Verselove is a community celebration of poetry in April—an invitation to write, read, and reflect together. You’re welcome to write a poem a day or to come and go as you need. Reading and leaving a brief note—a line you loved, an image that stayed, a feeling a poem stirred—is also a meaningful way to participate. This is a generous, low-pressure space. We’re glad you’re here.

Our Host: Ashey Valencia-Pate

Ashley lives in Titusville, Florida where she works as a high school English teacher. She believes in learning as a partnership between teachers and students. In her free time, she enjoys relaxing with her husband, three children, and three dogs.

Inspiration

When I discuss poetry with students, I highlight the importance of not only reading poems, but reading them aloud. Poems should be performed.  The impact of an enjambed or end-stopped line, the rhyme scheme, and stressed words in each line come even more alive when  they are spoken.

Poetry can be a cathartic space, and a place to reclaim the voice within us. It can be moving, witty, languid, or full of snark.

Process

Today, I invite you to write about a topic you feel like you need to speak about. Slam poems often include a performance piece at around 3 minutes, but instead of focusing on length, I invite you to focus on:

~using rich language and showing your emotions
~using line-breaks to emphasize your tone and shape the mood
~playing with length or adding a shift to highlight a call to action.

Ashley’s Poem

The Testing Cord

We’re in a literacy crisis
I’m preaching poetic devices
Think critically, fight the boxes
Chase them with wit of the foxes

Readers lost in a current
Someone cries, “Choice is abhorrent!”
Never read or write for joy
Just connect to the depth, employ
Those test-taking strategies
Little echo-chamber tragedies

One right choice. One right answer
Synchronized by puppet masters
Fall in line, click the choice
Forget you have a voice.

Or…

Fight against the machine
Reimagine this bleak scene
Slam a fist on the podium
Raining research before them
Bring back sliding glass doors
Cut the stifling
testing cord

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.

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Wendy Everard

Thanks for this, Ashley! Flying out of LAX right now after our ACADEC competition. We’ve had two gate changes already and now a delay in our flight, so if I sound… unhappy…lol!

Brain tired
Nerves wired 
Feet sore
No more.
Bout to board 
A big jet airplane
To carry me home
To the place that
I belong.

Wild-eyed 
French fried out
Sick of fast food
Bad mood
I do brood
In this airport

Great times, but
Few rhymes
Passed from my fingers
This week
Brain tweaked
Legs week
Must’ve lost 10 lbs
Trodding plodding
Orange County streets

And though this poem
Sounds bitter
I do have 
to concede 
This week had magic
Moments
That filled me up 
with glee

My amazing students
Had a total
 blast 
Competed their lil
Hearts out
And made good times 
To last.

 

Denise Krebs

Wendy, you did it! You didn’t even sound bitter when I got to that line, and then you go on to talk about the magic and the sweet testimony about your students. So lovely. I’m sure you are beat, and a late flight too. Hang in there. Yikes. Hope you can rest up tomorrow.

Wendy Everard

Thanks, Denise! It’s 8 am Sunday, and we’re waiting in Philly for our flight to Syracuse. I can’t wait to sleep all day. 🤣

Stacey Joy

Whew, Wendy, as a native Angeleno, I pictured your hustle and bustle. But you’ve captured the frustration and stress alongside gratitude nicely. I am sorry for all the delays and icky stuff in between the good times! The ending makes it all worth it, but I pray you arrive safely home, and have plenty of time to relax.

Competed their lil

Hearts out

And made good times 

To last.

🎉 🎉 🎉

Wendy Everard

Stacey, we had a blast! Thanks!

Kim

Thanks Ashley for the push beyond my comfort zone. I spent my day in bookstores since today was the San Diego Book Crawl. So fun to hang out with books and people who love books…and then to come home and try to write about it.

On bookstore day
reading rules 
stories sing
poems play
words somersaulting 
dancing together
to the rhythms of syllables 
and sentences

On bookstore day
book lovers gather
writers and readers
uncovering treasures
buying books and borrowing books
making long lists TBR
to be stacked teetering 
on bedside tables

On bookstore day
protest library cuts
postcard the mayor
appreciate books
shoulder to shoulder
with bookstore crawlers 
not in search of a bargain 
but to celebrate bookstores 

book doors
openings to worlds
only books unlock
on bookstore day

Denise Krebs

Kim, what a delight! I love that it was a community of readers and writers that celebrated together. And then the activism in that third stanza–awesome. I love the “book doors / openings to worlds…”

Today was the Seattle Indie Bookstore Day too. There were people out in full force! It is so good to be around reading people. So fun to see. We just went to one, where Chloe Ito Ward read her new book Chopsticks Are… to the children and we made training chopsticks. We’ve been reading the book and eating snacks like blueberries, dried apple chips, and strawberries with chopsticks all day.

Kim Douillard

That sounds like so much fun! I think I need some training chopsticks to practice with too!

Stacey Joy

How beautiful!! I don’t think I have ever seen a bookstore day here. I would imagine that it’s a blast, considering all the protesting we must do now. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed your poem. The ending lines made me picture a bookstore with opened books painted on the doors because books truly open to the world! Love this!

book doors

openings to worlds

only books unlock

on bookstore day

J. Risner

Still Here
Some mornings
my bones feel heavier than time
like getting up is a question
I don’t know how to answer
Depression doesn’t shout
it leans in close
and whispers
you’re not enough
It turns mirrors into liars
and silence into proof
that I am disappearing
in plain sight
I laugh sometimes
but it echoes wrong
like joy forgot my address
People ask if I’m okay
and I nod
because storms don’t fit
into small talk
But listen…
there is still a breath
and today
that is enough

I enjoy what you’ve shown me here Ashley. This poem hits hard by exposing how standardized testing can strip reading of its joy and individuality. The contrast between rigid “one right answer” thinking and the call to “fight against the machine” creates a powerful shift, pushing readers to reclaim their voice and reimagine literacy as something alive, personal, and freeing.

Last edited 19 days ago by J. Risner
Scott M

J, I love how you capture the insidious nature of depression: it “doesn’t shout / it leans in close / and whispers / you’re not enough.” Yes!  And your ending is beautiful: “But listen… / there is still a breath / and today / that is enough.”  Thank you for crafting this and sharing it!

Leilya A Pitre

J., this poem stirs familiar notes and aches. I am glad to see hope in the title and the final lines: still here and today is enough. One day at a time makes depression a little more manageable. Thank you for writing and sharing.

barbedler

Wow, I love this! Depression is serious and your poem illustrates it beautifully. Joy forgot your address, storms don’t fit into small talk, and it leans in and whispers. Yes, it does! The end is somewhat hopeful but makes me pause and think, yes, keep breathing! Incredible poem!

Denise Krebs

J.,

Depression is insidious. You have captured the dragging pain of it, and I thank you for writing this and sharing it here today. I’m so glad you are here and not believing the lies.

It turns mirrors into liars

and silence into proof

that I am disappearing…

Allison Laura Berryhill

Do not go gentle

Do not go gentle into that AI
Rage against those who 
would sell you easy-quick
in exchange for 
your most human 
creative acts.

Do not relinquish
the tingle of generation:
Pushing a thought
through the crusted soil 
of inertia
into the bright sun of expression.

Do not go gentle
under the allure of 
expediency
when the cost
is your

soul.

barbedler

Holy shit, Allison, I love this poem. AI is alarming in so many ways: environmentally, creatively, and socially. The allure is there but at what cost. “Into the bright sun of expression” is an amazing line! Love your nod to Thomas in the opening. It’s a perfect hook of warning! Incredible poem!

Leilya A Pitre

Allison, your “gentle” nudge is loud and clear. I share your concerns. The ending emphasizes a high cost of giving in to expediency.

Kim

Yes! Do not go gentle! “bright sun of expression” love that line.

Susie Morice

Allison- I hear you! The truth , the honesty, the sage wisdom of your poem is exactly how I feel… and feel more it more resolutely every day. “The cost is your soul.” Exactly. Hugs, Susie

Mo Daley

Marital Woes
By Mo Daley 4/25/26

My friend Gina has been married for 41 years
but right now, she isn’t speaking to her husband
because he told her she’s just like her mother.
And all I could think was that I wish
my husband told me I was just like mine.

Allison Laura Berryhill

Oh, I love this.
I’ve been married now for 42 years, so I’m pulled right in.

I love how you take your friend’s concrete moment
and then tug the thread to find your own loss.
Beautiful.

kim johnson

Mo, I’m laughing and sighing all at once – – I have also been told, “your mother is coming out in you,” and that can be a good thing OR a bad thing……I suspect for Gina it is something she knows and doesn’t want to face. Oh, to be more like our mothers…..and if we hang on long enough, we will!

barbedler

No, I love your shift in this poem. The concise language that speaks directly to the point. I feel the loss through the narrator’s wish. Bam! Loved it!

Leilya A Pitre

Mo, your poem reminded me one of my brothers-in-law saying it to my sister. Like you, I wish my husband told me that. I hear some longing in your final line. Hugs!

Kim

Love that twist as we head into line 4. So much in just a few words!

Denise Krebs

Mo, what a delight to be able to say that about your mother. Beautiful!

Stacey Joy

Oooooh, this is deep. I’m both sad for Gina and mad at her husband. I wonder if he realizes how hurtful that was (since clearly she doesn’t want to be like her mom). I hope he comes to his senses, and they can talk it out. The petty immature side of me was instantly thinking of a good come-back to diminish her pain and stab him in the gut. 😂

Emily Martin

Ashley,

I love this prompt! I really resonate with your poem. I am so with you and the raining research never seems to tell the whole story. Also, it was so fun to see you live in Titusville! I’m in California but my 20-year-old son just moved to Titusville. If you’re ever in need of an electrician, he just might be the one at your door. 😉 I’ve been reading everyone’s poems all day. I’ve never attempted a SLAM poem and didn’t really have time to write today, but I forced myself to get something out.

For my kids and my students

If I could, I’d take you
Back to the 80’s
Where are break-it-downs
Danced on cardboard boxes
Where instead of scrollin’
We were strollin’

I’d take you away from
Scams and AI
Robots trying to steal your thoughts
Instagram tying you up in knots.

Break it on down.

Back to floppy discs and
Corded phone
Mixed tapes and Blockbuster loan.

Give it a break.

I’d take you back to subways
Where we looked at each other
Instead of screens
Inside I’m burning in scream.

Give it a Break
Break it on Down.

It’s a world I miss
Sweet Dreams aren’t made of this.

Emily Martin

Ah! That ‘are’ instead of ‘our’ is driving me crazy but I can’t figure out how to edit. Haha. Glad we are a forgiving bunch.

Darshna

Emily,
The 80’s — wow, what a reminder of all these cultural facets and everyday things. Love the last line, thinking of the Eurythmics.

Denise Krebs

Emily, Amen! I wonder if one of the next generations are going to go back to analog reality, either by choice or some crazy event. We will always find a way to make things fun and fresh. I love all the “back to…” moments in your poem and the song allusions. Fun poem!

Darshna

Hi Ashley,
What a fun challenge! Thank you for hosting and sharing your slam poem. It’s solid and points to the literacy crisis and the incessant testing that is so troubling.

I love slam poems but I’ve never written one. I needed some help so I turned to my spotify and borrowed a few lines from Brittney Spears. So here’s an attempt…

Knock Knock 

The kids ain’t alright
Oh baby can’t you see
a guy like you should come with a warning
What are we to do?
Is it too late?
Is he dangerous?
This guy who likes 
to hang in fake news
again and again

swim in the laps of lies
again and again
you know that you are toxic
yahhhh yahhh yahhh

We have lost all control
There are no boundaries
What are we to do?
Is it too late?
Is he dangerous?
The guy who loves 
to flip his mind
again and again

swim in the laps of lies 
again and again
You know that you are toxic
yahhh yahhh yahhh

just when we thought it couldn’t 
get any worse… 
Greenland, Venezuela, Iran
yahhh yahh yahhh

are you ready for the new cost
of war —  all innocence lost
the kids ain’t alright
yahhh yahh yahhh

folks can’t afford the basics
food, housing, or even drive a car
forget about education and healthcare
losing all control, losing all rights. losing my sanity
yahhhh yahhhh yahhhhh

if this is what it sounds like
you right — you right
yahhhh yahhhh yahhhh

looking at you now 
looking at you now
It’s not pretty 
ohhh what have you done?
ohhh what have you done?

Have you checked in the mirror?
Oh baby can’t you see
The kids ain’t alright
a guy like you should come with a warning
you know that you are toxic
Knock Knock

Susie Morice

Darshna — This repetitions and the sense of panic is very real here. “…what have you done?” I ask myself this over and over and cringe at the “laps of lies.” A world upside down. I feel the chaos in your lines. The ending of “knock knock” haunts me. The idea that friends fear what is coming next… scary. I’m glad we can be here together and sharing our lines, our images. Thank you. Susie

glenda funk

Darshna,
Who would have thought Brittney Spears is a prophetess, a Cassandra for our time. You nailed it w/ this reimagine of “Toxic.” “a guy like [him] should come with a warning
you know that [he is] toxic.

Emily Martin

I love how this poem is like song lyrics and includes the repeated song lyrics. I want to put this to music! And the last Knock Knock! That is really powerful. HELLO, right? Anybody there? I really enjoyed reading this today.

Leilya A Pitre

Darshna, knowing you borrowed from Brittney Spears, I mentally “sang” your poem; the refrains helped. The borrowed line “guy like you should come with a warning” really works so well in the context of your poem. Questioning the state of our being as a society raises legitimate concerns about this country’s future. I am glad I came back to check again and read your poem

barbedler

Darshna, the knock knock at the end is alarming. I love the repetition in your poem and how smoothly it flows. The message is powerful and concrete. I really love the warning sign image. I’d loved to hear this read aloud!

Denise Krebs

Darshna, wow, such a racing through these truths. Clever to use song lyrics to get you going. So many great lines…

This guy who likes 

to hang in fake news

again and again

swim in the laps of lies

again and again

and

losing all control, losing all rights, losing my sanity

cmhutter

I will be honest and say that I tentatively step into this prompt. I have never written Slam poetry before so this will be a first go. I kept reading it aloud as I added each line. This was helpful to me.

Not Yours to Take

Keep your hands OFF!

No need for your
money-grubbing green
covetous mean
hacking budgets lean
destructive machine.

Keep nature’s green.
Green of
expansive places
precious wildlife faces
hiking paces
extraordinary natural graces.

Keep protecting our precious nation.
Protect through
ecological conservation
habit rehabilitation
old-growth forest prolongation
watershed preservation

Keep our natural treasures-
Yosemite
Acadia
Everglades
Zion

Keep your hands OFF!

Denise Krebs

Wow, Cathy, such a great effort for your FIRST spoken word poem. It sounds professional. I do want to hear you read it! The message is clear and cemented with “Keep your hands OFF!” before and after. Stellar job!

Sharon Roy

Snaps and claps!

love the turn from the green of money to the green of nature.

Darshna

I really like the repetiton of Keep you hands OFF! It’s very effective in your slam poem and really slams the bureaucracy with a reminder to preserve our treasures.

Dave Wooley

This really hits! The dichotomy of nature and greed that you frame through “green” is powerful and the rhyme and repetition creates a real sense of urgency. Your last line is a necessary exclamation point.

Anna J. Small Roseboro

For a first time slamming, you’ve done quit well! And slammed with an important message for e know who thanks !

J. Risner

This poem channels urgency and resistance, using repetition to reinforce a clear boundary against exploitation. The shift from anger to reverence for natural spaces highlights what’s at stake, turning the poem into both a protest and a call to protect and preserve what cannot be replaced.

Kim

Wow! That second to the last stanza is fire! Doesn’t feel like a first effort at spoken word poetry. Love this.

Barb Edler

Amen, Ashley. I cannot stand incessant testing. Yes, data is important, but time engaged in learning needs to be valued. Loved the beat and rhythm of your poem. You’ve captured the true heart of a spoken word poem. I failed in that area today, but a six-hour zoom event will do that to you.

Life’s Walking Shadow

Oh earth, you’re too wonderful for anybody to realize you.  (Thorton Wilder, Our Town)

We rise each morning
hope for the embrace of a gentle spring day
bare our hearts and souls
our loves and losses—

but we’re distant planets 
orbiting blindly by our own trajectory,
zooming past a star or moon
lost in out of site spaces—

Today let’s harmonize our energy
really stop and look at each other
be Emily on her 12th birthday
who can’t look hard enough—

open our eyes like our hearts
to stop and look for just one minute,
really look before our light fades, before we’re dead—
weaned away from all the beauty living right here.

They’re waitin’. They’re waitin’ for something that they feel is comin’. Something important, and great. Aren’t they waitin’ for the eternal part in them to come out clear? (Thorton Wilder, Our Town)

Barb Edler
25 April 2026

Denise Krebs

Barb, what a perfect poem for reminding us to hold onto life. This reminds me of Fran H.’s poem yesterday. Even after a six-hour Zoom, (yikes!) you have written another great one. (Not up to your spoken word poetry standard, I know, for you are the champ!) All April you’ve been on fire. I love that you chose two quotes from Our Town to begin and end with. Such a good reminder. “really look before our light fades” Yes, let’s, even more than we did yesterday.

brcrandall

Love these lines, Barb,

but we’re distant planets 

orbiting blindly by our own trajectory,

anita ferreri

Barb, If your mind can come up with lines like, “really look before our light fades, before we’re dead—weaned away from all the beauty living right here” after a 6 hour zoom event, I would describe you as a gifted poet for sure who wrapped your thoughts of really embracing life with words from Our Town. Wow

Darshna

Barb,
This is a slam poem that’s fire!

but we’re distant planets 

orbiting blindly by our own trajectory,
zooming past a star or moon
lost in out of site spaces—

Love this stanza in particular. So clever how you remixed words from Our Town.

Susie Morice

Barb — Your poem entreats us to pay attention, to slow down, to actually SEE each other. There likely is no better balm that this. I love the line “harmonize our energy”… yes. I feel like that happens here on ethicalela… you are part of the healing…the “beauty living right here.” Thank you for being here. Susie

glenda funk

Barb,
This is beautiful. Our Town is one of my all-time favorite literary texts. I love the framing of your poem w/ lines from the play. Talk about a tear-jerker. This month of poetry calls, like these lines: “We rise each morning
hope for the embrace,” but there’s disappointment at times, a skepticism that creeps in about one’s value and place when no one notices or when the response ratios feel off and lopsided-sided, as they have for me today. I hope those who need “to really look” see this gorgeous poem, but I doubt they will because they’re too busy looking away to notice.

Dave Wooley

Barb, I really like the counterpoint of the 3rd stanza speaking back to the 2nd stanza.

These lines—“but we’re distant planets 
orbiting blindly by our own trajectory”—are so powerful and poignant. But, “today, let’s harmonize our energy” speaks back and calls us to community. So good.

Leilya A Pitre

Barb, six hours of Zoom is exhausting! I read your poem at least three times. It is so beautiful and sorrowful. The framing quotes help establish that tone. Being “distant planets /orbiting blindly by our own trajectory” signals about missing connection, longing for the happier past. The final stanza before a closing quote made me cry. Such a heartfelt poem–thank you!

Allison Laura Berryhill

I love Our Town so much, and you used it here to powerful effect. I appreciated the line: “lost in out of site spaces” – the sites that suck our attention away from really looking at each other. The world is a better place with you writing in it.

J. Risner

Barb, I love how this poem beautifully captures how easily we drift through life without truly seeing it or each other. The imagery of “distant planets” emphasizes that disconnection, while the shift toward Emily’s perspective becomes a gentle but urgent reminder to slow down, pay attention, and fully experience the fleeting beauty around us before it’s gone.

kim johnson

I love the beginning and ending with Wilder, and what a reminder to keep going, to really look at all the beauty while we can. Our life is so brief, and here we are, fretting the days away…..and then in the blink of an eye we will be in the heavenly reunion with those who have gone before us.

Scott M

An allusion to Shakespeare in the title, your poem bookended by Thorton Wilder, with your beautiful lines of poetry between, what could be better!  Nothing!  (And composed after a six-hour Zoom event – ugh!)  I love the message you’ve crafted here, Barb: we need to “open our eyes like our hearts / to stop and look for just one minute, / really look before our light fades, before we’re dead.”  Yes!

Fran Haley

Barb, I love your title’s allusion to Macbeth… a soliloquy I memorized as a teenager, and love to this today, Life, the walking shadow, makes its brevity more known each day, does it not? I have also been a fan of Wilder’s plays since I was young. Now, as for your craft…it’s stunning, and that last stanza sums it all up magnificently. It is a call to really see and to really love and heaven knows we need that.

Denise Krebs

Ashley, this was fun. I’d like to spend more time with this, and learn more about spoken word poetry. I haven’t tried too much. Thank you for your stellar mentor text. Yes, Ashley, preach it: “Slam a fist on the podium / Raining research before them”. I was inspired to do more research after Glenda shared with me a great post by Ashleytheebarroness about the Powell Memorandum.

After Reading the Powell Memorandum, 1971

Our planet is on fire.
Prior excuses require
no revisiting. It’s a new age.
Let’s gauge our impact,
be explicit, solicit true facts.
Capitalism requires buyers–
for infinite production,
resource destruction,
humanity abduction.
Our mother is finite.
Overuse is the twilight
of our imminent demise.
Bastardized supplies.
Everything king-size authorized.
Wealth gap gets deadlier.
The rich get filthier.
Our planet gets fierier.
The poor die. Sigh.
Before a forced good-bye,
let’s aspire to more than they require.
Let’s compromise.
Don’t brutalize.
Empathize.
Emphasize the poor,
chastise the rich.
End vanity;
bring back sanity.
Tax the billionaires;
common our shares in humanity.

cmhutter

Denise- I was reading first to try to inspire myself. I felt the rhythm of your words as well as the power of passion behind them. “Empathze. Emphasize the poor. Chastise the rich. End vanity. Bring back sanity.” are the words that hit me the most when reading. Your poem is giving me a bit more confidence to give it a try. Thank you.

Susan O

Wow! This would be so good to hear out loud! I timely message and strong.

Barb Edler

Denise, I really like your title and the way you’ve captured the spoken word beat in this one. Yes, the wealth gap is getting deadlier, and our planet is getting fierier. You’ve captured so many keen problems in this one. Powerful!

brcrandall

Love the way these lines flow down the page

Overuse is the twilight

of our imminent demise.

Bastardized supplies.

Everything king-size authorized.

They’re quite magical, lyrical, & whimsical.

Darshna

Denise,
The use of strong verbs really creates a strong impact in your poem and adds to the SLAM. Love the rhythm and connotation play with such power.

Susie Morice

Denise — This pounds at us plain and simple to recognize the “[in}sanity.” Every punch in this poem is one that resonates with me. Tell it! I love the wordplay that yields each line like a smack. I love this. My favorite smack: “the rich get filthier.” Boy, does that ever say it! You bet! Hugs, Susie

glenda funk

Denise,
Im so glad you found inspiration in that reel from one of my favorite IG accounts. I love your advocacy. We have been trained to embrace capitalism, but it is a hungry beast requiring endless, insatiable growth to sustain itself, as your lines note here: “Capitalism requires buyers–
for infinite production,
resource destruction,
humanity abduction.”
How do we change course? I wish I had answers.

Leilya A Pitre

Denise, what a strength: punch after punch after punch! Love how you build up from naming the flaws of capitalism to call for action where we compromise, empathize, and emphasize. Love the sound and meaning of:
End vanity;
bring back sanity.”
Amazing!

anita ferreri

Denise, I read this earlier and have been thinking about it all day. You raise questions about the implementation of capitalism that echo the writings of the new mayor of NYC, Mandami. Clearly, there is something wrong in a system where the stock market reaches new highs and many/most cannot buy fresh vegetables. “emphasize the poor” is a path we have lost. Thank you for this redirection of my own concerns

J. Risner

Denise, I like how this poem delivers a sharp critique of unchecked capitalism, linking environmental destruction to inequality in a way that feels urgent and unapologetic. The escalating rhythm mirrors the growing crisis, while the ending shifts into a clear call to action and pushes for empathy, accountability, and systemic change rather than passive awareness.

Luke Bensing

Ashley , I love this prompt. Oral inflection, pauses, volume and pacing can add so much to the written word. There is a spoken word poetry club at my school called Permanent Ink. Before I got there the team went to Louder Than A Bomb and a few other competitions around Chicago. I am not a sponsor due to my duties with our Alternative Program after school. I always love to encourage young poets to speak their words as well as just leaving them on the page. Here’s a very rough draft of a poem I tries to write the one time I joined the club this year and someone said the word monsoon.

Weathered

Gale force WInds
INside my chest
Unescapable
volCAno of stress
Anxi e ty from
0 to 6 3
In seconds

inHail exHail inHail hail hail
Sleet
Snow

Sun strangled behind colossal cloud cover

Whew
The eye of the storm
I guess the tornado is coming soon
Or the huricane
Or the the the monsoon
Soon
Debris flying
Dust bowl

Until then

 I’ll try to breath
again

Though my eyes are burning from behind
Conflagrating
A forest fire
Situation dire

Thyphoon
Soon

This is not a test
This is not a test
This is the emergency broadcast system 
Broadcasting a real emergency

But this too shall pass

Sharon Roy

Luke,

I like your play with spacing and emphasis.

Gale force WInds

INside my chest

Unescapable

volCAno of stress

Anxi e ty from

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Barb Edler

Luke, awesome play with the diction in this one. I feel the threatening storm’s energy. The repetition at the end is riveting. Love the anticlimactic last line.

Denise Krebs

Luke, that’s awesome your school has a spoken word club. Good for them, and that you joined once when you could and wrote a poem with them speaks volumes. This was very fun to read aloud. You captured me for sure with the “inHail exHail inHail hail hail” line. The wider message of global climate catastrophe with the hurricane and monsoon going into dust bowl and forest fire is powerful. Wow. Well done.

Darshna

Luke,
The entire poem is so powerful but I especially love the last stanza!

This is not a test

This is not a test
This is the emergency broadcast system 
Broadcasting a real emergency
But this too shall pass

It really slams me as a reader.

Susie Morice

Luke — This even FEELS like that phantom voice over the Emergency Broadcast System, in bot-like voice, truncated, factual, blaring the scary storm news from some tall pole in the distance. “This is not a test” is the eeriest of them all. When that voice echoes over my yard, my dog howls like a demon is trying to kill us. Your poem takes me to that sensation. I’m all in for “this too shall pass.” I’ve gotta hope. I love that you encourage your young poets to speak their words. Susie

Leilya A Pitre

Luke, I started reading your poem before I read your preview explanation. So when I got to “inHail exHail inHail hail hail,” I was urging, “Just breathe, just breathe.” Lol.
As everyone noticed, I, too, like the sound plays and emphasis on certain syllables, the repetition, the echo. So well done! Thank you.

Dave Wooley

What’s a Poet to Do?

What’s a poet to do
when words become
obsolete?

What is it to be
a truth teller in
a post-truth world?

How does one
make a living in
an attention
economy?
I can’t eat
adoration,
lunch on likes–
when the attention subsides,
where is the substance?
Attention burns hot,
we are left to feast on
ashes.

What is a poet to do
when we outsource our
thoughts to “artificial
intelligence”? Maybe the
two truest words left.
Let’s make it AI, before
anyone notices the
artificial. Now make
sure you’re AI literate,
or there’s gonna be an
issue. What is it to be
literate in artificiality?
In virtual? E-commercial?
What about humanity?

What’s a poet to do when
we lose that???
Our common connection,
our in-real-life facial recognition.

…Today I found out
they are painting the reflecting
pool in front of the Lincoln Monument
blue, like a swimming pool–
why reflect, when we can just
drown our thoughts.

________________________
Ashley, I had so many competing thoughts today, it was hard to get them moving in the same direction! I love the call to write some poetry meant to be heard–I know that tension between page poet and stage poet rages, but I do think there is something essential about the orality of poetry and paying attention to it’s aural qualities.

Sharon Roy

Dave,

I’ll admit that I’m reading more poetry than news this week so I had to google to see if your last stanza was true. I’ll need more time to process that. Sigh. For now, I’ll turn back to your poem.

I love the repetition of

What’s a poet to do

What’s a poet to do when

we lose that???

Our common connection,

our in-real-life facial recognition.

Cheers to the poets!

Barb Edler

Dave, your poem today is compelling and provocative. I’m especially mesmerized by the final stanza and love this part:
What is it to be
a truth teller in
a post-truth world?”

Will AI kill the poets?

brcrandall

Love the question, Dave,

What is it to be

a truth teller in

a post-truth world?

I’m still aiming for Authenticity & Intellect…that’s my AI. Never like artificial anything, to be honest. But I can tell you, should you be down the road right now, I’d say, “This would be a great evening for a gathering.”

Denise Krebs

Dave, such a great topic for your poem today. Loved this, that we don’t want to lose: “Our common connection, / our in-real-life facial recognition.” What about humanity? for sure. I ended my poem today with “humanity.” And that illustration of the reflecting pool getting painted blue, with the haunting question: “why reflect, when we can just / drown our thoughts” will stick with me.

Susie Morice

Dave — Oh man, do I EVER hear you! I read about the reflecting pool yesterday, and it just made me sick. AI and all the data centers that come with it are anathema to the soul and the environment. As a writer and poet, you are asking the very questions that I wrestle with every day. “What about humanity?” “What’s a poet to do…?” I just keep thinking that we cannot quit writing poetry. We cannot. It feels more important than ever before in my life. Yet, I hesitate now, wondering how long will it take before my poems become just another algorithm for AI to exploit. Do we hide our poems from the digital world? Do we share them in Slams only, on street corners? Do we meet in “salons” to give readings as in days of yore? I don’t have answers, but I have a lot of questions. Thank you for a very real poem. Susie

Darshna

Cheers to this poem, Dave! Love the questions and your approach with repetition and the full slam effect.

Leilya A Pitre

Dave, your first question reminded me of R. Philbrick’s The Last Book in the Universe. Just a few years ago, I thought it would remain a fantasy fiction, but it is closer to reality than ever. You leave me thinking about this:
What’s a poet to do when
we lose that???
Our common connection,
our in-real-life facial recognition.”
Sounds sad.

Anna J. Small Roseboro

Dave you’ve slammed and bammed without hamming it up! Inviting us to jam with you, too. Through you word choice you’ve give voice to important contemporary Ilene’s issues.

Sharon Roy

Ashley,

Thank you for hosting and challenging us to try slam poetry,

Love these powerful lines:

Slam a fist on the podium

Raining research before them

—————————————————————————

I don’t think I’ve ever written a slam poem before so I eased in with a haiku and then revised it a few times, adding repetition until I formed something which perhaps could be read as slam poetry.

—————————————————————————

Stop

Stop bulldozing
Stop razing a clear path
Stop shoving aside obstacles
Stop shutting down critical voices
Stop rushing in to smooth the waters

Let them struggle
Let them stumble
Let them scramble over the rocks
Let them find their way around the rocks

Let them find their way

————————————————————————

You can see my first draft haiku and a few drafts as I worked to move from haiku to slam at my blog Pedaling Poetry.

Leilya Pitre

Sharon, I like what you did and how it read out loud. Thank you also for sharing your process. Sometimes, we struggle quietly and don’t share what we’ve done and how.
I like how your lines build up from the previous one and extend visually and textually. I am all for struggling, stumbling, and finding the way:
Let them scramble over the rocks
Let them find their way around the rocks”
Sounds like a great advice to me.

Barb Edler

Sharon, you’re speaking my language here. I love the repetition in your poem and appreciate the shift from stop to let. Yes, “Let them find their way”. You nailed it here!

cmhutter

Sharon- Thank you so much for sharing your process. I have never written Slam poetry before either and am a little intimidated to give it a try. Knowing that I am not the only first timer with this is very helpful and supportive. Your use of repetition really emphasized for the reader what the message was in each stanza.

Denise Krebs

Sharon, nice process for easing into slam poetry. I like this, and the anaphora, which seems like a very apt devise for spoken word. I’m reading this as a partner with Ashley’s today. In education I want to do all this. That last line is perfect. Then I began trying to read it about our political landscape. I wish I could…

Leilya Pitre

Ashley, thank you for hosting, for your mentor poem, and for the challenge. You seem to be so comfortable with slam poetry. Your lines move so well, and I can imaging it being read out loud. I love the sound of “Those test-taking strategies / Little echo-chamber tragedies.”
I spent morning learning more about slam poetry and reading some examples. I decided to choose a lighter topic and just play with the form.

Wellness Journey (No Need to Clap)
 
I woke up this morning
ready to be a new me,
the one who drinks green smoothie
and pretends it doesn’t taste
like lawnmower runoff.
 
I said, “Today, I will be healthy.”
My body said, “Define healthy.”
My brain said, “Let’s negotiate.”
My stomach said, “Croissant.”
 
But I persisted.
I rolled out my yoga mat
like a red carpet
for my future self,
the one who does crow pose
without face-planting
like a majestic, flightless bird.
 
I inhaled.
I exhaled.
In… … Out
Repeat
 
My smartwatch buzzed:
“Are you… doing anything?”
 
Then I went for a run,
which is to say,
I jog-walk-stumbled
in a pattern
science has yet to name.
 
A couple behind me
Passed me
A toddler passed me.

I am pretty sure,
One of them said:
“Pick up the pace!”
I took that personally.
 
But I kept going
because I believe in balance:
the balance
between wanting to be fit
and wanting to sit.
 
And tonight,
I will reward myself
with a deeply spiritual meal:
oven-baked pizza
with vegetables.
(Basil counts. Don’t argue.)
 
So here’s to wellness,
not perfection,
just participation.
I’m not thriving.
I’m not glowing.
I’m… just trying.
 
And, honestly,
That’s healthy enough for me.

Stacey Joy

Leilya,
You had me at lawnmower runoff!!! I don’t know how people enjoy matcha! 🤢
But I will enjoy that croissant with you! I want to highlight so many lines because everything works so well and it’s relevant on all levels.

Enjoy your pizza! Love this and love you!

Diane Anderson

My daughter sent a text about her walk this morning- she saw turtles and fish in a pond. That sounds healthy enough to me, just as you say your trying is.

This is fantastic! I love all the specific scenes of the toddler, ha, and the mornkng intention that falls off because it is not sustainable, but what is. Is the effort and the enough of it all. Yes.

anita ferreri

Leilya, Your call to acceptance is important and shared by many of us. Your image of the toddler passing you by leaves me smiling and remembering I was the last, very last one to finish a 50 mile breast stroke swim this morning; however, I finished it! This line, “So here’s to wellness, not perfection, just participation.’ pretty much sums up my goal for a healthy life.

Dave Wooley

Leilya,
This. Is. Hysterical. I didn’t think it could get any funnier than “lawnmower runoff” (that was brilliant), but every stanza had a punchline that was just as good–Basil IS a vegetable! And then you stuck the landing in those last 2 stanzas. This was thoroughly enjoyable!

Sharon Roy

Leilya,

Thanks for your humor. As green smoothie drinker, this made me laugh:

the one who drinks green smoothie

and pretends it doesn’t taste

like lawnmower runoff.

I’m also super slow both biking and walking, hiking, so this resonated:

A couple behind me

Passed me

A toddler passed me.

Great end with humor and wisdom:

(Basil counts. Don’t argue.)

 

So here’s to wellness,

not perfection,

just participation.

I’m not thriving.

I’m not glowing.

I’m… just trying.

 

And, honestly,

That’s healthy enough for me.

Luke Bensing

This is all so great. I love your inner monologue. So relatable. Your journey and your ending and really everything in between are so great. Thanks !

Barb Edler

Dang, Leilya, you know how to reward yourself. I sure wish I could join you for supper! I love your humor and this conversation is priceless:

I said, “Today, I will be healthy.”
My body said, “Define healthy.”
My brain said, “Let’s negotiate.”
My stomach said, “Croissant.”

Love the reflective thoughts at the end. Truly honest and fun poem!

brcrandall

This is wonderful, Leilya…some funk and spunk in your debut ritual to take down a green smoothie (you were the lawnmower of language, mowing the words down the page). Loved the humor. In my 1/2 marathon days, I always wondered who flew in geriatric patients with cellulose ahead of me (I got used to being slower). Hope you enjoy the pizza. I actually have tater tots in the oven. It is what it is.

Denise Krebs

Oh, my gosh, Leilya, this is So.Much.Fun! High five to you for trying. “I believe in…the balance between wanting to be fit and wanting to sit.’ This is not your usual kind of poem; I wouldn’t have recognized you. Isn’t that fun what a prompt brings out of us sometimes. Well done! I would love to hear you say it.

glenda funk

Leilya,
I LIL’d through this. “the one who drinks green smoothie
and pretends it doesn’t taste
like lawnmower runoff” is how I felt about matcha until visiting Japan and Vietnam.
The struggle is real, sister! I’ve been practicing yoga for years and still can’t do crow pose. I felt like a liar when I say I practice yoga since I can’t balance in one leg. I blame my boobs. Honestly, I think you’re killing it—the poetry, that is! I have no clue about your ability to outrun a toddler!

Darshna

Leilya,
This is a slam dunk! Love the inner monologue, so rich and real!

kim johnson

Leilya, you had me laughing throughout this poem – – I started at the lawnmower

ready to be a new me,
the one who drinks green smoothie
and pretends it doesn’t taste
like lawnmower runoff.

and kept going right through the spiritual meal where basil counts, don’t argue. You have such a fabulous sense of humor.

Maureen Young Ingram

dear friend

it’s midday 
phone rings
it’s you
you’re wasted 

my patience sours, distasted

it starts with hurt, real bad luck
life comes hard and slams you stuck

another, another, seems an easy fix
but that fix just leaves 
you 
more 
sick

but here’s my truth, ‘tween rock/hard place
why I am challenged to find true grace 

one, we lost to oxycontin
two, plays with drugs so rotten
three is living on the streets
mixing booze and yuck beyond repeat
four, so fried she’s now a shell
you, five, 
this is like the proverbial hell

wastes me, shrivels me, leaves me weak
I don’t even know what to speak

addiction is cruel messy exhausting
circuitous relentless maddening daunting
I need this to stop
I pray I cry I beg
I want you back
away 
from that suicidal edge

————-
Ashley, this was all new for me – wow. Your poem is powerful advocacy for good teaching; love the call to “Reimagine this bleak scene/Slam a fist on the podium.” Thank you for this instigation – I went for what I’m feeling emotional about right now.

Leilya Pitre

Oh, Maureen, there is so much ache in your poem for a dear friend. Witnessing someone you love to give in to addiction does feel “like the proverbial hell.” Those final lines are gut wrenching with a cry for help. Thank you for sharing.

Ann E..Burg

Maureen, slam poetry captures unveiled truth – grief, anger exhaustion which refuses to hide behind literary devices. No metaphors or similes needed. Raw honesty that cuts to the bone. I hear yor pain and will hold you in my prayers.

You did it. Addiction is a much needed topic to name, and you’ve done it with care for the individual and anger foe the systems that contribute like lain meds leading toward dependence. And you share how it becomes, how Addiction consumes who you knew.

anita ferreri

Maureen, addiction consumes you and then remakes you in an unfamiliar shell of the person you were. Your words capture some of the pain and grief of time lost to this invisible and powerful force that takes families to the edge of their existence. This could be my poem. Thank you for writing it. I cry and pray for you and all consumed by this “relentless” power.

Dave Wooley

Maureen, that first stanza pulls us in to this tragic truth. You completely capture the frustration and fear and hopelessness of bearing witness to addiction. This is a powerful plea. I will hold you in my thoughts, and hope for the best.

Luke Bensing

This cuts so deep. Anyone with any addiction and anyone with any time in their life that has been close to that suicidal edge or tried to speak life into a loved one that has been feeling that can get so much from this powerfully magnificent empathetic and caring collection of words. Thank you for writing and for sharing this with us today

Carrie Horn

Maureen, just wow. I felt how raw the emotion was. The sting of addiction in all its cruelty. How it lies to the user and steals their chances. How it breaks relationships. I applaud you for trying to find true grace. Thank you sharing something so deeply personal.

Susan O

“I pray, I cry, I beg…I want you back” are strong words of truth coming from a parent whose child has gone down the addiction path (or someone who has lost a friend.) The visual of “so fried she’s now a shell” left a hole in my heart.

brcrandall

POWERFUL verse today, Maureen….in fact, timely (at least for me) as an ol’ friend contends with similar poetics & her son’s addictions. I loved reading all of this and could feel its therapeutic qualities in the ranting.

Denise Krebs

Maureen, so powerful. Wow, addiction is hell, and you have captured that here with your spoken word poem. Your emotion comes through throughout, but “I want you back” is so tender.

Diane Anderson

Let them read what they choose
As long as they read, they can’t lose

They’ll never be too old
Picture books and read-alouds are gold

You think it’s lazy to read a graphic novel
Your thinking is just awful

You think it’s lazier to listen to audiobooks
Then research you’ve just overlooked

You think poetry is just fluff
Maybe your understanding’s not strong enough

You think only non-fiction is what they need
Reading all genres sets minds free

Reading when-ever, how-ever, what-ever
Is an endeavor that makes them clever

Let them read what they choose
As long as they read, they won’t lose

Leilya Pitre

Diane, I am with you from the first lines until the end, just let them read what they choose. Each couplet is great, but I will highlight this one:
Reading when-ever, how-ever, what-ever
Is an endeavor that makes them clever”
I also like how you reinforce your initial idea coming back to the first couplet. Your are a gifted rhymer! Thank you.

Stacey Joy

Yes, Diane!! Standing and snapping for your poem. Love it all!

They’ll never be too old

Picture books and read-alouds are gold

anita ferreri

Diane, yes this is a call to action I can join, will organize protests, and scream at school board meetings. It does not matter what they read. Even series that reek of fluff, think old Babysitter Club books are having a resurgence as they deal with all the relationship, parent, family, school, money, camp, issues that remain central issues in the lives of your people. The boys will even sneak them.

Sharon Roy

Diane,

Hear, hear!

Love the fun rhyme in your serious poem.

Let them read what they choose

As long as they read, they won’t lose

cmhutter

Let them read what they choose
As long as they read, they won’t lose”- YES! Your passion for this comes through loud and clear. The rhythm on the poem just adds to the power of your words.

brcrandall

With you 100% Diane. Let them choose. Again and again I’ve watched research show that once kids can find their way to texts they love, they evolve as lifelong readers. Almost 20 years now in higher education, I read from students all the ways they pretend to read what is assigned in their high school classrooms, but how they were given little to know choice. It’s something!

Carrie Horn

Love this. “…endeavor that makes them clever”. Kids, students, people need to be free to read whatever they desire. Your poem ignites that fire in me. And reminds me of the passion I had as a teacher, needing freedom to arouse young minds.

Darshna

Yes, let them choose! Love your slam poem and message!

brcrandall

Thanks, Ashley…worked with a room full of adolescents to see if they might help me string a few words along today…composed from the words lists they helped to create with a challenge to play with language….a bit of a collaboration poem. Always fun to slam a fist on a podium with others.

from Writing Our Lives – #BeFree

We are not the inhibition.
Rather, we are the exhibition…
This sun that bringing us power to everything we face.
the contribution, our revolution, to improve the human race 
growing stronger in this nest, while starting to spread these wings, 
working arm and arm together in order to changes a few things 
with liberation, concentration, and our own initiation – 
#ToBeFree in our own celebration
where this poem may also sing.

We are the fresh air, the mad-hatters, 
the ice-cream, a cantaloupe, 
the intergalactic youth chatter striving 
to live & to cope in this mad kaleidoscope 
of honey, Reese’s Peanut Butter cups, 
and Earl Gray tea. 
Do, Re, Me, Fa, So, La, Ti, Do.
our linguistic symphony,
undoing these idiotic shackles – 
ready to step up to the Mic,
tiptoeing with imagination through roses, 
& showing ‘em what our lives ‘be’ like,
stopping to smell the two lips
that bring voice to this wireless baton,
releasing negativity from proverbial caves, 
and so on 
and so on 
and so on.
Teaching one another that language is our power,
bringing souls what it craves without becoming sour,
& lighting an oral fuse with our own magical wands – WE empower,
transmission, 
amplification, 
exhibition, 
a declaration
that our truth is written for the ignorant to read.… 

Today, we release lyrical birds with what we think & what we bleed,
into this cacophony and harmony, telling ourself to #BeFree, 
You, Me, this dedication
Writing Our Lives, it is the US…it is the WE.

Maureen Young Ingram

Marvelous collaboration! The succession of “-tion” words just roll across the tongue so musically – I can hear this poem.

Diane Anderson

I can see/hear this performed powerfully.

Leilya Pitre

Bryan, I am dropping my mic right now! The movement, the flow, the word choices–you and the adolescents, who helped you, are incredible. This is truly a celebration, and you may sing this song loud and proud. Love the powerful ending:
“Today, we release lyrical birds with what we think & what we bleed,
into this cacophony and harmony, telling ourself to #BeFree,
You, Me, this dedication
Writing Our Lives, it is the US…it is the WE.”
Just extraordinary!

Dave Wooley

Bryan,
I wish I was there today for the session that helped produce this poem–I can tell that the sparks were flying! That had to be a zany list-making activity with all of those descriptive words at the beginning of the second stanza and then, of course, the call to action/mission statement of “Writing Our Lives,it is the US…it is the WE.” So much power and conviction!

anita ferreri

Bryan, as I read this collaboration from today, I felt glimmers of seeds planted long, long long ago in a book and record (that long ago) by Marlo Thomas (had to look it up)about empowering our young people to take on the task of carting our precious world into the future. WAY back in those crunchy, Birkenstock days, you and your collaborative writers would have been carrying the flag as you clearly are now. I have great hope for this group in the future.

brcrandall

My mother used to make me perform this book at nursing homes. I know it very well. It was planted deep into my childhood and way of knowing the world.

Luke Bensing

Such powerful, inspiring words with some spot on metaphors. I love the thought of a group of you all collaborating. Those are some lucky and hopefully grateful adolescents to have this experience. And I’m sure you are feeling lucky and grateful yourself to have conglomerated this together

Stacey Joy

Yessss, standing and snapping fingers for this one!!!! Your glow is flawless! 🔥🔥🔥

Do, Re, Me, Fa, So, La, Ti, Do.

our linguistic symphony,

undoing these idiotic shackles – 

Denise Krebs

Bryan, wow, a collaboration poem with adolescents. I loved this, and I loved the comment below explaining why you used the #BeFree motif. I loved this list and imagine you and the students piecing it together just so:

We are the fresh air, the mad-hatters, 

the ice-cream, a cantaloupe, 

the intergalactic youth chatter striving 

to live & to cope in this mad kaleidoscope 

of honey, Reese’s Peanut Butter cups, 

and Earl Gray tea. 

Do, Re, Me, Fa, So, La, Ti, Do.

our linguistic symphony,

barbedler

Wow, Bryan, what a resounding poem full of youthful energy! I would have loved to see the collaboration and this poem performed. Your last line is amazing! Bravo!

Darshna

What an awesome collaboration! So much energy and positivity. Spot on with the language and rhythm.

anita ferreri

Ashley, this is a great, fun topic that I certainly needed today. My mind was literally exploding with topics I feel very strongly about to the extent that my swim partner asked me if something was wrong earlier this morning as topics swam in my mind. I could have written about the widespread deceptions and blatant lies we are supposed to accept as normal. I could also write about the need to include not just phonics but also to embrace writing time in our elementary classrooms or my concern that fresh fruits and vegetables will soon be the privy of only the upper class. Perhaps it is because they are disturbing the peace even as it rains this afternoon, but I am writing about the incredibly annoying scourge of suburbia in America that has evaded quieter electric versions as well as my hope to return to yards with a more natural, whatever that might be, feel.

They emerge from their burrows, like bears,
On the first of spring, when the earth is still resting
Birds are beginning to plan returns, windows still shut,
To blow everything, spring clean-up they bellow
With 100 decibels of ear-shattering noise blasting 
Sounds of spring, they sing, assured each and every
Week, even when the dry earth screams for water, they will
Return and blow, everything, weekly maintenance they
Bellow through open and shut tight windows 
A noise that can spread like wildfires to 90 homes causing
Permanent hearing loss, while stirring up asthma triggers
Mold, dust, as well as causing serious air pollution with 
Benzene, formaldehyde, with the additional blow of a 
Surcharge for higher gas prices for a suburban standard
Clean, manicured, lawn at any price they bellow even when
I asked about a mow without a blow, this season!

Maureen Young Ingram

With 100 decibels of ear-shattering noise blasting ” – don’t I know this intrusion! love that “mow without a blow” – well done, Anita!

Leilya Pitre

Anita, thank you for sharing this. I didn’t realize the blowers produce so much noise. This sounds dangerous:
“A noise that can spread like wildfires to 90 homes causing
Permanent hearing loss, while stirring up asthma triggers”
Asking about a mow without a blow might be wise, in your case. I like how you show the negative effect of the “weekly maintenance.” Thank you for sharing.

Barb Edler

Anita, there is something really alarming when you’re awaken on a Sunday morning to the sounds of a lawn mower, leaf blower, trimmer, etc. When your neighborhood believes that perfectly manicured lawns are a must. The bellow is real, and I love your last line! I’m with you all the way!

brcrandall

And they start at 6 a.m. – don’t even get me on lifestyles of the rich & ridiculous in Connecticut. New trend is to zoom in tractor trailers of equipment to blocks streets so you can’t drive through….and the buzzing. humming insanity continues. I need to add such noise to my perennial pet peeves.

Denise Krebs

Oh, Anita, I loved reading your list of possible topics. Maybe a chap book of spoken word poems about all of them is in order from you! “To blow everything, spring clean-up they bellow” — To blow everything could have a double meaning. Loved that. And all the facts you brought to the table are perfect and give your poem authority. Yes, here’s to mows without the blows.

Scott M

Ok, wait, wait, were there supposed 
to be two turn tables and a microphone
(that’s where it’s at) because I only
have one, why would I have two?
and, wait, are we raising our hands
in the air like we just don’t care or
because, you know, we do, indeed,
care, a great deal, in fact, care so
much that we want to raise them 
in the air and flail them about
and I’m still unclear about raising the
roof, that seems like something we’d
need to contact an actual building
contractor for and, now, wait, to get 
back to the (one) turntable, do we 
actual want or need to scratch the 
record?  I know it’s a thing that’s done,
but, really?  Is it like, required, to do, 
I mean I have some ok records, but 
none that I actually want to “scratch” 
(why would I buy a record that I 
wanted to ruin, ok, wait, does the repeated
back and forth actually ruin the record?)
and, I’ll be honest with you, I’m a little
nervous about the inevitable Mic Drop
Moment because, again, this seems
unwise because, you know, sound
equipment is expensive, so, maybe,
we could just lay the mic down, but,
you know, do it an a (somewhat)
aggressively gentle manner, maybe?

__________________________________________________

Ashley, thank you for this prompt and your mentor poem today!  I love the lines and rhyme of “employ / Those test-taking strategies / Little echo-chamber tragedies.”  For my offering, I know that I’m actually, really, avoiding the prompt by conflating slam poetry with hip-hop clichés and tropes from the 80’s and 90’s and whatnot because, well, as you know, rhyming artfully is hard, lol.  

(And for anyone reading this, if you’re thinking, I wonder if he read and commented on my poem yesterday.  The answer is, yes, he did!  Sorry for the delay, and, maybe more importantly, sorry for using myself in the third person just now.)

anita ferreri

Scott, your poem seems to be mostly about how we take liberties with words with “cliches and tropes” until they become so normal to at least a subgroup of culture, they become real. One of the many challenges for me has been to consider the lens of my non-native speakers as well as those who struggle with processing meaning and the significant impact it has on their academic and social learning. While I have never dropped a mic or scratched a record, I know from social cues and context when my students who struggle usually look at me like I have two heads, literally! This is a wake up post for all of us.

Maureen Young Ingram

I am loving the wordplay here, Scott – those two turn tables have me curious, too.

Leilya Pitre

Scott, by this point, I was already laughing out loud, and my husband came to check on me:
“I mean I have some ok records, but 
none that I actually want to “scratch” 

And to top it off, you pulled another one:
“I’m a little
nervous about the inevitable Mic Drop
Moment”
You took this task and slammed it…or should I say, nailed it?

P.S.: Yes, I saw your comments to the poems (and mine too) today. Thank you!

Luke Bensing

Haha I love the train of thought. Why indeed would you need two turntables? I’m not a DJ so who know. Drop the mic , but gently. Don’t damage it . I’m smiling big at this

brcrandall

When the drumbeat goes like this! Incredible throw-back, Scott. Humorous to the N-teenth degree….and why did I sprain my back reading this, thinking I might dance like I used to. So clever. So enjoyable.

Rachel Zisette

I Learned in the Hallway
every day I found a way to get kicked out– 
banished I’d vanish out the door 
shufflin my feet I knew what was in store
I hit the open space, slid my back down the wall, and plopped into place
it was nice out there—quiet; plenty of air
my mind could relax, no longer forced to react
in the tidal wave of voices, my title remained: call me ‘poor choices’
scolded, branded, scalded, audibly heavy-handed
another day, another way, another disruption reprimanded.
I couldn’t pay attention, I was lost in the lesson, 
knew the answer, wasn’t guessin
but the scantron bubbles kept me stressin.
The options felt like a trick: 
Is the answer stick?  Or could it be stone?
these words hurt and left me all alone
I just wanted to write–
that there is no synonym for bone.
carried the narrative into high school
where I argued, explained, and exposed why everything was so uncool
found ways to get through the day,
took the test high and still got an A
a bad kid with good grades, must mean everything’s ok
how could you give me Einstein’s Dreams
and never even ask what I think it means?
again in this room there’s no
time
for all those
dreams; still unseen.
Is my return selfish?
looking to retrograde the repair of what I missed?
projecting the wound on the classlist?
I hope it’s a chance to take a stance 
that you can take it, turn it, and make your own dance
that you’re more than just a memory bank
that there’s more than just multiple choice or fill in the blank
that you can write it from scratch and call it destiny
that this place is not a trap, it’s infinity times infinity
that if you wander in fantasy
or are buried by reality
you still belong in the room
you can still learn with me.

anita ferreri

Rachel, oh my goodness. Your words are those of most of my students and one of my own children as well who do not fit in for whatever reason and whose gifts are never unpacked by teachers trying to just get it done and keep things under control. yes, yes, yes. “if you wander in fantasy or are buried by reality you still belong in the room.”

Leilya Pitre

Rachel, I am in awe of your poem. From the title till the final line–raw, honest, not sugar-coated truth, and touching me to the core. So many powerful, profound line here. I will choose a few of my favorite:
-that you’re more than just a memory bank
-that this place is not a trap, it’s infinity times infinity
-you still belong in the room
Thank you for standing up for kids who need our help, support, and who simply need to be heard and seen.

Scott M

Rachel, this is powerful!  I love your rhyme and rhythms that you’ve crafted throughout – “scolded, branded, scalded, audibly heavy-handed / another day, another way, another disruption reprimanded.”  And I love that the speaker is able and willing to use herself as a role model for her students, students who believe school is “a trap.”  Thank you for crafting this and for sharing it!

Stacey Joy

Hi Ashley, I love your prompt and poems. I am a big fan of spoken word poetry so this was tempting me to share the poem I wrote for my students’ spring show, but instead, I rolled with a few lines about the past.

A Poem to Remind You About Me

You thought your hands could break me
(pause)
You forgot the God that made me

I thought leaving you would save me
(pause)
Now I see the blessed life God gave me

You thought your fists would scare me
(step in)
You forgot my courage (pause) so dare me

Go ahead, dare me

I thought life would be hard without you
(soft pause)
I’m so glad I know nothing about you

We were only ever here for a season
(pause)
To stay any longer, I had no reason

©Stacey L. Joy, 4/25/26

anita ferreri

Stacey, this is profoundly sad but also powerful poem of finding strength. Your use of pauses to emphasize makes the lines stand up and scream of your strength with both your mind and your words.

Susie Morice

Stacey — I love that you named this as a “reminder,” as if to say “I’m controlling this narrative and “you” are just a speck of a memory. There’s strength there… that muscled voice of Stacey that I love. The visual impact of seeing and hearing the poem with the parenthetical “(step in)” is excellent. I can just see that delivered “dare me”! Ha! Great! Love you, Susie

Maureen Young Ingram

Absolutely love how you weave in the pauses – stage directions, really. I can hear the power in each line – and this is marvelously potent: “I’m so glad I know nothing about you.” If this is your story, I am so glad you left.

Leilya Pitre

Stacey, I am impressed by your strength and happy for you. I like the title of your poem that hints on whose loss it is. Making a choice to save yourself and reject abuse is not an easy one, but I am so glad you made it. The way you use blank spaces as if expecting reaction and provide gentle directions how to read signal me that the poem is performance ready. I also like how clear and concise you are–no drama, emotional pressure, just recount of facts and thoughts. Thank you!

Luke Bensing

I can feel your voice breaking and the powerful emotion and resolve behind this. Thank you. This is so well done

Barb Edler

Stacey, your very first line is a mic drop. I love the pace of your poem. The way each word lands and the inserted comments like (soft pause). You’ve captured a strong narrator’s voice who knows the value of self and had the sense to leave someone who clearly did not deserve her. Powerful!

Denise Krebs

Stacey, “You forgot the God that made me” spoke to me. The power was given from above, so courage and a great life came without the audience of the poem’s input. The pauses and rhyming are perfectly placed.

glenda funk

Stacey,
I’m sending a big hug your way. Wish it weren’t virtual. I love the cadence of your poem. I stand in solidarity with/ these memories, although my ex wasn’t as violent. He was abusive in more emotional ways. I learned so much about myself after our divorce. Leaving was the best thing he ever did for me.

Rachel Zisette

I Learned in the Hallway

every day I found a way to get kicked out– 
banished I’d vanish out the door 
shufflin my feet I knew what was in store

I hit the open space, slid my back down the wall, and plopped into place
it was nice out there—quiet; plenty of air
my mind could relax, no longer forced to react
in the tidal wave of voices, my title remained: call me ‘poor choices’
scolded, branded, scalded, audibly heavy-handed
another day, another way, another disruption reprimanded.

I couldn’t pay attention, I was lost in the lesson, 
knew the answer, wasn’t guessin
but the scantron bubbles kept me stressin.
The options felt like a trick: 
Is the answer stick?  Or could it be stone?
these words hurt and left me all alone
I just wanted to write–
that there is no synonym for bone.

carried the narrative into high school
where I argued, explained, and exposed why everything was so uncool
found ways to get through the day,
took the test high and still got an A
a bad kid with good grades, must mean everything’s ok
how could you give me Einstein’s Dreams
and never even ask what I think it means?
again in this room there’s no
time
for all those
dreams; still unseen.

Is my return selfish?
looking to retrograde the repair of what I missed?
projecting the wound on the classlist?
I hope it’s a chance to take a stance 
that you can take it, turn it, and make your own dance
that you’re more than just a memory bank
that there’s more than just multiple choice or fill in the blank
that you can write it from scratch and call it destiny
that this place is not a trap, it’s infinity times infinity
that if you wander in fantasy
or are buried by reality
you still belong in the room
you can still learn with me

Last edited 20 days ago by Rachel Zisette
Susan Ahlbrand

Ashley, I love this prompt that highlights how slam poetry’s intent is to get to the emotion of a topic. I sure found the emotion bubbling to the surface as I was at this event this morning and as I was writing this poem.

Taking Small Steps 

Went to a community event today
titled Strength Through Strides:  
A Community Walk Toward Sexual Violence Awareness.
The creative thought and tenderness
put in by the organizers was impressive. 

It was poorly attended.

But even if ONE person steps forward
and reports sexual violence
or if ONE person realizes 
what sextortion is
or if ONE person learns to ask the right questions,
this event did its job.

At the entrance, 
you follow around the perimeter
a path of shoes of all shapes, types, and sizes.  
Signs filled with hard-to-read, 
harder-to process information pierce the grass
along the walk.  
Awareness.
Do we need it brought to our awareness
or just to the surface where 
our nerve-endings actually allow us to feel?
So much of it is so awful and so unthinkable
that our conscious mind refuses to let 
us process that these things happen . . . 
to family,
to kids sitting in our classrooms,
to us.

The shoes turned into 
various tech devices . . . 
cell phones, 
laptops, 
ipads,
gaming controls.
Then, statistics shifted to be
about how technology is used as a grooming
tool, a threatening tool,
for sexual violence.  
Every
Single 
One of us
is prey
but especially our youth
and their undeveloped
frontal cortex.

An installment inspired by the poem
“What I Was Wearing” is next.
Powerful stuff eliciting goosebumps
and tears.
A cheerleading uniform with a placard with 
true testimony:
“I was wearing my cheerleading uniform.  He ripped it off,
ruining the zipper.  I hated everything about cheerleading after that.”
A miniature tent with a camo shirt and biker shorts
with a placard that read:
“We went camping with family friends.  He crawled in my tent
and tore down my shorts.  I will never go camping again.”
There were probably thirty outfits 
with a snippet of a story.
The last stanza of the poem of inspiration reads:’
“i remember also
what he was wearing
that night
even though
it’s true
that no one 
has ever asked.”

Then there were the shoes . . .
the white canvas shoes 
transformed through creative genius
by businesses, agencies, student groups,
and individuals 
bringing awareness
to sexual violence
and the resources one can go to for help.
Acknowledgment that it happens.
Acknowledgment of its impact.
Acknowledgment that survivors need support.
Paint, glue, mirrors, grass, confetti
transform a simple canvas shoe
into a billboard.

Saw a lady wearing a t-shirt 
that said 
CONSENT
` get some before you get some

catchy language
clever language
mildly-inappropriate language
but what real language.
Surely kids get it.
Surely those words would sink in.
Surely hearts and minds will be shifted.

And they might 
but very few were there to see it.
Very few took time on this magnificent
spring Saturday
to venture to a central point 
in our community 
to see
to learn
to support.

I’m glad I left home 
with all of the chores
calling my name to
be witness to the work
witness to the info
witness to the gamechangers
who are committed to 
putting this info out there.

Those who show
strength through 
every stride 
to tackle a topic
people often like to keep in the shadows.  

~Susan Ahlbrand
25 April 2026

I’m going to try to attach some photos from the event.

Susie Morice

Holy moses, Susan, what a powerful poem! What a powerful experience you had this morning. As someone who, years ago, was sexually assaulted in a store’s dressing room by some faceless asswipe in a 3-piece grey suit in broad daylight, I totally understood the wickedness of this topic. The subsequent reaction of the salesclerk left me screaming as she told me to hush “you’re upsetting the customers”… It was awful. The story came back to me like a wallop, and I am relieved that “community event[s]” like this exist now. I admire that you tossed aside the “chores” to “witness” and I felt that caring in the whole poem. Thank you! Susie

Diane Anderson

I hope it does touch more than one.

We grew up with unlocked doors
Never felt unsafe
But after that night
Innocence ended
And all kinds of doors locked tight.

glenda funk

Susan,
I don’t know that I’m met more than a handful of women who have escaped sexual abuse in one form or another. I think people are uncomfortable attending such events because derp down we know nearly every woman has a story, often more than one story. We stay silent, detached. I love the way poetry lets us process events like the if you write about here, the way literature opens space for the hard conversations, I’m glad you write in such detail about all you witnessed today. This is an enlightening, revelatory poem. Thank you!

kim johnson

Susan, I havent’ seen any community events quite like this in my town, but what a great way to build awareness and speak out. We have Darkness to Light training at our school to help teachers identify signs of this. I love the t-shirt – get some (consent) before you get some… that’s so clever!

Susie Morice

[Note: I sort of combined the “loss” theme from yesterday with a cathartic “slam.” Just what I needed on a rainy Saturday morning. Thank you, Ashley and Scott! Susie]

LOSING

Things I’d like to lose 
but can’t stem the news
are the pounding emails, texts
populating my inbox
in a firehose 
of rants, 
begs, 
shocks,
pleas, 
that tease
me into opening.

Bills stack on my desk.

No amount of unscribing,
deleting-blocking-even donating
staves the flow of reminders
that our country 
has spiraled
into
chaos.

Bills, higher every month.

Each day losing:

the Boundary Waters 
to Chilean copper and nickel mining
spewing sulfuric acid, 
redefining 
the air we breathe
the water we drink.

Lost: 

logical regulations
‘gainst oil and gas 
waste water in the nearby creek;
legislation always at impasse;
car emissions – mercury, air toxins, 
suddenly permissible,
conscience inexplicable.

Lost: 

wells polluted, depleted,
the water table gone missing 
under the hissing of data centers;
payoffs outweigh the dissenters
left with only faint echoes 
of their pleading drum.

Lost: 

the Arctic
to the mining of zinc and lead, 
copper and iron,
nickel and palladium, 
cobalt and gold, 
silver and oil
natural gas and coal.

Bills tumble to the floor.

Abandoned:

endangered species 
on course to extinction, 
one by one, 
their crucifixion.

We the People
are left
with fires every summer,
water rationed 
every where;
history redacted;
museums stripped 
of the very mention
of those heroes,
our role models
in non-white skin,
memories
refracted. 

Bills:
insurance, 
groceries,
mortgage,
taxes to a government
that wages undefined, 
unauthorized war,
graft entwined,
spewing hatred of its own people.

We the People

are left.

Our spine:

our poetry.

by Susie Morice © April 25, 2026

Last edited 20 days ago by Susie Morice
glenda funk

Susie,
Your poem and David’s are a concert this morning. “Lost” is a headline filling every column. How do we even begin to fix this mess? I have lost my ability to be shocked, lost my ability to find a way through, lost my capacity to hold all this horrific news in the small space of my mind, and I’m worried to the point of nightly insomnia. I’ve tried to force myself away from the political this month. But I’m so glad you’re here saying all the things on my mind, listing all I see. There’s comfort in knowing I’m not alone in my angst and feeling the weightiness of the world. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Peace and love and hugs.

Barb Edler

Susie, your entire poem rocks. I love how it shows all that ails us. The injustices, the redacting of history, the environmental woes are all so overwhelming. I also appreciate your focus on the personal through the stacked bills and all the political fundraising pleas, etc. But your ending is what I most admire. Yes, we the people must speak! Our poetry is a form of resistance. Fantastic spoken word poem!

Scott M

 I love this Mother Earth Anthem that you’ve crafted, Susie!  Standing ovation, snapping fingers, all of it!  Your rhyme and rhythm rock throughout – “permissible,” “inexplicable,” “centers,” “dissenters” – and your ending is powerful – “We the People / are left. / Our spine: / our poetry.”  So good!

kim johnson

Susie, all of this is just so true, and then the last two lines seal the deal for the hope that I feel in the midst of all that is wrong in the world. Perfectly promising – – there is nothing like our favorite poets and their poetry to stir our hearts!

Denise Krebs

Susie, such a great slam poem about losing. So much losing. That stanza about the Boundary Waters was just heartbreaking. We are in a bad space. Thank you for the hope in the closing…

We the People

are left.

Our spine:

our poetry.

Amen!

Susan O

Read

Don’t put those books down
and don’t beat around!
No matter what they say
Read a page today
Keep your mind open! 

Fresh ideas and the news
a mix of thoughts and reviews
romance and trauma
political drama
Come on mama!
Let those children read
make it your creed
Keep your mind open!

Share a book at the night
keeps away the fright
fills young minds with dreams
of the future it seems
Papa reads too
the right thing to do
Keep your mind open!

Keep THEIR minds open!

Thanks Ashley for this opportunity to write a RAP.

Lori Sheroan

Susan, I’m a firm believer in reading, reading, reading! I love your rapping reminder of the importance of opening worlds through books. We are trying to surround our granddaughter with books and readers. Your rhythm and rhyme made my day!

Diane Anderson

Love this! I also wrote about reading today.

Denise Krebs

Susan, great message. I love the repetition and little change in the last line of each stanza. “Keep THEIR minds open!” Oh, if only all the mamas and papas who don’t read would take your poem to heart. I love that my grandson is growing up with books. He loves books anywhere anytime and sits so quietly for them. I know there is growth happening–dreams of the future and an open mind, besides all the great knowledge he’s gaining.

Sheila Benson

I have several thoughts swirling around in my head, all related to legislative fears of difference and the desire to control people’s thoughts. Not sure my rudimentary slam poetry skills will do them justice, but let’s see what comes out, shall we?

Rudine Sims Bishop talks about mirrors, windows, and sliding glass doors,
Hoping we might break out of the mindset of “my views matter more than yours.”
Why are people pretending
that keeping kids from reading about lives different from their own
is a way to be safe? We’re not protecting
but instead building a wall.
A wall of ignorance
A fear of difference
A “this does not make good neighbors” fence
that destroys’ a generation’s confidence
that they might be able to lead us to something new.

Something better.
Something hopeful and healing and heartfelt.

We’re better than this.
And I hope that our current students don’t miss
out on the beauty of diversity
because leaders of the university
cave to fears of a small but loud segment of the public.

Sheila Benson

This sounded so much cooler in my head . . . but I tried.

Susie Morice

Sheila — I love it! You offered us such an honest slam-dunk of those loud but ill-informed voices that want to censor what our kids read. It make me crazy! I particularly loved, “We’re not protecting/but instead building a wall./a wall of ignorance…” That’s so true. And what better place for a kid to read about different views than in the presence of a teacher and classroom that helps tease the meaning out of those books. This is where we get to help kids SEE. I like, too, the punch in the short lines. I wish I’d done more of that. Well done. Susie

Diane Anderson

You made a strong statement.

Susan O

Sheila, I was also writing about reading today. Your poem is so much stronger. So true these lines: Why are people pretending
that keeping kids from reading about lives different from their own
is a way to be safe?
Yes, we need something better. Freedom to read!

Allison Laura Berryhill

Good lines:
A wall of ignorance
A fear of difference

David

“What machine should we rage against?”

When a student asked me, I bit my tongue
teachers aren’t allowed to talk about that
in the classroom
not allowed to sway the potential future
voters
But the question deserves an answer and there are
plenty of
machines to
rage
against.

Rage against the environmental catastrophe unfolding
deregulation
destruction
deforestation
digging and drilling
Rage against misinformation and disinformation
started by the tobacco lobby
leaked into climate change
and now pervasive in the social mediaverse
Rage against the death of the planet’s heartbeat
the steady climate decline–downgrading
Rage against the movement of money
from the working class to the elite
against a government and economy “in cahoots”
to keep part of the population unemployed
dependent on ever-decreasing dollars handed
out by the government
Rage against an economy that downturns every 4-7 years
that is content to elevate those already elevated
Rage against the organized religion that weaponizes
hate and discrimination
Rage against a coming AI boom that will further
the divide
between us and those with billions
Rage for equality
Rage for love
Rage for a better life
and a
better future. 

glenda funk

David,
Im here to rage! I’m gonna listen to Rage Against the Machine after reading. I’m particularly invested in
Rage against the environmental catastrophe unfolding
deregulation
destruction
deforestation
digging and drilling”
Here in the west we understand environmental collapse, unless one’s name is Mike Lee, of course.
Im also impressed w/ your list of things to rage for:
“Rage for equality
Rage for love
Rage for a better life
and a
better future.”
BTW, Your lust of reasons to rage is why I loved teaching speech and research. I didn’t have to tell kids what I think. I merely had to guide them to identify the problems themselves and assist them in finding all the good stuff defining the issue and what to do about it. Then they often stood in front of their peers and said all the things I wanted to say but could not.

Susie Morice

Amen, David — I read it out loud and it hits hard and with a voice that cannot be denied. I love it. The RAGE builds with the repetition, and this reader is fired up. Thank you for raging this morning. I needed just what you have written. Susie

Sharon Roy

David,

It is heartbreaking what we are doing to our planet:

Rage against the environmental catastrophe unfolding

deregulation

destruction

deforestation

digging and drilling

Thank you for your powerful message of both rage and hope.

Emily Martin

I love the repetition of rage here. I also like how it came from a student’s question and how as a teacher we have to sometimes hold back some of our rage, which is hard.

Melanie Hundley

Wow, thank you for this prompt! My first slam poetry piece and it is soooooooo much longer than I meant it to be.

At the Crossroads of the Classroom
 
I stand at the crossroads—
not dirt, not dust—
but data and demand,
a scripted plan
pressed tight in my hand.

Four roads. Four codes.
Four outcomes pre-wrote, pre-scored, pre-known—
proficient, progressing, below.
Tell me—
which way do I go?

Do I bow to the gods of the grid,
where the numbers live,
where the answer is what you give
when you strip a voice down
till it fits what they say it is?

Do I sell what I know—
slow burn, soul work, word flow—
for a checkbox glow,
for a graph that climbs
while curiosity flatlines?

Because I have seen this before.
I have watched a what if
become a no time for this.
Watched a why
get filed under doesn’t apply.

Watched bright minds dim
to the rhythm of fill it in,
bubble it, double it, trouble it—
until thinking feels like sin.

We lose the line.
We lose the voice.
We lose the right
to make a choice.

Lose time.
Lose truth.
Lose the messy middle of proof.

Lose writing—
not Writing, not breath-on-the-page,
not risk, not rage—
but writing reduced
to a timed, caged stage
where the only applause
is a score on a page.

And they call it gain.
They call it growth.
But I know loss when I see it.

I know the cost of a silenced note.
Because I have stood in rooms
where language blooms—
where a line hits hard
and the whole room hums,

where a student says,
wait—listen—this—
and the air shifts
like a held breath kissed
by something true,
something new,
something breaking through
what we told them to do.

So now—
here I am.

Crossroads.

Crossroads.

Cross—
roads.

Where the test says measure
and the muse says treasure.

Where the system says faster
and the soul says listen.

Where the clock ticks now
and the voice says how?

How do I stand here
and not disappear
into compliance disguised as care?

So I don’t kneel.
Not fully.
I deal
in the spaces they can’t seal—
in the cracks of the plan,
in the back of the room,
in the half-second pause
where a thought might bloom.

I teach the test—yes.
But I also confess:
there is more than this mess
of assess, regress, compress—
I teach them to press
past the prompt,
past the box,
past the lockstep logic
of “just check the box.”

I teach them to bend it,
to send it,
to write something reckless
and mean it.
To risk being seen
in a system that screens
for the safe and the clean
and the already-been.

Because I have seen
what happens when we don’t.
And I won’t—
I won’t call that loss
learning.
I won’t call that silence
voice.

I won’t stand at this crossroads
and pretend
there is only one choice.

So let them test.
Let them score.
Let them ask
for less and more.

I will stand here still—

with chalk on my hands,
with poems in my pockets,
with breath in the margins
they forgot to lock it—
still making offerings:

bread
for the body,
flowers
for the fragile,

and lines—
sharp, sacred, undeniable—
for the mind

for the ones
who refuse
to be reduced.

Ashley

Melanie,

The beauty of slam poetry is sometimes it lets writers get everything out they didn’t realize they were holding in. Your imagery and use of enjambment creates such strong emotions!

Melanie

It does seem to get away from you! Thank you!

glenda funk

Melanie,
Your poems broke my heart right from the start with “data and demand,
a scripted plan
pressed tight in my hand.”
And all that crap is mandated by dummies who know little to nothing about teaching. Ugh!

And these lines: “Watched bright minds dim
to the rhythm of fill it in,
bubble it, double it, trouble it—“ are brilliant! Love the allusion to Macbeth.
Keep refusing to let the days and tests rule. I love this poem so much and hope you find a place to perform it.

Melanie Hundley

Thank you so much! We did a lot of Shakespeare with ENED folks in the past few weeks so I am feeling the Bard love (or feeling the witches). Thank you for reading!

Emily Martin

Ah! I love this so much. This is real, how in public school there often isn’t time to teach the things that really matter, that dig deep into a student’s heart.

I love and feel so many of your lines but these really hit home-

there is more than this mess
of assess, regress, compress—
I teach them to press
past the prompt,
past the box,
past the lockstep logic
of “just check the box.”

This is actually why I pulled my kids for several years, took a short break from teaching in public schools, and homeschooled them for part of their childhood.

Melanie Hundley

Thank you! I love teaching and hate what has changed over the past years.

David

You’ve captured the tension so well. Thanks for standing in the gap for our kids.

Melanie Hundley

Thank you!

Sheila Benson

Snaps all around! You’ve got BARS, Melanie! This is your FIRST slam poem?!? Woo-ee! So good!

Melanie Hundley

Bars? I have bars? Woo hoo! Thank you for the compliment! I appreciate it so much.

Ann E. Burg

Wow, where to begin! so many lines to love here, So many thoughts tumbling…I had to read it to my husband (a mg/hs administrator). He says our state is coming round, making efforts…he even wondered if he could bring a copy to the English teacher so I said I’d ask. Meanwhile what please me most is that whatever the test and prompts demand, you don’t kneel. “I deal in the spaces they can’t seal/in the cracks of the plan/in the back of the room/in the half-second pause/where a thought might bloom. I love that italicized line most of all. Hard to believe its your first slam!

Melanie Hundley

Hi, Ann, Thank you! I am happy for your husband to use the poem however he wishes.

Ann E. Burg

Thanks for getting back to me…going to print out now. It will touch a lot of teachers. 💕

Susie Morice

Melanie — I thank all the holy folks in all the lands for what you have shared today. I’ve been sick thinking about how teachers are being squeezed to become drones of ennui and “regress[ion]”… do not go quietly at this “crossroad”… your students deserve the power of your voice. I’m so proud to read your poem. It’s long as all git-out, and I read it out loud twice. Rocked my socks! Thank you. You voice gives me hope. Thank you, thank you, thank you! Susie

Melanie Hundley

Thank you for reading something so long. (And twice–that’s stamina!) I appreciate it.

Susan Ahlbrand

Now THIS is slam poetry. You nailed it! Please records yourself performing this and it’ll go viral among teachers.

And they call it gain.

They call it growth.

But I know loss when I see it.

this is precisely why last year shoved me over the edge to retirement.

Melanie

I don’t know that I am brave enough for that! It would be fun to try but share? Hmmmm. But thank you!

Emily Martin

This really sings—

We lose the line.
We lose the voice.
We lose the right
to make a choice

And the reception of lose makes your poem really powerful. And reminds me too, of yesterday’s prompt.

Anna J. Small Roseboro

Ash, your prompt today reminds me that I am to be one of the judges at our county wide teen poetry “slam” where students come to perform their own original poetry. We, the judges, are invited to perform one of ours, too. Here’s one I may use this year because hearing these teens speak encourages me to keep writing, too!

Words, Words, Words 
Words stir me
When I hear them,
When I read them,
When I write them,
When I speak them.

Words urge me
To keep listening
To keep reading
To keep writing
To keep speaking.

Let me hear you,
So I can know you.
Let me speak,
So you can know me.

Prodigiously stirring words
Help me know you.
And viscerally urging words
Help me know me.
 

 

Words-Words-Words
Cayetana

So true! We write so we can know ourselves better.

Ashley

Anna,

I want to frame this poem and put it on the door of my English classroom! Your love of words really shines through!

glenda funk

Anna,
Im right there w/ you in paying homage to words in all the ways you name.

Sheila Benson

That third stanza: so, so true! We know each other through words!

Dave Wooley

Anna, love this!! The repetition at the beginning of your lines is such a powerful rhetorical device. And then the switch to parallel structure and the internal rhymes and slant rhymes of the last stanza are mic drop moments.

Carrie Horn

Something I feel passionate about? I get swept up in the current climate of our nation. Sometimes I’m apologetic. And honestly, sometimes I have to coach myself to just keep scrolling. Some fights are not worth the high blood pressure. But I’m enraged and angered and deeply saddened about the current state of our nation.
I’ll take your word and I’ll raise the stakes
​What was that word?
Woke?
Is that some kind of joke?
I’ll take your word and I’ll raise the stakes
Because your word is a perfect descriptor 
Not an insult’s as intended. 
Passion. Passionate. 
That’s what I call it. 
And to the “Christian” right I say,
I read the book, 
The words in red, 
The ones that explain
WWJD to me. 
I love people. 
Some are poor. 
Some are addicts. 
Some people I love 
Have different spiritual beliefs than me.
Some are black and 
Some are brown. 
Some are Asian 
And don’t speak much English.
Some came here to escape…
Violence.
Terror.
Warfare.
Drug kingpins.
I can’t understand,
America
Where is your freedom?
Compassion? 
I was always taught
About a great melting pot.
Liberty and justice for all,
Let’s be honest 
The definition of all
Is really, really small.
What about the homeless,
The poor, 
The immigrant, 
The African American
Living and working in our midst.
America
I’m enraged.
And I’m embarrassed.
How can we talk about people
In such labels. 
How can we continue 
To pat ourselves on the back
In the midst of-
Injustice
Immorality
Thievery 
and more.
I’m ready to fight,
With all my might,
For what is right.
So call me woke 
Or whatever 
floats your right wing boat.
I know God 
And I know my neighbor.
Love them both.
Can you REALLY say the same?
It’s not a joke.
It’s not a game.
Say their name.
-Carrie Horn
4-25-26

Melanie Hundley

I really felt this one–the last 8 or so lines spoke to me. I sank into the rhythm of the piece and then those lines really hit for me. Powerful ending. Thank you.

Ashley

Carrie,

Your words gave me chills. I can imagine this spoken and it is so incredibly powerful. The line breaks feed into the emotion and shows your rightful anger, and the passion you have for justice.

David

I love all of this (except the part where we live in a world where it needs to be written).

Sheila Benson

“I know God/ And I know my neighbor./ Love them both./ Can you REALLY say the same?” Chills. So, so true.

glenda funk

Carrie,
”Call me woke,” too. I’ll proudly wear the liberal label, as well. Your words are righteous, the kind of outrage Jesus would engage in if he were here. The Christian right is an embarrassment and an abomination. They disgust me. I’m here for all your brilliance and outrage today.

Ann E. Burg

Well Carrie, we’re on the same page…America, where’s your freedom? I hear your passion and your rage… loved every line from beginning to perfect coming couplet.

Ann E. Burg

Well Ashley, this prompt is certainly not in my wheelhouse so thanks for the challenge. I tried my best…meanwhile, your slammed fist on podium captures the irony of education today…bring back the sliding glass doors! Yes, yes, yes! Be back later to read and respond.

Life, why do you try to break me—
you shake me like a can of pop
roll me to a mountaintop 
and drop me. 

Life why do you try to break me—

Kick me through the city streets
masked men roam 
and mothers weep,
sound of bullets, 
screams of pain—
feeling close to break again. 

Life why do you try to break me—

Find me in a marching crowd,
fired up and feeling loud—
fizzing heat ascends to brain
Lordy, when’s it gonna rain?
When’s the shouting gonna stop?
When’s the strongman gonna flop?
When does march turn into dance?
Lordy, do we have a chance?

Life, why do you try to break me—

Last edited 20 days ago by Ann E. Burg
Melanie Hundley

The repetition of the line “life, why do you try to break me” takes me through so many different emotions that are then supported or challenged by the stanzas. I really appreciate how you structured this poem, the use of rhyme and then the use of repetition.

Ashley

Ann,

Your pleas to life and use of the dash with the repeated line as the ending draws so much emotion and pain. Your poem gave me goosebumps.

Susan O

I love this metaphor with the fizzing soda can ready to explode! You have described the feelings of life trying to break all of us so well.

Carrie Horn

Wow. Your words rang out to me like a calling, and full of truth. Truth and sadness. I like the re-use of the words “Life, why do you try to break me”. It ties everything together. I love the description in the beginning about the can but f soda pop. I can so relate to the idea of being shaken and pressure building until something in me explodes.

Leilya Pitre

Ann, I am practicing to read poems out loud today, and yours flows seamless with grace and cadence. The repeating line brings us back to the breaking point reasons and builds up tension until the end. I like the questions and especially the final outcry for help:
Lordy, do we have a chance?”

Sarah W

Book Bans

Books
Tell a story
A way to look
Into a different perspective
But……
Society wants to say otherwise
Bans left and right
I can’t read my favorite book at night
Schools, want to censor
What we read
But reading should be expressive
Let us stop
Banning Books

Carrie Horn

Yes please! Let us stop! I love books. Some days I wish I’d become a librarian. The good news…. We love to rebel, to do the thing that is outlawed, to read the book that is banned.

Cayetana

and it’s always the “haves” who try to tell us what we should “have not”.

Melanie Hundley

You are preaching to my soul right here. Books…give us so much and I hate how people are trying to take them away. I like how you start with books and then take us through to the plea to stop banning books. I love how you did that.

David

Thanks for standing up for books and intellectual freedom.

Susie Morice

Sarah — Absolutely! Books hold the sense of possibility and wonder. The banning of books back in the 70s was really a bite….that we are refighting those battles is heartbreaking. But we are learning. how fragile our world is, and teachers are front and center with the answers. Keep fighting, keep writing, keep teaching! Your voice is critically important! Thank you! Susie

kim johnson

AAAAAAAA mennnnnn, sister! Preach! I get so fed up with the agendas that would bring books to a crashing halt. Parents and others are free to pick for their own children, but they should NOT have free rein to choose for mine by limiting choice and accessibility. Oh, I fear I’ve gotten on a soapbox, but I’ll yell it squeaky clean too: I agree!!!

glenda funk

Ashley,
Thank you for hosting. I love this prompt and loved sharing slam poetry w/ students. Your poems is 🔥 . I loathe standardized testing and refused to teach to the test, but we have a whole generation of teachers who themselves have been raised on nothing but testing. Breaks my heart. Send this poem into NCTE if you’re a member. I think they’ll publish it.

OLD AIN’T DEAD!

Ann Landers said it first: 
youth think old folks are cursed
as the biological clock ticks away
checking off another day

but 

OLD AIN’T DEAD!

your libido may stop or go so slow 
your boobs both sag down real low
the hair on your head has turned silver 
you’re wrinkled face needs botox filler

but still

OLD AIN’T DEAD!

glory days gone; you’re past your prime
aches and pains your life define 
your grands must explain the latest fad
eight o’clock bedtime makes you glad

but, hey

OLD AIN’T DEAD!

now live life the gen Jones way 
Carpe diem each geezer day  
and take my grandma’s sage advice—  
if you’ve got it, flaunt it until you die 

because…

OLD AIN’T DEAD!

yet!

Glenda Funk
April 25, 2926 

*Note to young poets: Ann Landers was an advice columnist for many years. She and her sister (Dear Abby) were hugely popular back in the day.

I took the selfie in my Canva in a restroom in Siem Reap, Cambodia.

IMG_6431
Last edited 20 days ago by glenda funk
Stacey Joy

Standing and clapping!!!!! You nailed it, and that selfie is too cute!

Hilarious but true!

your libido may stop or go so slow 

your boobs both sag down real low

Melanie Hundley

Oh, I love this! Old ain’t dead–that refrain is going to be with me all day. So many lines will stick with me (love the selfie) but the old ain’t dead really hit.

Lori Sheroan

This could be my theme song. Thanks for supporting those of us who still try to “carpe diem each geezer day!” Your grandma’s advice made me laugh. I love it!

Susie Morice

Glenda — You made me smile, as this surely resonates with this old broad. LOL! You mind is as far from “geezer” as one can get. You are rockin’ it…out there in SE Asia. What a woman! I love the repetition of the “Old Ain’t Dead” that kicks with voice. Hugs and love, Susie

Susan Ahlbrand

So great, Glenda! You capture every challenge we face but we ain’t dead!!

kim johnson

Glenda, what a fabulous photo of you, ready to seize the day and get out and play – – naw, we aren’t dead yet but …..I do have to ask my children and grandchildren to show me the tech tricks, so I chuckled at that. I’m glad you are out living – – as long as we are living, we should be living it up – – like you!

Barb Edler

Glenda, your resounding voice sings throughout this entire poem. I love the repetition of “OLD AIN’T DEAD!” Hell, no, and with women like you they will live on through their amazing voices. I love, love, love the humor throughout this. All the details about boobs, hair and Botox that apparently define a female’s value. However, your grandma’s sage advice is absolutely priceless!

Leilya A Pitre

Glenda, truth thou speaketh, my friend,–we ain’t dead, yet! Loved it so much: every reference to the aging body and its functions is relatable. The society’s stigma to value youth, especially in women, is unsettling, to say the least. Your grandma’s advice is worth following,”if you’ve got it, flaunt it until you die.” You are looking great in that background selfie – flaunt it 🥰

Last edited 19 days ago by Leilya Pitre
Denise Krebs

Old Ain’t Dead, my new mantra. Glenda, this is so fun, and I totally want to hear you recite it. That second stanza made me laugh aloud! Love the message here: “Carpe diem each geezer day”

Fran Haley

Glenda – thank you for the fun spin on aging, with that refrain of OLD AIN”T DEAD! Amen! Preach! Your word choices are absolutely delightful (despite the their truths, ha) and every beat falls just right. That is a great photo of you!

Lori Sheroan

Thanks for your prompt, Ashley! What a powerhouse of a poem! “Cut the stifling testing cord.” I retired last June, but I stand in solidarity with all my teacher friends and the students they love as they all struggle through the pain of end-of-year state assessments. I know your poem would resonate with all of them. For my contribution to today’s Verselove, I chose to write about all the givers out there…those folks who speak the language of service.

Givers

Givers of the world
this one’s for you
and all you do

And how you give
hands unfurled
gifts to the world

Priceless gifts
your patience and time
your rhythm your rhyme

Often unnoticed
volunteer hours…hours
steadfast superpowers

Ready to serve
you notice the need
Clothe, help, feed

Givers of the world
you have needs, too
who gives to you?

glenda funk

Lori, this echoes my favorite part of the bible, the Beatitudes. I love the hand imagery: “hands unfurled
gifts to the world”
I often share my favorite quote with people, which comes from Winston Churchill: “We make a living out of what we get, but we make a life out of what we give.”
Giving us its own reward, but that poignant question at the end of your poem is a reminder not to treat givers like “the giving tree.”

Sarah W

Hi Lori! I love how heartfelt this poem is. I noticed how you use an anaphora to emphasize how much givers do.

Carrie Horn

Oh wow. I love the shift at the end, “who gives to you?” How many moms, teachers, helpers of the community are running on empty cups. Your poem shines a light just where it is needed. Thank you for drawing my attention to the selfless givers today.

Cayetana

Your poem comes in the forefront of National Volunteer month. Thank you.

kim johnson

Lori, what a thoughtful way to remind us that the givers, too, need our own giving back. You ended on a question, and it’s an effective call to action in the interrogative to ask what we are doing to give to the helpers.

Fran Haley

Ashley, funny you should appear today with this magnificent slam invitation; I have recently been feeling a need to write something with strong beats. I think it is a defense mechanism against life when it feels too heavy…now, as for your poem – wow, wow, WOW. The direct correlation of the literacy crisis and the testing cord…truth. The cord should have been cut long ago. You are singing my song as a literacy educator…and poet. Keep preaching with that fire – thank you for all of this.

Write Poetry
 
 
Whassa matter? Got the blues?
Here, put your feet in metrical shoes
feel the unforced rhythms of grace
run your iambs all over the place

write poetry

You say you ain’t no poet?
Sugar, you just don’t know it
You got plenty of words there in your brains
plus a heart beating rhythm through your veins

write poetry

Oh, now here we go with all the excuses
I see by your face you’re throwing me deuces
You say you ain’t got time
to be cranking out rhyme

writing poetry

Your job is hateful, so’s your boss?
Breaking your back like a worn-out hoss?
If it’s daily fresh hell, why stay there?
Find you a place to breathe real air
 
write poetry

Your “other” don’t understand you?
Listen. Not everybody can. You
gotta wear your empathy hat
The universe smiles at that

write poetry

Tell the truth: what’s holding you back?

Mama’s depression?
Daddy’s repression?
Grandma’s conviction?
Someone’s addiction?
You afraid to love?
All of the above?

I’m here to tell you it ain’t livin’
To not use all you’ve been given
Grab the tyger-tail of life, roaring by
in the end, Baby, you gotta die-versify

write poetry

yeah

life ain’t long enough
but you are strong enough
no matter how broken.
That is all. I have spoken.

Write poetry.

Jennifer Guyor Jowett

Fran, your ability to write so much so early is so incredible. This line, “in the end. Baby, you gotta die-versify.” This. This. I just want to steal it and make it mine. And your ending is just perfection–I hear the finality of “I have spoken” (like it’s the final word) but also the nudged repetitive reminder to “write poetry.” I love that we can hear everyone’s voices in their rhythm’s today. Yours carries strong.

kim johnson

Fran, I’m chill-bumping here in meter. Love the metrical shoes running iambs all over the place and the middle lines of finding the place to shine really hits home in so many ways – – finding the air is part of survival right now, like poetry. And the nod to Blake at the end, burning bright – – like your poem. How do you sprinkle such magic? I can hear you delivering this and the crowd going wild.

Lori Sheroan

Wow! Fran, your call to write poetry is ah-may-zing!!!! (Emphasis on the Zing!) “Grab the tiger-tail of life” – I love this!

glenda funk

Fran,
Laying down the rhyme, rhythm, and repetition today, and I’m here for it. I live those questions and the way they present a counter argument to writing poetry that you refute with poetry. Beautiful! My favorite line: “you gotta die-versify” because the fiction is so playful. I’ll post my poem later but will say now that I have a similar structure and wonder what muse visited us both. Love this advocacy of poetry you’ve gifted us today,

Carrie Horn

There’s so much to love here. I love how you circle back to “write poetry.” It’s a beautiful way to explain how poetry can heal the heart and free the brain. I also love the tone and how your voice is so easily heard, “You say you ain’t no poet?/Sugar, you just don’t know it”. This gave me a chuckle because of the wording but also because it’s so laden with truth. I fell in love with poetry as a freshman in high school. It was a godsend in uncertain times.

Melanie Hundley

Oh, Fran. Write poetry–what a line to repeat. I love each stanza and the ideas. The line “in the end, Baby, you gotta die-versify” oh, how very wickedly clever. LOVE THIS!

Susie Morice

Fran — I love the quick snap rhythm and the firm voice…just “do it,” to borrow Nike. Yes! Fun and loud! It could be a poster in your classroom. Susie

Barb Edler

Wow, Fran, this is amazing. I love the speaker’s voice in this one and how well all the words flow. You’ve captured rhythm, rhyme, and an attitude. Yes, write poetry, it will help heal. I also loved the catalogue of problems which surely connects with readers. Fantastic poem!

Jennifer Guyor Jowett

Ashley, I don’t think I’ve ever attempted to write a poem just for slamming. It put my internal voice into a whole new place. I keep returning to your lines, “Those test-taking strategies/Little echo-chamber tragedies.” I imagine the emptiness of all those check boxes. (I read of a poet whose poem had been chosen for standardized testing who said she wasn’t even sure which answer the test was looking for) Your passion comes through loudly in your poem, and I’m here for it!

Raise Your Voice

you’ve been told
all your life
to take your bold
and hold it in
be demure
soft and pure
quiet, quiet
as a mouse,
But fuck that shit.
Don’t take that hit.
Don’t fall down.
Get off the ground.
Take your sound.
Make your sound.
It’s not a choice.
(Just do it)
Raise your voice.
(Just do it)

Last edited 20 days ago by Jennifer Jowett
Fran Haley

Jennifer, your passionate lines stir so many things in my brain…the sound of my Southern grandmothers, despite being cast in the mold of ladylikeness, raising their voices in pure hellfire against injustices…not often, mind, but I can hear their truths even now. Time and time again life knocked them down in horrific ways. They didn’t stay on the ground. Once again I am fiercely proud their blood is in my veins. If they could, I can…and your poem inherently says the same. I am grateful.

Last edited 20 days ago by Fran Haley
kim johnson

Jennifer, I agree with your point that writing for slamming is a whole new twist when you think about actually delivering or hearing a message audibly with passion and determination. And persuasion, rousing a call to action for the topic. Your poem today truly hits in the needed places. The silencing of SO many voices at every level of life, from the actual self to the family to the workplace and the governing bodies with their personal agendas. That standout line there is right in the middle, like the gesture finger, and I think you have done this before where you cleverly place the gesture that goes with the words right in the sweet spot (sarcastic pun intended). Ha! I love it.

glenda funk

Jennifer!
Do you know how much I love seeing “fuck that shit” in your poem? This is bold, and brave, and beautiful. Let’s teach our girls to “raise your voice.” I’ve already told my son and DIL that I’m gonna teach my new baby granddaughter to be a bold, strong female. Love this poem. Come sit by me, and we’ll raise our voices together.

Lori Sheroan

Jennifer, I hear you! “Take your sound./Make your sound./It’s not a choice.” – powerful! I also love your two “Just do it,” lines, wrapped in parenthesis like the voices in our heads giving us the best advice.

Sarah W

Hi Jennifer, I enjoyed your rhyme scheme here, and the powerful words you used!

Susie Morice

Jennifer — You BET! The voice is powerful and the message is just what we need. And who doesn’t love a good dose of F and S in a Saturday morning poem. LOVE ever f’in word of it. LOL! My niece would be particularly in love with this one… she has the same tone and message. I wrote a letter and mailed it to Amy K, my senator here in MN, yesterday…screaming at her to “raise [her] voice” in the battles that we are fighting. Truth is, our writing here is some of the best “resistance” that we can muster. We are the writers. We are the voice that so many feel but don’t write. Our words here are LOUD! I’m so glad you are a teacher! Hope…YOU are hope. Love, Susie

Rachel Zisette

I like the tightly packed force in this poem!

I’d LOVE to hear you perform this, Jennifer!

Barb Edler

Jennifer, oh hell, yes! I entirely agree with everything in your poem. Loved the f bomb and “Get off the ground/Take your sound”. We need to spread this message everywhere!

Scott M

“But fuck that shit.”  Love it, Jennifer.  Your poem is so so good!

kim johnson

Ashley, thank you for hosting us today with a slam poetry invitation – – a whole new realm of enjambment and rhyme and passion. I love your call to action with literacy and your shift for the last stanza. I noticed on a couple of occasions recently where someone has told someone else to smile – doesn’t know their story or what they are dealing with – just flippantly tells them to smile. And maybe it’s the older female in me coming out, but I want to sit that grown-ass man down and remind him her mile isn’t his mile.

{{insert the fakest smile you can imagine, and that’s the title}}

don’t tell her to smile
through her grief-stricken mile
she showed up today
in her normal-face way

she’s not paid to make happy
her gums ain’t all flappy
don’t tell her to smile
fake just isn’t her style

she’s not a smile-baby
her no don’t mean maybe
she showed up to work
not to mouth-please a jerk

her face ain’t your eye candy
she ain’t paid to be dandy
don’t tell her to smile
she’s an encrypted file

she ain’t nothing like you
she thinks it all through
so don’t tell her to smile
go pound sand for a while

Jennifer Guyor Jowett

Ha! Yes, Kim! I’m going to print this and hand it out whenever I hear a man tell someone to smile. Your title is ever so clever. So many lines worth holding onto here: “in her normal face way,” “not to mouth-please a jerk” (wide eyes on the many interpretations of that), “she’s an encrypted file” (my favorite). I can tell you’ve thought this all through (and I’m smiling about that).

Fran Haley

“She’s not a smile-baby/her no don’t mean maybe” – “she ain’t nothing like you/she thinks it all through” – zingers of zingers, Kim! There is nothing so patently patronizing as a person attempting to think or control another…as if the patronizer’s thoughts are actually superior (if they were, the attempt wouldn’t even be made). I recall another educator-friend saying he was done with platitudes. In this case, like “Smile!” The smiles will come organically if folks can reach out to one another with sincerity and respect – your poem really does slam!

Margaret Simon

Kim, I was trying not to smile about the fake smile. This is gold! “She showed up to work, not to mouth-please a jerk” and “her gums aren’t all flappy.” I can hear you at the mic at the poetry slam. Mic drop!

glenda funk

Kim,
Bringing the sat today, I see! I’m here for it. love the rhyme. Love the “encrypted file” metaphor. Love the clap-back at fucking men who tell women to smile. I’ve been known to tell a man, or two, or more that I don’t owe them a smile.This should be required reading for every man. And that title is so very clever. I also love your use of “ain’t,” a word i have in my poem today, too.

Lori Sheroan

Kim, I don’t think some people know how much a smile can cost. Thank you for standing up for the “normal-face way.”

Sarah W

Hi Kim! This has such a satire tone, and I love it! It’s a push back to people who tell you to smile, as if they get a say on your facial expressions.

Susie Morice

Kim — This is such an honest feeling. The expectation that “she” should just buck up is infuriating to me…and you nail that with the first 2 lines…bam. I’d love to shove this poem in the face of a couple folks I know who threw the “just get over it” at the wrong time. Also, I love the “encrypted file,” as it really speaks to the strength and privacy that we deserve that space. And your title suggestion…perfect! Hugs, Susie

Susan Ahlbrand

The message is so great and the voice even greater. You shifted into a voice that is not you and that’s what makes it inventive and genius. I am usually limited to write as me. You take a topic you clearly care about but you twisted it to be a never heard voice. If that makes sense.

Barb Edler

Kim, I love your poem and think women and especially young girls need to read this one. Is there anything more annoying than someone telling you to smile. It’s such a male thing. I don’t think women tell another female to smile or a guy to smile, etc. It’s silencing kind of behavior and repulsive. “she’s not a smile-baby” is one of my favorite lines in this one along with “fake just isn’t her style”. You nailed it here!

Leilya A Pitre

Kim, you are on fire, and I see a bit different side of you. I like it because I am like that. I might let go a disrespect or some stupid comment/suggestion/advice toward me, but won’t let it happen to ward someone else.
Each staza here is punchy, snarky, rhyme and rhythm defined. It tells what it means.
I particularly like:
she’s not a smile-baby
her no don’t mean maybe” and
her face ain’t your eye candy
she ain’t paid to be dandy”
The hint of “encrypted file” is hard to overlook, but you’ve weaved it so cleverly. Bravo!

Sarah

After Sarah Kay…

If I should have a daughter who writes,
I will not ask her when she learned
because she will not remember.
She will already be
scribbling in the margins of worksheets
naming characters in the notes app on a cracked phone
staying up too late to finish a scene
no one assigned.
She will build whole worlds
before anyone teaches her what a paragraph is.
This is writing.
She will write herself into corners
and then write a way out.
She will try on voices like jackets
leave some behind
grow into others.
This is writing,
and when she gets to school,
they will hand her a prompt–
tell her to stay focused
tell her to be clear
tell her to cut this part.
And she will learn
how to make her sentences smaller.
They will call it structure.
They will call it clarity
They will call it
rigor,
but this is not the crisis.
Not grammar.
Not effort.
Not ability.
The crisis is what we do not welcome:
the worlds she does not turn in
the stories she does not name
the pages she keeps to herself.
This is writing:
what will we tell her counts
what will we ask her to leave behind.

If I should have a daughter who writes,
she will still write
in notebooks we do not grade,
in forms we do not recognize,
in languages we do not ask for.
She will already be a writer.
We will just decide
whether we can see her.

kim johnson

Sarah, this is one of my favorite Sarah Kay poems ever, and I love that you took it to new places with the slant of the teacher seeing, not the person measuring up – making it more about what the world can find to see more than what the person shows or turns in. This is beautiful, and this part I will carry:
The crisis is what we do not welcome:
the worlds she does not turn in
the stories she does not name
the pages she keeps to herself.
This is writing:
what will we tell her counts
what will we ask her to leave behind.
I love the way you shift the end to the writer in all of us – – and how the world chooses to see us. I am holding tickets to Sarah Kay at Serenbe in Chattahoochee Hills on May 30, and I simply cannot wait to see and hear her in person – – I will think of you when/if she recites this poem and wish that you were there next to me to hear it.

Jennifer Guyor Jowett

Sarah, the clear shift between your hopes and offerings in your opening, so softly invited and scene-set, and the confinement of losing voice, so tightly written, short, demanding, is stark. I can feel the change deeply. I think of the worlds I once wrote and then the multitude of repetitive essays (formulaic, just change the topic, thesis, insert x into y), and how that took me away from me and my love of writing. You continue to model, offer, invite us into ungraded spaces. Thank you for that. I’m off to write in “languages we do not ask for.”

Fran Haley

Sarah, I am going to have to print this poem and put it in my room at school. I am sitting here drinking in every powerful image, marveling at the impact of every single line. It’s a masterpiece of composition, telling the truth of what schools do to kids. They come full of imagination, insatiable curiosity, and their own ready rhythms…and the system systematically crushes it out of them. So much more I could say but I will rein myself in – thank you so much for this.

Margaret Simon

You have punched a button on my childhood that I forgot was there. I was that girl writing without form or structure and my hand was slapped and damaged. I didn’t even realize the brevity of this shaming until I read your poem today.

glenda funk

Sarah,
Sarah Kay and you for the win! I can’t begin to count all the students i told over the years that spelling and grammar aren’t writing. I told their parents, too. It always made (and makes) me sad to see the boxed in, formulaic structures. I’ve often said that learning the rules so well destroyed my ability to be creative, especially when writing poetry. I’ve had to unlearn (learn to ignore) so much. It’s a struggle. These lives will stick w/ me:

And she will learn
how to make her sentences smaller.
They will call it structure.
They will call it clarity
They will call it
rigor,
but this is not the crisis.
Not grammar.
Not effort.
Not ability.
The crisis is what we do not welcome:”

I think these ideas are why I approached teaching English ( lit and composition) more like I taught speech because there’s a higher level of freedom and creativity in oratory than in argumentative esssy writing. Anyway, love the poem. Bravo!

Lori Sheroan

Your poem made me want to cry because of its truth. Sarah, I hope all this for my little granddaughter who already smiles in poetry. At only 8-months-old, she whisper-mouths words as if tasting them even though she can only say a few. If she chooses to write, I hope no one every stifles or red pens her words.

Rachel Zisette

This poem makes me all buzzy, thank you for writing it.
I like that you didn’t just leave it at “She will try on voices like jackets” but you gave us more with “leave some behind / grow into others.”
Thank you for campaigning for imagination.

anita ferreri

Sarah, your poem brings me to my knees with thinking about those children who never ever know the gift of writing because phonics is king, right now, as well as those who come to school knowing they are writers who can do anything and are quietly, swiftly confronted with the reality of notebook responses and test prep. As the pandemic isolation started, my then 4 year old granddaughter spend her days with me while her parents worked a situation that became zoom kindergarten for 2 hours. So we wrote, both of us, each and every day in the margins of notebooks and of dreams and schemes and hopes. She is now a fantastic writer and I am sure none of her teachers, even, has a clue. YET, “she will still writes
in notebooks we do not grade, in forms we do not recognize (about imaginary families and words) and in languages we do not ask for (Polish, Mandarin, Spanish…) Her pilot light is still burning even if school tries to squsih it!

Susie Morice

Sarah — This is so beautifully expressed. As writers and teachers, we know the joy of the kid who explores and falls in love with writing. And the dangers in school of “what [we will] tell her” and then how we hold a delicate balance to a young writer who could lose her own voice. Yes, “She will already be a writer.” And we must “see her.” I love that Sarah Kay has inspired your poem today. Cool beans! Love, Susie

Susan Ahlbrand

How beautifully you honor that Sarah Key poem! And I find myself getting angry about a) how we don’t allow people to develop their writing voice and b) how we kill it once they do.
I especially love

She will try on voices like jackets

leave some behind

grow into others.

Leilya A Pitre

Sarah, you take Sarah Kay to another level, and I like your voice. I love how you name everything what writing is until it isn’t, until it boxed in a template, formulaic writing. Where it hits me is”The crisis is what we do not welcome:” a child’s authentic voice, creativity, and desire to write. Your closing is both promising and not so much depending on who “we” are and what “we” decide.
P. S., I was at NWP network gathering Zoom last night and enjoyed Jenn’s talk about your new book Writer to Writer.