finally said NO! and spent the week
With the family, turning moments into memories.
Saba, you share your regrets and the ways you wish you had said no. I love how your final stanza shows you doing the most important thing: “With the family, turning moments into memories.” Powerful poem!
Saba, I’m so glad you glad you finally said NO! What a great poem. I’m sure you’ll remember next year and feel inspired to say yes to rest more often.
Saba, like Barb and Denise, I’m so glad that you “finally said NO!” and were able to “[turn] moments into memories” with your family! Keep saying NO! so you can get your much deserved rest (and return to “working on the novel that is tickling [your] bones“). Thanks for writing and sharing this!
Scott, I may need to save your poem as an email draft for future responses. Thank you for the mentor texts, I borrowed a line from “The Mower.”
“The bittersweet dream”
While there is still time,
I will walk into the building like
I actually want to be there, and
I will put on outfits like
I am a professional person, and
I will teach like
it’s all I want to do, and
like it’s my last month to do it.
Laura, I think your poem is amazing. I can feel some truly bittersweet emotions. I love the focus of action. Sometimes, when we know it’s the very end of something, these feelings of wanting to appear all together are especially powerful. School endings are so difficult!
Laura, Yes! “I will walk into the building like / I actually want to be there, and / I will put on outfits like / I am a professional person.” What is that phrase — fake it till you make it!? You got this! Only one month to go! 🙂
Little regrets
perch on twigs of memory
they hop and chirp
tickling, almost like
the moment
before a sneeze:
I should have
learned Spanish
I should have
been on time
Bigger regrets
lurk in the dark
moments when
I’m not busy enough–
tree stumps that
crack against my shin:
I should have
gone to Michigan that summer and
lived with my uncle and learned to sail
I should have been
a better friend
But the biggest regrets
are submerged
beneath layers of
choices and water
under bridges
they line my lungs
each breath
brushing alveoli
with second thoughts
and could-have-beens:
I should have held on.
I should have let go.
Allison, you have such a special way with words. I like how you identify the place of little, bigger, and the biggest regrets using the verbs that reveal the in/significance of each group. The “little regrets” are almost playful; they “perch, hop, and chirp tickling” while the bigger ones “lurk in the dark” changing the tone to more serious. Finally, the biggest “are submerged beneath layers of choices;” they are not easy to bring to the surface, but they keep us prisoners. Thank you for your gift of a poem today!
Allison – Oh, this is so beautifully put. So true, honest. The way our regrets fall into these graduated piles that gnaw at us in different ways… it just hits home so accurately. The “perched on twigs of memory “ is a delicate image that grabbed me immediately. The “lurk in the dark… like stumps that/crack against my shin” carry that heavier burden… the words carry an aural tone of weight… low in the throat… so well chosen. And you saved the kicker for last… those choices that grab us by the throat and mess with our very breathing… “line my lungs” with the “held on..let go.” This just hammered me. You’ve not only taken me on your own journey , but you’ve mapped mine. You are a poet, Allison, to the bones of our lives.
Oh, Allison, this is gorgeous with raw emotions of the times one wishes they would have held on or let go. I love the way you tie your ideas to concrete images and sensory appeal. I can feel that tree stump against your shin, the lungs breathing. I am in total awe of your poem. Incredible piece!
Allison, this is, per usual, magnificent. I love the escalation of regrets: from tiny birds that “hop and chirp” and tickle to “[b]igger regrets / [that] lurk” and “crack against [your] shin” to the “biggest regrets” that “are submerged” and “line [your] lungs” and are present for “each breath.” So well-crafted! (And I also love that you captured the “damned if you do and damned if you don’t” nature of regrets with your final lines: “I should have held on. / I should have let go.”) Thank you!
redo
if I had carried the dog out from my bedroom,
I wouldn’t have picked him up midstream and
if I had remembered the beans on the stove,
the wiff I just noticed would be hearty not burnt
if I had not gone sledding at night,
I wouldn’t have 3 broken bones in my ankle
if I had remembered my young daughter in the shower,
the carpet in my bedroom would still be dry not sopping wet
if I had not set out to write everyday this month,
I wouldn’t be sitting here typing my 28th poem (yea, I missed a day)
if I had watched the veil and my feet,
my best friend’s would have left the church still wearing her veil
and at the end, does any of this really matter?
Jamie, what a wonderful collection of stories. I would love to sit and hear them all. Congratulations on making it all but one day this month! That’s huge for a busy teacher. Funny about the veil and your feet!
Jamie, yay to 28 days of writing! I laughed at “the veil and [your] feet” which led to a perfect final question: “and at the end, does any of this really matter?” Thank you for bringing up your stories into this poem.
Hi Jamie! I’ve enjoyed so many of your poems this month. (I missed more days than you did.) I want to use your if/then structure with students. This will be a great mentor text! Each stanza is a story. THANK you!
Ditto to what Allison said about this being a great mentor poem! Love all of your stories embedded in this poem.
Jamie, it does, it really does! This series of unfortunate events “really [and truly does] matter”? How else could you have written this fun (albeit messy — “midstream,” “sopping wet,” and whatnot — and painful — “3 broken bones in [your] ankle” poem!). So, although I’m actually really sorry all this happened to you, I’m not sorry that you wrote this poem and shared it with us! (And come to think of it, you could have just lied about what happened, so, you’re right “does any of this really matter?” No. Ignore the first half of this comment. Just tell us you broke your ankle, don’t actually, you know, do it in the “real world” for the off chance that you could use it in a poem.) 🙂
Hi, Scott! Thank you so much for hosting today. Of course, I expected another poem full of your wit, irony, and skilful play of words. I am glad you are up to declining a “generous offer.” I need to learn saying no. Thank you for the mentor poems. They helped me write today, especially W. Harris.
I thought quite a bit about things I’d like to redo or rewrite. The major ones, I can’t redo, and some little things are not relevant any longer. Remembering my adolescence here.
Letting Go of Insecurities
Why did it take
so much time
to let go of
foolish worries—
she stared,
he said,
they might think?
Why, I could have
moved on and lived up
to my own expectations,
instead of
hers,
his,
theirs.
Leilya, thank you for this truth! Your poem is so relatable: we often neglect ourselves and our “own expectations” when worrying what “they might think.” And in terms of craft, I love the mirroring you’ve created with the “she,” “he,” “they” in your first stanza to the “hers,” “his,” and “theirs” of your last one.
Leilya, this there is so much truth here. I love how you used Harris’ poem and kept the Why and Why,
I love “Why, I could have moved on and lived up…”
Leilya, THANK you for this poem. As I read it, I thought about how many of us COULD write this poem (that is, it touches such a universal regret); yet YOU actually did it and brought us to reflection in a rhythmic and sound-sensitive poem. Lovely (and appreciated).
Oh my, Leilya, your poem is exactly how we can all feel through life. Why didn’t we do what our heart said rather than trying to live up to someone else’s expectations! I love how this moves so effortlessly to your final few words emphasized on their own: hers, his, theirs! Incredible poem!
Scott, I always enjoy your poems and today is another gem. I love your takedown of edu-speak and the very real necessity to say “NO”.
I kinda struggled today, but I appreciate the challenge.
Dear Pile of Timed Writes,
I realize that you are growing restless,
awaiting my assessment,
and on Monday your creators
will ask “have you graded our essays yet?”
and I’ll tell them I am almost done
in a most sincere way,
and we will all know I’m lying.
or at least I hope so…
I do so regret not having attended to you yet,
o’ steaming pile of wisdom that
sits in front of me,
full of astute revelations like
“the author used diction…”
and the insightful analysis of the author’s
skillful deployment of “etcetera”,
the undisputed king of rhetorical devices.
Do not worry, Timed Writes,
we have a date in the very near future
and we will dance until the very wee hours
of the morning.
And I will give you all the attention
that you so richly deserve;
until I am bleary-eyed and exhausted
and you have been thoroughly
gone over, paid attention to
in every fathomable way.
And I hope that you are satisfied,
because, surely, I will have given
you my best effort,
even if it was a week or two
late.
Sincerely yours,
Me
[standing at my desk and clapping loudly — until my wife calls into the office, “What are you doing in there? Are you clapping?!”] Dave, this is great! I feel the pain of “‘the author used diction.'” And there is so much truth in your first stanza: “and I’ll tell them I am almost done / in a most sincere way, / and we will all know I’m lying.” Thanks for writing this — now get back to those “steaming pile[s] of wisdom”!
Dave, this is such a familiar situation. I, too, am always worried and try to grade all papers on time, but I am a slow grader because I like to give them helpful feedback, and it takes time. I like your third stanza:
Do not worry, Timed Writes,
we have a date in a very near future,
and we will dance until the very wee hours
of the morning.
Thank you for your poem!
Dave,
I love the letter format and regretful tone of your poem. Your regret is a bit over-the-top and makes me smile with phrases like “”you so richly deserve”, “every fathomable way” and “o’ steaming pile of wisdom”
All the best for getting through them and good luck with the “the author used diction” and other equally impressive and other wonderments.
“o’ steaming pile of wisdom”
Thank you.
That’s a gem.
Scott, I think I will save your poem for a rapid response to requests from admin. (giving you credit, of course).
LOL. I’m sure they’ll appreciate it. 🙂
Scott–I absolutely adore your poem. I feel the truth of it in my bones. Your last few short stanzas are what I wish I could say on the fly when another “great opportunity” is “given” to me.
Thank you for the wonderful prompt at the end of this poetic month.
There are many moments in my life
I often think I would like a do over on
if I sit and ponder for a while.
But then I think that if I had
seen the red flags in my ex husband,
I wouldn’t have two amazing sons,
more like me, really, than him.
If I hadn’t moved to New York
from California for that same man,
I wouldn’t have gotten the degrees
I have that led to the school where
I’ve found my academic home.
If I hadn’t divorced that man
after trying for far far too long,
I wouldn’t have found the strength
to be the person I am now–
a lighthouse for my sons,
a stronger teacher for my students,
a vastly more confident me.
So as lovely as it is to think about
rewinding and reconfiguring
the lamentable decisions in my life,
they are what made me who I am
and brought me to this moment,
writing a poem about no regrets.
Cara, this is a theme I come back to over and over again. What would our lives be like if we hadn’t gone through all the trials and tribulations? What really jumped out at me is the line about your sons. I’m sure that is what is most important in all of this.
Cara, I totally agree with you: we are who we are because of the experiences — both good and bad — we’ve had/made. I love the power and self-assurance of the lines “a lighthouse for my sons, / a stronger teacher for my students. / [and] a vastly more confident me.” Thank you for this!
Cara, this is exactly what I was thinking throughout the day. If I hadn’t done all my mistakes, where would I be today? I love how many great things happened in your life: having sons, moving to NY, finding your academic home, and recovering your strength.
Thank you for such a wise view of life lived.
Cara, “writing a poem about no regrets” is beautiful and shows the wisdom of a lifetime of learning and growing. This is really a testament to who you have become. Lovely!
Cara, You wrote the poem I wanted to write. I’m not GOOD at regret. Rather, I’d rather use each step/misstep to move forward. You captured that in your poem. NO REGRETS. Bravo!
Cara, wonderfully crafted! I love the line “a lighthouse for my sons” and the last line “writing a poem about no regrets”. Just by knowing you, I benefit from your strength too. Thanks for sharing!
Scott – I can totally relate to your poem. Teachers are always taking on too much, and it feels there is always some new initiative that is replacing the last new imitative and then we are eventually going back to the old initiative.
Saying “no” is the only way to keep our sanity.
I recently interviewed for a position at another school district. I applied for the job because it was a really excellent school district but part of me wasn’t sure it was the right fit. After the interview, I kept telling myself why didn’t you tell him this or that? But after writing this poem, that I really am happy in the district I am in and that I don’t want to leave, afterall.
What I said to the HR Director
on the phone
during the interview
for the position at THAT school
I thought I wanted to teach at
when he asked,
“What would I see if I walked into your classroom?”
Facilitation
Choice
Community building
The buzz words, but meaningless without explanation.
What I should have said to the HR Director:
I embrace creative chaos!
The truth!
Why was I afraid to say those words,
to explain my version, my expression
of facilitation,
choice
and community building?
Why was I afraid to breathe life into those terms?
Why didn’t I wordsmith them into color?
Creative Chaos, there!
I said it again!
Creative Chaos! and Again!
I call it Monday Mania,
but there is also
the, occasional, Radical Tuesday, on short weeks
were creative chaos ensues
through creativity challenges
6th graders designing, describing, marketing,
6th graders writing poetry, writing narratives
about something new,
something zany — build a zoo on Mars, create a superhero persona for a hamster,
design the only pair of shoes you will ever need…
There’s cardboard and coffee filters, straws and glue …
There’s construction paper and papers clips, too
and there’s excitement and collaboration
and out of the box thinking,
Risk-taking & confidence building, discussion & reflection
That is what I should have said on that phone interview.
Oh, well!
Tammi, I’m glad your poem helped reaffirm your present position! And I love the term “Creative Chaos.” Your “build[ing] a zoo on Mars, creat[ing] a superhero persona for a hamster, / [and] design[ing] the only pair of shoes you will ever need” sound like fun assignments. And you’re right, what else do you need if you have “excitement and collaboration / and out of the box thinking”? Thanks for writing and sharing today!
Tammi,
Sometimes, as you discovered, the subconscious recognizes what we want/need more readily than we can. I wish I could see your Creative Chaos on Monday Mania, I think your classroom and mine would be good friends.
Ahhh, Tammi, I sure would love to be in your classroom. Some people don’t understand the thrill of creative chaos. Perhaps you just really didn’t want to go.
Love your passion for creative chaos, Tammi! You said what you thought would get you a job. Thank you for sharing!
Tammi, I’m glad you learned a truth while you wrote this poem. I love the Creative Chaos you describe so very well in the second half of your poem.
Beautiful questions here:
Congratulations on your “new” position at your old school. I’m glad you decided to stay.
REROUTING
Reviews waxed euphoric,
lauding author O with
glossy words:
“unflinching”
“magnificent”
“redemption”
“inventive”
and thereby I plod,
and nod
off in head-jerking
corrections to stay on task,
waiting to turn the corner,
slogging page after page
through a novel
on this glorious
sunny, spring Saturday,
that keeps me querying
why are you not painting
irises while they’re in full bloom
or practicing chords progressions
of that favorite tune
or walking that path with Rayo
over at Blackburn;
why didn’t I tell
Aussie Voice Guy on Google Maps
to put a sock in it
and reroute
my day to an art show?
Nope,
I chained myself to a book
that belongs on my short stack
of Bummer Reads.
Why!?
The voices in my English teacher head
have a wagging finger,
the lead weight of judgment,
that Reader-Shames me
to grind through
to page 546.
Yes, I checked…
112 miserable pages to go.
….Rerouting.
….Rerouting.
by Susie Morice, April 29, 2023©
Oh, no, Susie! There’s nothing worse than slogging through a book you don’t enjoy because you feel you have to read it. I’m sorry you didn’t get to the art show. I have to say, I only give books a few chapters. If I don’t like them, I move on. Too many other great books out there.
Susie, LOL Oh no! Life is too short for bad books! Dump that sucker and paint some “irises while they’re in full bloom.” “[Walk] that path with Rayo” for heaven’s sake instead of “slogging” through anymore of that “‘magnificent'” book! Let this English teacher’s voice calm the English teacher’s voice in your head and give you total and complete permission to drop kick that book across the room (make sure, though, that Rayo is out of the room first because a 546 page stinker makes for a pretty hefty flying object!) Thanks for this fun poem. (And I’m not kidding — anytime you need permission to stop an uninteresting/unappealing/”inventive” so-called masterpiece, just let me know!)
Susie, sometimes the critics sure do not know what they’re talking about. I can feel all the regrets here about spending time with a book rather than embracing the beautiful day or at the art show. I love your repetition with the word rerouting. I’m with Tammi…drop the book if you can’t get into it. That said, I’ve slugged through plenty feeling like I’ve still gotta give it a chance. Hoping your next read will not be regrettable! Hugs!
Oh, Susie, I am sorry. I used to be that reader. I thought that if everyone is buzzing about the book, and I didn’t like or get it, I still had to finish reading, so I could at least have a conversation about it. “Rerouting” should be immediate indeed. Thank you for sharing!
Oh, so many possibilities for this Saturday besides reading this drudge of a novel. I loved this the most of all the alternatives:
It made me laugh aloud. I’m sure you will soon be done with those 112 pages, so your Sunday will be delightful!
Susie,
I know you’ve seen that iconic poster called “The Rights of the Reader.” You have the right to abandon a book, even one snooty critics call “magnificent” and a “must read.” I love all the possibilities “or” promises. Next time put “Aussie Voice Guy” in his place, and unchain yourself. Cast off “the lead weight of judgment” and indulge your inner lust for trash lit if it brings sunshine into your day. And keep writing magnificent poems.
Scott, your poem highlights the very real reasons we often need to say no, and the regret we will experience when we don’t.
A Metaphor
I regret
walking naked
into six lanes
of oncoming traffic
obliterated
in a flame of red
like my trust
feeling the knife
fiercely planted
I can’t eject
Barb Edler
29 April 2023
Oh, Barb, my! I’m glad for your title. It makes it easier to read, and also makes me want to hear more. Wow. ‘feeling the knife / fiercely planted’ ouch. That sounds like a trust-stealer.
Barb, like Denise, I’m grateful for the stark title, and I can palpably feel the disdain and distrust. That last stanza seers.
Barb,
Ditto that comment to Scott. I think many say “yes” to everything because they have not learned they’re not indispensable, which my high school debate coach pounded into my head. Anywho, love the poem. Whether literal or metaphorical, walking into oncoming traffic naked is something to regret. Reminds me when my youngest son pretended to run away from home and ran out the door naked after I told him he couldn’t take anything I bought w/ him if he ran away. Dumb thing to say to a willful child! Like yours, my trust has been “obliterated” and blown up repeatedly. It’s sort of the theme of my poem, too. Love your poem. It’s brilliant, which I’ve come to expect from you. And it makes me think.
Barb! Your poem is so wonderfully visceral: “walking naked / into six lanes / of oncoming traffic” and “feeling the knife / fiercely planted.” These are such vivid details to describe the emotional complexities of betrayal we feel when someone breaks our trust. Thank you for writing and sharing this!
Whoof, Barb … This screams “regret” for sure. I can say that the first four lines really hits hard and makes a ton of sense. So much pain in the “knife/fiercely planted/I can’t eject”…dang! It just hurts, hurts, hurts. Thank heavens we have metaphors…they do help leach out the poison in the wound. Hugs, Susie
Barb — Wow! This is so raw and painful. You’ve definitely nailed the experience of regret and the feeling of being blindsided.
Wow, Barb. This is visceral. I want to use this to teach metaphor to my students. So raw.
Barb, every word is packed with meaning in this poem. I can’t imagine the pain from “feeling the knife / fiercely planted” even if it is metaphorical. Thank you for writing so phenomenally!
Scott, thank you for the prompt and all the great mentor poems. I love the Mower poem because once I witnessed a baby bunny nest mowed over and it broke my heart, when the farmer-transplanted-to-the-city killed the surviving babies knowing they wouldn’t have survived. Anyway, that might be a poem for another day.
That list of verbs and adjectives about curriculum had me laughing. I tried to read it in one breath! It might be impossible. I like that in your poem you were able to say an unequivocal no.
——————————-
What Francisco Oropeza Could Have Said Last Night Instead of Shooting and His Neighbors
Oh, yes, of course, I’ll stop shooting my AR-15 into my backyard!
I guess I didn’t realize it was already 11.
Yes, yes, your baby needs to sleep.
How about if we sit outside and visit?
I know we’ve quarreled in the past,
and I’m sorry about that.
But I’ve heard you are a kind bunch—
You have a big family, don’t you?
Can I get you a Coke or a cup of herbal tea?
Let’s sit on the porch and visit for a while.
Denise, your first line drew me completely in, so I had to search the internet to find out what your poem is about. What a chilling and horrific story. Obviously, your poem reveals a more civilized way to treat our neighbors rather than a cold-blooded killing. There’s so much heartache in the world today. How can we end all this senseless killing? Perhaps poems like yours will bring light to how one should behave which completely contrasts the reality. Thanks for sharing this poignant poem!
I want to live in your poem and not this wounded world.
Denise, if only our words could reverse the terrible decisions people make. That last line speaks so deeply to how we ought to treat one another.
Denise — This is a wonderful voice to turn around a horror. Really a terrific stance for this prompt. I wish I’d thought of this. Such a good poem. Susie
Denise, Before researching this event, I read your poem and thought of how telling it was that “and I’m sorry about that” was its own line. People just don’t seem to take ownership and apologize for their actions anymore: they do everything they can to avoid saying (and feeling) sorry about their actions. That’s what I was going to write, but then I researched the horrific event, and I simply have no words. This is so unbelievable. Why do these “things” keep happening? We just keep hearing about new stories of this ilk. I’m with Ann here, I so prefer your “reimagining.” Thank you for this!
Denise — you’ve truly captured the horror of our world today. Every time I read the news, it seems like someone else is shooting a neighbor or a lost stranger. I really wish that Oropeza had made the choice you describe in your poem. Just heartbreaking.
I’m glad you wrote this poem and I read it tonight. Another morning met with news so horrible and preventable. There are so many alternatives that don’t require a gun and lost lives. Why is something so obvious to some, and I have no more words? Thank you for yours and the rewrite.
Another senseless tragedy. Heartbreaking… Thank you for the attempt to prevent the horrific murder in your poem, Denise!
Denise,
Perfect title. With so many options, such as those you name in your poem, why is it gun huggers choose pulling the trigger on an entire family. How in the name of all thsts holy did we get here? Friend, I admire the way you’ve confronted all these social ills in your poetry this month. You are a social justice warrior.
The Anniversary
Early July
we appear here every year
a spot on the bay
with water glistening behind you
as the ferry boat docks
full of happy people waving,
but this year you are missing.
I can see the chair where you sit
warm breeze
gently blowing your hair.
Oops! I forgot my hat
and hope I don’t get sunburned.
Glad I got a parking place
but sad you aren’t in the car.
Order our favorite wine
I drink a toast to us
but I don’t hear or feel the clinking of the glasses
because there is only one.
I’d rewind this year
to be the one before
when you sat by me and
shared that special cheesecake dessert
that we order every year to celebrate.
Thanks, Scott. How true are your words about the “higher ups” giving teachers tasks. I taught at a private school and was asked to spend weekend time, as well!
“(but don’t
worry, it’ll just
be during your
planning period)”
Susan, how poignant and sad this poem is. I love the idea of rewinding to the one before. How wonderful to be able to share that cheesecake dessert again. Peace to you.
Susan, my heart goes out to you as you continue through the long process of grief. I know these small details are BIG memories to cherish.
🌷🌷🌷
Susan, I deeply feel the absence in your poem. Your opening lines set the scene well, and your last stanza provides the difficult shift from once to the now reality. I found your line “but I don’t hear or feel the clinking of the glasses” especially poignant. Hugs.
Susan,
Your memories are beautiful and capture the heartache of loss so poignantly.
“I drink a toast to us
but I don’t hear or feel the clinking of the glasses
because there is only one.”
I’m so sorry for your loss.
Susan, I am so sorry for your loss, and it is still raw and painful. Hugs and peace!
Susan, this is lovely and tender. I’m so sorry for your loss. Thank you for sharing this moment (and the reimagining of your last stanza) with us! Keep ordering “that special cheesecake dessert / that [you would] order every year to celebrate.” Thanks, again, for the gift of this poem!
Why did it take
dozens of
backspaces
to unpoem
the first of
day twenty
nine’s verse
when I knew
in syllable one
that the only
stroke needed
was CRTL+A
delete?
Why, because
the first
unearthed
the seed I
needed
to sprout
this beauty.
[Scott, thanks for recommending Harris’s mentor text!}
Yes, Sarah, a clever beauty! I need to use that CTRL+A sometime. However, it took me 30 secs to find the + sign!
Haha! Sarah, I love the seed you planted with all those backspaces. It did grow into a beauty. I also think you have honored Scott with a poem in his style. 😉 I enjoyed Harris’ too.
Sarah, I love how you clearly show the power of the poem, the draft, and the reasons we do not want to completely delete. Powerful poem!
Susan, I love this. A recovered seed is the most beautiful of all!
Sarah! Brilliant and clever! Keyboard shortcuts are EVERYTHING! 😊😆
Sarah — So witty a poem. A “beauty” to be sure. Fun. Susie
Sarah,
CTRL+A is a necessity. Although sometimes I like to write long hand just so I can strike words out. Your unearthed poem is a gem!
Sarah,
To refer to my poem from today . . . the undoing is hard and doing it slowly is less painful (?)
I love how you wrote so vertically like Scott does. I need to look back and see if you said way more than you needed to. 🙂
Sarah, Lol. This is truly a “beauty”! Even the look of it mirrors the growing sprout of this poetic seed. And I love the idea that backspacing your initial verse was an act of “unpoem[ing]” it. That made me smile. I’ve never really quite thought of it that way. So, thank you for that!
Sarah,
YES! This is so so true! The last stanza, “the first / unearthed / the seed I / needed / to sprout / this beauty” is often my experience, too. We have to try a few words before they happily order themselves–just as yours did so well.
Tanka on Writing
By Mo Daley 4/29/23
I wonder why I
spent so many years writing
poems, stories in my head
perhaps fear of rejection
ate away at me
Mo,
Write? Right? I feel this. Still, it is so great that you were poeming in your mind and heart even if the verse didn’t make it to the page for others. I am so glad we now can read and witness those poems now!
Sarah
Mo, wonderful wondering here in your poem, and I am so happy that you (and I) started writing them down. Love this sweet tanka.
Mo,
Imagine the multitudes of anthologies we’d all have if we had written from all those prompts in our minds!
♥️
Mo, I feel the powerful fear of rejection in your tanka. Unfortunately, we are often rejected in a myriad of ways from a lack of support to being uninvited to a luncheon. These rejections are debilitating, creating more confusion and perhaps even more rejection. I love how you open with “I wonder why I” because it seems to be the most important question. Building trust and confidence isn’t at all easy.
Mo,
It took an invitation from a friend to push me to sharing. I would never have sought it out on my own–though, like you, I write poems in my head all the time that never make it to paper (or computer). I love this because it mirrors me!
Mo, whatever the reasons, I’m so glad that you’re “writing / poems” on the computer (instead of just “in [your] head”) and sharing them with us! Thank you!
You are not alone, Mo! I think our best “writing” happens in our heads; mine is during long walks. Thank you for today’s tanka.
Well Scott, I enjoyed your poem can say, definitively, decisively, and quite unequivocally that you made the right decision!
Shy Sparrow
I should have unwrapped
the box sooner.
What was I so afraid of?
Must all notes be music?
What was it made me dare?
Was it the rain falling in the rippling stream
or the sound of the fox
searching the woods for her lost pup?
I pulled the ribbon,
opened the box and began to sing.
Ann, This sounds like a beautiful gift! And perhaps the waiting was so the joy would be this musical when you finally got to it!
Ann,
I read this the first time without reading your poem title. And then, I read it again with the title feeling really grateful to Stefani’s prompt from earlier in the month about titles.
How lovely to think about the ribbon loosening to welcome song!
Sarah
I love the ethereal quality of this poem, Ann.
Oh, that precious sparrow. I just listened to a video to hear how sparrows sound. I love the third stanza about what possibly motivated it to open the gift of singing. So lovely!
Ann, your poem is lovely! I am completely in awe of your third stanza, and love that your poem ends so joyously.
Ann, I can’t get over the line, “Must all notes be music?” And still you “pulled the ribbon, opened the box and began to sing.”
Ann, I love this! The trepidation in the beginning — “[m]ust all notes be music” — to the letting go — and “[pulling] the ribbon” — at the end. The opening of this gift and “[beginning] to sing” for this “Shy Sparrow” is just so lovely and so well-crafted. Thank you for this!
Scott, your poem SO resonated with me: “seemingly / generous / offer” is spot-on. Earlier this week I was given the opportunity to do some extra work that was packaged in “this is such an honor to be asked to be part of.” I love the ending of your poem–something I wish I said more often!
Morning Rituals
My dog starts pacing around
6:30 every morning with a little
click clack, click clack, click clack
of toes tapping the hardwood floor.
Every morning, I clear a dog-sized
spot and invite him up with a little
snap tap, snap tap, snap tap
of my fingers, pointing to a nest.
He jumps up, circles around
and plops down with a little
inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale,
of his lungs, cozying up.
Sandwiched between my love
and my dog, my brain does a little
think, think, think, think
of things that need to be done.
I wish, while sandwiched, I
would relish in the moments a little:
click clack, snap tap, inhale, exhale
of slow morning sounds.
Rachelle, Love your AM rituals with your dog and phenomenal play on words with the onomatopoeia ! I could visualize the entire scene.
Rachelle,
I feel like this poem is your wish coming true while we witness it to be so, that in that last stanza you are relishing in the moments a little and see and hear the “slow morning sounds”!
Sarah
Rachelle, I’m wishing to be this dog with so much comfort and love! You captured the sounds so well I can hear them all! I agree, we should all savor those precious and “slow morning sounds.”
Sweet!!
Rachelle — I loved the auditory and sensual feel of that little buddy bounding into bed with your…these doggie rituals are priceless parts of our lives …that keep us more humane… perfect way to ease into the day. Your poem just makes me happy. Susie
This poem really makes me miss our dog. Such great sound devices to make this really come alive!
Rachelle,
This is such a soft and tender moment that you’ve captured in your poem. The idea that we, more often than not, rush through life without stopping to snuggle the dog, is a wonderful reminder. Don’t mind me while I go seek out my own pup!
Your words create such a sweet scene. I love the routine of the experience described in such clear detail and ended in your regret marked by onomatopoeia.
Rachelle, this is wonderful! It has me smiling wide at the whole thing: the play and repetition of words with “click clack” to “snap tap” to “inhale, exhale” to “think, think, think” to the combination of them at the end. And just the description of the scene of snuggling in bed, being “[s]andwiched between [your] love / and [your] dog” is great! Thank you for this!
Scott, where to start with do-overs. There are far too many and far too painful to share here. Thank you for this prompt and for your poetry!
I would be born to a house made of books,
All else remaining the same.
The absence of a father, while profound
Cannot compare with the absence of books
In one’s young life.
It’s always been plain that life will never compensate
me for the dad who was not there.
But the invisibility of books in childhood
Is like having a beautiful but gap toothed smile.
I did make fast friends with a few paper people,
Laura and Mrs. Piggle-Wiggle and the Little Red Hen,
But meeting Fiver and Hazel at 59 is too late.
Lost is their potential influence on a young life.
O, I would be born to a house made of books.
Katrina, there’s so much here to zoom in on, but the repetition of “I would be born to a house made of books” at the beginning and the end is the part that snatches me up the most. It reminded me of my own childhood in that sense. Thanks for sharing this gift with us today.
Katrina,
Friend, it is a gift to me/us—each poem a little more of you comes through to welcome us into your being and becoming. I am sorry for “the dad who was not there” and appreciate your simile in “beautiful but gap toothed smile” in its tenderness. And that last line is almost like a new beginning and a wish and a promise in one “O, I would be born to a house made of books.”
Sarah
We can navigate so much but if we have books, our worlds are golden!
Katrina, I love this! (And I’m simultaneously sorry about “the truth” of this that your speaker wasn’t “born to a house made of books.” I even use the word speaker to distance the fact that it (might, and probably) is you 🙁 I’m also sorry about “the absence of a father” line as well. Thank you for writing and sharing this with us! (Oh, I also loved the line — “I did make fast friends with a few paper people.”)
Scott, thank you for a poem that expresses every frustration we over-offered teachers experience! These code words are no longer enticing:
I used Why Did It by William J. Harris to provide my form.
There Was a Dragon in my Bed
Why did it
take 29 years
and 11 months
to slay
the dragon
Why, I could
have ignored
it at the
pool party
and stayed safe
ⓒStacey L. Joy, 4/29/23
What a great Saturday morning prompt! ☀️
Stacey, this says volumes. And I agree: Why don’t we just stay safe and poolside? I don’t know if the choice to not stay poolside is a blessing or a curse.
Yes, I agree, poolside is not going away but the dragon, BYE BYE!
Stacey, there’s so much more I want to dive deeper into here. The metaphor! The pool party! The space between the two stanzas. And thank you for introducing me to “Why Did It” by William J. Harris. What a delicious little treat. Thank you for these gifts today!
Thanks Rachelle. Now, I am wishing I had titled it “There’s a Dragon in The Pool” 🤣
Stacey, thank you for this! I’m with Wendy and Rachelle here, this speaks volumes in so few — artfully constructed — words. True, you could have “ignored / [the dragon] at the / pool party / and stayed safe,” but I want to focus on the fact that, though it took near thirty years “to slay / the dragon,” slay the dragon you did! Quests to vanquish dragons are, historically and mythically, never easy and never quick. (And I just have to say that I love so much that you used “dragon” and “it” to describe/define/explain this “person.”)
Thanks, Scott! I don’t think he’s a person but I won’t question what God created in that so-called man/person/dragon. LOL!
I’m intrigued! By the way…just had coffee with Dave and he asked, “Wait. You know Stacey Joy.” I was like, “Yup.” Let’s hope for NCTE Columbus this year….a reunion perhaps!
Awwww, man! I won’t be there in person but I’ll channel my energy to feel all the love there with all of you. 💙
Oh, Stacey. This is fierce in its structure (I drew on Harris’s poem today, too). You did slay the dragon, and get to do it again in this poem.
Sarah
Oooh! What an enticement you must have met at the poolside to land that dragon for almost 30 years. This poem makes me want to ask you so many questions.
Ask anything! I’ll say for sure never trust dragons in swim trunks! 😂
Wow, what a poem, Stacey. Decades of writing between the lines. This is on fire.
Stacey, Wow! You have nailed a total regret in two tight stanzas that say it all. I love the contrast of a dragon and a pool party. I don’t know how to make this sound online but I hope you understand the following: mmmmmm….yeah….mmmmm….uhhuh…..beenthere….mmmmm..(I call it young and dumb but maybe just under the influence would do.) Love your poem!
Stacey, you are a brave soul! The longer people tolerate, the more difficult it is “to slay the dragon.” Thank you for sharing.
Scott,
I was hoping you would be hosting and sharing a great mentor poem on a unique topic, and “Voila!”
Your poem so cleverly captures the trendy words and the euphemisms we all encounter.
The Undoing of the Doing
Do I regret saying “Yes!” more
or do I regret the times I’ve said “No.”
(You notice the exclamation point
versus the period?)
Some of the no’s
stopped me from growth
and experiences
and some of the yes’s
overextended me
or led me down a path
I didn’t need to go.
Some of my best
decisions have been
the times I initially
said “No”
then reconsidered
and changed it to
a “Yes!”
That’s a little easier
than trying to change
a “Yes!” to a “No”
because irreversible things
happened,
it’s hard to dial back,
and often “What’s done is done.”
Undoing is hard.
Hell,
doing is hard.
And the undoing
of the doing
is damn near
impossible.
~Susan Ahlbrand
29 April 2023
Susan, This. This very poem — that you’ve articulated so well! — is the very reason that I keep signing up and agreeing to “opportunities” at work!! Lol. You captured it so well (because there is so much truth here: “Some of my best / decisions have been / the times I initially / said “No” / then reconsidered / and changed it to / a “Yes!”). If this were a poorly written or patently false poem, it would be easy to dismiss, but the problem is — and this is a big problem! — it’s not. It’s so well done! Here’s the truth. I believe I will be quoting your verse the next time someone at work asks me to do something!! And I’ll totally blame you. Lol. 🙂
Susan, love this! I remember reading Shonda Rimes’s book The Year of Yes. I stopped declining as much and found myself some new and exciting experiences. THEN I was worn down by doing too much and embraced my motto: “No is a complete sentence.” Sometimes I still feel the need to explain my no but for the most part, I’m okay with it.
I really like the end! TRUTH!
Susan, I love the parenthetical in the first stanza, and your voice in that last stanza is just perfect. “Hell” and all the wisdom there about undoing and doing and possibility and the paradox of it all. Brilliant.
Sarah
I have to share your insightful poem with my daughter. She wishes that today she could undo a lot of obligations she said “yes” too.
Susan — Spoken like a true sage. The wisdom of this poem is no small thing! I LOVELOVELOVE the last stanza… all those “doing[s]”! Susie
A reimagining of my poem from yesterday.
On second thought,
The troubled distraught man
pulled his car over to the
left lane on the two lane
freeway overpass
He exits the car and looks over the side
down below and a feeling/presence
stirs in his heart
He ignores the honking irritated
drivers whose commute he’s
interrupting, and reaches for
his cell phone
He contacts his mother/sister/lover/
best friend/Priest and has a brief
conversation, despite the car horns,
stares, lowered planes about to land
and chilled foggy weather.
He remembers there is hope, faith, and redemption
available for everyone
He reopens his car door and sits down
He restarts his engine, puts the car in
drive and continues with his day.
Seana,
Do you know what happened to that man? Is there a news report? I wish your reimagining were reality. I love the list of folks he could talk to, a reminder there is always some who will help:
“He contacts his mother/sister/lover/
best friend/Priest and has a brief
conversation,”
Glenda, shockingly it wasn’t on the news but a similar event happened 16 hrs. prior on the same exact fwy. I did see a report that the Highway Patrol came within 30 minutes and had to clear/resolve the area quickly. I’d like to share that being a part of this community of teacher writers and getting this poem out of my head/heart yesterday was a HUGE blessing. I was able to put it aside, teach and enjoy my students yesterday.
Seana, still hurting for you and his soul. As soon as I read Scott’s prompt, I thought of you. I love the revised past you’ve created. I wish every human on earth knew there was help in the darkest of times. I wish. I pray.
Hugs, Sis.
💙
Thanks Stacey. Again, being able to write about it immediately was such a blessing. I’m immensely grateful for this loving community of writers. Spending the weekend with loving friends will also be healing.
Seana, I love this reimagining of the terrible event that you witnessed from yesterday. Thank you for using your craft — “despite the car horns, / stares, lowered planes about to land / and chilled foggy weather” — to rewrite it. I’m still so sorry that you were part of that event yesterday, but I’m glad the weird synchronicity of this prompt allowed for you to reword and rework it. Thank you for writing and sharing with us.
Seana ~ if ever there was an incident that begged for a reversal this is it ~ been thinking of that man, and you. You’ve created such a beautiful world here — with mother, sister, lover, best friends and priests to help us through the “chilled foggy weather”. Wishing that were so for everyone
Thank you. This community of writers is such a blessing especially when I needed it. I’m grateful for everyone’s thoughts.
Seana, I loved thinking deeply about your poem from yesterday, and was chilled (thrilled) to see your revision today. That is the beauty of the poetic process….I love the wonder about who the contact might be: mother/sister/lover/best friend/Priest.
Thank you!
Seana, you were the first person I thought of today when I saw the prompt. I’m crying about this reimagined story. Good for you for writing it, and peace again as you continue to process.
Amen!
Seana, I’ve been thinking of you and so grateful for this follow-up poem. Your poetry is a beautiful example of writing as a tool for healing. Thank you for sharing your experience and process.
Scott, thank you for hosting today.
no regret girls’ trip
wine, belly laughs, nature walks
limited writing
ENJOY! But we all know the girls trip will be writing you, as well. The explosions come later!
Stef,
Have a blast! I love it and know you’ll have much to share in writing later.
Cheers!
Stef, this sounds great! (Not just the flow of your haiku but also the content of it! “[N]o regret girls’ trip” has such a wonderful rhythm to it. It’s fun to say that line out loud!) Have fun now…and, as Stacey suggests, write more later!
Stefani, as a person who attends Girls’ trip yearly, I adore your poem. My friends and I call ourselves, Divas. You captured every event that happens. The belly laughs and love, as you know, are the best parts. Enjoy your sisterfriends 😍
What a great poem to demonstrate the “limited writing” I hope you have a wonderful weekend!
Hello Scott. As a fellow Michigander, you’ll recognize the imagery, even though the poem is set in upstate New York. Amazing, too, today I found a photo of furniture like that I found for sale …
After the Fire
After the fire, I had the desire
To redecorate but at a low cost
So, I checked the news for used furniture
Watching the fads while scanning the ads,
To see what was cheap, but still good.
A bedroom suite that couldn’t be beat
Was for sale by a family in the next town,
It sounded great, and I couldn’t wait
To see it for myself. So, I put caution on the shelf.
Despite the deep snow, I decided to go
Driving carefully down the unsafe slick streets.
Who knew the house was down a steep hill?
The heat of my desire started to chill.
I slid down,but getting back up would need a horse!
That I didn’t have, of course.
I slipped and swerved ‘round the curve,
Pressed the brakes and skidded on the ice.
Apparently, the owner was watching.
I was gnawing at her last nerve!
Then she came out shaking her head, but real bold
She brought an old bath rug
Laid it in front of my back tire and against that tug
The rubbing of rubber against rubber
Created enough traction to get me out of that hole.
And behold, when I look into the bedroom
Where that used furniture now grandly sits
I think the next time I’ll buy new at full price
But at that time, used did suffice
Mainly ‘cause that owner was so nice.
What a fun memory, Anna – I love the fearful journey followed by the very helpful gesture from the woman selling the furniture,
A simple solution, too! Necessity is the mother of invention, yes?
Anna, I was with you there in the passenger seat, my foot on the dash, fingers gripping the over-door handle (commonly called something else here in the South, at least). The unsafe slick streets are so everywhere, so prevalent in our lives, as we navigate steep terrain. It sounds like the seller had brought a rug out a time or two before, knowing all too well the troubleshooting remedy for the stuckness that almost needed a horse (absent, of course). The bed is a beauty! You now have a true conversation piece. Perhaps this poem goes in a frame on the dresser. Oh – – or maybe over the bathroom rug. Cheers, friend! Happy you are safe and sound.
I need to hire you as a consultant as I have no visual/spacial intelligence and still live like a teenager. Beautiful. I love how you took a simple every day decision and turned it into this poem,
The rhyming is your expertise…the storytelling your gift!
Anna,
A sleigh bed is a classic style, so it’s surprising you found such a treasure. Anyway, I love this story. It takes me back to my teen years in Missouri. An aunt and uncle lived up a steep hill where I spent college breaks. My cousin would haul coals from the fireplace out and scatter them on the driveway so my car tires could get traction. What a memory.
Anna, as a city girl who has never experienced snow issues on the road, I held my breath through the ride! Wow, so grateful you were in the right place at the right time and …
You’re the expert with rhyming. Love how easily it flowed and how clear the images are here.
Anna ~ I thoroughly enjoyed this poem and reminded me of all the times I “put caution on the shelf” … glad this time got a happy ending and lovely bedroom set!
Anna, yep! Those snowy and hazardous conditions you so vividly describe (in rhyme!) strike such a familiar chord with us Michiganders. I also really loved the poetry of “put[ting] caution on the shelf” and “[t]he heat of my desire started to chill” and the wonderful repetition in “[t]he rubbing of rubber against rubber.” Thank you for remembering this memory, for finding a photo to accompany it, and for sharing it with us!
Anna, that is amazing! What a story. You described the slipping and sliding on the ice with such depth and purpose. I feel like I was there! Amazing! So glad it all worked out and I think this poem gives a good how-to with that rubber-on-rubber life hack. The rhyming is very effective in this poem.
Scott, these mentor poems were absolutely fabulous. Your poem, too – I think you need to post it in your teacher’s lounge. Thank you for today’s inspiration.
sphere of reflection
the glass orb
from the high shelf
how I love watching her play with this
she turns it so
slowly softly simply
fear and delight
even at two years of age
she knows
she has been given
something so delicate
I had a moment
like this
with you
just now in bed
as we whispered
about the day to come
living love
through watery eyes
this sense
something precious
fleeting
I feel
time
now
I feel
here gone then was
I feel
hold
Maureen, the metaphor of time in a glass orb, and the fascination of a child’s gaze upon the orb work together in such a partnership of things precious – time and wonder. What lovely moments to capture and share this morning – to hold close what we can, while we can.
I love the last word, Maureen…the play on sound, the multiple meanings.
both old and held, precious and timeless…I want the pace to be put on hold, too, but growing old you learn otherwise. Stunning.
Maureen,
That second verse is a little steamy! But it’s also so very tender, so fragile these mornings we cherish all while knowing time is slipping away and we all face
“I feel
here gone then was
I feel
hold”
Such mesmerizing and ethereal language. I’m in awe of this phrasing. Superb poem.
Maureen, what a love poem. This poem is breathtaking, really. “living love / through watery eyes” So much more. The precious love between you and your husband mirroring the gentle holding of the glass bulb by Bird is so gorgeous.
Maureen, I am haunted by our “this sense/something precious/fleeting”.Appreciating the moments that matter most to us, I think is the way we hold on. Love your tender, poignant poem! Very moving!
Maureen, reading your poem and the responses show the depth of your mastery of this genre! I so few words, you’ve painted memories so well. These lines do it for me.
slowly softly simply
fear and delight
even at two years of age
she knows
she has been given
something so delicate
They remind us that memories are delicate and we never know how others will recall what we think is ordinary.
I love where you take the initial moment. The young child handling a delicate orb. How you take it to recall a memory. And then emphasize the time between now and then. And finally this description of fleeting – I feel/time/now/I feel/here gone then was /I feel/hold – to the beginning. We just need to enjoy it at the moment.
Maureen, this is fabulous! Very tender and ephemeral. I love the ending of this, the fleeting nature of this “now”: “this sense / something precious / fleeting / I feel / time / now / I feel / here gone then was / I feel / hold.” That line — “here gone then was” — is so good! Thank you for this!
Hi Scott,
Great prompt. I oven think about rewriting and redoing. I mentioned Daniel Pink’s book THE POWER OF REGRET once this month. I’m sure you missed that, but given this prompt, it warrants another nod. Your poem is a great reminder of all the unnecessary meetings that could have been an email. We all have those stories and memories. I was around five to seven (I think) when I experienced the wasp incident.
Swatting Wasps
Wasps swarmed & blocked
my exit
so my hands took
flight &
buzzed above
& through the
wasps’ flight pattern
until a kamikaze wasp
dive-bombed
my wingless
fleshy tentacles &
I felt the sting
of
future insults
caustic criticisms
gossiping scolds
mordant utterances
silences
reverberate-in-the-now—
my fingers touching
childhood memories—
physical welts red & faded
stingless past
penetrating present
kamikaze wasps—
extended metaphors who
swarm & block
& buzz &
still sting.
My grandfather
warned me not to
swat wasps.
—Glenda Funk
April 29, 2023
This poem is so amazing with the sting of the wasps juxtaposed with a difficult past. I love everything about it!
Glenda, your grandfather’s warning transcends time and wasps for all those extended metaphors you allude to here. The swatting, the wasps – such movement! And those kamizaze wasps fill our world in a way that they never did in your grandfather’s generation – I think of the prophetic ways of speaking future advice given by our ancestors of the past. Your poem brings a needed message for today.
Glenda, yes, indeed – excellent metaphor, these stinging wasps and social insults – how both
I have never been swarmed by wasps like this, but I witnessed my young son and a friend disturb a wasp nest accidentally in our backyard during a game of baseball, and all of us repeat this story again and again, it was so scary and surprising. I feel the same way about being on the receiving end of ugly exchanges – they wound for a long, long time. Thank you for this poem!
Glenda, thank you for the Daniel Pink reminder — I’m a fan of Drive and A Whole New Mind but I haven’t checked out The Power of Regret or When yet. I love your poem! Your poetry is always multilayered and well-constructed / well-crafted. Establishing a possible timeframe with “[K]amikaze wasps” and “[your] grandfather” provides one reading which could be different than just the literalness of a child being stung by wasps and then later being ridiculed for the “physical welts red & faded.” (Side question: why am I explaining the literal / figurative qualities of poetry to you, lol, it’s like talking to Rembrandt, “you see, this is what a brushstroke can do for a painting,” lol…) I also loved the rhythm and visual you created with the ampersands in your second stanza: “extended metaphors who / swarm & block / & buzz & / still sting.”
Same here… I loved A Whole New Mind so much that I wrote Pink a letter and he actually wrote back…a totally nice, approachable guy. Thanks to you both for reminding me of Daniel Pink. Susie
Susie, that’s awesome!! As much as I could tell from various podcast interviews and his TED Talk, he does seem “totally nice, [and] approachable.” I’m so glad to hear this!
Glenda, your beginning and ending with swatting at the wasps sandwiching the list of painful memories is potent. “kamikaze wasps” used in both the beginning and middle is effective. “still sting” Ouch.
Glenda, I love the subtext of your poem. I understand the pain and fear of wasps’ stings, but the bullying and caustic criticisms, the horror of rumors, and the sting of silence is what is truly painful. I love how your poem shows both of these deep stings. Swatting at them doesn’t help and can cause a lot more directed sting. Your verbs are powerful throughout this poem. I see the welts, hear the buzz, feel the sting, and sense the frightening divebomb of the kamikaze wasp. Sensational poem, artfully crafted to show physical and emotional pain! Hugs!
Glenda — metaphors or not… how perfect an idea… WASPS… dang, those buggers are nasty! And seeing all those stingers that keep us swatting our ways through life…well, that’s quite brilliant. I’ve swatted some wasps in my day… ouch! The “still sting” says it all…comes back to haunt… darn it. Your grandfather and my mom… they knew. Love, Susie
Rewrite! Redo Mmm Bop, Woo Hoo! Was that the Hansen Brothers? Scott, thanks for the prompt and for those model poems. “The Mower” by Phillip Larkin will stay with me for life, I belief. I’m forever mulched. I always look forward to seeing the clever word-play and contemplations of your work. We are all with you,
The older I get, the more I recognized the labor abusiveness of our schooling systems, and the way administrators must keep the factories running (it’s inane). I try not to live with regrets (and its’ a prompt that challenges me), so I asked, “What if this #VerseLove April didn’t exits?”
On the 29th Day
~b.r.crandall
I could of burned all those gifts
with my Subaru, brought the
mail lady a hit-and-run
and boasted pride
with all the untalented & ungifted
memberships given to me
since birth.
I could of planted purple triolets, too,
shaved my Cynde Lauper skin
or contemplated laundry baskets
while sitting on a backyard stump
looking north to Sandy Hook
in my Scoobie-Doo Underoos.
The bachelor application
was hardly clever &
I already stuffed it in the junk drawer,
(like the sea-shore sijo destined for the fire pit).
Always this island.
This place.
This space
between my ears.
I could of kept my first job,
but diagrammed verse love instead,
offering historical colonoscopies
while the Amazon destroyed our food courts.
I am just one grain of sand in
an hourglass’s tsunami.
graham, err, is dome
yet I remained miserable in the work,
each morning mocking musical ear worms
my mother don’t like you,
and she likes everyone.
because tomorrow the ‘of us’ hours closes.
I could of burned those gifts.
I wrote this poem, instead.
Bryan, I love your signature style ~ I think one of the things I love most about this group besides the writing and the support and the feedback and relationships and all other things is that we grow to a place where we could predict with remarkable accuracy whose poem is whose, based on styles and themes we come to love in our writing friends. Yours is uniquely you, and while I love the entire poem, I also love each stanza as I sit and ponder and let it take me to a moment. This one, particularly:
I could of planted purple triolets, too,
shaved my Cynde Lauper skin
or contemplated laundry baskets
while sitting on a backyard stump
looking north to Sandy Hook
in my Scoobie-Doo Underoos.
contemplating laundry baskets in the context of Sandy Hook and the laundry that will never now be done, the endless cycles of life that stopped cold, agitated and shapeless. You just simpy have a way, and I often wonder what the photographs of these stanzas would look like. I can imagine them, but the endless illustration possibilities of your poetry are infinite.
Love this!
Bryan,
Ive often thought about the what ifs of not having this specs. Certainly, hundreds of poems I’ve written would not exist. These lines I love:
“Always this island.
This place.
This space
between my ears.”
I think we all have this ear worm:
“my mother don’t like you,
and she likes everyone.”
It reminds me of parents who insist their kid hates reading. Ugh.
Yesterday I was asked to take a long term sub job for a former colleague, so I’ll be facing that on Tuesday. I’ll have poetry to help me through. And when the days are rough, I’m gonna remember teaching is a fairly green profession, according to The Climate Book, and in these days, that means something.
Bryan, If this #VerseLove April didn’t exist, we would all be worse off. And I’m just specifically talking about not having your poems this month, lol. Seriously. I’m so glad you didn’t “[burn] all those gifts” this past month. Your poem today sent me down a wonderful path of your past “gifts” from “Great Northern Mall” (“but a boy who kept his eye / on human nature, / tea leaves, / the power of words”) to your colonoscopy anthem (“intestinal conduit / i is muck, / emptied / (ill-internal, / albeit yuck)” to “Purple” (“Dear People, / Sorry I’m / an introverted / extrovert, / extroverted / introvert”) to “Your Drawers are Showing” (“if Apple stopped finding / new ways to change devices / I wouldn’t store all the chords”) to “Singing Off Key” and it’s poetic truths (“they’re too focused on / making America great again”)….I could do this all day. Your poems are so clever and well-crafted and always infused with purpose and word play. They are truly a gift, and I thank you for them!
Scott – so many things in my life that I would rewrite…. But this one moment with my sweet Grandpa Tony, consummate gardener, gentle man, sticks in my heart. Thank you for the prompt. He came back to me today smiling.
Forgiveness
As I turn to leave, you stop me
“A minute,” you say –
Opening the refrigerator door,
Taking coins from the butter dish,
Pressing silver dollars in my hand.
“For you,” you say –
Fold my fingers around the cold coins,
I kiss you on the cheek and leave.
I return an hour later,
Call out your name,
You’re not listening,
Your raspy breath comes as a warning,
I do not enter the room
Where you are lying.
I know what is happening,
But cannot face it.
I pace around minutes like hours
Till my father, your son, arrives
To rescue you.
“Didn’t you notice your grandfather?
Call 911,” he says.
I stand frozen before the phone,
He pushes me out of the way.
Moments later the ambulance comes,
Takes you away silently,
Red lights flashing – too late.
At your funeral
I tuck a poem – rough words
An apology
Into the pocket of your suit.
You’re wearing a gray suit,
Starched white shirt, a dark tie.
Had I ever seen you in a suit before?
I look down on your weatherworn face
For some sign of forgiveness.
Three days later, I’m in the den reading,
Suddenly, I look up –
Glimpse your blue bathrobe
Trailing around the corner,
I rise and follow to see you
Standing at the stove making tea,
Your eyes meet mine and you smile,
I turn away and look again,
But you are already gone.
Joanne, this may be the most gripping of your poems I have ever read. I know without a shadow of a doubt the trails of blue bathrobes (mine come through hawks and birds, and even seatbelts). The presence of those dearly departed live on in strange and welcome ways that catch us when we least expect it. This one is a shining treasure – I envision it in a blue frame!
Joanne, I feel your young child pain, at witnessing your grandfather’s ailing but freezing up/going into shock, really. I think it is absolutely precious that you feel him visit, and felt him that very week of his passing – that is love, deep beautiful love:
Joanne, this poem is so haunting, I remember so many silver coins pressed into my hand when I was a child,,,you have painted this moment so poignantly ~ the youthful fear of those last raspy breaths…the longing for forgiveness. Really, I love this poem— especially “the blue bathrobe trailing round the corner ” offering his forgiveness.
Joanne, Thank you for reliving this moment and sharing it with this community. These lines are so genuine and heartbreaking: “I do not enter the room / where you are lying. / I know what is happening, / But cannot face it.” This poem is really beautiful! Thank you!
Dear Friends – had to share this on the next-to-last day of National Poetry Month:
Yesterday I attended an event where a man dressed as a fox sat at an old typwriter and typed poems for you on the spot. All you had to do is give him a word and TA-DAAA – within couple of minutes he banged it out and read it to you. He’s known as The Poetry Fox, for hire at events, fundraisers, etc. I gave him the word “poetry” and he said “Wow, no one’s ever asked me to write a poem about ‘poetry’ before!” He started clicking away… here’s the poem.
you know
it’s a good poem
when everything else
you run into
seems like
another poem
you dog-ear the page
and set the book
on your nightstand
but then
the ad copy
on the cereal box
seems like verse
the road signs
have off-rhymes
all language
reveals itself
as poetry
the only language
that ever
means
anything
-Poetry Fox, 4/28/2023
Omg I didn’t realize it was next-to-last day of Poetry Month!! While I do want April to be over because other reasons, sadness. LOVE all of this!
Wow! He did that on the spot? Super impressed!! And now I want him to come and visit my Creative Writers. XD
I woke up thinking, “After today, no more VerseLove 2023!” And it made me sad. But also so happy that I got to experience writing with you all for another month. <3
I want to see him! I want to visit this poetry fox. What a neat-o concept, writing on the spot like a radio DJ taking song requests. How cool is THIS??? And I love his stamp, and his “pawprint.” Do foxes have paws, or feet or hands, or what? I can hear the tapping on the old typewriter. Thanks so much for sharing this, Fran!
Damn, that’s a good poem! On the spot, pecking away at a typewriter, and in a big furry fox suit??? Good work if you can get it? But, wow!
I’m with everyone else. I want more Poetry Fox in all that I do.
This is gorgeous! What an amazing person, this poetry fox!
Oh my goodness! This is so wonderful! Thank you for sharing! This might be a new career path for me.
What a wonderful experience to offer a word this poet has never be asked to write about! Now he knows what’s important to you. And, thanks for sharing his poem. He may even be a member of our group, writing under a nom de plume. Sometimes, in order to get our poems in on time amidst our busy schedules, we whip them out like that too. Seldom as well crafted, though. 🙂
What is this witchery!! I love this! And, yet, I’m also so jealous of Poetry Fox! How could he craft something like this “on the spot”?! “all language / reveals itself / as poetry / the only language / that ever / means / anything” Those lines are golden! (And to do all that while wearing a fox costume?! Unbelievable! (I’ve used way too many exclamation points in this comment, Fran. I blame Poetry Fox!)
Constructivist Criticism
I scored a phone interview!
For a job
Close to home
That I desperately wanted
I prepared
Did mock interviews
Studied the website
This was my dream job!
I was doing well
Confident and poised
When you asked me a question
That paralyzed me
What is your educational philosophy?
My mind went blank
I shut down, so I replied
What is YOUR educational philosophy?
You said constructivist
I thought this was a great answer
So, I said
Me too
Oh Lord, Jennifer. I have had those paralyzing moments during an interview too. I don’t know why it happens. For questions that I even have PREPARED. One recently asked me about what cool ways I incorporate writing in my class that would “wow” the other English dept. members and I just rambled. I was so disappointed in myself. I love the question in reply here. Thanks for sharing this relatable situation!
Jennifer,
Oh, this story! lol. I cringed at the end with recognition and the emotion of it made me remember times like these — which kept me awake after, thinking, “WHY did I say that?…”
Jennifer, oh my goodness. I can see the moment. I can see the word-emptiness and the desperate grab for all the right words. As I read it, I want it to be the beginning scene in a novel where a girl doesn’t get a job she wants because life has a better answer, a better job, a better situation, and through the closing of one door, a better window opens and she goes through it….and life is grand! That’s YOU! And then, later, she realizes that when she reflects back on that interview thinking that job was her answer, it wasn’t. It was the divine universe steering her in the direction she should go, saving her from the pitfalls of what appeared such a perfect fit. Nudging her on toward greater places.
Jennifer, to be fair, that would’ve stumped me, too. I love the “Me too”. That seems like a perfectly reasonable answer. I remember being in a similar interview situation when I got ambushed with a question and all I could say in the moment was, “that’s a tough question.”
Jennifer,
LOL! I love the way you flipped the script in the interview. The italics work wonderfully to highlight the dialogue. I remember writing about my education philosophy often, but I’m not sure I could pull this clever response off now. Well done!
I feel this moment in my bones, oh my. Wonderful poem!
LOL, Jennifer! I loved your reply, “What is YOUR educational philosophy?” That is totally “a teacher move,” one that is definitely in the teacher handbook. Thanks for writing and sharing this with us!
Scott, thank you for this prompt today which made me begin to write before I even finished reading the prompt. I wrote at the top of my notebook page: “We live our lives in a rough draft.” Your poem speaks directly to the emphatic no we all are hesitant to say. Why is that? Teachers seem to be born with a yes-I-will-be-on-that-committee gene.
I rewrote my father’s stroke day, April 11, 2022. So many in this community have embraced me in all of my grief poems. Here’s another one. Sorry, not sorry.
If I could rewrite the day
you had the stroke, I would
remind you to take your medicine.
I would have walked with you
to breakfast, held your hand
(the one you were holding
the coffee mug that dropped).
I would have talked with you
about stars and black holes
and electrons, neutrons, protons
spinning a complicated web
that you understood.
I would have listened
to you when you felt
something bad was about to happen–
you had this feeling that your life
was ending and you didn’t know
how to stop it.
I would have stopped it.
Margaret, this was so heartbreakingly beautiful. I don’t know if I extended condolences last year, but I’m sorry to hear that this happened. This was just a lovely tribute.
Oh, Margaret. A beautiful poem. A subject like this came to mind, I just wasn’t able to write it. You have so well. So many lines and parts are precious – a great reminder to spend time with loved ones, walk, hold hands, remind, listen. And that last line <3 Thank you for sharing.
Margaret, my heart goes out to you. I’m cheering your writing of the grief poems because you reach into our hearts and pull out those wounds behind the crevices of places we haven’t been able to reach, and remind us that the coffee cup that dropped? That’s the same but different for all of us – it’s the help I needed to be, to go there to give my brother and dad but couldn’t because I teach five hours from there and couldn’t hit the pause button on my work during the school year, at Christmas time. That cup dropping in an ever-weakening hand is the metaphor for so much that fell, shattered, on the floor. The foreboding feeling of impending cup dropping is something that indicated a change, but medication or no medication, we may have still been powerless to stop the inevitable outcome. The shoulda, coulda, woulda is so strong here, and that plays such a leading role in the grief we carry. Oh, friend. We do need that coffee because in my world, there was a steak that should NEVER have been eaten and a time of her being left alone where the neighbors found her in the yard, fallen from the front porch stairs. Those are tough moments, but the reassurance of friends is the ingredient we all need in our hearts. Please don’t ever regret writing a poem of grief. Or publishing a volume of them.
I never knew how much guilt of the woulda, coulda, shoulda was carried with grief. Oh my, “Left alone until the neighbors found her” is heavy and heartbreaking. Love to you, my friend.
Oh, if only we really could back up that clock, relive/redo…I adore this,
I have no doubt, you still are having these conversations with him, Margaret. Just beautiful.
Yes, he was born on 11/11/33, so if I pick up my phone and see the time (and amazing how often I do) is 11:11, I say, “Hi, Dad!”
Yes! I love this Margaret. Whenever it’s 11:11 my wife and I say, “Look, it’s the good time.” I don’t know where we first heard this or why we say it, but I know now that when it happens again, I’ll think of you and your father.
Margaret, thank you for writing and sharing this powerful “reimagining.” Your ending is heart wrenching: “you had this feeling that your life / was ending and you didn’t know / how to stop it. / I would have stopped it.” (And I smiled at your “Sorry, not sorry” in your text before your poem.)
Scott, that’s an educator’s masterpiece. I’m laughing at all the high-brow buzzwords you use with such precision, finessed so beautifully here in these lines. My favorite of all, when it comes right down to it: No because on its own line, after all that, it’s like watching a movie, waiting for that satisfying moment when someone gets TOLD. Thank you for hosting us today!
ten months after
she died
four months after
he died
you asked me
what I thought
of y’all
and I told the truth
you’re nice
she’s nice
but y’all don’t fit
you thought
it was that daughter thing
that I
just didn’t like her
you had it all wrong
there were those
I thought would be a
great fit for you
readers
travelers
lovers of wine
whose blood runneth blue
this one wasn’t for you
you’ve held my
truth-telling
against me all this time
made me the
unaccepting one
and now
it has taken you
seven years
of frustration
figuring out
discovering
all those reasons
y’all don’t fit
so next time I’ll
tell the only truth
you want to hear
marry her
then I’ll go
make popcorn
Ha! I wasn’t expecting that end!
“marry her
then I’ll go
make popcorn”
BOOM. I love the way you add in different kinds of truth-telling throughout this poem – ones we don’t want to hear, need to hear, want to hear. Just wonderful.
Kim, oh that ending! You captured Scott’s single word “no” moment and made it your own with that “marry her” before watching the fall out with a bucket of popped corn. Why is it that people think they can subvert/conquer/slide around what everyone else knows? At least you tried to warn him. And maybe that will be enough for the next time.
…and sit back in your comfiest beach chair to watch the firework show and maybe even wear your sunglasses, in case, while you eat that popcorn…Kim, this poem is an absolute gem for its sharp and shining truths (realized by dad, too late, when it was all too soon in the first place and the fit was never right). For all the truth and brilliance in every line, it wrenches my heart for you. ‘Toldja so’ doesn’t always taste it good; it bites. I cannot blame you. Pass the salt and butter, friend; I’ll sit with you <3
Kim, I relate all too well to this poem. Been there, done that. My oldest daughter did figure it out before she married him, but my middle one didn’t and now she is divorced and single with a little three year old (who we would not trade for anything in the world). Life is so much harder for her now, but she is happy. She tells me with all the s***t with him, she is so much happier. We need have coffee sometime and talk about all of this. I absolutely adore the ending “I’ll go make popcorn.” I tell my friends who are going through stuff with their kids of adult age, “Bite your tongue; they have to learn it. All you can do is support them once they figure it out.”
Kim,
That ending, I could feel the shrug of your shoulders in it and taste the finality, futility, and disgust. This was terrific.
Heavy-hearted, honest, and self-caring verse! Nice-job, Kim. Whenever adult/child roles are flipped, I’m intrigued. Love this.
Kim,
A fantastic reminder we’re often asked our opinion by people who don’t really want it. I love the movement, the implied audience, the specific time frames, and the single lines, “I told the truth” and “You had it all wrong” pound the point. Perfect. The humor in making popcorn and then watching the show is the levity I needed this morning. Love this poem.
Oh! This is the truth, Kim, the truth truth truth. Loved ones don’t really want our opinions, our ‘insight,’ do they? Oh my. We all just have to live out our own paths. I am so sorry that you have had to bear witness to
I absolutely adore the final lines – popcorn is the perfect treat while watching high drama!
Oooohhhh, I love this, Kim. I hear your message about making popcorn! Sometimes it’s so hard to get people to understand truth. Your poem relates that idea well!
Kim — I love the voice in this poem. Strong and just a slam-dunk ending! Yum! Wonderful! Susie
Kim, wow. What a poem. As usual, in so few words you are able to capture such a wealth of story. And that ending is perfect.
Kim, I love love love this! Your single lines are so perfect: “and I told the truth….you had it all wrong…this one wasn’t for you.” They lead so artfully to your last two stanzas: “marry her / then I’ll go / make popcorn.” So good! It’s hard when people don’t want to hear the truth (or blatantly refuse it) and then later (seven years later!) want to bemoan their decisions. Excellent poem (as always)!
Scott, I love your poems; every one is a masterpiece of thought, rich language, and energy. There is a particularly inviting familiarity in your style – like hearing birdsong and knowing which bird it is, or hearing the bubbling of a river and knowing exactly where you are… I read, am awed, and think this is Scott. Today you have me shouting and rejoicing for all those TRUTHS that add up to ‘NO’.I love the balm, the release it provides, for all the times we really, truly, justifiably, undeniably should have said NO. Which is not to say we cannot go in on Monday and say it… just saying.
Now. This notion of ‘should’ has led me to a true confession. Alas. All these years later, it lingers…thank you for the chance to re-do or “re-view” with a different lens today!
Covered in ‘Should’
He had a tendency
to wait too long
to “go”
you know
little Mario Bros underwear
soiled AGAIN
for the ??th time
this day
Didn’t we say
how we want to keep
Mario and Luigi
and Yoshi nice and clean?
solemn nod
of small head
Then you have to
pay attention
stop what you’re doing
and GO
—don’t wait!
Not ten minutes pass
(I SWEAR)
before it happens
AGAIN
I lose
the very last wisp
of my patience
I shout
(oh Lord
just like Daddy):
This is IT!
THIS IS THE END!!
little body cowers
little face crumples
big eyes look at me
in abject terror:
THE END?
—of my life???
he weeps
I am shattered
who cares anymore
if Mario and Luigi
and Yoshi
are splattered
the child in my arms
is all that mattered
afterward
when I confessed
my parental failure
to a friend:
I should have
held it together
better…
she said
Oh honey.
It’ll all come out in the wash, hear?
Don’t ‘should’ on yourself.
I’ve tried ever since
to rinse away the shame
even though a stain
remains.
Fran. This was just masterful!
The climax of your story made me exclaim aloud — for both of you:
“ittle body cowers
little face crumples
big eyes look at me
in abject terror:
THE END?
—of my life???
he weeps”
And the wordplay and assonance at the end:
“she said
Oh honey.
It’ll all come out in the wash, hear?
Don’t ‘should’ on yourself.
I’ve tried ever since
to rinse away the shame
even though a stain
remains.”
Just love this! Man, I have those moments with my kids (and students!), too, regretting what I’ve said or done in impatience or frustration.
What a beautiful poem about such a normal part of life. I love the underwear details – Mario and Luigi and keeping them “nice and clean” – that’s parenting language there 🙂 Your rhymes are so good here!! And that last stanza! – *hugs*
Fran, this is masterful. The rhyming of shattered, splattered, mattered. The punniness of “It’ll all come out in the wash.” The remaining stain. But the emotion evoked from “–of my life???” really did me in. I can see it, feel it, hear it, and still feel it, even now.
Fran, Fran, Fran, I had a finch on my front door wreath, singing to the world and me through the blurred windowglass, and I knew you, too, were up early, writing this morning. I am just in awe of your words, your memory, your friend’s words and wisdom spoken in the moments your heart needed soothing. “Don’t should on yourself.” What a play on words. You have done what few mothers are able to do – you’ve put one of those moments of deep regret in writing and assured us that we are all human and all make mistakes and all live with the whatifs of how the stains in our lives (ones we cause) will come out in the wash, in later years. And just look – – your friend was so right. He turned out beautifully. I have three moments that come to me, all on the same child, that are a lot like yours. Ironically, all these years later, he’s the one with the fewest ripples (no pun on Charmin and Mr. Whipple) in his life. This is so captivating, and I’m wondering if you are considering sharing it with him. Oh, what a way to release the pain of one of those moments of parenthood on the edge.
“Even though a stain remains” is so poignant. I am soiled by so many parent failures. I was listening to a podcast about sex-shaming girls when they would “like the feeling of water running over their girl parts”. I stopped and called my daughter who would do this in my mother-in-law’s pool. I profusely apologized for shaming her 30+ years ago. She laughed and said, “I’m over it, Mom. It’s OK.” Whew! We make such grave errors and somehow they grow up and become full humans who can have sex without shame and use the bathroom like a real person. It’s all too much to think about.
I love this so much, Fran! Every parent relives these moments, I think. I can just see your precious little guy, looking at you with terrified big eyes…they are so literal in their understanding at this stage of life. This is beautiful.
I always assured families of preschoolers – “keep the faith, they won’t be wearing diapers to college.”
Fran, thank you for this poem and for your prose (poem) before your poem. 🙂 [I’m blushing in its praise and generosity — thank you] Your poem is brilliant. I so admire your poetic talents, your ability to paint such vivid scenes, to craft such realistic “characters,” and to hone in on such human (and humane) themes in your poetry. This poem is so well-crafted and genuine and heartfelt. And I especially love the word play at the end: “It’ll all come out in the wash, hear? / Don’t “should” on yourself” and “to rinse away the shame / even though a stain / remains.” Thanks, again, for all of this!
Scott, I feel the need to copy your poem and use it as a reply to all of the “offers” cast our way throughout the school year, on the weekenda, in the eveninga, and during our summers… So expertly done, as always. Thank you for this great prompt! I am introducing some “Plum Poems” to students and my mind fell to this as an afterthought apology.
This is Just to Say
I regret having
started this prompt
that you left
for us today
and which
you were probably
hoping
would produce irony
(or satire or parody or badinage)
Forgive me
it’s just sad
so shallow
and so meaningless
*and since I’ll be ruminating on whether my word choice of “regret having started” might be offensive, let me add (in the spirit of today’s prompt) that in no way did I regret attempting to craft from your inspirational invitation to write 🙂
This stanza reminds me of Scott’s tone:
“and which
you were probably
hoping
would produce irony
(or satire or parody or badinage)”
hehe, awesome.
Haha! Jennifer, loved this — and the poem that was your inspiration!
Jennifer… you have me recalling some prompts/lessons I’ve done that, um, well…maybe weren’t plum. Love this as an afterthought apology from a student perspective (and not a reflection of today’s prompt, lol!). The point of writing is that it is meaningful…so much of it in school today is “shallow and meaningless,” formulaic hoop-jumping, an odious chore; too many students grow up thinking they aren’t “good” at writing. Now let me get off my soapbox! Thank you for this rumination today.
Jennifer, your idea of sharing Scott’s poem at just the right time as an answer leads me down the trail to getting the poem out to the masses of educators who would LOVE this and maybe even just keep a few copies folded in their wallets to pull out at the correct time and toss flippantly out across the desk at the first whiff toward anyone asking for a favor….such a brilliant way to say no, using Scott’s poem. Ha! I love what you did here with the William Carlos Williams-as-mentor poem. We were in a workshop at NCTE with Glenda one year using iMovie to do a recording of the progressive recitation of this poem, and I think I still have it somewhere. What you did with this verse today can show students that even on days they feel they didn’t write well, the lack of satisfaction is still all worth the writing. I love the intentional doing of just that thing to show that certain poems can be called upon to get a message across in a variety of contexts.
Jennifer – I just love this! When in doubt, turn to William Carlos Williams – stunning idea.
I love it, just to say…
Jennifer, wow. What fun! I love the forgive me stanza–“just sad, so shallow and so meaningless” I really like what you did. And I learned a new word: ‘badinage’
Jennifer — You have me chuckling. You are truly a sweetheart. Susie
LOL, Jennifer! This has me smiling broadly! I love a good WCW parody, and your poem is no exception. Thank you for writing this, sharing it, and teaching me a new word!
Scott, great prompt and mentor poems. I’m glad the link to Harris’ poem finally started working. But since it wasn’t at first, I read some of his other work, just great. I like the “offer” in quotes in your poem and how “No” is on its own line. Definitely understand that whole feeling.
Today with your prompt I was reminded of a poem I wrote on March 17, 2021 for Katrina’s Backwards Poetry prompt. I “rewrote” it to answer all the questions that it left unanswered 🙂
revision
today poem a rewriting i’m
way different very a gone could’ve that one
yesterdays those all gracious so been hadn’t you if
you love to me need you ways the learned i’ve
redos many me allowing for you thank
.truth the that’s – forget never i’ll and understand finally i
rough draft
today write I poem this wish I
way same the time move will
yesterday to back me take and
you about care I believe you
redo a allowed I’m somehow
.truth this prove to able I’m and
Angie, I loved the way that you played with language in these poems!
Oh, Angie! What a great form for this do-over prompt! It makes your words feel like revisions and redos and rewrites. I was about a third through when I wondered if you might be writing backwards (I tend to read the writer’s intros after their words to not be too influenced). I love that my brain was trying to make sense of this as I read. Clever!
I’m LMAO reading this from left to right 🤣🤣
We’ve just come out of reading some EE Cummings so I was like I can do this! It’ll make sense if I keep going (grasshopper)!
ANGIE – a backwards poem to convey the wish to move time backward – PHENOMENAL. On my first reading I could relate to the scrambledness of thoughts crowding one’s head while writing – lol – but then when I realized the right reading direction, it just took my breath. Oh oh oh – that longing to re-do and love someone the way they needed to be loved. I might be crying, right now…<3
This threw me off for a minute but then I saw it for what it was. Brilliantly played.
Angie, wow! You blow my mind this morning with the way you chose the PERFECT form for the redo/rewrite and then made it work for you so creatively, then shared it with us to show us how it’s done, friend! I also love the way you took Scott’s words about living our lives in rough draft and made it a bold part of the poem. And then made revision an bold part of the poem. It’s brilliant, and the message is clear, too, once the reader unlocks the key to directionality and the poet’s clever way of giving us a hidden message. It reminds me of the way Edgar Allan Poe wrote that poem to his mistress with the hidden message first word, second word, third word, fourth word of each line forming a love note. The cleverest poets can do these magical things, and you are a poet magician!
yeah! I love breaking form and playing with form, as you do so well here
Angie, this is really really good! I love the way you so deftly played with language and time and this prompt. “[I]’ve learned the ways you need me to love you” is such a wonderfully tender line (yet also heartbreaking in this “revision” in light of the “reimagining” nature of this prompt). So good! Thank you for this!
Scott, your poem was positively inspirational, and I can unequivocally say that I will never say “yes” to these “opportunities” again.
Har har! J/K.
Hawk-like
She managed him
Them
Protecting them
From us
And me.
Stood sentry
At the entrance
To his life,
Barring admission
To even children:
This was an “Adults-Only” show
So that last week of
His life
I doubled back
To his hospital bed
Just to be there
Alone
And when she
Entered
And shot me
An accusing look,
I flushed
And squirmed
Guiltily
And left that day
Wondering
Why I hadn’t
Broken ranks
More often.
These lines stand out to me in your poem, a precious moment amidst the helicoptering of this woman:
“So that last week of
His life
I doubled back
To his hospital bed
Just to be there
Alone”
I’m glad you broke ranks that day. Thanks for sharing.
Wendy, the regret is strong throughout your poem. It’s so good to end with the wondering after those feelings: “flushed, squirmed, guiltily.” This is a call to break ranks!
Wendy – this pierces my heart. The short lines “cut” but how glad, how very glad I am that you doubled back and broke ranks when you did. You have those moments and so do we, now… it is a shot of courage, and overcoming. Thank you – it hits home. <3
Wendy, I’ve read this several times this morning and can see so many different players at each reading, in each scenario I envision. And I can also see shadows of it as metaphor for parents who alienate affection in a game of chess and other complicated situations. My heart is right there with you, cheering as you break rank and throw away all those chess rules imposed by someone who needed a quick demotion.
<3 <3 <3
Wendy, this is wonderful! I love how you could craft with the briefest of details this moment of not just rebellion but the wondering of why “I” haven’t done it before. Your “speaker” learned a valuable lesson here! (And I love how complicated you make this moment with your militaristic diction — “managed,” “[p]rotecting,” “sentry,” “[b]arring,” “[b]roken ranks.” Some adults try to (over?) protect children, and we have to ask ourselves, “at what cost?”) Thank you for this!
We live our lives in a rough draft
— Scott M.
Mere minutes
upon leaving
the meeting
I regretted
the words
I failed to say;
it was
turning into
that kind
of day
Kevin
Both you fine poets, Kevin & Scott, made me laugh out loud this morning. And that is just “that kind/of day”… but I’m the lucky one … may all your meetings be poetry and fun and let the latest catch-words buzz away in the cobwebs. 🥰Susie
🙂
Mmhmm. How many times have I found myself here? Compact and true — and loved the facile rhyme; thanks for the chuckle this morning, Kevin!
Yes, Kevin, you nailed it with “it was turning into that kind of day.” Such a familiar feeling ))
“I regretted
the words
I failed to say”
yes, too many times in my life. Thanks for sharing such truth!
Kevin, it does seem as if it’s just mere minutes before that regret and the “I should have said’s” set it. Oh, those “that kind of day’s…”
In a nice neat nutshell, you nailed it.
The universal appeal of this poem ~ in a coffee shop, in an office, on a Zoom…..with a colleague, with a spouse, with a friend, with a child, with a parent, with a medical professional…..good things, bad things, important things…..you bring the reader to the moment we can all precisely recall, and that is the beauty of poetry and the reach of the writer. Well done!
Kevin, thank you for this! It is so succinct and so true. To avoid just quoting the entire poem let me just highlight the beautiful rhymes of “leaving” “meeting” and “say” and “day.” (But on second thought, I’d also like to mention the wonderfully soft sounds of your first stanza with the “m”s and the “p”: “Mere minutes / upon leaving / the meeting.” These sounds, for me, get caught up and snagged on the words “regretted” and “kind” to further emphasis the message of your piece. Thanks again!