This is the Open Write, a place for educators to nurture their writing lives and to advocate for writing poetry in community. Today Patricia Franz, one of the contributors to the anthology for students, Picture Perfect Poetry, is our host. Next month the Open Write will be September 18-21. (Learn more here.)
Our Host
Patricia lives with her husband and her Bernese Mountain dog in two beautiful places: the Arizona desert and California’s Sierra Nevada mountains, both of which inspire her love for the natural world. Working with children for over 25 years shaped her child’s heart and led her to writing poetry and picture books. Her adult poetry has been published in Consilience (2025) and The Write Launch (2023). She has children’s poems that appear in numerous Pomelo Books anthologies and two poems in Picture Perfect Poetry: An Anthology of Ekphrastic Nature Poetry for Students, the inspiration for today’s prompt. Patricia is represented by Lisa Amstutz of Storm Literary Agency. You can find more of her poetry at www.patriciajfranz.com.
Inspiration
Two years ago, I snapped a photo of this mama bear. Over the course of a few days, she had begun to forage closer and closer to my house. Then one morning as dawn broke, I awoke to find her and her two cubs rummaging through my kitchen! Once I was safe, and my adrenaline subsided, I replayed the experience over and over in my mind.
I knew what I was feeling at that moment. But I wondered: If the bear could speak, what would it say? In unwittingly juxtaposing both of our roles as mothers, I was confronted with the paradox “This is my home.” The whole experience disrupted my beliefs and assumptions about coexisting with wildlife. (Image of bear by Patricia Franz.)
Process
Poetry done well should lead to a deeper understanding of, and perhaps challenge, the nature of truth. Putting literary devices to work can help create a contrast between what we believe and reality. Four such devices are:
Perspective: foster empathy by looking at something through a different lens
Paradox: contradiction that illuminates truth and challenges conventional understanding
Juxtaposition: compare two things that appear unlikely and explore their relationship
Irony: verbal, situational, or dramatic encounter that changes one’s outlook
Here is a rather tongue-in-cheek example that incorporates all of these.
Tetrapod Perspective
I wonder if it strikes them odd,
your ordinary tetrapod,
carnivorous or grass-fed,
to see such an enormous head,
on a creature with, but, two feet,
who kills when he don’t have to eat.
Copyright © David Crandall
Perspective. Paradox. Juxtaposition. Irony. Now it’s your turn to see anew. Write a poem that employs one or more of these devices. Below is the ekphrastic poem I wrote after my bear encounter.
Patricia’s Poem
spring visitor
by Patricia J. Franz
you stand, stare
a mama’s steel eyes
nose lifts, sniffs
danger
teddy-round ears, so cute
cinnamon-spring coat…WAIT!
Go! Scram!
ladle-to-pot-CLANGGGG! CLANGGG!
This is my home!
you
barely blink
my babies are here
their tree
quiet forest spot
we will stay
this is our home
first published in PICTURE PERFECT POETRY © Carol J. Labuzzetta 2024
Your Turn
Now, scroll to the comment section below to write your own poem. (This is a public space, so you may choose to use only your first name or initials depending on your privacy preferences.) Not ready? That’s okay. Read the poems already posted for more inspiration. Ponder your own throughout the day. Return later. And, if the prompt does not work for you, that is fine. All writing is welcome. Just write something. Oh, and a note about drafting: Since we are writing in short bursts, we all understand (and even welcome) the typos and partial poems that remind us we are human and that writing is always becoming. If you’d like to invite other teachers to write with us, tell them to subscribe. Also, please be sure to respond to at least three writers.
All around me they gather
these denizens of my yard
be they squirrel or woodpecker
hummingbird or ground hog,
the occasional stray black cat with the whitest of whiskers.
And much like my human neighbors and friends they offer both solace and the occasional irritation. I mostly welcome them all, wishing only that the squirrels would leave the tomatoes alone.
What child by choice
Would eat bitter melon?
“I cut it fine and soaked it in salt.”
“Look I added noodles and beef,
You like noodles.”
Love won and after two bites
Nanay allowed me to eat
plain rice.
Thirty years later
At a cousin’s house,
his seven-year-old
Sitting close,
The dish with bitter melon
was passed.
“No thank you,” I murmured.
Cousin looked at me quizzically.
“You’re letting a child beat you?” he cajoled.
A challenge
A memory
This dish also had squash, string beans, and pieces of pork.
I took a spoonful and a bite with lots of rice.
Swallowed
I hope Nanay was proud.
Oh Cayetana, I love how you’ve leaned into the perspective that age brings to our lives. And that it was woven into a memory of someone important in your life. Beautiful.
Such a lovely poem, and I love the feeling of both the food passing and time passing in a circular motion here in your poem – – it came full circle, the way memories do, the way food passes around a table. Beautiful and so cleverly done.
Food can be challenging for so many kids, but you seem to have brought the moment around full circle, showing us a new perspective. Well done.
Cayetana,
I love this rich poem of family connections and food.
My favorite stanza:
I like it so much because it shows the love and care between you and your Nanay. I’m sure she would be proud of you and your poem.
Cayetana, I love this that you wouldn’t let “a child beat you.” Nanay would have been proud. Beautiful poem with a sweet change of perspective from you as a child and then an adult.
What a beautiful question, and the title for a children’s book. Bitter melon. Whoa. I am lingering there in this scene of passing the bitter melon…and there are layers here in gestures of respect but also a question of autonomy and obedience that are sitting in the margins of your poem.
Thank you, Patricia, for your exciting bear story and invitation to write with a new perspective.
I used Crandall’s form to share my view of my granddaughter’s chaotic (beautiful) emotions to her parents.
I wonder if her parents know
I love to watch her feelings grow–
Emotions hard and fast and sure
and raw and thick and rich and pure.
Oh, Mama, don’t apologize–
Dysregulation 2T size.
So great, Allison! I am sure I’ve lived this emotion watching my own adult son navigate his toddler’s emotional swings. I love that there’s a WORD for this — dysregulation! Great perspective!
Dysregulation 2T is all you have to say, Allison. I think everyone has seen that. Your couplets are lovely for your topic.
Allison, love that last line which gives a great visual about what the emotions are that she’s sharing. So cute, and the rhyming–chef’s kiss.
Suburban Woes
By Mo Daley 8/16/26
I scoff at your perfectly manicured
suburban lawn-so pretty!
But you are not immune
to me.
I am Native American-
look around and you can find me
everywhere.
I’m itching to get at you-
just try and stop me,
I’m toxic!
I can be sneaky, granted,
but you need to open your eyes
and see me,
really see me,
my toothiness,
my trifoliate glory,
my hairy vininess.
Gotcha!
Nice, Mo! You have reminded your reader to leave those leaves of three alone! You really captured its mean-spirited pervasiveness in the voice you used in your poem.
Oh, Mo! You personified this “character” so well! That’s for showing the power of poetry. I’m itching to read more!
Mo,
Am I right in thinking poison ivy is speaking? My sister gets infected just looking at that stuff. And if this isn’t PI, it could be any number of threats to a pristine, manicured suburban lawn.
We keep our yard pretty tidy, but we live blocks away from a forest preserve. For the last 15 years or so we get random sprout of poison ivy throughout our plants. Today we found 5 new plants and I was a little irritated! I’ve had some nasty reaction throughout the years.
Yikes — love this voice, Mo. And love how you don’t name the speaker — letting us live in these nasty images — scoffing, toxic, sneaky… Message received!
These potent lines sent me diving for my dictionary. They carry aggression, and I’m here for it!
Patricia, I am sure I would have passed completely out if I witnessed a bear in my kitchen. You pulled me right in and all I could do was shake my head. Your poem helps me feel for both you and Mama Bear. Thank you for sharing this and inviting us to see things anew. I chose a golden shovel poem to embrace the perspective of my childhood home.
I used a line from Gayle’s gorgeous poem yesterday for my striking line: Old house, how does it feel to be left all alone, when all the noise is gone? Thank you, Gayle!
Awaiting Our Return
When my mother died, she wasn’t really Old
76 years young, much younger than her house,
but the house still stands, how
must it feel without her and us, the family? does
it call out her name at 3:28? Does it
contain that loving welcoming vibe, or does it feel
around in the cold shadows hoping to
touch her spirit hovering over the new owners? The backyard must be
lonely. The hopscotch without laggers or fading wet footprints left
from summer play. Are pie tins filled with mud and berries for all
the imaginary guests lounging on the browning grass alone,
do the windows stay shut and smothered in silence when
passersby slow down, point to the address, and remember all
the holidays and gatherings around tables for games and food? the
babies’ giggles, dominoes slammed, and records played brought a joyful noise
to the soul of her house. It awaits our return because it is
closed to us for now. Will it hold us close again before we are all gone?
ⓒStacey L. Joy, 8/16/26
Each line is filled with rich memories. This is a fantastic tribute to a well-loved home.
Ooooh, Stacey! How lovely to see my words, only better!! What beautiful memories your house holds for you. Wow!
Stacey,
Your poem is an invitation to think about houses/homes as sentient beings. Some of my favorite discussions w/ students centered around personified houses that functioned as characters in literature. Your golden golden shovel names so many characteristics of home as part of the family. It’s really lovely. I do hope the house is not lonely.
Stacey, what a great idea to use those beautiful words of Gayle’s and thinking about your own childhood home. I love all the questions you ask, and the dream of maybe in the future returning.
Joy, while I empathize with you about the loss of your dear Mommie, I also admire your effective use of the “striking line”. I’ve seen it in your other work, but didn’t realize the “name” till today. I’m also glad tha you have fond memories!
This could be a great way to have students write about learning in another course! Hmmm. Writing poetry to show what you know? Where’d we learn this concept?
Welcome to retirement. This is what we do. Keep learning with others!
Thank you! Your poem put in mind the house I left when I was 14, and returned 28 years later. The heart remembers!
Stacey, I am deeply moved by your poem. Love the specific details that show us both your mother and the home. I can feel the house reaching out and the loneliness of the backyard. I also love how you weaved in joyful noise. Poignant and powerful poem!
Stacey, you’ve laced this memory with such emotion. My heart breaks imagining the house calling out in the wee hours of a night, stumbling around in search of the spirit it longs for. Beautiful!
Stacey, you absolutely hit it home in deep ways here with the golden shovel using a striking line from Gayle’s poem yesterday. It struck me deeply too when she asked the house the questions, and look what you have done in response of inspiration today – – and asked your own question about your mother’s house. What a treasure!
Stacey,
I love how your rich poem contains a new perspective on grief. I also like how it contains both grief and gratitude for all the life lived there.
My favorite line:
Your last lines are so poignant.
I feel the loss and the love. So much love.
Thank you for sharing.
I love the image of a living house-I see it with its’ arms outstretched to hold all its’ people and memories.
Patricia,
Thanks for hosting. Your bear story is wild and fun. Living w/in a few hours of Yellowstone NP, we hear all kinds of tales about what tourists (tourons to park employees) do, so I’m using a photo I took in July for inspiration.
Two Bison in Search of a Solution to Invasive Species
[double Shadrama]
Every year
the same invasion
like a swarm
of locusts:
Tourons who squat on our land
tempt us to toss them
in the air
to remind them we
don’t pose for
selfies and
this is not a petting zoo
Disneyfied for them.
Glenda Funk
August 16, 2026
Glenda, I love the voice in this one and the closing line is delivered perfectly! I just saw the man flying in the air this morning. How would you like to become famous for being tossed by a buffalo? I love your photo and the diction in this one. I’ve never heard the term touron before. Powerful, fun poem!
Love it. These idiots who think they can impose on wild animals don’t get it. I hope people learn from their foolishness. Great ending…Disneyfied!
“Tourons” – such a perfect name for people ignorant enough to expect wild animals to bend to their will. The voice in your poem matches those majestic creatures, disdainful toward humans who behave like nuts.
We are the invasive species, aren’t we!? I love the last lines— not a Diseyfied petting zoo, indeed!
Oh, wow, Glenda! Such a great perspective from the bison’s point-of-view. You’ve got their voice down, strong and snarky. I love that word touron. And the “toss them in the air”, “we don’t pose for selfies”, and “this is not a petting zoo Disneyfied for them” are all so powerful!
Every time I see one of these stories I just shake my head. I love the title and ending line especially.
These kinds of tourists are the people who ruin it for others – – and I’m glad you called it out. I wish everyone could behave. I’d like to see some bison in the wild one day.
Oh gosh, I love that stanza break after “toss” — those bison underscoring their disdain!
Glenda,
Thanks for bringing back Yellowstone memories. We went there on our honeymoon and I still remember a ranger telling us that a father had recently tried to sit his son on a bison for a photo. Good grief!
“Invasive Species” indeed! Reading this reminds me of a trip to Yellowstone where we watched a herd swim across the Yellowstone river-so majestic to witness.
Patricia, thank you for hosting today and for sharing your bear experience and poem. The alternative points of view are wonderful. That had to be very frightening! Plus, I just watched a YouTube video with bear encounters that did not end well. Yikes!
Weapon of Choice
on
the
bus
one
believer
detonates
a
bomb
strapped
across
their
chest
believing
their
cause
is
greater
than
one’s
self
and
war
continues
to
annihilate
Barb Edler
16 August 2026
The form of this poem, Barb, had me attending to each word slowly moving my eyes toward the uncovering of that meoment toward the annihilate word. And I thought how that moment must slow down if I were to be there, watching. The disbelief and inevitability of one believer armed. Chilling. Infuriating. And craftful in the hands of a poet.
Barb,
Your poem captures the essence of war (violence) perfectly. The irony in bombing a bus to stop a war is something I can’t wrap my head around. I like that your poem looks like a bus stretching down a road.
Barb,
Powerful and necessary message. I’m curious if your one-word lines were also intentional to show selfishness?? If not, that’s what I immediately thought. Whew! Praying for us all!
Your poem is gut-wrenching in its one-word-at-a-time revelation. Powerful.
Ooof. Dropping the tension in word by word. Powerful poem!
yes
Barb, sigh, so much pain, so much war. Your poem speeds through the event with this sparse form. “one believer detonates” “war continues to annihilate” Thank you for the power of your words.
Barb, you preach truth here and I love the way you wrote it skinny like a fuse……as we read to the explosive ending.
Oh boy, Barb — Each word felt heavier and heavier as I moved down the page. I could feel my heart sink, reaching rock bottom. Ugh. That’s one powerful poem.
I’m with everybody else, Barb; this is such a powerful poem! The build up and ending on “annihilate” is devastating. Thank you for crafting this!
Thank you for the “believer/believing” repetition. It nails the essence of your poem.
Barb,
Your poem is so powerful. I like how you used one word per line perhaps to slow us down, but also to create a sense of something in motion moving to an inevitable conclusion.
Patricia,
Thanks for hosting. Your poem tells quite a story. Glad both families were okay!
I like the two variations of
and
———————————————-
Lucinda’s Singing
Lucinda’s singing
on my car radio
there’s a question
in her voice and
it’s softer than usual
“Are you alright?”
I remember
when this song
came out
and you weren’t
weren’t alright
but life went on
a few albums later
you and Lucinda
were both in
real love
Sharon, what a provocative poem. It’s amazing how music carries us and reflects our life experiences. I appreciate the way this poem lands. Powerful!
This scene has so many layers with the song and the moment of the song and in the remembering and in the direct address to the “you” and what kind of love we are talking about — I see the layers of the love in the next song and the love in the next scene of the “you’s” life, and the speaker of this poem is witnessing but altogether neutral.
Sharon,
Often a song speaks to a moment that stays w/ us, but here you have this lovely ode to both song and singer, both speaking to a listener. These two moments and shifting perspective are fabulous. I love when music captures the zeitgeist of life.
I love these lines: “and you weren’t/weren’t alright/but life went on.” This is so true and relatable, and I love how only “a few albums later,” life is on an upswing and love is real.
Sharon, this was so good reading about Lucinda and the “you” in the poem. It is lovely, and I’m glad to see the ending with both “in real love.” Gentle and beautiful poem.
Mmm… parallel lives — So fascinating that a simple question, “Are you alright?” can spotlight a life — two lives… or more. I love that you circle back and we get to see life unfold.
Late Summer Exposure after Ada Limon’s “Panic Attack”
I can’t cover up in the pond’s black silt,
the cattails’ flower spikes fencing me in
like a welcome towel draped by a love,
(swapping damp bottoms for fresh undies).
What if I want to Black-Tail so deep,
burrow ten feet heavier than a grave, Prairie
Doggin it right. Or nine-banding like an
armadillo rooting grubs for dinner before
going belly-up exposure roadside? Could
I fall into a striped skunker’s cone hole, turfed
under the moon’s porch, but not stink
up the neighborhood? Only if a horny
lizard shuffles in to wiggle loose soil.
Reptiling in dry dirt to camouflage, to
cover up heated flesh in the night’s navy:
relief that this corporeal unmasking
is only of my skin.
Introducing some of my neighbors: Texas Horned Lizard, Striped Skunk. Nine-banded Armadillo.Black-Tail Prairie Dog
Sarah, I am captured by your poem’s imagery and sensory appeal. The question: “What if I want to Black-Tail so deep,
burrow ten feet heavier than a grave?” resonates for me. The armadillo belly-up roadside is striking. Roadkill always makes me pause. I love your closing lines and your title. Provocative and powerful poem!
Sarah,
I read Ada Limon’s poem. Your poem mirrors “Panic Attack” in its lamenting tone and in its respect for nature. The last line drills down on the threat to nature:
“Reptiling in dry dirt to camouflage, to
cover up heated flesh in the night’s navy–
relief that this corporeal unmasking
is only of your skin.”
I saw an article recently about the threat to fireflies. Urban sprawl, the current admin’s policies, corporate greed, and an uninformed public all conspire against your neighbors. I know I took these critters for granted as a child. Now we long to burrow with them.
Thank you for seeing me.
Sarah,
Talk about a unique perspective! I appreciated all of your “neighbors” and the ways you might inhabit them.
Your ending is stunning! The emotional and physical boundaries colliding.
Sarah, the imagery and action and characters in your poem are mesmerizing. I love the language and how it evokes heat and earth.
Which phrase to talk about?? There are so many strong images here! I have to choose the horny lizard shuffling in to wiggle loose soil… it then there are the cattails and the damp bottoms…. I give up!
Sarah, I love the voice you captured of these, your Oklahoma animal neighbors. So fun. The coined words like “nine-banding” and “Prairie Doggin it” are so fun, plus all the details that teach us about these animals and their habitat. Fun poem!
Sarah, the sensory imagery and the wildlife are resplendent in your descriptions. The feeling of swapping damp clothes for fresh ones has a universal appeal to everyone, I believe!
Sarah, I’m struck by the opening conundrum that is turned into a rebel’s question, or perhaps challenge… What if I want… This speaker is up’ing the ante, making their point, maybe… that masking the interior is not an option? So provocative!
I loved reading Limon’s mentor text.
“like a welcome towel draped by a love” <3
“turfed” is a beautiful verb
The horny lizard wiggling his loose tail = chef’s kiss
My heart skipped a beat when I read about your kitchen encounter! My parents live on a summer camp, and a black bear frequently visits their yard. He’s never come into the house, though! You captured the experience with creativity and sensitivity. Thank you for hosting today.
Confidence Blooms
Years ago,
my husband planted
panicle hydrangeas
behind the house.
Today,
they stoop…
in a lovely,
heavy-headed group
like tall girls
at a middle school party
who have yet
to realize their beauty,
shrinking themselves
to fit the norm;
but one stalk
stands tall,
poking her yellow-white head
through the weathered slats
on the deck stairs.
“Wanna dance?”
I love this tall girls in a middle school party. Perfect. I was just at a faculty meeting, and we had a stand and stretch. Two of my colleagues game but, and within minutes I was shrinking myself until I remembered my posture exercises, so I stood taller. Love this poking her yellow-white head…”wanna dance” is a lovely closing line. Great poem.
Lori, I adore your poem. The metaphor is solid and the wanna dance line is delightful! The photo adds so much, too!
Lori,
How lovely to think of middle school girls who pose as wall flowers embodied in hydrangeas. Those flowers are gorgeous. I also love the personification of the flower dancing. This is a fabulous poem.
Lori, the picture is so fun, and we see the “heavy-headed group” down below. Such a fun and powerful metaphor. I love the image of the “tall girls
at a middle school party
who have yet
to realize their beauty”
A perfect metaphor for the inner beauty and the middle school girls. Hydrangeas – snowballs – are among my favorite flowers at the top of the list. I love that last line especially as it brings the real confidence of the flower and the girl.
Lori, this is perfect. I can just picture that bold beauty standing tall above the others.
Oh Lori, what a GLORIOUS metaphor for that bravehearted, middle school girl!
Lori,
Your poem is delightful.
This image is almost heartbreaking, but there’s so much hope in the word “yet.”
And even more hope and joy in your ending:
Love it!
May we all grow so well into ourselves.
Patricia, we, too, share a space with a range of nature, but none so ominous as bears! What an experience! Glad you can write about it herel We sometimes wonder, Yes, I invited AI to show you what I see and they did pretty well, but that’s not really me!
Whose Home Is It, Really?
We bought a new-built condo
Where they attempted to keep things open,
Open to deer, turkeys, rabbits, and squirrels
Animals who lived here first.
But are we really sharing
Or trying to take control?
We put out traps, we spray spices
Trying to keep our yards neat and whole.
When the chipmunks scrape at the edges
When the robins poop on the porch
When the bees bang against the back window
What are they trying to say?
“Get outta here” or “Welcome and stay”.
They don’t hang around so we don’t play.
Are we really sharing or trying to take control?
If sharing, why do we scuffle when they act so bold?
Anna, your poem shows the truth with our interactions with animals. We love the beauty of geese but not their droppings along the walking path.
Great question for all of us, especially when we are up close and personal with animals. It makes me feel quite selfish and imposing when I really think about it.
You’ve built your poem around a thought-provoking question. In our neighborhood, we have rabbits, squirrels, coyotes, and groundhogs. I, too, wonder if they resent our presence or just keep keeping on the best they can.
These poetry prompts really get us thinking, don’t they!
Anna, I’m glad your animals aren’t bears! You ask a great question, “Are we really sharing or trying to take control?”
Anna — you get it… At what point are we committed to co-existing…or not? I love that your poem is a rhetorical exercise meant to confront the self. Would love to read the self’s answer!
Great questions, Anna.
I love the imagery, especially the sounds, in this stanza:
Patricia, thank you so much for being here today. For your amazing story, prompt and poem. Wow. A bear in the kitchen really does sound like a movie scene. I love the refrain from two perspectives of “This is my (our) home.”
“We the People of the United States,”
they wrote
almost two and a half Centuries ago.
They intended it to not mean that, though.
They meant to chuse it to mean
“We the White people.”
I know;
I was there.
This document—some thought it was
an iron trap or a gilded pill–but I, like
the Federalists, think of it as
the Magna Carta of American liberty,
a sacred temple of freedom,
a living and breathing container.
I was not error-free, though.
They had already stoule the
labour of “other” Persons for 170 years
when I was written.
Is there any defence for their errors?
State controul of People,
State controul of Math (three fifths = whole)
State controul sanctioned in this,
the founding document.
And today, after the 13th and 14th
Amendments, of my living document,
I see backsliding and deniel.
Don’t neglect to Learn and Teach
the truths in our nation’s History.
I was created for change—
created to grow with the country,
perfecting it, not denigrating it.
Say it with me..
We the People of the United States, (all of them)
in Order to form a more perfect Union…
Denise, I love how you call it out – – the truth has had too many spins lately, and it’s time to get back to the facts. Agreed, and the preamble is the beginning.
Oof. Denise, so spot on. I love how you’ve incorporated word choice and spellings from the time. It transports me to the time, placing me in-scene beside the document (and its firm “I”). Thank you for giving me the opportunity to participate with prompts!
Denise, there are so many things I love about your poem including your respect for how spelling has changed along with our shared knowledge of history based on far more education than was available to most people at the time. I put these words in my notebook, “Don’t neglect to Learn and Teach the truths in our nation’s History. I was created for change—created to grow with the country,perfecting it, not denigrating it.” They are shaking their heads wondering how we can be so ST%**^*^&!
Denise, the need to be inclusive rings through your poem. I love the voice and the truth it shares! Powerful poem!
Denise, I love the way you used language and spelling to capture the voice of your unique narrator. These are my favorite lines: “I was created for change-/created to grow with the country,/perfecting it, not denigrating it.”
Mic drop poem, Denise. Standing and clapping over here!!
Denise— all of them. Exactly. I love the inclusion of the old spellings. Let’s hope for a more perfect union, someday.
Denise,
Yes! We need to think about the Constitution and Declaration as living, changing documents. Personifying them, giving them the floor to speak brings that idea to front and center. I love your use of British spellings to add to the verisimilitude in the poem.
I love this, Denise! I love the admission that this is a “living document” and that it wasn’t “error-free” to start, but it “was created for change — / created to grow with the country, / perfecting it, not denigrating it.” This bears repeating. Often. (Thank you for this!)
Faded Flower
Fade, fade,
fade, away,
yellow, brown,
darkened gray.
Light, light,
light, my way,
Amber, embers,
want you stay?
Touch, touch,
touch, my face,
grant a moment
of your grace.
Wilt,wilt,
wilt, please wait,
yellow, embers,
I cannot replace.
Love, love,
love, again,
please remain,
till my end.
There-there-
I will meet you,
there,
Shedding, skinless,
souls bare.
Wait, wait,
wait, by the shoals,
we will sprout,
together,
as one soul.
Intertwined,
in love divine,
We fade together,
in eternal time.
Is this set to your music? If not, this beautiful, loving poem should be…
Clayton, The lament of this flower! So beautiful— I love the mystery of I and We. Their sharing of fates. The haunting tone. The waiting. Thank you!
Agree with Gayle – – this is lyrical musical poetry. Love the repetition and the progression of life here.
I agree! This is a beautiful song of life and its cycles. “We fade together in eternal time” is haunting.
Boxer, I love the repetition and lyrical flow of this poem. The end is poignant and gorgeous.
I read this poem, then read it again because it is so beautiful.
Boxer, you are a master at rhymes. And this sweet love poem is a delight to read!
Patricia, what an encounter! So many of your lines (you stand, stare
a mama’s steel eyes) can come from either the narrator or the bear, adding a wonderful layer to your poem. I’m sending my apologies to Alanis Morissette for borrowing her structure, but it popped directly into my mind when I read irony.
Isn’t It Ironic
An old man took the highest position
over the land of the free
and suppressed it the next day
It’s free elections… but he’s gonna stay.
It’s like the ten plagues during summer break
It’s the home of the brave hiding in a truck
It’s voting rights for those who don’t give a f…udge
But who would’ve thought? The figures: 75,019,230 of US
the last line. Wow. I have often wondered about how all those people did that. The ten plagues, exactly!
Ouch. Irony should either hurt or make us laugh.You nailed it Jennifer.
Yes, Jennifer, you nailed the irony! Ten plagues indeed
Totally ironic! And that line with “fudge” that rhymes with truck. Funny in the midst of the terror of it all.
Jennifer, your poem speaks the raw truth that spikes my feelings of rage and injustice. I’m praying for a blue wave in November.
Jennifer, thank you for this. I’m so sad about those 75+ million of US. I’m smiling at your clever lines, but also just sad and angry.
Patricia, your story about the bear makes every hair on my head stand straight up! Your words are masterful! I’m writing about a less substantial interaction using perspective. I was thinking about a fly that was annoying me for days until I went after it when I started. Yet, I wonder if I was also thinking about the article I just read about Ice enforcement at airports?
I’m unsure how
Food is readily available, how
Life is sustainable, how
Others don’t join me, how
Traveling here was easy, how
We coexist for days, weeks, years, how
People become unhinged, how
They want us gone, even dead, how
Peaceful coexistence can end.
Ohhh! This is so good! I imagine the power it would hold in keeping the fly to the very end of the read and wondering where my mind would have gone or how quickly it would have read in ICE. Powerful stuff here, Anita.
Anita-what a powerful analogy! The repetitive “how” strengthens the message!
Anita, the perspective is jarring! I love the opening stance “I’m unsure of…” that invites us to pause; the conciseness of each line, ending on “how” that anchors the thought and propels us into the next one; building to your last line. We’ll done!
Anita, truth from a different perspective and what a reminder of how things can change so quickly even as we don’t expect it.
The use of “how” at the end of each line makes for an effective pause before each line. How does our peaceful coexistence just end in a flash of ICE? Who asked for this?
Wow, love your poem’s perspective. Fun and provocative poem!
Anita,
This is one powerful poem in the context of how we’re living now w/ ICE goons and the dehumanizing rhetoric out of the White House. I’m going to be a bit kinder to the tiny flies henceforth as I will have those last lines echoing in my ears.
Anita, wow, the perspective of a fly, and yet there are the much larger issues of ICE enforcement at airports. Wow. So much to think about. I can hear the buzzing of the fly in these how, how, how lines.
Patricia–you live a much more exciting life than I do! Your poem perfectly offers us the scene. The two lines, “you/ barely blink” perfectly show us where the power resides in the room. They are solid. Thank you for your slice of life and for the prompt.
Memo
From: I.M. Clutter
To: GJ Sands
I see you’ve cleaned your office again.
A place for everything;
everything in its place.
You think you
have done it
this time, that
MarieKondowould beproud
of your organiz ational concept.
You.
Are
Wrong.
Thisafternoon you will send out
twenty emails with incorr
ecttimes.
Once you have straight
ened that me
ss
out, you will pullout your water
colors to re laxfrom the stress of your mis!
take.
Then you will answer the emails,
apologizing for yourerror
and the paintswill ownthe table
once again.
And that is how I win.
Sincerely,
I.M. Clutter
Oh Gayle! I love the voice of I.M Cutter! So high-brow – the disparaging, pitying “you” it takes. And week done on using space and unexpected breaks to serve the story! Your last line:chef’s kiss!
Gayle, you never disappoint. I am in awe of your ability to cleverly create scenarios and voices. The style reminds me of ee cummings and is perfect for Clutter, and juxtaposes the decluttering with the chaos of what a work space looks like (mine ends up exactly as the before photo within a day). So well done!
Applause from the choir! I’m in the backup section, singing the tunes with you and your poem is just perfect for capturing the incessant voice of how clutter wins. Every day. Amazing poetry.
I love the play here, Gayle! The topography of this is so so good! The spacing, the cluttering, the disjointed text all help prove (and support) Clutter’s endgame. Brilliant!
Gayle, your letter format makes this work so well! Your last line is great and true for us all. The clutter family is winning here as well
Dear I.M. Clutter, I’d love you to stay at Gayle’s house…your last visit to mine is unforgettable!
Great job giving voice to the clutter. You had me giggling. I call myself “time challenged” for the number of instances I get a time wrong in my communication. Argh!
Oh, the voice of I.M. Clutter, so tut-tut. I love the humor in this along with the careful word smashing that adds to its charm (and clutter).
Hahahaha!!! Brilliant!! Your topic, the spacing, the message all to PERFECTION!
This is precious because in my mind, that’s the way it should be:
Thank you for also validating me and some of my not-so-straight things on the desk.
P.S. I borrowed a line from your poem yesterday to compose my poem today. Thank you.😊
Gayle,
This is so clever! I.M. Clutter is a squatter in my home office. Still we battle that messy fellow (he is a he, right) and one day we’ll get there and send old Mr. Clutter back to some teen boy’s room.
Oh, my gosh, Gayle, this is hilarious. The haphazard spaces crack me up and help to build a perfect voice for old I.M. Clutter. So fun. “and the paintswill ownthe table / once again.” I can relate. Clutter always wins in my house.
Gayle,
This is too funny. And too relatable.
Love your use of form to increase the humor of your message. Fun to think what the writing of I.M. Clutter would look like. You nailed it!
Patricia, I can’t imagine the fear of having a mother bear in your kitchen. To me that is only something you see in movies. I will never forget the day my mother chopped up a snake in her kitchen, leaving gashes in the linoleum for years as a scar of the incident.
Just this morning I woke to multiple bugs in my kitchen, uninvited.
Outside in the garden
a bug is a sign of healthy treats
but here in my kitchen
filthy monsters
get the shoe-smash
a paper towel embalming
and flushed right out
in a stream of screaming dread.
Margaret, the first read of your poem brought delight and smiles, but I keep rereading and finding such fun with words too. Shoe-smash is just fun with all the /sh/ sounds, also there in flushed. And depending on the panic language of the smasher, there could be an implied /sh/ word happening behind the scenes. You also bring smiles with the short i sound in filthy and kitchen, and the sweetness of all the ea patterns in stream, scream, dread and healthy. And bug and but with the short u. I like the vocabulary too – a paper towel embalming is a whole new thought, but so common for household bugs. You really brought a lot to love in your poem this morning, and I can see you giving them a shoe smash. I like that you leave us with the image of a bug swirling down the toilet screaming in his paper towel flush.
Margaret,
Opening with “Outside” sets me up nicely for the juxtaposition of holding two different feelings for these creatures. Outside— so dear to us; inside—unwelcome guests. Love the embalming! Truly, I can deal with a bear. But if I spied a cockroach, I’d have to sell my house!!
Margaret—how is it that outdoor bugs are so much more admired than inside bugs. Your word choice is perfect— shoe-smash, paper towel embalming, stream of screaming dread. Excellence!
Margaret, your line, “paper towel embalming” is wonderful and a great foil to your positive start out in the garden where those bugs belong!
Hahahahahaha. You betcha! The only interruption to that in my house is a cat or dog that wants to play with the little creature. A paper towel embalming…so funny.
Margaret,
This is so good with the shift from outside to inside bringing completely different perspectives.
Fantastic word choice here:
Patricia, I love how faith stepped in, allowing you a moment to observe and panic not to take root. How many people can say they’ve had a mama bear and cubs rummage through their kitchen? I’m glad you’re safe. Thanks for hosting us today. I love the nature theme this month.
I saw a double rainbow last week, and my husband and I noticed in the photos that the only two trees left standing in the front yard after the harvest looked like they could be Noah and his wife after the Great Flood. Your prompt got me thinking about that perspective! I wrote a nonet today.
Standing in the Promise
a double rainbow, top bow dissolved
two trees stand: Noah and his wife
arm in arm, knowing their faith
brings hope for tomorrow
I look at those trees
wonder whether
the dove still
returns
leaves
Ooh , Kim! In a previous life I often entered into imaginative prayer, placing myself in a scriptural scene. I was especially taken by the thoughts of The Innkeeper’s wife. Now I want to think of Noah and his wife, in awe after their experience—the shock, the exhaustion, and yes—the hope …waiting in the dove. Beautiful!
Kim— so peaceful, so quiet. And the wonderful wonder you leave us with. (That pun was NOT intended, but I guess it can remain…)
Kim, I once did see a double rainbow as I was driving home during a very stressful time of my life. Like yours, it sent me into a deeply reflective place and was a sign of great home. In less than 24 hours, my first grandchild was born. 60 hours after that, another miracle grandchild arrived safely. Yes, like Noah and his wife, I knew there was hope for tomorrow. LOVELY
Oh, this is cool. I love the reference to the bible story and the connection to nature right now. The last word being “leaves” is perfect.
Wow, what a moving poem! Love the metaphor and question.
I love the comparison of the trees to Noah and his wife. We saw a rainbow over the ocean when we were at the beach in June. I always try to snap a pic, but it never does it justice. This poem, however, brings that double rainbow to life for me.
Kim, I love the imagination you had to see them in the trees, and your hope in the hope of the rainbows and doves bringing olive branches. Beautiful!
Faith of our mothers and fathers, keeps us looking up!
Kim,
Such a beautiful poem.
I especially admire these lines:
Oh, boy,
this is it
this is
the one
Hello,
Morgan
Library
& Museum,
here I come,
shelved next
to Shelley
or Thoreau
(heck, I’d
even settle
for the
Harry
Ransom
Center
alongside
Beckett or
Kerouac,
I’m not picky)
as long as this
is not
another
metafictive
poem about
being a
poem, some
nonsense
drivel
scrawlscratched
down the length
of the
page–
.
Oh, come on!
Really?
Really?!
I’d rather be
anything else,
anything,
tear me out
and fold me
into an
origami
crane,
at least
then I’d be
part of
someone’s
wish,
or turn me
into an
airplane
and let me
feel the wind
lift me
up
to new heights
instead of this,
this
garbage
that is
definitely
not worth
the me
it’s printed
on
________________________________________________________
Thank you, Patricia, this was fun! I love your picture and your poem, and I can’t even imagine how startling and terrifying this experience would have been! Thank you for articulating it so well and for sharing it with us today.
Scott—I think I love your skinny poems most! As an apologist for paper wastage, you excel. It took me a moment, then I started smiling as your poem came to aggravated life. I think it owes you an apology. Thanks for a wonderful start to my day!
Scott, you give us such honest ideas of where our poetry may land – on shelves, in skies, in wastebaskets, in origami folds. I was cleaning out my backpack yesterday and found them all over the backs of receipts. I need to try writing one on a gum wrapper. Thanks for the fun imagery of poetry everywhere!
Oh my gosh, Scott! YOU nailed it! The raw dread disguised as disgust and hope that you channeled into the voice of a poem comes through in those first lines. And using the narrow space as form both adds a nervous element as the poem rambles “on and on” —as though to underscore its point. Love!
Scott, I can feel your joy writing this! The voice is striking and I love what the paper wants to become. So much fun!
Scott,
Outstanding perspective and form choice for today! I am in love with this:
Your poems always deliver! I imagine your students learning from you and thinking how fortunate they are.
Scott, so fun! I’m looking forward to reading your poems in a collection some day. Maybe shelved with some of those poets!
I really enjoyed the image of a poem becoming an origami crane or an airplane that takes to the wind.
Oh, my goodness, Patricia! I cannot imagine facing a mama bear in my kitchen. Ack!
Thank you for the lovely prompt today. I especially love your wording, “Poetry done well should lead to a deeper understanding of, and perhaps challenge, the nature of truth.” I’ve been fascinated with definitions and descriptions of poetry. This sentence adds to the pile of thoughts I keep on one of my back burners. Ha!
I’ve often giggled over the thank you loop that exists…when I want to say, “thank you for your thank you.” This is a bit trite…but it gets at what I want to write in a note to someone. It’s the beginning of a poem idea too.
Thank you,
for the thank you
It’s the you in your thanks
I’m grateful for most of all!
Linda, I am nodding in agreement with your poem. A sincere thank you is better than any gift! Your poem makes me think of one of my favorite children’s picture books entitled The Gift of Nothing by Patrick McDonnell, which focuses on the friends and not the gift. Your poem gives us a great way to begin the week.
“It’s the you in your thanks” is a sweet thought. I never know how to thank for a thank you. This would be a nice note to receive.
Linda— thank you for your thank you poem! This tiny poem says it all. Love this!
LOL!— Agree! That poor “thank you” — exhausted from the performing! When ask it wants is one tiny moment. 🙂
I am grateful for the YOU in your poetry!! 🩷
Sweet capture of those “thank you for the thank you” moments.
Linda,
Who wouldn’t love to receive this sweet poem in a note?