Welcome to Verselove—a space for educators to nurture their writing lives and celebrate poetry in the community. Each day in April, we come together to explore the power of poetry for both heart and mind. Write with care, for yourself and your readers. When responding, reflect back the beauty you find—lines that linger, ideas that inspire. Enjoy the journey. (Learn more here; volunteer to host a Verselove day in 2026 here.)
Our Host: Donnetta Norris
Donnetta Norris is a 2nd grade teacher in Arlington, TX. She is an active member of Alpha Delta Kappa: International Honorary Organization for Women Educators. She hosts Time To Write workshops with TeachWrite, LLC. Her blog posts can be read at Teach Better Team, TeacherReaderWriter, and Writing Is A Journey. She is a published poet in Teacher-Poets Writing to Bridge the Distance: An Oral History of COVID-19 in Poems by Dr. Sarah J. Donovan and in 90 Ways of Community by Sarah J Donovan, Mo Daley, Maureen Young Ingram.
Inspiration
For some strange reason, I can still remember a specific bulletin board in the hallway just around the corner from the front office of my elementary school in Dayton, OH. In February, it was decorated with the faces and names of George Washington and Abraham Lincoln for what is now President’s Day. In April and May, it depicted an outdoor setting with colorful die-cut paper flowers, white fluffy paper clouds, and raindrops. Across the top were the words, APRIL SHOWERS BRING MAY FLOWERS. I’m almost positive this was the first time I had ever read/heard this rhyme.
As I began preparing VerseLove, “April Showers Bring May Flowers”, reminded me that in life we often have to accept some bad (however it is defined) in order to experience and recognize the good (however it is defined). It also made me think about cause and effect relationships – how sometimes good things in life are caused by something bad happening first.
Process
Write a cause and effect poem (term used loosely) – a poem that depicts or expresses how good can come from what is seemingly bad. My internet search gave me Still I Rise by Maya Angelou among others, and a PDF containing samples and some cause and effect topics. As is customary, you have the freedom to write any style of poetry and about any topic of your choosing.
Donnetta’s Poem
The Struggles of Life
The struggles of life can seem impossible to bear.
In the midst of the storm, it can be hard to see clear.
The lessons are hard when the going is tough.
Makes you throw up your hands…ENOUGH IS ENOUGH!
Then some time later, it’s brought to your remembrance.
Your now and your then have no more resemblance.
You made it through the fire like silver and gold.
Nothing lasts forever (at least I’ve been told).
So when the showers of life bring with it a storm.
Know that a newness of life is about to be born.
Who you became because the going got tough
Is proof beyond doubt that GOD IS ENOUGH!!
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.
Time spent together,
the memories forever archived in my brain
So even now, I can’t help but smile when I hear our song.
I’m not sure where everything went wrong,
But I replay the moments, again and again, hoping to make sense.
I thought we were in this together.
But somehow, we drifted apart, unnoticed.
I am now free of the pain that was cast on me
So I rise, lighter, no longer tethered to your storm.
You were once my best friend,
Now, you’re just a chapter I’ve closed.
I’ve been busy for a few days and haven’t made time to absorb any #verselove love. Thanks for hosting Donnetta. Let’s give this one a shot.
I started too late
the wood and weathered leaves against my hands
The sun was gradually leaving
my eyes adjusting to the coming darkness
the shadows standing taller and taller
I wondered which birds were nocturnal again?
Which ones were quieting and which were just now waking?
I didn’t leave myself enough time
and because of that I ran and ran
tentatively
as the dark began to wrap its arms more closely around me
I ran
but couldn’t see what I was running from or running towards
there’s a profound metaphor in here somewhere
I really liked the way you intertwined time and nature into this poem. I also love how you incorporated how you’re running, but you now sure where you’re going. I think this metaphor can be related to a lot of different things. Great job!
You have to begin again
Week five, teary eyes
Soldier’s don’t cry, pri
Week six, goodbye friends
Can’t remember the mascot, forgot
I became a wolverine–a smoke screen
For fate or God above, gave a shove
Into a new direction, after reflection
I realize my broken ties
to one platoon gave me a new
Purpose when I met my son, another one
A few years passed me by, I tried
A broken promise, I found Adonis
And none of it would ever be
Without a bad case of runner’s knee
POEM TREE
Shelter me, Poem Tree,
Shower me, with sympathy,
Empower me, with empathy,
Enlighten me, with poetry.
As I hold your limb,
Hold my hand,
Grace through grim,
Help me understand.
This life of mine,
Wrapping us in rhymes,
Cling to me, as I climb,
Upon your branches until I find….
A nest full of bliss,
Upon your Crest, I’ll kiss,
The stanzas others miss,
Embedded in our abyss,
Freed, we cannot resist,
This bond, leaf to fist,
Manifesting artistic mist,
Exposed on a papyrus list.
Hold me still, Hold me light,
I’ll use your wood, as I write.
I’ll protect you and hug you tight,
Even close, close tonight.
Your bark etches my thoughts,
Within your shade I walk,
Deep in your roots, wisdom is sought,
Winds whisper words to be taught.
I will cling to your stem,
We shall never part………
Grace through Grim,
Creatively,
I carve two hearts.
– Boxer
Wow, Boxer, this is so beautiful. I love the repetition of “Grace through Grim” Yes, indeed. The rhyming and each stem, limb and branch of your Poem Tree is just beautiful. The first stanza is my favorite and invites the reader in deeply.
In fact, when I first read the poem, I stopped on the first “Grace through grim” and just enjoyed it for a few moments. I was happy to see it again in the closing.
Donnetta, thanks for the prompt. There were a million causes and effects I could have written about. Like the new blooms every day here in the desert because of the winter rain. The hour is late, and I still can’t believe we have the president we do. In my lifetime, I will never know all the effects of electing him twice, but this one just sickens me.
How many times
have you heard
when the narcissist
(now in the White House)
mocked the disabled reporter,
it should have been
disqualifying?
Yet, here we are.
After that and a million
other vulgarities,
we have not
disqualified him.
And the effect:
Eager accomplices
spread their own
vulgarities daily
with impunity.
We have made
America
Gross.
Guilty.
Galling.
Grotesque.
Denise,
Yea, ugliness breeds more ugliness. I wish there were some way to put the genie back in the bottle, but I think we’re past that. That second stanza says it all.
Denise,
What has happened to the natural cause/effect order! The gop is broken, destroyed. Your cause/effect structure here is excellent. Over these last lines:
“We have made
America
Gross.
Guilty.
Galling.
Grotesque.”
These are facts!
Thanks Donetta for the call to focus on the positive and to consider cause and effect. This is the prompt that I needed today!
Tomorrow’s Teachers
Tomorrow I’m gonna
hand out pins to
a bunch of kids that
are gonna find themselves
in front of their very own class-
room come September. These
pins signify a passing of the torch,
a promise of “you’re ready”,
a small memento of the late
nights and early mornings,
the imposter syndrome and the
bitter failures that they had to
weather to become
professional.
They are going out into a
field that will try to beat
them down, offer them
curriculum-in-a-box, make
them test proctors and
attendance monitors. Replace
them with AI…But when their
kids need a push or a reset
or a sympathetic ear. An
advocate, a champion, a
firm hand. They will be there.
They earned their pins.
They know the assignment.
Oh, Dave, so glad they have you–their champion and advocate to help them know they are ready. This gave me so many warm fuzzies, especially that second stanza. All the challenges…And then your belief in them and encouragement. Beautiful!
I love this poem so much. “They earned their pins. / They know the assignment.”
Woo hoo!! Awesome poem!
“the imposter syndrome and the
bitter failures that they had to
weather to become
professional.”
this made me think of my own failures as a first year teacher starting in the middle of a year, not having any idea what I was going into. So many lessons learned!!
I’ve tried all day to think of a bad turned good situation and have come up empty. And once again I find myself unable to sleep but with something to write about.
Picture it.
A private room in a hostel
Montezuma, Costa Rica
The town so filled with tourists
That my friend and I had to stay in different hostels.
It was January, the peak of dry season
Which meant unrelenting heat
In an unairconditioned room.
And I was six months pregnant.
My friend and I said good night and retired to our separate locales
And I lay down to get some rest.
Except for the vibrating of the walls
And banging of drums
And singing and music
And a lively crowd.
It was only 10
But when the sun goes down at 6,
the body craves sleep early.
For hours the music pounded,
My ear plugs useless to the noise,
I stomped off to the beach to lie down
To the crashing of the waves.
Peaceful as it sounded,
The outside air was chilly
And I couldn’t get comfortable on the sand.
I eventually gave up and went back to my bed,
where the music had ended and I could get some rest.
Such a miserable night
And I feel it all again
As the bass pounds outside my window
Impeding sleep.
Was it really that bad that night?
Yeah, it really was.
Like that scene in Ozark
where Marty’s trapped in the Mexican basement with the heavy metal.
Cheri, sorry you can’t sleep, but this was a winner that came out of it. I think a series of your time in Costa Rica, six months pregnant, would be a great one! You really captured the frustration of trying to sleep, even on the sand. And tonight again. I haven’t seen that scene you talk about, but it must be awful.
There Was a Middle-Aged Woman Who Swallowed Her Pride
I know a woman
who swallowed her pride
I don’t know why she swallowed her pride – perhaps she’ll die
it bubbled and gurgled
and festered inside.
She swallowed a lie
to save her pride.
I don’t know why she swallowed the lie – perhaps she’ll die
It sank and it stank like
an ankle-deep sty.
She swallowed a giggle
to cover the lie.
I don’t know why she swallowed the giggled – perhaps she’ll die
It wriggled and jiggled
and tickled inside her.
She swallowed the lie to save her pride,
She swallowed the giggle to cover the lie.
Perhaps she’s dead.
Nah – she’s just learning that
living is messy.
Chea, fun! I found myself singing along, and then that last stanza made me smile. Yes, indeed. “living is messy”
Wow! this is a very intriguing and mind- bending work! I love the last stanza. Fantastic poem!
Poets,
Please forgive me for not responding before now. The last few days have been a complete roller coaster. Thank you all for your beautiful poetry. #brainfart
Donnetta! Who knew your prompt would land just as my crown popped off! I don’t know that this falls in the category of storms bringing the gorgeous blooms of spring, but it definitely made for some quick shifts of both attitude and schedule. Thanks for the iinspiration and allowing me to resee this annoyance from a different perspective!
A Change in the Schedule
Ducks in a row
meetings planned
appointments pointed
and then
POP
the crown detaches
quickly pushed back into place
but the damage is done
to the dental work
to the schedule
to the planning
to the roadmap of the day
Flexibility and patience
dance
do-si-doing along with frustration and overwhelm
carefully avoiding each others’ toes
Phone calls made
emails sent
schedules rescheduled
Ducks paddled
rows realigned
Hopefully the tooth
will be recrowned
tomorrow
so calm and order
will once again
reign
Kim Douillard
4/28/25
Yikes, Kim! At least you have a great attitude. I’m glad you were abject do-si-do it. I hope everything works out tomorrow.
Kim, so sorry for the tooth problem, but it sounds like you made the best of it! So many examples of fun wordplay in your poem. “appointments pointed” “do-si-doing”…”avoiding each others’ toes” I also like the play with crown, recrown, and reign. Love it!
This was a hard prompt for me today. I couldn’t seem to land on a topic. I thought about writing a procrastination poem, but I landed somewhere else.
because I have a
heart, I worry about our
country’s ill effects
by Mo Daley
4/28/25
Mo, your small poem captures what is in the hearts of many of us. It’s not easy to care so much.
Mo, thank you for your caring heart. You matter!
I’m sharing worries with you! How much more can we possibly take?
I, too, struggled all day. Everything I came up with that was bad just really was that bad. And I feel you with that poem—so true for me as well.
Oh, Mo, I couldn’t think of anything today either, but landed about where you did! “country’s ill effects” is heartbreaking.
ACE-6/10
if I told you, you will never understand
some stories are not poems
I am so sick of impressing people
my therapist, my coworkers, you
I had no choice
and yet I chose
I have no choice
and yet I choose
I am here and it is hard
It is hard and I am here
I do feel a bit miffed, though.
I never received that elusive
participation trophy.
Kasey, your poem gave me pause tonight. Your open lines ring so true. The lines, “I am here and it is hard
It is hard and I am here,” feel so true and triumphant. Good for you!
Kasey, I love the truth in these lines “some stories are not poems” and “I am here and it is hard / It is hard and I am here.” (And, yeah, we were promised “participation troph[ies],” weren’t we? I haven’t seen mine yet, either.) Thank you for writing and for showing up here and sharing your poems. I’ve really enjoyed them! (Sorry, that’s not a trophy, I know, lol, but maybe they can offer some small comfort….?)
Hi Donnetta,
thank you for hosting us and for such a beautiful topic and prompt. Your poem is a sweet reminder to keep hope in our hearts.
I was stuck today with not enough time and not a clear idea of what I wanted to write. When that happens, I often speak into my notes and let things just come out. That’s what I did today.
In The Garden of My Mind
Sometimes words fall
out of my mouth
Like seeds
And land in rich soil
Where a poem
Or a prayer
Blossom
© Stacey L. Joy, 4/28/25
yes, Stacey! Maybe that is what experience does for the poet; both good and bad, experiences are compost for prayers and poem. I love this beautiful simple poem. Excellent!
Bloom, Stacey. Bloom!
Beautiful! What a vision this induced. I see a picture of words falling onto fertile ground and sprouting.
Stacey, your poem is all I could ever ask for any day!
Donnetta’s precious prompt today
to reflect
on bad becoming good
when a hurt becomes a blessing
how something horrible melds into
love and wonder
i believe this, i do.
i feel it in my bones.
i have lived it.
there are earnings in all
challenges, mistakes, and pain:
beautiful gifts such as
resilience, courage,
faith in oneself, or
a wild story to tell
however
to offer my personal
“rocky roads to easy riding”
today?
no.
such balladry
is near impossible
after a night of insomnia,
and a full day to follow
with no time to pause
no nap, no catch my breath
believe me,
i tried to hold the prompt
all day in the back of my mind,
attempting to sift a topic
one cannot sift
slush mush slippery ooze
my mind’s reflections burp out
in little short-circuited gasps
an engine sputtering,
run
out
of
gas
here’s the gift of my bad today:
i land here,
with you
in VerseLove
and receive
your warm and kind
understanding
i am not a poet today
“One cannot sift/ slush mush slippery ooze”—I think you are very much a poet today, opening about process and showing gratitude. I appreciate this poem very much, Maureen!
Maureen, this is a vulnerable prompt, and it makes it hard to hold. Vulnerability is not always accessible especially when we are always so damned busy. I get it. I get this poem. You are always a poet, and I appreciate your honest approach.
Your poem speaks to my soul today, Maureen. Only you came up with something so wonderful. I’m still nursing a headache from last night’s lack of sleep. Thanks for showing us something so true.
You actually did it, Maureen! With your gift of bad today you have generated flowers of warm understanding.
I can appreciate your burn out today. So hard to be poetic after all the other tasks at hand.
Maureen, your poem speaks to the whole person you are and the poet whose “pilot light” inside simmers even as you are struggling with exhaustion. In my opinion, you are a strong voice each and every day!
Maureen,
We all have these days, and there is poetry in them, too, as your poem shows so cleverly. Love this section most:
“my mind’s reflections burp out
in little short-circuited gasps
an engine sputtering,
run
out
of
gas”
Oh but you are a poet, and a beautifully eloquent one at that.
Hello Donnetta! Thanks for this prompt today. This from the newspaper about the Altadena fires.
Walking around there was nothing but destruction
the neighborhood would need reconstruction.
Torched land and charred skeletal cars
a few lone chimneys left among scars.
He lost five cars to his recollection
a Monte Carlo among his collection.
An Impala and an old Coup de Ville
lost and burnt with its shiny grille.
Now a meet-up for cars still remaining
they roll pass homes, gaining
hope, a car show to bring people together
car buffs and collectors, birds of a feather.
Passing homes and businesses reduced to rubble
wishing their enthusiasm will redouble.
Heart broken neighbors and friends meet up
grab a doughnut and a hands-warming cup.
The car owners mourn while they heal.
They tap on the metal and look at the wheel.
There’s a scorched Ford truck with a fire scarred side
under a coat of clear paint to be eyed.
It took burning down homes to bring awareness
of people and kindness amidst so much bareness.
Susan, thank you for sharing this extension of the news. There is important labor in synthesizing “what happened” into a poetric version that resonates and captures humanity. Powerful work in the “It took burning down homes to bring awareness.” Wow.
Such tenderness and hope in this image –
Susan your poem is another human side of the horrific fires that rocked California. My cousin lost his home and car during the fires while at the hospital preparing for a bone marrow transplant! The human toll is great and yet as your poem (and my cousin’s story) reveal, there is hope among the ashes . Hope
I am so sorry to hear about your cousin’s loss and the loss of others.
Hi Poet Friends,
Im traveling, first in Normandy and then off to Egypt. I’ve been awake two days and am beat, so I’ll return to comment in France’s morning. I’m going with my first impulse today, which takes liberty with the prompt.
Echos from the Regime [echo sonnet]
Venezuelan refugees seeking asylum?
Deny them.
A judge protecting due process?
Arrested.
Black suit pope funeral protocol?
Blue clad gall.
One hundred days of chaos?
Our loss!
Stock market plummeting?
Ho-humming.
Supreme Court declaration?
Make ‘em.
Worst cabinet in history?
No mystery!
Glenda Funk
4-28-25
Glenda, sounds like an exciting trip. I also hope you get some sleep; however, for someone working on “overtime” you sure nailed the regime back here in the homeland. EVERY day there is a headline that makes your head turn. Well done.
We fill in our own “cause and effects” with each line and how we are impacted. Fits the prompt! Safe travels.
By the time you read the comments, you’ll be in France – how exciting! I am heading there on May 19th too. The echo form works so well with your message with the echoes like verdicts, or punch lines. This one resonates the most:
“One hundred days of chaos?
Our loss!”
Enjoy the trip and savor every moment!
Glenda, I wish I had your energy for adventure! I wish you sleep and fun. It’s always a toss up to try to sleep when there is foreign travel to be enjoyed. Your poem rhyme scheme has me tapping my foot here – – what a creative poem!
Safe travels. Will you go to Hurghada? This form is so powerful in the questions and responses. In the punctuation marks that so artfully punctuate the commentary, the call to action. That last line “No mystery!”
Here I am moaning about one night of no sleep and you create magic with two days deprivation! I just read an Atlantic article about a phonecall with the White House, and you have captured his lack of empathy, devil-may-care attitude so frighteningly and beautifully. We are on a runaway train…
I love this echo sonnet. Actually, I hate that you had to write it. The rhyming is great, but the sad state of affairs is heartbreaking.
Donetta, sometimes a prompt burns in my head as I go through my day and yours surely did. I thought about a few family members and I thought about the carpenter bees driving me crazy right now, but then I remembered the green motorcycle that took my breath away as it sped past weaving between cars so many mornings on the crowded Taconic State Parkway……
Most mornings I saw
A fluorescent green bike weaving
Dangerously between
Fast moving cars,
A human leaning low
Keeping any human resistance
To the bare minimum,
Learning to the side
Flying between rocky cliffs
To get to wherever,
Leaning to the heavens
To provide guidance.
One morning, I realized I had not seen
The heart stopping weaving mirage
For a long while.
I wondered, I hoped the green bike,
The death-defying driver were OK,
I said a prayer.
Many mornings later, a headline,
A glimpse of a mangled motorcycle,
Life changing injuries,
Reckless driving changed his course,
Artificial limbs, replacing originals,
Hand controls, replacing antics,
Skin graphs, replacing youthful features.
That morning, I realized he was
Changing lives, hopefully.
Presenting, now, to schools,
Warning, now, to young ones,
Providing, now, guidance
From the heavens.
Oh, what a story, Anita! Indeed, some decisions and behaviors are so dangerous, literally. I caught myself also wishing to “see” that green light again as your poem progressed as I hoped the motorcyclist was “Leaning to the heavens / To provide guidance.” You have skillfully played this idea once more at the end giving it a new meaning. Thank you!
Anita, what a tragic end to the motorcyclist – the maimed body and price he paid for the driving choices. I do hope there is good that came from it somehow. That’s a haunting story indeed.
Your verse weaves such a narrative, Anita. I appreciate the turn in the final stanza toward “I realized” as a move we want to also show our students when crafting narratives, that readers want some sort of sense making to help us see ourselves, to craft our own stories. And this “hopefully” turn of changing lives is it.
This is utterly sad…would it be so, that this loss of live means
“he was
Changing lives, hopefully.”
Anita,
This is such a sad poem but o e I read as a metaphor, too. Maybe that’s because I spent so much time during my teaching years on the journey motif in American literature. The cause/effect structure is clear and purposeful. I wish warnings from those who have had to learn the hard way worked better. Beautiful, haunting poem.
My freshman year of college
Was the year full of knowledge
Both good and bad
But who knew I’d make my parents mad
Living on campus, making new friends
This new life starts, and it ends
Went in looking great,
But came out with gained weight
Telling my parents was rough
They told me “Now your life will be tough”
If you haven’t guessed by now
You’re about to say “Wow”
I’m only eighteen
But I’m growing a bean
A little baby on the way
Using a lot of time to pray
God’s little blessing for Him and for me
But what will I do to get my degree?
I will study hard and find lots of help
For I don’t want to say “whelp”
I did it! She’s here!
Time to finish all I need to start that career
For myself and for her
These next few years will be a blur
Katelyn, your poem is raw and honest with the joy of college life and the joys and challenges of young parenthood. It’s is obvious you already have lots of love and I hope you also have a support network with lots of helping hands. I have not walked in your shoes personally, but I know many of my graduate students who have been there and are parenting littles while modeling learning and working and living. The days will be long, but as they all say, the years will fly.
Katelyn,
thank you for taking us through the stanzas of your journey and reflections on your time. I like how you conjure reassurance in the final stanza with the exclamation points, manifesting the ending.
Sarah
Your perseverance and joy radiates through this poem – what a lucky little girl, to have such a strong mom. Young moms have great energy!
Kaitlyn, thank you for sharing your story! Your determination to succeed is clear, andyes, it will lots of effort, but you are going to make it. The rhyming solidifies your message.
Donetta, about once a year a prompt evokes memories of specific family members. Your called up my son, Bob. We never learned the cause.
Sadness before gladness
In the middle often comes madness
That was me when the Navy team came
To tell us “Your son is dead!
He didn’t show up for work that day
That was odd. He was not one to stay away
Unless, it was on payday! “
They chuckled a bit, but it was my son
They’d found him dead on the floor in his room
Madness took over for a few days
Consoling words wouldn’t reduce the gloom
In the twilight one night, I reel in limbo,
Tension flows down my back
Becoming a fiery fist at the base of my spine.
“Lord, that boy was mine!”
A few nights later, I thought I was asleep
My husband lay next to me not making a peep.
But I hear a doorway open
I squinch my eyes because of the beam
Everything is not always as it would seem.
Hmm. I recognize the place.
My grandfather stands in a bright, glowing light.
“Come on in, Son”, he beckons
Grandmama nods. Her smile is also bright.
Ah! My grandparents are there to greet my son
Welcoming him there with open arms
Congenially turning on their well-known charms
By faith, I believe they’re all with God,
Or standing in line with the sheep!
If my son is with them, all is well. No need to weep.
I drifted right off into healing sleep.
Still often sad, but no longer mad.
Ann, your raw poem about your son has brought me to tears. So sad. No cause, not that it would make it better or easier. Your loss so profound. I too hope and pray that your son and your grandparents are with God, perhaps even playing golf with my brother who left us far too soon as well. My prayers and thoughts are with you.
Thank you, Anita. It is amazing what a “vision” can do on either side – sadness or gladness. I do not that was felt “relief” once I “saw” my Bob with my grandparents. It would be nice to know your brother is teaching my son to play golf. My son was a gymnastic-cheerleader. He’d probably being doing flips and spins even if he did not win! Thoughts of that bring me joy, too!
Anna, my heart goes out for your loss. Your son is so handsome – I am glad you included a photo. This side of heaven is so filled with pain, and it seems worse when there are no answers. Our faith is what gets us through, for sure. We know where we’re going, and we know who we’ll see when we get there on the other side. You have such strength, and I admire that so much about you.
Such a raw, beautiful poem about the loss of your son and the comfort you found. I hope writing about him is therapeutic. He sure was a handsome man.
Anna, such a beautiful son, a terrible and haunting loss…I feel the anguish of that cry, “Lord, that boy was mine!” Then the vision, the reassurance, the faith, the peace…beautiful beyond words. What strikes me in your final lines is “healing sleep” and often feeling sad by no longer mad – all of it a gift of faith, and courage for those of us who are reading your words. Your poem and this photo of your son will stay with me.
There are no words. All I have lived through, and this is my worst fear. You are brave for sharing, a hero for living, and a goddess for having to endure this pain. I wish you peace and for you to be reunited again in another, less cruel realm.
Anna, I cannot imagine your pain. Children shouldn’t go before their parents. I am glad strong faith helps you find strength and peace hoping your son is with your parents up there. From my losses, I know that sadness and grief are always here. Sending love and hugs your way.
Everyone of you who has taken time to write m please know that it is kindness like yours that keeps me from getting mad or staying sad. I’m glad you’re here for me and others who have written of similar experiences. That’s just one more “value” of ETHICAL ELA! Bless you all.
I’m so sorry for your loss, Anna. Your poem makes my sad and happy at the same time.
Donnetta, thank you for this fun prompt. I enjoyed your poem and the examples you gave us. Your poem gives me hope.
April Woes
My nose is stuffy, and both eyes itch.
These seasonal allergies are really a bitch.
Going through tissues two at a time.
So now I’ll be hitting up Amazon Prime.
I have a cough, and my throat is sore
I shouldn’t have opened that sliding glass door.
All I wanted was some lovely fresh air
But instead, I got pollen, which just isn’t fair!
This was incredibly funny to read, and the allergies are real. Thanks for sharing and making me laugh with your rhymes!
Rita, the pollen is REAL this year and my yellow tinged porch caused me to sneeze for 20 minutes even with my hand covering my nose! The good news is that soon, pollen will be replaced with flowers.
Rita, I feel you friend! I had this three weeks ago, and now today it’s the flu with fever and chills and aches. You bring us all the desires of opening the doors to spring only to find the Pandora’s box of symptoms waiting on the other side. Feel better!
Rita, I loved the rhyme and rhythm of your poem! I’m with you: “seasonal allergies” are the worst! I hope you start to feel some relief soon!
Rita, I love this! Such a rollicking poem about something so misery inducing!
Wait . . . I thought I was in charge . . .?
I wanted– no, needed– to change jobs.
The perfect job popped up:
Only two hours from Mom, so close but not TOO close.
I made the short list for a campus interview: YES!
Made it to the airport during Snowmageddon,
Connected with potential new colleagues,
Nailed the research presentation (or so I thought),
Came home and awaited the job offer.
No job offer.
WHAT?!?
Several months later, I showed up early at a conference session.
The only other person in the room?
Someone soon to become a new colleague,
Who invited me to apply to the position open where he teaches.
Hmm . . . do I want to return to Iowa . . .?
Almost 15 years later, the answer is still yes.
Sheila, I’m glad it worked out in the end! Not getting the job we want (and thought we “nailed”) is terrible and sadly very relatable! Thanks for sharing this with us!
The NEA and NHI
and studies from
the Universities
of Washington
and Minnesota
and researchers
from John Hopkins
all believe that
high school
students
should start
later in the
day which
is why, of
course,
our high
school next
year will
be starting
eleven
minutes
earlier at
7:12 AM.
Make
It
Make
Sense,
Please.
_____________________________________________
Thank you, Donnetta, for your prompt and your mentor poem with its reminder that “newness of life is about to be born” after “the showers of life bring with it a storm.” This is a reminder we could all use! For my offering, I kinda just did the first half of your prompt – the April showers bit – but, maybe, they’ll be a “part two” where I write a poem about how wonderful and educationally sound this decision will turn out to be. Hope springs eternal and all that. lol.
Scott! Your poem draws a bit of a giggle out of me, because of clearly showing how decisions made don’t seem to make sense. I’d be surprised if there is a part 2 for this poem, but hope I catch part 2 if it does get written.
Scott, they have been talking about this forever, yet they keep starting earlier. I like how you list all the experts and then quickly add the twist that your district doesn’t seem to care what the experts say.
Scott, maybe nothing is supposed to make sense! – Emily Dickinson (okay not exactly, but you get where I am going right?) ha! Great poem.
Scott, itlooks like causal relationships do not work in this case. The school schedule is one of the things that took me awhile to adjust. I understand school starts early because of the busses. They want to get kids to schools before the rush hours (at leàst, this is how it was explained to me). In my schooling in Ukraine, classes always began at 8:30 a.m. and ended at 2:10 p.m. – six 45-minute lessons with 10 and 15 minutes breaks, and 20 minutes for lunch after 4th class period.
OMG! Makes as much sense as so much as we deal with these days. Please–make it make sense!
I love how quickly this poem flows and leads us into a wrong conclusion about a later start time. You have my sympathies. That is way too early for anyone to start school.
Scott,
Clearly somebody was doing their own research when they came up with the start times. Make it make sense is the rule
of the day.
Making New Friends
Offer accepted, contract signed.
Five days later, realtor says, “Denied.”
Back on the hunt,
choices two and three “Contingent”.
Find a fourth, put in an offer.
”Mommy! This isn’t our house.
We need the one with the two dogs.”
That offer, they went with another.
Sigh.
Where is the dog house?
Raised ranch, not ideal.
Not bad, though.
Offer accepted, contract signed.
Closing date in September.
Realtor called—
neighbors extend invitation.
August block party.
Invitation accepted,
please don’t let this one
fall through.
Twelve years later —
great new friends.
©️Jennifer Kowaczek April 2025
Donnetta I love looking at things gone wrong leading to something good. That definitely happened for us.
Oh . . . your poem stirred up so many house hunt memories. Isn’t it amazing how we end up in the right house and meeting the friends we didn’t know we needed?
It’s been 36 years since we last house hunted, and the market was not as difficult as it has been in recent years. We have had wonderful neighbors in our cul-de-sac!
Oh this house hunting is daunting! My daughter is going through the same thing. Contigency, offer denied, etc, So hard.
Hi Donnetta, happy to see a prompt from you. Your regular appearance here has been missed. Your voice is so strong in your mentor poem. I love the all caps and “(at least I’ve been told)”. The cause and effect prompt is interesting, and I’ve been thinking a lot about blame recently dealing with a family situation. Pretty good avenue to express my thoughts.
The Blame Game
When hardship eventually fell on you
Did you play the blame game too?
“It was all his fault, it wasn’t my choice”
Or “this happened only because of my voice.”
Did you ever point your finger firmly
Or was the blame you dealt kind of blurry?
I can’t ever escape the game that pulls me in
I always liked competition but here there’s no win.
The game doesn’t use cards or dice, just agonizing
Spans of wondering, overthinking, and scrutinizing.
I recently played to see who was worse
In a situation too difficult for this verse.
I’m always left wondering: did it do me any good?
But, no, getting an answer is never a likelihood.
When hardship eventually fell on you
Did the blame game play you too?
Ooh, that last stanza!! Such a zinger!
Oh, Angie, the blame game doesn’t have any winners. I agree with you, it is agonizing and draining out life energy. I like how you framed the poem beginning and ending with the same haunting question. The rhyming couplets help reflect the poem’s edgy tone. Well crafted!
All Because I Met A Boy
Clouds of sadness in my chest
Heavy and gray, like the winds
My days were filled with grief
Dreams at night of sorrow being gone
I went about my days
That were filled with heavy gray sadness
Until I met a boy
Who turned winds into sunshine
He talked about Jesus so open and clear
Took away the pain in my chest and
Brought a smile to my face
He healed a heart that he didn’t even break
“He healed a heart that he didn’t even break” that’s a lovely line. Sounds like a keeper!
Alyssa, thank you for sharing this. Heartbreak is truly one of those things that fits the theme of april showers bringing may flowers. I hope he chases after bringing a smile to your face always.
Jesus has a way of bringing a smile to your face and healing hearts. I love this poem so much. I’m so glad you met a boy.
Plans
Life happened while I was busy lining up my plans.
Such simple plans:
Go to university,
Graduate,
Serve in the world for a couple of years,
Before going to work,
Marrying, and having kids.
Easy, right?
I met him during my freshman year.
Knowing he’d derail my plans,
I tried to end it,
But love and answers to prayer
Made me stick it out.
Dropping out at 19, I married.
Mother of four by 27,
Health problems made childbearing end.
Had I followed my carefully laid plans,
I could not have had children.
Back to university at 34,
Graduating three times,
Then going to work,
Serving where and when I can–
All my plans were fulfilled, but in a different order.
What you’ve written can be a prompt itself! Someday I will write mine because it hasn’t been “ideal”. Thanks for the inspiration!
You’re welcome. I look forward to reading your best-made plans and what life did with them.
Kelley, I love that final line. It’s so, so true. I love looking back and seeing that my plan wasn’t the best route after all.
Yes, your last line rings true. So glad your plans have been fulfilled. Some things in fate (like love) we can’t control.
I will (hopefully) circle back to write a poem later, but I wanted to pop on and say how much I enjoyed your poem and the encouragement it gives me to keep moving forward!
when i was 15, everything felt like it was so much worse than it really was. as i’ve gone through my journey of love and relationships, i have found that being broken up with isn’t always the worst thing.
the relief of a breakup
last october,
when i broke up with my ex girlfriend,
i was suprised when i was happy–
and a couple of years ago,
when my ex boyfriend broke up with me,
i was surprised when i was relieved–
becuase when my first boyfriend
told me we should take a break
when i was fifteen
i felt like my world was about to crumble,
and break, and tear, and fall apart
until there was only
an empty husk of me left.
but when i broke up with my ex girlfriend,
we were okay,
we were better than before,
because sometimes when you’re completing
a puzzle, you think you’ve
found the perfect piece to fill the empty hole
in your heart, but really,
it fits better elsewhere.
and when my ex boyfriend broke up with me,
i had spent the night before
wondering how i
should break the news to him
that we’re done.
when you’re fifteen,
you think that the first person you’ve ever loved
is the one you’re going to continue to love
and they’ll love you
until the end of time,
but really,
when you look back a year later,
you’ll pray
and thank god
and be grateful that it didn’t work out.
Wow, I’m 37 and can barely remember my first breakup. Or maybe I shouldn’t say “barely” maybe I don’t remember it at all. You are so true! Thanks for sharing.
Oh, that next to last stanza . . . so true. This poem is powerful. Thanks.
Donnetta, thank you for hosting, for your prompt and reassurance that after each storm, we have a chance of a fresh start.
As I walked this morning, I thought about each little thing that may result in something, so this poem (not particularly about my habits) wrote itself in a way:
Decisions, Decisions
Late wake-up—missed the sunrise glow
No walk through the blooms before work, oh no.
Cereal for breakfast—energy crash,
Snack attack follows, a cookie dash.
Coffee at three—wide-eyed at two a.m.,
Counting sheep in a sleepless mayhem.
Winging a task without much thought—
Turns out some lessons can’t be bought.
Yet,
Smile at a stranger—it circles right back,
Kindness given—fills what we lack.
We trip, we tumble, we make our way—
Learn from mistakes, and it’s still a good day.
When I read Donnetta’s “cause and effect” prompt I immediately thought about my issue with decisions. Sometimes they are so hard, even the ones we don’t intentionally make have great effects. You ponder this well in your poem. I love the positive end
Coffee at three— wide eyed at 2 a.m…..a familiar, oft-repeated mistake…but yes,a circle of smiles makes it still a good day. I love your last stanza Leilya!
Leilya, you give us a smorgasbord of cause and effect here today. The cereal crash, the coffee – – and the good that comes back with extended kindness.
I love how this poem went from challenging to “a good day”.
Leilya,
The rhyme here captures the rhythm of life. I nodded as I read. Your experiences are simultaneously familiar and unique.
I grew up hearing my grandmother quoting April showers bring May flowers and March comes in like a lion and out like a lamb, etc. Ghosts of the “Gods of the Copybook Headings” by Kipling, perhaps? You effectively use so many references to these maxims in your poem.
From Ada Limon’s “Full Gallop“
The night after, I dream my teeth
have fallen out, that I hold each
like useless pearls in my palm.
Screaming into the mirror, I marvel
at what my voice can do without
guards, breath set free.
In the morning later, I remember
yesterday, when I didn’t speak up,
gargling wisdom pearls, choking gumption.
I say I will never hold back again
as I sprinkle cinnamon into grounds
brewing coffee that will stain my tusks–
my tongue feels a loosening tooth
who questions my resolve, my courage,
so I rip her out and practice bellowing.
__________________
Donnetta, thank you for this prompt. I am not sure where I went entirely. This all felt very cathartic, though.
Sarah, what a scary dream! In where I am from, fallen out teeth in a dream mean losses, and this is what my initial thoughts were as I read the first stanza.
Then an unexpected turn as you wonder of what your voice “can do without / guards, breath set free.” I can relate to regrets of not speaking up at times and like your resolve to “never hold back again.” Thank you for the link to Ada Limon’s poem. I enjoyed it.
i LOVE this poem!! you bring such a scary, visceral feeling with the dream of teeth, to the feeling of utter control, being able to be alive and look in the mirror. love this!
Dare I say I like your poem way more than Ada’s?!
I have the teeth dreams too where I grind them til they all fall out. Yes, I’ve heard all the negative things about what it means. Most of my teeth were extracted because of abscesses when I was young. Dentists say they were “soft”. Thanks for the inspiration to write a poem about that someday. I like “tusks”, “pearls”, and “without guards”.
Sarah,
There is so much symbolism here. Your dream makes me think of gritting teeth both at night and as a way to avoid speaking up, but there’s irony in having a voice when the teeth are gone because teeth are articulates. Lots to contemplate here about what keeps us from speaking up. I really like all these complications.
Donetta, I’m so glad you were selected for a Monday prompt because, well, Mondays are Mondays. THIS IS SUCH A GREAT WAY TO BEGIN THE WEEK. Here’s to your “newness of life.” We’re all feeling it today.
Fighting the Pissy-Mist Within
I’ve learned to check my Eeyore
with Piglet-play, envious of Tigger
and perhaps a lil’ too Poo with my dispositions.
They nicknamed me Charlie Brown for a reason.
I blame Lucy. Such a cruel friend to have.
Somewhere between Gilroy & Stone,
I rechecked the flesh and bone,
(lord knows it’s quite a comedic body)
to count my blessings.
Education. Education. Education.
is both a mother and a father,
(and I have Sudanese communities
to thank for that).
I’ve learned to swirl the negative
into a ball as an adulting pastime.
There’s nothing more satisfying
than swiping left or right
to remove the ugly.
When algorithms go amok,
I find comfort in the matrix,
pushing the impossible out of my way.
Love it, want it, eat it, rugrat.
I think I got an A on that poem,
(although the sorority girls
grimaced like I was greasy, grimy
gopher guts (you know the
prosecuted monkey meat-kind).
But opportunity is a fickle matter
in the grandiose gamble
of day-to-day life
(Kwame says “Yes”).
But, God bless, it flies by,
& that’s why I continue to ask “why?”
(Geek-boy Bry, the Frog guy)
while courting Pandora & her box
with hope,until I die.
I’ve learned to check my Eeyore.
I don’t know what to be more excited about in the first stanza, but it gave me such joy. (I’m more of a Linus myself, and my husband is the Charlie Brown with occasional Eeyore problems.) So many references to popular culture throughout this poem made it really fun to read.
Bryan, your title immediately sets out the tone of the speaker’s (your?) internal struggles against negativity. I also see you filled the poem with so many personal references, pop culture allusions, and vivid imagery. I like that you count your blessings and is grateful for education, especially “Sudanese communities to thank for that.” Love your unique, creative and relatable voice and a rich alliteration in these lines: “the sorority girls grimaced like I was greasy, grimy gopher guts.” The hope in the end is reassuring. Thank you!
The first stanza takes me back to my days of Winnie the Pooh everything. My grandmother worked for Sears, so I had all the clothes – – Pooh was on everything, and of course I loved Eeyore, and I think it’s the empath in me that just wanted to take all his woes on and fix it. Snoopy is a favorite, too – – I would have thrown down with Lucy, now. She’s a mean girl, and God don’t like mean girls. I love the way you set up these characters and take us on the journey today.
Check my Eeyore…now that’s wisdom! and I adore this line: “pushing the impossible out of my way.” I think it can be take more than one way but I choose to see it as eliminating the idea of “impossible.” I remain awed – totally – by the your wordcraft!
The Weight I Carry
Three little hearts depend on me,
Their smiles, their cries, their dreams to be.
I hold them close through endless days,
Through silent prayers and hidden grays.
A husband’s temper, harsh and cold,
Still I stay, still I hold.
Two hours away, my school doors call,
Problems waiting, battles tall.
As head, I fight, I lead, I stand,
Carrying hope in trembling hands.
Between the world and home’s demand,
I build a life from grains of sand.
No one sees the wars I fight,
But in my soul still burns the light.
For love, for faith, through every fall,
I carry the weight and still stand tall.
Najma Masood.
Oh, “I build a life from grains of sand” is so beautiful in the agency of these words and the belief in what human beings can do.
Thank you very much for kind words.
Najma, the title echoes Tim O’Brian’s The Things They Carried right away for me. The speaker’s weight is truly a heavy burden of balancing “Between the world and home’s demand.” your poems also makes me think of how much the mothers have to sacrifice for those little lives who depend on them. Thank you for sharing your poem! Sending kind thoughts.
oh thank you
It,s my pleasure that you took the time to read my poem and respond to it.
This poem really shows what it’s like to be a mother and how you fight the silent battles that no one knows or sees. But it’s all worth it for those three hearts.
Yes It is a challenging duty, but one that brings great joy.
Oh this is heartbreaking and beautiful all at once. Thanks for sharing this brave piece with such powerful word choice. Hugs.
Thanks for your beautiful words.
Oh Najma, My heart goes out to you and your little ones. Praying for you.
Oh dear thank you.
Thanks Donetta for today’s reminder of the newness of life. In the midst of the storm, it’s hard to see clear…that is certainly true and you’ve given me lots to think about.
An Absurd Word
Discarded and draggled
left almost alone,
with such a long road ahead,
I gathered her up,
my flower, my own
and kissed her sweet
curly-topped head.
Tear-stained, but determined
I solemnly vowed,
Never, never again,
No dinners.
No movies,
No strolls in the park.
No concerts
No diamonds
no kiss in the dark.
And yet…
and yet…
and yet…
Who knows what the wind
leaves behind
in her biting brutal gale?
Who knows
what blossoms wait
beneath the muddy trail—
a child’s prayer?
a child’s wish?
Who knows how seeds are planted?
Who knows how prayers are answered
and a child’s wish is granted?
I have only
learned
one thing,
There’s no word
as absurd as
never.
Oh, Ann. The final lines of this poem will get me through the day “as absurd as/never.” Wow.
Ann, I sense such a sorrow in the first stanza of your poem, and then turn to hope as you admit absurdity of the word “never.” I am wondering with you: “Who knows how prayers are answered / and a child’s wish is granted?”
Thank you!
Make these lines into a poster and mass
produce:
I love the story this tells and how it comes to a beautiful closing moral. This is lovely. I really enjoyed the images. Thank you for sharing.
Brilliant, Ann! The rhythm, the wondering, the final revelation of the word – all of it! Not to mention the reminder about using the word “never”…I will always think of it as absurd now.
A true love story from the Universe. Thanks for this fun, and wide open, prompt today.
open doors
It was our first date,
when I saw the car parked
in line next to yours
belonged to my
preschool crush.
I knew his face from childhood,
despite being 150 miles
and 15 years away.
Right there in that lot,
my brain raced back in time.
What would today look like
if I had
walked a different street
sat in a different row
ate a different meal
had a different roommate
wore a different sweater
endless choices and past decisions
…which car would I be riding in?
The Universe doesn’t show her cards
during all of these choices,
Closing door A
to open door B.
But boy, did she think
herself funny that year
when she put my first crush
behind door 103
and my final crush
with arms wide open
inside door 212.
Thanks to
endless choices and past decisions,
the Universe opened the right doors
to you.
This is lovely! I think the Universe is often kinder than we think!
C.O., I, too, think sometimes about endless whatifs, but try to trust my instincts (or the Universe). I like your thought process through this poem. Those “endless choices and past decisions” brought you exactly where you are. Love it!
This is wonderful. Love the invoking of and personification of the universe and all the “what if” possibilities. You do parallel phrasing so well.
Donnetta,
Thank you for hosting and prompting us to find the light in the dark.
This line resonated with me:
and made me think of tough times that seemed never ending at the time, but that did indeed end.
———————————————
When my nephew Ike was so sick
born on the first day of school in August
not on my mom’s birthday in November
born fitting in our palms
at a mere two pounds
when his first Valentine was an emergency trach to ease his struggled breathing
Ellen Gichrist’s Rhoda gave me a mantra of strength
There’s more right with him than wrong
I love this…There’s more right with him than wrong. What a beautiful poem.
This is so true. My little granddaughter was born disabled–miraculously living to be five–and I remember counting all that was right with her. Thank you for sharing it.
Love how you are leaving us with such a moral and lesson of strength and resilience here. Beautiful story telling, with carefully selected moments in time. Thanks for sharing.
Oh, Sharon, do I know the feeling of a sick baby in our lives. But yes, there is definitely more right than wrong. He will grow up to show you and the world what a rough start turns into.
Thank you, Stacey. This was a while back. He’s now a sweet, healthy teenager. Grateful for all the nurses, doctors and family who helped him through those hard beginning years. It’s amazing what can be done for premies now.
Absolutely beautiful.
Donnetta, The idea of a cause and effect poem ties so well to the adage “April showers bring May flowers.” I need to repeat this mantra lately. My mother in law fell a few weeks ago. She is 93. Here’s a quick ditty, but I couldn’t force a rhyme at the end.
“Well, I did it,” you said
from the ER bed.
You thought you’d be dead.
They said you hit your head.
Now there is another plan.
After rehab, you’ll be home again.
Walking daily, patience is your Man.
This fall will not bring you down.
Margaret,
what a tribute to you mother-in-law’s resilience and toughness.
I like that your poem begins with a snippet of dialogue and then quickly sets the scene.
I imagine that this simple line reveals so much about the way your mother-in-law lives her life, not just after this injury:
Margaret, your mother-in-law seems very resilient. My mother-in-law would call her “one tough cookie.” Hope she heals well soon. you tell a story in four lines with your first stanza – each word counts and carries the weight. So good!
I love this! It’s so scary when you thought you were going to lose someone but they end up being okay! Short and simple, but a powerful idea! Great job!
Margaret, I remember this happening right after the Mississippi trip, and I’m glad she is improving and has a plan. I’m glad she didn’t do worse damage. I’m learning the virtues of slowing down – – patience is such a virtue that somehow a slower pacing helps me with being patient and not trying to do everything all at once which is my nature, and I sense that you have a lot of patience. I need to learn better pacing from you. I wish I were back in Mississippi sipping tea.
Oh, Margaret. Such mixed feeling reading this – horror that your MIL fell, at her age, but also awe at her resilience, even so. For the record: to me, not forcing that rhyme at the end makes a greater impact.
Margaret, sometimes our writing encourages us, so let this “good news” about your mother in law do that for you. No need, here in our group , to force anything. Please accept our prayers for your family.
Oh, gosh! How frightening. My aunt is 93 and fears falling. She lives alone! I’m glad your MIL is okay.
Margaret, your last line my favorite. “This fall will not bring you down.” Praying your mother in law makes a full recovery.
Donnetta, your poem speaks straight to my very being. Life in this world (as an old hymn and my Granddaddy used to say) is “full of toil and struggle, misery and strife.” But Granddaddy would also be the first to say that is not the whole story. Far from it. We need this poetic invitation, today and every day, to remember that overcoming and joy are possible. That we can find and give strength. That “God is enough” – and more. Thank you for beckoning us to find the good despite the bad – we may have to shovel for this gold, but it is there. I will leave y’all with my husband as evidence…
Revival
My husband’s preaching revival this week
in a little country church tucked into the woods.
The older generation comes to the services, dressed
In their comfortable best, some leaning on walkers…
there are no young people or children here.
My husband looks out over this gathering
of the aging, battle-scarred faithful. He speaks of loss
and the attacks on one’s health, using the example
of his eye, removed ten years ago upon the diagnosis
of ocular melanoma. I wish, he tells the rapt congregation,
that this was the worst episode I ever had with my health,
but it is only the beginning…he will tell them, before
the revival is done, about his heart, how it stopped
one day while he was driving, how people saw his truck
veering off the road and into the trees, how it didn’t
strike anyone or anything, how it missed plunging
headfirst down a ravine by mere inches, how EMS
was less than a mile away, arriving in time to
restart his heart (with ten shocks from the paddles
and CPR shattering his sternum in the process)…
about induced hypothermia to give his brain time
to recover from the rush of blood returning…
I do not know if he will mention the memories he lost
as a result of the brain’s attempt to protect itself;
a few have returned. I do not know if he will mention
what he heard when the world went dark, as he straddled
Now and Eternity. I do not know if he will talk about needing
not one, not two, but three cardiac surgeries,
including the burning of heart tissue to stop arrhythmia…
deliberate scars that bring healing…or that all this
would not be the last of the attacks on his health;
he had a spinal fusion last fall.
If anyone understands pain and suffering, it’s this man.
Yet here he is before us in the pulpit, silver head shining like a crown,
preaching the Word with vitality. Tears shine in the eyes of the people,
but it is not grief. Not sorrow. Not pain. It is hope. Hope. Hope.
They will laugh heartily should he, my laughter-loving husband,
make his favorite crack about being a member of the Lazarus Club.
All I know is that right here and right now, his face
has never been more beautiful, or more radiant.
Hallelujah! Thine the glory! sing the people,
Hallelujah! Amen! Hallelujah! Thine the glory
—revive us again.
Fran, what a perfect way to work in the hymn at the end. We all need some reviving! Your husband is surely a man in God’s full favor for the devil to be trying to stump him up so much. That is divine intervention on so many levels, in so many instances – – especially the ravine. You all are blessed beyond measure with these miracles, and I’m glad he continues doing what he does so well – – he has the hedge of protection surrounding him!
Thank you for your passionate words, Kim – as a bit of postscript: at one point in the hospital, recovering from the cardiac arrest and hypothermia, with high-powered meds leaving his system and excruciating pain settling in, he believed he saw the devil in the doorway, wearing a suit and mad as hell that he survived. Just saying.
Fran, this brought tears to my eyes. Your husband’s fight for survival is a testament to your lives together. His radiant face is for you, too. I know from some experience that we lean on each other in the hard times. You are a rock, my friend.
Wow. This is beautiful Fran. Silver head shining like a crown…I had goosebumps all through and by the time you described. his beautiful, radiant face, I had tears in my eyes.
Wow, Fran. Simply wow! Storytelling. Narration. The last lines. The strength. Thank you for sharing this with all of us today.
The Lazarus club had me cracking up. And my mom, who is a member. She, too, had had three cardiac surgeries and is a puzzle put back together but missing a rib from the last one. I’m glad we both have our loved ones and can make light of their former problems. We always said my mom was like a cat with her multiple lives, but I think I like the Lazarus club better, though I hope never to join it. Thank you for your lovely poem.
What an uplifting prompt and mentor poem for today, Donnetta!
Change Your Ways
A game’s loser
refuses to wilt
instead he chooses
to fly
digging down deep
working real hard
in order to beat
the next guy.
Back to the basics
practicing hard
figuring out
his flaws
breaking it down
checking out weakness
in order to find
the cause.
Losers back down
they often give up
and accept the other
has the edge
Winners rise up
resolve to improve
avenging the loss
becomes their pledge
Next time you lose
don’t accept the defeat
instead try to determine
the source
then adapt your ways
tweak your mindset
and begin on a
winning course.
~Susan Ahlbrand
28 April 2025
This is a true champion’s mindset, Susan. I feel like this poem could be posted in classrooms and hallways and gymnasiums everywhere. Mindset is everything – and shifts, essential to survival itself. Well-done!
Love your message, your form, your rhythm, your rhyme! This one is a winner, and I agree with Fran – – make it a poster and put it up it in the halls of your school. We all need this message.
I really enjoyed this poem! Being a person who hates losing in their sports competition, this really brings out what a winning mentality looks like.
whay an inspiring poem to share with students…especially at this in the school when some are on the border of not passing. I’m sure this is the kind of advice you share to empower their learning.” Tweak your mindset.” We know that making up missed assignment helps, too. :-). Even if not getting full credit.
I love the encouragement to not accept defeat…to learn and grow and be better.
Good Morning, Donetta and all. What a fun prompt. Isn’t it funny how all of us miss a little something everyone else seems to know? I guess that’s why it takes all of us in education to get learning to work! There is a fierce positive message in your poem. I love that. What we’ve been through makes us who we are meant to be.
This is a snippet of a longer poem sparked by a memory sparked by the phrase, ’cause and effect.’
Cause and effect
If April is to shower as
May is to flower then
June is to moon, noon, spoon.
Right?
It’s hard to know
when it all began.
But I can begin with spoon.
It fell off the table
in the dining room, clattering
to the floor.
I was watching the Captain and
that sneaky little bunny
waiting for the ping pong balls
to fall.
My giggle was primed
as I sat on my hippity hop
in front of the living room TV.
Linda, this is fun and has a combination of a chicken/egg feel and Dr. Seuss. The words spoon, pong, hop all add the bouncy feel of this poem. Thank you for sharing today.
I am so intrigued, Linda! I well remember Captain Kangaroo.. you have flung open the doors to exploring a child’s understanding of cause and effect, and the importance of even the simplest things…just fascinating. Love the play of June, moon, noon, spoon…and where it led you.
Linda, the memories of the Hippity Hop!!!!! Mine was red, and I also loved Captain Kangaroo and Mr. Green Jeans. It’s funny that the bunny hops and you are on a Hippity Hop bouncing like the bunny…..clattering spoons. Love the parallels.
What a fun memory of watching Captain Kangaroo. Also enjoyed your hippity hop word play.
Awww, I watched Captain Kangaroo faithfully! I wonder why I have so little memories of anything specific. This is incredibly cute! And who didn’t love the hippity hop!
This poem is so fun. I’d love to read the rest and see where it goes.
Ah, Donnetta! Such a powerful reminder today of hitting pause and taking a moment to breathe. Enough is my OLW this year, and it brings blessings all the time as I question – do I need another? should I do this thing? Enough is enough, indeed! Thank you for this poem and for hosting us today. I chose an etheree and reverse etheree.
Turning the Tables on a Narcissist
sometimes you don’t realize it right then
a certain someone cuts you off
because you wrinkle their plan
you begin to question
the reasons for their
bad choice, then just
like that you’re
cut off ~
thank
God!
you were
dealing with
a narcissist
but hadn’t figured
it out until you were
next on the flying monkey
list but you knew right from wrong and
turned the cutoff into your own choice
you escaped! (as always, they play victim)
This is fabulous…there is story here and internal gratitude of what could be a complicated situation. I love etheree for this specific poem. The shrinking of self wondering to the full gratitude is effective.
what a great image to use in reference to a narcissist. Those dang monkeys gave me so many nightmares as a child, and now as an adult, I would say that dealing with narcissists leads to the most nightmares! Those who cause such turmoil and then play the victim are the worst.
Kim, your words and the form work so well here! Flip it 90 degrees and it even looks like a table. Ugh, the victimhood of the narcissist– you played this so well! Thank you for sharing today.
Oh my heavens, Kim – you had me first with “you wrinkle their plan” – captivating word choice – and then with being “next on the flying monkey list.” -Bam!! I know such folks and you’ve nailed it, in your classic, vivid, only-Kim way. Yes, thank God for being cut off, because, sadly (or not), escape is necessary in such cases. Narcissists DO “always play victim” without ever considering, are incapable of considering, logically, that it cannot ALWAYS be everybody else’s fault, now can it? All this in a double etheree, too! You are a wonder with words and insight, friend – and although I know much pain was involved until the realizing and eventual escape, I celebrate the good coming after the bad, and the strength gained in the process. You give others much hope, friend: Overcoming is possible.
Kim, I think we talked about narcissism. I’m amazed at your turn of phrasing in this form. “Next on the the flying monkey” is funny but so true. It is so hard to escape narcissistic behavior. Choice matters!
Kim, the double etheree works so well, as you clearly show the shift from being cut off to a realization of how great it is knowing right from wrong and making your own choices. Kuddos!
I love this poem! The form is so beautiful, the dwindling down, as if you’re dwindling down with it, and then the rise against you rise with it! So powerful, great work!
What I love most about this poem, Kim, is it appears like an apparatus you could wrap around your fist to shove in a perpetrator’s face! Sorry about that…usually not that violent…but we all know noses this would be perfect for…and I love that God would grace them exactly in the center!
Thank God for escapes from the dreaded narcissist! Great choice of words, Kim.
Kim, your poem resonates so much with me. Being cut off and escaping…both are great IMO.
Kim,
I had a narcissist, too. Best thing he did for me was leave. Love the imagery in “next on the flying monkey list.” Fun poem and structure.
Donnetta, thank you for hosting today. Your words, “enough is enough” in all caps has extra power and we should all proclaim that from the rooftops. I got a bit side-tracked this morning with a few random connections that I’m not sure even make sense at this point–but here it is anyhow.
Alice woke up with me this morning
curiouser it is, correlation is not causation
often yielding whimsical falsations
without explicit explanations
speed of santa and presents received
type of john deere and flowers blooming
run in with black cats and what you’ve accomplished
effective rhyme scheme and poet laureate status-ing
don’t be april fooled in this situation
check those non-sensicals with evaluation
be curious about causation from a correlation
I love all the “tion” sounds at the end of your words…it gives a feeling of busy-ness even if there are non-sensicles. It’s got a great whimsy vibe.
Stefani, your poem is singing my words this morning. How many times in a week do I say Correlation is not Causation? Yes, yes! Bring on the truth. Data is like a carnival fun house with some funky distortions, and your poem feels like entering a data window this morning, complete with black cats and nonsensicals. This poem speaks to my world.
“Poet laureate status-ing” is a great line for the work we are accomplishing. Nothing short of a miracle-ing of writing.
Stefani, your final stanza speaks to me, especially checking the non-sensicals and being “curious about causation from a correlation.”
Agreed…but meaning-making has always come with my nonsensicals. Oh, look a butterfly on the Cyprus out front. Hi, Grandma. Love this, Stefani B.
Hi Donnetta
Well, I started with one possible path in mind and ended up in another place entirely.
Kevin
This
becomes
that and that
becomes
this, but which is
the what and what
is the which,
and where
is the when,
for when a look
becomes
that, and that
becomes
this – is it then
that this glance
becomes
a passionate kiss?
(this one almost invited me to read it aloud: https://sodaphonic.com/audio/fTuEDc2b8EDAewd216NE
)
oooooh. Cool word play! This looks like it’s finished and ready for publication. Well done.
It may have taken you to an unexpected place, but what a place it took you!! I love where this landed!
Totally love the rhythm here and think the ending actually fits perfectly! Makes me rethink how i read the previous lines. I enjoyed this, thank you.
Kevin, the audio is such an effective addition/translation of your words this morning. Thank you for creating this bonus mode today.
All the fluttering uncertainty, and then POW! Right in the kisser, in the best possible way.
This is a beautiful word trip from “this” to “a passionate kiss,” Kevin. Wonderful in all senses!
Oof. Kevin…you flirt. Love it.
I love this, Kevin. The ending is HOT and unexpected!