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

A former high school English teacher, Kate Sjostrom is a teacher educator at the University of Illinois at Chicago and Writer in Residence at the Hemingway Foundation of Oak Park.
Inspiration
I was introduced to this writing activity, an emulation of Stephen Dunn’s poem “Loves,”* while student teaching under poet extraordinaire Glen Brown. Twenty years later, I still find this writing exercise to be one of the most enjoyable and productive, for students and teachers alike. In his poem, Dunn essentially lists things he loves, but rather than relay them in a straight-ahead catalog, he employs a varied, easy-to-emulate form that gives the poem dynamic movement. He also explores a wide variety of loves—concrete and abstract—that allow the poem to work on multiple registers. Of course, the poem can be centered on something other than “loves,” providing an opportunity for writers to explore and share as they’d like.
*Note that while I link to Dunn’s whole (very long) poem here, I share only the first four stanzas with students—a manageable and school-appropriate excerpt.
Process
- Pick an abstract concept/emotion that you really want to explore. You might write about things that you love, hate, need, want, live for, will lose, care about, are afraid of, envy, don’t understand, wonder about, hide, will never see, will never do, are proud of, share, were taught, or were not taught. You could choose to write about things that control your life, make you angry, have too much of, hurt, taste good, make you cry—or something else altogether.
- Explore your concept/emotion from many angles and offer detailed examples that are both concrete and abstract. (For example, Dunn loves plums (concrete) and chaos (abstract).)
- As you draft your list poem, consider varying its form and deepening its content by borrowing some of Dunn’s structures:
- Say it straight. (Dunn’s version: “I love the way my cat Peaches, / brought the live rat to the door / looking for praise.”)
- Think in categories/Make a choice: “Of all _____, _____.” (Dunn’s version: Of all fruits, plums. / Of vegetables, mushrooms sautéed / in garlic and wine.”
- Use Cause-Effect Structure: “When I _____, I _____.” (Dunn’s version: “When I betrayed, I loved chaos, / loved my crazed version of sane.”)
- Ask a question. (Dunn’s version: “And what’s more interesting / than gossip about love?”)
- Give a definition. (Dunn’s version: “Love: such a ruthless thing.”)
Kate’s Poem
Shoulds by Kate Sjostrom
(after Stephen Dunn)
I should do my back exercises,
the feline arches and
plunges of spine assigned
fifteen years ago, before
my back hurt every day.
I should drink orange juice for
folic acid, green tea for antioxidants,
milk for my low-density bones.
And what is more important than flossing
around my crown where the gum is
subject to flame?
I should take time to write
poems like I used to, letters to college friends,
notes to my husband on the mirror—
red lipstick in luscious script diagonal
and quick.
Filing should come
directly after bill paying. Folding
after drying—no more linen mountains,
monuments to my inefficiency.
Of all errands, the car wash.
Of all floors, the bathroom floor
by hand this time.
I should be getting to bed,
the essential eight hours.
I should be studying the still
of my husband’s face next to me
as he feigns sleep, waiting for me
to turn out the light, waiting
for me.
I should remember what it felt like
to not sleep at all, to put everything
aside but him, to ride the day after
like it was the first day of sun.
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.
Kate,
Yesterday got away from me and I couldn’t find time to write but I loved this prompt and I especially loved the poem you wrote and how it delves into the complexities and nuances of growing older, and marriage, and intimacy. So good!
This isn’t the poem I intended on writing, but it is where my writing went (not so sure it’s a poem, even) so here it is.
Won’t
So maybe it’s just about the framing,
but I don’t want to talk about
wills and dos
“Will you please just–“
I won’t.
“Do you take this–“
I don’t.
You may now kiss the–whatever, no.
This is in defense of non-negotiables, like
I won’t take down that article
cuz it exposes the person you
share a laugh with
at brunch over mimosas
to accountability.
They did what they did,
people said what they said,
the gravity of silence
behind this closed office door
won’t change a thing.
We will be thorough
and fair and ask everybody
all the things. We won’t say
we’re right if we’re wrong,
but we won’t be wrong
cuz we don’t condone
carelessness. I won’t
believe that the truth
doesn’t matter, and, probably,
I won’t sleep tonight because I
can’t not care about the hurt
it might cause, when secrets
spill into the light, but that won’t
make me use the fragile, limited
power I have to teach children
to hush up when they see
something that’s wrong.
Dave,
This is so powerful and steady in its conviction. I love “in defense of non-negotiables”—the way you hold truth and care together, even when it costs you, feels deeply brave and necessary
Sarah
Dave, that’s the best kind of poem, born of passion and justice. Thank you for sharing your thoughts this morning. Glad you came by anyway, even if a little late.
Dave – I’m glad I came back this morning to read poems I’d missed yesterday. Here’s your voice, “Won’t”… just the single word has a punch to it. “The gravity of silence” is a phrase to pause and ponder…silence, does mean something. That phrase alone sent me on a reflective trail… times when I’ve walked away, putting no words into the air…and times when I wish I had spoken…mostly though “silence” is its own set of words, understood by those who care to reflect. I want to steal the image of “secrets spill into the light”… love that. Glad you posted. Susie
Verselove Day 11: The “Loves” Emulation—A Thematic List Poem that Digs and Sings
I love sweet creamy coffee and bittersweet goodbyes,
the kind that say, you ain’t got to go home, but it’s time to move on…
I love waking up to silence but long for the cacophony
of grandkids running, laughing, screaming.
I love the memory of my dad’s booming laughter and
the lessons in patience Ihee taught me while he lay dying.
I love the weight of a good mechanical pencil and the soft curves of the letter m.
I love that mom remembers me, but not the annoying sing-song way she calls my name.
I wish she knew that 3:30 is too early for a rousing chorus of “Traaay-saaay”
but I know that one day in my near future, there will be no wake up calls.
I love the quiet way J cares for me,
the flowers he plants,
the plates he fixes,
the toilet he plunges,
the shots he gives,
But if he leaves his underwear on the bathroom floor one more time…
It’ll be a long bittersweet goodbye for him!
I love this chaos this bittersweet life has given me,
the good with the bad,
the happy with the sad,
I want to stay a while longer, I’m not quite ready to move on.
April 11, 2026
Tracei Willis
Tracie.
So glad you are here. Carving time and a rhythm that works for you. There’s something so tender here, the way love stretches to hold grief, humor, memory, and irritation all at once. “the flowers he plants… the toilet he plunges” made me smile. Love in its truest form.
Sarah
Tracei, This is gorgeous. I love how detailed the lists of loves are, with the “soft curves of the letter m” and the “buts” lines too, with like the early wakeup call from your mom and the underwear on the floor. All in all, J sounds like a keeper. That last line riff on the first stanza is poignant and dear.
Tracei — You’ve shared little loves that resonate so well and so often go unnoticed…this poem…a fine job of noticing….the curves in the “m”… such a dandy detail. Love that. So much is so tender here and then I get the laugh at the underwear. Yes, “not quite ready to move on” INDEED.. so glad your poems are here. Susie
Tracie,
Thanks for sharing this poem with us. I love the exactness of the details and the humor that you use to balance and ground the acts of love and care that mean so much more when paired with a laugh.
This line:
Wow! I can feel the pencil in my hand and the movements made to create that letter m. So good!
I will definitely come back to this prompt soon!
where did the time go?
I have done nothing today
except be with family
Being with family is enough, Mo. I had a week of spring break, and it’s gone. Working 6-8 hours daily, I finished half of my catch-up-during break-to-do list. ))
Mo,
You have done everything important by spending time w/ family.
Mo,
This is so simple-yet-complex and so real, that quiet surprise at time passing when nothing “happened” except something that actually matters. I love that turn—“except be with family”—because it gently reframes the whole thing, like maybe that is the day.
Sarah
Ah, the important stuff! 🙂 Glad you came by at the end of the day
Mo–
That is the biggest something of all, isn’t it? I love the succinctness of the message in your haiku. It adds to the profundity of what you are reflecting upon.
Thanks for the prompt.
Growing
I love my Easter tulips, the ones I bought on impulse along with groceries
So many pots had blooms already bending over, drooping
But I found one with perfect leaves, slender straight stalks, and plentiful buds still tightly closed
I brought them home, setting them on the mantle
One by one, flowers started blooming
Cups of sunshine brightening Easter week, opening wider each day
I love my Easter tulips, the ones that pour hope and joy into these days with their impulse to grow
My favorite thing about this poem is the word “impulse” in the first & last line. It makes me think that you have an impulse to grow as well, just as the tulips! They sound beautiful.
OH, Diane, I love that you bought them on an impulse, and now they are rewarding you with the impulse to grow. “cups of sunshine” is delightful
Diane, what a joy to watch “Cups of sunshine” bought on impulse, which also have an impulse to grow–you found each other. Thank you for such a bright poem.
Diane, this was such a beautiful description of those flowers, the holiday, and Spring vibes.
When I buy grocery store flowers, I like to think I am rescuing them from certain death. I love “cups of sunshine.”
Diane,
This is so quietly hopeful, the way you notice and choose the tulips that haven’t bloomed yet, almost like you’re trusting in what’s still to come. I love “cups of sunshine,” and how the poem lets that slow opening mirror something inside these days too, that gentle, steady impulse to keep growing.
Hugs,
Sarah
Kate, it’s been a very long emotional day and I am just logging on for the first time now to tell you that this prompt is very powerful and could leave to an entire collection of poems focused on the important concepts of life. Your own poem could be a mentor text for a week (month) of writing as we could all add stanzas about trying to fit all we “should do” into a finite space. I will be back to read more responses and add my own thoughts in the days ahead. Thank you
I’m glad the prompt speaks to you! Here’s hoping you’ve gotten some respite from the long emotional day. Best, Kate
Thank you Kate for your prompt, poem and Stephen’s poem. They made me dig deep to come up with my short poem.
I Believe
I believe in doing good
Memories are held in deeds
that hold true and last
Clutching thoughts that remain
I believe in being tolerant
Of others, as there is no
Perfection in this world
We all add to the music
Greeting, smiling, embracing
leaves that feel good taste
for all, maybe, just maybe
they too will spread this joy
I believe in breeding a
conscience that hugs
It can be tedious
but what isn’t!
Julliette, I am logging on late after a very long day reading the prompt knowing that I am way too tired to write and then I keep reading and come to you incredible poem that speaks to my heart especially today after a very long hard day. You statements of belief in good deeds, tolerance, kindness, and conscience are way more than just words. Theses concepts are the basis of a wonderful society. I share your beliefs. Thank you.
I believe in doing good
Memories are held in deeds
that hold true and last…
I like this idea… I hope I am creating good memories for others like the ones I hold on to
I love the idea of a “conscience that hugs”! So many neat phrases packed into your poem. Your list of what you believe in feels so personal & sincere. Thank you for sharing with us this glimpse into your heart!
Juliette, love your poem on belief, and the second stanza was my favorite with its idea we all “add to the music”!
Juliette,
There’s such a sincere, open-hearted spirit here, like you’re naming a way of moving through the world that’s both intentional and hopeful. I really love “we all add to the music,” because it gathers that idea of tolerance and shared humanity into something simple and beautiful, and it lingers in the best way.
Sarah
I wonder about worms
when it rains.
Does their earth liquify?
Can they breathe?
And I wonder too about rivers
when it rains.
Especially those moments when rain
drop and river and splash
can’t notice their differences.
I wonder, as I step, about the coral
and the stone I tread upon.
I wonder about the cones of opihi
and the spines
of purple wana and then I also wonder
about the way
and the reason
and the pathways
that they eat,
devouring caverns into reef
and lithified sand.
I wonder too, What does it mean
to be lithified?
Does it have to do with time?
Or stone?
Or standing still?
And when I stand still
near the kettle in the dark,
I hear the waves and as I hear them
I wonder
about our salty bodies.
And then I wonder again
about wana eating stone
near the shore.
Wow, this is magical! It made me think of how children lose their curiosity and if we all would stop and wonder as you have in your poem, wouldn’t we all learn so much more?
Gorgeous gift, Jon.
Jon,
I love your wonderings
especially
Such a beautiful image.
This would make a great mentor text for an EthicalELA prompt.
Ooooh I love that you took the “I wonder” route – this is gold!! I’m with Sharon, I love your section about the rivers. But also – I had to look up purple wana! Such a neat creature, that actually eats rocks!
And I love how you included the cyclical nature of wonderings 🙂 Just a gorgeous poem!!
Jon, this piece about wondering had such a wonderful sense of peace and stillness to it. Your wondering were sublime and made me wonder about them, too.
retire
withdraw
Webster: cease to play competitively;
awake without alarm
and yet my plums, dear students–
and yes, my children’s children–candied apples
still I want all fruits, all tastes
and what’s the balance
life retreating, life ascending
over-ripened / not yet ripe
retire: such a ruthless thing
Ohhhh, indeed. Love what you did here!! I think I agree that it’s ruthless.
I am feeling this as I get closer to that “magical” age. I feel that tension between over-ripened and not yet ripe. So much yet to give and enjoy, but also things that it’s time to let go of. I love that you call it “ruthless”…such a perfect word.
Allison, what a brief reflection on retirement. I sense you’re missing “all fruits, all tastes,” but love how you give your students and children’s children fruit names. The final definition of retire borrowed from a mentor poem sounds so fitting here.
Allison, as one getting ready to retire, I felt this. I still “want all fruits, all tastes” and can’t wait to be a dedicated, full-time student of life again! And yet…
Allison, wow, I adore the metaphor for students in your poem. Your last line resonates! I’m curious now about whether you have decided to retire. Hugs, friend!
You capture here the thing I have struggled with in retirement. “What’s the balance?” I am still working on it. People say give it a year. The satisfaction is in the collective bowl of fruit that you have had a hand in ripening.
Oh, Allison. This feels so sharp and alive in its questioning, like you’re refusing to let that word settle into something neat or final. I love how “all fruits, all tastes” pushes back against the idea of stepping away, and that last line lands with such force—it really captures how “retire” can feel less like rest and more like something taken.
Sarah
Allison! So good to find you here… I didn’t make it back to the screen last night…glad I did this morning. “retire”… It’s hard for me to even imagine you as retired. That Webster def sure gives one piece of the pie…”cease to play competitively” … I don’t miss that part of the teaching scene one iota. But I hear the “ruthless”… it is so much to sort out. Whether it brings you “balance” or not, I just know it will bring you something very significant…because you are YOU…and that is quite something. Hugs, Susie
This is such a lovely prompt, thank you for sharing it Kate! My poem for today is quite cringey, but it’s in response to what Wendy wrote down below and to my continued procrastination of the day, scrolling through my phone and text messages (when I should be grading). it’s in response to knowing that I’m spending my free time consumed with silly laughter among friends about who know what, while bombs rain down on my friend’s family members in Beruit. I am struggling with those feelings, and today’s poem gave me a space to express that – again, however cringey. Thank you!
Notification
It draws me from my book, that familiar ding
Alerting me to the latest news
Not of scandals or bombings,
Or other such important things
But of memes and doomscrolling posts,
Quickly shared emojis
And quoted references
That work to reinforce my silence,
My complicity
As I laugh.
But I should cry,
As my attention is distorted
From real horror to fake news,
A joke about menopause,
While in reality cities burn.
How dare I find fun in the mundane?
Other poets say it so simply,
And call us out.
I find solace in the simple,
And wonder at my cruel humor.
Who is hurt each time I laugh?
How do I do otherwise?
My book calls me back,
And I settle into another uncomfortable,
ignorant silence.
Maybe next time, I’ll speak
And share something substantial.
Sarah,
Your poem is deeply moving and expresses raw truth!
I am with you in this painful silence. I hate feeling powerless.
Thank you, cringey or not, thank you!!
Oh gosh…I feel this so deeply. It’s such a constant tension between really living life (and not letting “them” win) and being aware and holding all of the awful in our hearts. I sit in that uncomfortable, ignorant silence with you.
Thank you for sharing what’s on your mind, Sarah! I could say you shouldn’t fell that way or blame yourself, ir whatnot, but who am I to suggest how you may feel? I hear you, your frustration, your hurt. I live with the tragedy of my people for over four years, but I can’t blame people around me for living their lives the way they can or do. Sending peace and kind thoughts your way.
Sarah, your phrasing and storytelling was so engaging and pulled me right along. I felt your conflict, made visceral in the juxtaposition of your reflections, your struggle to justify joy in such a sad, sad world. It’s these small moments of joy with friends that reinforce our spirit, our stamina for life and keep us from giving up and giving in to depression and despair. Thoughtful and inspiring poem.
Sarah,
This feels so honest in the way it sits inside that tension without trying to resolve it too quickly, like you’re really letting yourself look at the discomfort of attention, distraction, and complicity. I’m especially struck by “that work to reinforce my silence,” because it quietly names something so many of us feel but don’t say, and the return to the book at the end feels less like escape and more like a moment of awareness still lingering.
Sarah
Kate! What an amazing prompt–and two wonderful mentor poems (yours and Dunn’s) to work from. All those shoulds…
I was led by worry today…a few more details in my actual blog post and a couple of photos here: https://thinkingthroughmylens.com/2026/04/11/lots-to-worry-about-npm26-11/
I worry about birds
the kind of worry that sprouts wings
and flies close to my heart.
Worry doesn’t limit itself though
it grows round
and orbits the sun.
Can I actually enjoy summer weather
when it comes in February
without the dread of what will come next?
Worry snakes itself around my lungs
keeping my breath shallow.
Am I doing enough for the planet?
Does re-using, re-cycling, re-ducing, composting, picking up trash
on my precious beach
make a difference?
Does it really matter?
When I am delighting in the golden glow
of giant kelp
or the colorful quirkiness
of a nudibranch
am I not worrying enough?
I swat at worry
a gnat, a fly, a mosquito bluzzing
determined to make me itch.
Worry is exhausting.
Let me rinse my feet in the cool briny sea
letting hope and possibility
drip into my pores
urging me forward.
I still worry about the birds.
I wish I couldn’t relate so much to a poem about worry—because, as you write, “Worry doesn’t limit itself.” And, wow, does your comparison to worry as “a gnat, a fly, a mosquito bussing / determined to make me itch” work well! I so appreciate the “golden glow / of giant kelp” as a beacon in this poem.
Kim, love that you begin with,
What a clever way to allude to bird feathers with angst. What a wonder treatment of the emotion!!!
I love all of the animals that appear in those poems and I especially enjoy how you began and end the poem with an express worry for the birds. I like that there is a brief reprieve right before we dive right back into worry — I connected with that.
Hi Kim, I really resonated with your poem! Worry is exhausting, FULL STOP. That line in itself is a full poem, ushering in so much to think about and feel in response. I appreciated the way you wrote about your fears and worries. Thank you!
Hi Kim. You must live near San Diego! I agree that worry is exhausting and love the ending of your poem because that is what I do to get rid of worry: “rinse my feet in the cool briny sea letting hope and possibility drip into my pores” Yes!
I love the way you move from birds–to everything–and land on birds. This line was SO GOOD: Worry snakes itself around my lungs
keeping my breath shallow.
Oh I love the first line! And the last of course. Also, “I swat at worry,” wonderful
This is such a thought-provoking prompt, Kate
..one that I know i will continue to add to and continue playing with.
I chose my 2026 word of the year, which is Grace. This is most definitely a work in progress.
Grace is measured in endless tablespoons.
What’s more expansive than the sky, but also
can dance on the head of a pin?
A microdose of grace is
enough…always just enough.
When i stumbled and fell, grace
scooped me up
before anyone saw my skinned
knees and tear-streaked face.
Of all movies, Groundhog Day–
chance after chance after chance
until you get it right.
Of all people, my mom, whose
tireless grace throughout my life
inspires me daily at the end of hers.
What an insight into how little grace is needed to make such a difference! And your poem’s closing inspires me as a mom and teacher—to always choose to lean into grace.
I love thinking about grace as “more expansive than the sky but also can dance on the head of a pin.” Microdose is such a great word too. It seems that grace is serving you well!
Julie, I think about grace a lot and love that you applied it to the head of a pin, Groundhogs days, and your mother…unconditional love of a parent is the ultimate grade, indeed. Wonderful.
What alovely tribute to our need for grace. Loved this line: grace
scooped me up / before anyone saw my skinned / knees and tear-streaked face. I can feel and remember needing that grace myself. And the Ground Hog Day reference, excellent! I wait to get it right, too..; thank you for your words!
WOW! You had me at “endless tablespoons” –I felt the measuring out. The sky, dancing on the head of a pin: wow. I’m all in.
Kate,
Thank you for your incredible prompt. I am so appreciative of all your process points. I didn’t quite get to tinker and play today since I was at a conference all day. I do hope to return and try again… I loved your sass, truth, and poem so much!
4-11
I should be exhilarated
Celebrating my daughter’s birthday, bringing flowers that uplift, making her smile end-to-end
Of all the flowers, tulips, roses, lavender, and hydrangeas, and white daisies singing in a spring bouquet.
When I returned, I noticed a neutrality, all the colors were mute,
missing my little girl’s giggles and gorgeous eyes
And what’s more interesting than turning 18?
Love sometimes is indifferent on a birthday.
Maybe you are no longer 17, 16, 15, 14, 13, 12, 11,
10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, or 1.
Maybe now that you are an adult
Maybe that has a whole new flavor
Maybe it is no longer the color of vanilla and rainbow sprinkles
Maybe it is no longer dance till you drop with your mom
Maybe it is quiet time or alone time
Love sometimes is complicated on a birthday.
Soon it will be college acceptance day, soon it will be move-out day
Of all the days, of all the hugs, of all the good-byes
Love sometimes is hard to hold.
Oh goodness, mama…18 is one of the most complicated birthdays. So many changes on the horizon…leaving childhood behind and stepping into the future. Please know that all those giggles and dances with mom are not gone forever…just hidden for awhile. I loved reading your explorations of this changing relationship.
Oh, wow, you’re capturing so much of what I’ve felt this past year as my daughter turned 18, went to college, then came home for break at a different pace. Just a couple hours ago, I hung up from a call with her and stopped to think about all the things she was interested in over the years that she’s not into now. She’s still so much her, but so much has changed, too: “Maybe it is quiet time or alone time” when it used to be “vanilla and rainbow sprinkles.” And what a truth you capture with “Love sometimes is complicated on a birthday.” I find this true for me, too.
Oh Darshna! All those maybes, that count down, you so poignantly capture how our newly minted adults ready us as moms for their departure. I feel like I am seeing through my heart’s eye when I read this. Enjoy the love in all its complications!
Sardina,
I feel the heart squeeze in your poem. It makes me think about my children leaving the nest. All those “of all” phrases show the complicated emotions of watching children age, but it’s this flower imagery, the list that sings for me: “all the flowers, tulips, roses, lavender, and hydrangeas, and white daisies singing.” I am in southeast Asia (Cambodia and Vietnam) this month, and taking flower photos is among my favorite things to do.
Oh wow, this made me tear up in anticipation of my own leaving the nest in a few years – love sometimes IS hard to hold! Thank you for expressing this feeling/fear/love in such a beautiful, colorful way.
Whew, yes. My own daughters are 16 and 13 and I feel this so much.
Datsuns, the end of your poem adds an extra layer of the way life can change and maybe lose some color. I love your use of snapshots in this poem and the concept of birthdays.
Friends, I know how busy you are and want to ask a favor because I know commenting is a gesture of love and affirmation, and I so appreciate those who read my scrawling and offer thoughtful responses. Rather than words going forward, drop an emoji. Then share your beautiful words with someone new who may not be getting as much word love. Caveat: Skip the drop and run boys. 🩷 you.
Taste
i love to savor sun
dripping warm rays
across Earth’s face.
Savor robin birdsong,
dewy spring grass
between my toes,
morning joe in a
favorite mug
proclaiming my
heart-desire.
i love to season each day
with playtime & pets,
long walks with
my barking besties,
midday Jeopardy
game show fixation,
Tolstoy’s expansive art,
poetry Baer wrote
just for women like me,
routine rhythms beating
life’s metronome.
i love to swallow oysters ,
sticky rice and mango,
street food flavors in
far away destinations;
swallow experiences
that cause discomfort &
challenge preconceived
ideas like Củ Chi tunnels;
swallow all the zest
scraped from citrus.
i love to taste life
in all its wonder,
Glenda Funk
April 11, 2026
I’m really taken by your poem, Glenda, and how well it shows you! Loved routine rhythms metronome! There’s something satisfying about pleasant routines like watching jeopardy. Your passion for travel comes through well at the end and your Canva photo is brilliant! Continue to enjoy your travels! Hugs!
Thanks for turning me on to Baer’s poetry! In your poem, I love the specific sensations you let me experience with you, especially that “sticky rice and mango.” And your reference to citrus zest reminds me of a revelatory latte I had last week while traveling: the “Valencia” was flavored with some dark, dark chocolate and just a slice of orange peel—and, oh, that citrus sang through. I might pay for a flight just to go back for another!
Glenda,
I needed this poem and all the wonders along with how you taste and love life! So many sensual images that I am still savoring. Sounds like you are ready for adventures!
Those last two lines show your affinity for world culture and adventure!! And the Canva as always is creative and draws the eye right in!
I really enjoy the sensory body nature of this poem. I often think about how the ocean near my home seasons us all with salt, so that stanza particularly resonates
Glenda, girl, you know I am not accustomed to an “orange-free” poem! I adore every stanza and every sweet sensation. These 4 lines are YOU! Love this so much!
Glenda,
Tolstoy!
I keep thinking of Andrei’s infinite skies. And today’s “blue spectacles of convention”—clever and sounding so modern.
Love your ending and your attitude:
Glenda, so many things you love and really shows you in all your fine variety of so many things to taste real and metaphoric. I love the adventurous eating described in the third stanza, and the follow-up “I love to taste life / in all its wonder,” which is just glorious!
I had to smile at this:
Glenda, I am savoring life’s moments with you. Such a gorgeous poem that I can’t even choose a favorite line ❤️💙❤️
As for your note, I try to respond to several new people daily, so they, too, feel welcomed here. Thank you for being so considerate.
Glenda,
Joy. Pure. his is just so full and joyful in the way it moves through the senses, like you’re really letting life be experienced in layers of taste, sound, and feeling all at once. I love how “savor,” “season,” and “swallow” carry us through the poem, and that ending lands so beautifully, like an open, wholehearted yes to everything life offers.
Peace,
Sarah
Hey, Glenda — That’s a lotta love right there! It really does sound like you…my vision of you traveling, walking with the doggos and Ken, soaking up nature, and trying things you’d not thought to do before (Cú Chi tunnels… I’ll have to look that up). You are, surely, a taster, and open. That openness is so strong here. Love it. Hugs, Susie
The Beauty that Arrives Right on Time
I love the way
Spring flowers pop into color overnight
decorating yards with
a star of yellow here,
a bell of purple there,
a delicate petal of white.
Of all blooms now, daffodil.
Of all to come, sky blue hydrangeas
When winter’s never ending gray grasp, depresses me
I venture out into the sun-
to soak it in,
to fill me with its warmth,
to energize me,
to feed me,
to renew me,
my rebirth joins with
nature bursting forth
to color my world.
How would I survive without the arrival of beauty?
What would I do without this reminder of the cycle of life?
Love is tending to others through all of our seasons.
Your final line is terrific! Such a true message. I love your use of repetition and cataloging all the ways the sun impacts the narrator’s life. Beautiful poem, message and photo!
I love how the “of all…” prompt draws out specificity, so we get those vivid daffodil and sky blue hydrangeas! Right now, I’m looking out the window at a cluster of forsythia blooms—appreciating those yellow, spring jewels a little more after your poem!
Your poem is revival of why we are ready for spring in all its glory. I love the questions you pose and the reminder of how to…
Gorgeous, sumptuous language throughout. Like you, I step outside to feel renewed, I love the way tending to flowers teaches us to tend to our people. Your poem is cathartic, and I need that in this moment. I received a disturbing email that challenges my faith in people, but your words are a balm to my hurt heart.
I, too, love the pops of color on people’s lawns and along the highways this time of year. It brings me joy and hope as well!
Hope is such a fragile thing, manifest in so many subtle ways:
A dog feigning sleep but watching to see when I get up and move towards the door
Tiny spring ephemerals– spring beauties, Dutchman’s breeches, bloodroot, trout lilies
Checking the mailbox for something fun
I hope for many things:
Rainstorms minus thunder and lightning
My favorite ice cream flavor to be available at The Vibe this month
A change of regime
Maybe this time the recipe that flopped last time I tried it will work.
Maybe my sister will email me that my brother-in-law landed that job.
Maybe the trail won’t be underwater.
Only one way to find out . . .
Because hope demands action.
It’s not hope if I just sit there.
Hope gets me to move:
Out of bed, out of sadness, out of fear.
Perhaps hope isn’t so fragile after all.
I love how you bring hope out of the clouds and into its place of “action”! And I love, love the reference to “Dutchman’s breeches” (we called them Dutchman’s britches), which reminds me of wildflower hunting with my dad when I was small. Oh, and I couldn’t help but smile at the “dog feigning sleep.” I just love how a dog peeks to see if we’re heading where he wants us to!
Sheila,
I really like the opening and where you take us in your poem. The sound bytes, sensual words, and metaphors are just the cure I needed. Thank you.
Oh, I love the idea of hope as a verb…we can’t just sit back and hope, we have to take that hope to the street and “find out.” I think my favorite part of your poem is
“The dog feigning sleep but watching to see when I get up and move towards the door.”
Dogs live in a permanent state of hope…we can all learn something from.dogs.
Shiela. I really like the ending of your poem, “Perhaps hope isn’t so fragile after all.” It makes me see ‘hope’ in a new way. Hope can be a motivator, as doing nothing may not ignite hope!
Tears
I cry at funerals, whether I was friends with the person who died
or not, and I cry when I read stories online
of babies or kids or parents dying before their time
because it reminds me that the world is made of glass.
I cry when the cold wind bites my face.
I cry when I’m chopping onions,
or when my husband chops them while I do the dishes.
And what makes me cry more than trying to explain
why I am crying??
I like to save my crying sessions for a time when no one
is watching, like when I’m driving in the car,
so I can let it all out and have time to turn my face back
to beige, before answering any questions.
More than anything else, music makes me cry.
Yes, sitting at the piano and feeling my way
through “Clair de Lune,” but also making music
with others, being one part of the glorious,
crescendo-ing whole.
When hearing children’s choirs sing, I cry with hope.
Of all instruments, the cello.
Of all musicals, Les Miserables.
Sometimes I ask Alexa to play the songs I know
will make me cry. Like that time my toddlers watched me bawl
to “You’re Gonna Miss This” over our lunch of grilled cheese,
or “Dear Theodosia” the day after my son was born,
“Here’s to the Heroes” every October 10th.
Pain can make me cry. Sometimes I try
to keep it in but am unsuccessful. I cry
when I’ve spent too long being strong. I cry
when there are more questions than answers. I cry
when my head hurts from crying – tears are such a ruthless thing.
But my favorite way to cry is when my sister
(or my husband, or the friend I’ve had the longest)
tells me the most hilarious story I’ve ever heard
and I laugh so hard I snort
while wiping tears from my cheeks.
I so identify with all the ways you cry. I cry easily too. I am that Hallmark commercial- crying while trying to pick out a card in the store. I try to do this without being seen- so embarrassing. Your ending is great- crying for a happy reason is definitely the best!
The car is the best place to cry ever! And music often makes me weep. I think we cry when our hearts are touched deeper than words can reach.
I love this so much. I, too, am a crier. I cry while listening to This American Life, and just NPR in general lately…Solidarity, my friend. I love your poem.
Rachel, as a weeper. I identified with this poem so very much…but the line that that touched me most was the reminder that, especially in this moment of time, the world is made of glass. A beautiful poem…thank you!
Yes, “‘Clair de Lune.'” Yes, the cello. Yes, “Dear Theodosia.” Yes, “when my husband chops [onions] while I do the dishes.” Yes, crying alone. Yes, even better crying from laughter with others. I just can’t get over how connected these list poems are making me feel to people I’ve never met! Thanks. 🙂
Mending a Ragdoll
to be stirred awake by morning sun
the chill in the air embracing me
symphony of Blackbird, Thrasher, Dove, Goldfinch, and Swallow
joy of yoga in a field of dandelions and clover
many hands preparing each meal
openness of women together
a chair in the sun and lines of poetry
how to hold on to this?
carry it with me?
—-
Thank you, Kate! I am away on retreat with limited internet. Apologies – I will read and comment tomorrow, when I return home.
Your poem conveys the calm, slow pace and joy your retreat brought to you. I like how you listed the birds that created your morning song, just like instruments play different parts to create that beautiful music of a symphony. I am a bit envious too- would love to have “the joy of yoga i a field of dandelion and clover.”
Maureen,
Each thing you name is a treasure. At the end of the day, yoga is a balm. Enjoy the retreat, and don’t apologize for anything, especially when there are men here who do nothing but take and get praised from morning till night for it. I’m glad you’re here in any way you desire.
I love this peaceful image– especially the yoga in a field of dandelions and clover. Are you on a retreat? I wish there were a way to take our favorite moments and bottle them up somehow. I guess that’s what our memories are for.
That retreat sounds lovely—and, yes, like one of those experiences one wants to “hold on to,” to “carry.” And thanks to your poem, I get to carry it: “a chair in the sun,” the “field of dandelions and clover,” the “openness of women together” you bring to us here.
Maureen,
Loved your poem and especially appreciate the questions at the end. Let’s find a way!!
I love the images your poem brings alive for me, thank you for taking me to there this morning, the mending, the birds singing, the yoga, the women sitting writing poetry in the sun.
Love
I love when the stoic feels his walls dissolve,
when the unknown penetrates and takes hold.
I love to hear a laugh—it is one of my favorite sounds.
It might be the only math I know: the reaction
validates the intention, it’s one plus one equals two.
I love that I even think this is math.
Either way, silence holds too many possible answers.
And the secret sirens of silence are a science that stretch back to the start.
Before anyone knew there was anything to know at all.
I love witnessing a breakthrough.
I love the feeling of being on the brink, because good or bad,
I’ve never felt a feeling like the moment right before everything changes.
I love that I don’t understand how anything is made:
materials
oneself
connection
decisions
time.
I love a genius
who can’t get it together to send an email.
I love flawed furniture because at least I won’t be the one to ruin it.
I love that we say books have spines. They stand on their own even when
no one is watching.
I love when things fall apart because I can put it back together my way.
Besides, who even built this maze?
I love the future because I’ve never met her—
and who am I to judge a stranger?
Wow, Rachel, this is beautiful, and it gives me vibes of Stephen Dunn, which I was just finishing reading his poem when I came back here for this. Such a smorgasbord of images (books “stand[ing] on their own even when no one is watching”), sounds (“And the secret sirens of silence are a science that stretch back to the start.”), and interesting line delivery with one word, questions, along with the “I love…” lines. I enjoyed your poem a lot.
“I love witnessing a breakthrough.
I love the feeling of being on the brink, because good or bad,
I’ve never felt a feeling like the moment right before everything changes.”
These are my favorite lines, but then next six lines are how I feel all the time, like seriously, how does anything happen? Ever?
“I love when things fall apart because I can put it back together my way.
Besides, who even built this maze?”
And then there were these lines that made me feel like you wrote this poem for me.
I love it. Truly, I do.
What a unique thought- the math involved in a laugh! My current job is as a Math Specialist so I am always looking for how others see math in the world. Thank you for sharing this.
I would love math a whole lot more if it worked the way you describe it in this poem. So much to love in this poem! I think my very favorite line is “I love flawed furniture because at least I won’t be the one to ruin it.” So, so true in my world.
I love the description of a laugh as math: “the reaction / validates the intention, it’s one plus one equals two.” What a creative and insightful description!
Bottoms Up!
I love a happy hour,
on a lazy afternoon
when the skies are gray
I love a crowded dive bar
where everyone knows my name
the jukebox blasts my favorite tunes
a low place where I’m free
to make pour decisions and
the beer chases my blues away
‘cuz I’m not here for a long time
just a good time, and good friends
don’t drink alone
Barb Edler
11 April 2026
Barb, love this! I’m with you.
Barb, this is awesome:
“cuz I’m not here for a long time
just a good time, and good friends
don’t drink alone.”
You deserve it! Love the title too.
“a low place where I’m free
to make pour decisions and…”
I am right there with you! Fun poem!
Cheers!🥂
Barb, fun poem with great Barb energy. “I love a happy hour / on a lazy afternoon” too, especially when it includes chips and salsa and tacos.
What a fun poem! I smiled the whole way through.
Barb,
You’re gonna love my Canva today. I chose it just for you! I love your poem and am thinking about all the dive bars I’ve enjoyed through the years w/ friends. Love the allusion to Garth Brooks’s Friends in low Places. They’re getting high on life.
Is there anything better than a “jukebox blast[ing] my favorite tunes”?! This detail really brings back memories (Murphy’s Pub in Champaign, IL—1996)—and makes me want to go out on the town!
Barb, I can hear a little Garth in here and I love it! Making pour decisions is such a fun pun!! Wish I could be there too and we’d just go for the pitcher!! And sit a while.
Barb,
Cheers to this fun poem! Total cheers vibes— love this reference..
Cheers! I agree! I just returned from a vacation in Nashville. That was indeed what your poem says.
So many fun allusions here! I’m not sure I caught them all, but this felt like a jukebox of country fun. Love you.
Barb — Such a fun setting…dive bar! So funny and comfortable. I love the “Cheers!” vibe…”everyone knows my name” and the music “chas[ing]…blues away.” That makes me smile. My FAVE is “…to make pour decisions.” LOL! Great wordplay. A true “life is short” poem. Yahooty! Love, Susie
Thank you for the prompt and for the introduction to a new poem!
Peace
I love pajama days,
those days I choose to lock myself in
instead of putting on the clothes and worries of the world.
Sinking into all the comforts,
fuzzy socks pulled over tired feet,
and soft, faded pajamas
that sag just right, feel just right,
holding me where the day cannot.
When the cold settles in my bones,
I reach for hot chocolate—
when the seasons forget themselves
and preach cold in the morning and
sing spring for the afternoon
I choose iced tea
and wrap hold my mug or glass
wrapped up in quiet.
I love the way silence can hold us,
how we sit together without needing words,
the noise and chaos left outside
the quiet we hold together,
stillness tucked in the space between us
I love not having to be anything more
than this quiet version of myself beside you.
Peace: not escape,
but choosing to stay here—
in my pajamas,
in softness, in stillness, in us.
Melanie, I absolutely loved the personification in this! Some of those lines were just gold.
Melanie, this is beautiful, this companionable silence, this “stillness tucked in the space between us.” The soft S’s throughout really illustrate this warm silence. And I love your last quiet stanza: “Peace: not escape, / but choosing to stay here– / in my pajamas, / in softness, in stillness, in us.” Thank you for crafting and sharing this with us!
Melanie, the tangible, sensory descriptions in each stanza are perfect, and then it seems most also have a zinger of metaphor that lift it to another level of meaning and beauty. Like the pajamas holding “where the day cannot” and holding your drink in hand “wrapped up in quiet.” So much beauty, and the last stanza was a great summary / reminder of the peace of your poem.
This line really captures love to me “I love not having to be anything more
than this quiet version of myself beside you.”
I love the “wrap hold” of your mug, “wrapped up in quiet.” I now want to put on my pajamas and hold a warm mug and be cozy.
You can tell I’m tired out when “fuzzy socks pulled over tired feet” sound so amazing, haha! I really admire your line “When the seasons forget themselves”—such an original way to express that, and such great verbs just after: “preach cold in the morning and / sing spring for the afternoon”!
Ahhh, the sweet gift of silence!
I am ready to be in my pajamas and embrace every soft and still and silent moment.
💛 🩵 🩷
Kate, this is a great prompt. So much to think about. Thanks…
Superwoman
I hate that there is not enough time in the day
sixty minutes, sixty seconds and twenty four hours
race by
giving over three thousand time slots
to get things done
I can not.
I hate that I have
too much ambition.
After a few hours
my body is done
and I must lay prone
and stare at the clock.
Time going by
as I gaze and wait
long enough for a rest.
Is it more satisfying
to get things done?
Better to let my mind
and body rest?
I long to be Superwoman
able to manage
with strength
and perfection.
Rather
I’d love to use up time
to check all
off my list
and reward myself
with a glass of wine and a good book
at the end of the day.
Oh, Susan, that last stanza! The whole poem feels so real. That last stanza grabbed me and resonated. I love the reward idea in the last part–it seems like there is so much pressure to do, do, do (as you describe) and so little connection to the idea of reward. I love the line “Is it more satisfying…mind and body rest?” You captured so much with that!
Susan, I can relate to every inch of this. I’m lying in bed right nursing a tendinitis-y foot and wishing for the energy to get stuff done. A great and true poem!
Hi Susan,
We were just talking about the conundrum of seeing ourselves as able, but after one chore we are suddenly disabled for the remainder of the day.
Love the ending because don’t we all deserve a glass of wine and a good book? 💛
Haha, Susan! I love the idea of being Superwoman, and able to “manage with strength and perfection.” Yours and Barb’s poems are a perfect pairing today. Maybe an afternoon happy hour would be in order. Let’s go!
“After a few hours / my body is done”—what perfect lines to read upon returning inside after a couple hours of weeding (that I will feel tomorrow)! I had forced bedrest for a few months a few years back and it helped me learn for the first time to feel as satisfied “let[ting] my mind / and body rest” as I did when “get[ting] things done,” but I really had no choice, and I can feel that “ambition” creeping back in!
I was inspired by this line:
I love how true experts speak precisely, embody all the words.
“Loves” by Stephen Dunn
Love
I love how I sometimes overuse empty words
but can still set a page on fire with a poem
and how I can smile and say good morning
while thinking what an ugly dress
I love the way my eye catches colors
but my wardrobe is mostly blacks and neutrals
and how cute hairstyles entice me
while I rarely change my own
I love watching waves on a tropical beach
but seagulls or any bird will kill a peaceful vibe
and how cyclists whiz by on the bike path
but walkers who stop to take selfies are shallow
I love being a mom to Kenneth and Noelle
but unexpected calls kind of unnerve me
and how my sister is the best grandmother
but I have no desire to follow her lead
I love my inner critic of self and others
but sometimes she needs to shut up
and how people think I know whether it’s just ‘s’ or apostrophe ‘s’
but I don’t care because you won’t remember
©Stacey L. Joy, 4/11/26
So, I felt the line “while thinking what an ugly dress” to my bones. What an immediate connection to the poem.I love the multiple contrasts that you set up in the poem–so much to think about. That last stanza really landed with me–the inner critic. Such a great stanza.
Stacey, I loved the antithetical statements in here that bump up against each other. Helped the poem come across as truly honest.
Stacey,
I love all the loves here juxtaposed with their contradictions. I especially feel that love of cute things followed by choosing neutrals and simplicity. You do “set a page on. fire.”
I feel like you got inside my brain and heart today, Stacey. I could have written, “I love the way my eye catches colors / but my wardrobe is mostly blacks and neutrals / and how cute hairstyles entice me / while I rarely change my own”! You do such an amazing job capturing everyday feelings we don’t often articulate but that say so much… Oh, and since my daughter has been off to college, those “unexpected call kind of unnerve me”!
I love that you can set a page on fire, too…always with joy. There are time, too, I feel I overuse empty words (like every time I’m talking, actually). Ooo. Do I detect a seagull prejudice?
Stacey, and we love you setting the pages on fire 🥰 I also love your positivity and spreading joy whenever you can. This made me chucle:
“I can smile and say good morning
while thinking what an ugly dress.”
The opposites really work so well in your poem. Thank you for this gem!
Stacey — I love the contradictions, ALL so relatable…hits very close to home for me. I laughed at the “ugly dress” and the “smile.” You’re a good girl. And I need a better poker face. LOL! So important is that you can and do “set the page on fire” with your words…you have such a voice of honesty. Love you, Susie
I need more time
I want to capture it
Stop it from escaping
Like sand in a sieve
Stretch it out like putty
Mold it to my will
Keep them young longer
I need less time
To worry, to fret, to
Vibrate with angst
Like a wind up toy
Endlessly bucking
Against a wall
Of self-doubt
I need enough time
To finish my dreams
To put my TBR to rest
Watch my children find
Their own golden path
To retire with my love
And watch it all back
Ashley, I feel the escape of time also. I used that frustration of not enough time to get things done in my poem today. I your poem I can feel the love your your children and your life. “Less time to vibrate with angst” is good!
Ashley, time is such a great topic. I love all you were able to convey in short lines. The message in the metaphor of the wind up toy is palpable. And I like the bucket-list-esque final stanza. Well done!
Oh, yes: “I need less time / To worry, to fret, to / vibrate with angst.” (I love the line break before “vibrate”—really gives it a punch!) You’ve really got me thinking about how I have time for worry when I have so little time for everything else… I’ve gotta stop giving it such a stage!
Ashley your poem spoke to me in many ways, especially the structure you used. “I need more time”/ “I need less time”/”I need enough time”, and circling back again! In this life time is a big issue and you have illustrated it so well here.
Mine was not so much about love, haha. Thanks again for this prompt, Kate!
Country
In a different time
Tea flowed like wine
And lapped the Boston shore:
340 chests
Of Britain’s best
From those who cried, “No more!”
Then years ensued
The country’s mood
Was surely just as bleak.
The brave enslaved
Ran renegade
And fearless did they speak.
The 60s, too,
Saw young ones glued
To violence on TV
As Wallace roared,
Impassioned hordes
Refused to bend the knee.
So what’s to keep
Our modern sheep
From turning into wolves?
From baring maws
And tooth and claws
In defense of ourselves?
Our country’s spread?
Our souls are dead?
We’re overwhelmed with work?
We’re busy bingeing?
Facebook-cringing?
We’d rather post and smirk?
If we’d band together now
And take some forward action
Instead of sitting back
And watching Congress’s inaction
We might just find
We have the power
To make some forward traction
Accelerating change
And minimizing pain
Free his grip on country
And stop this pointless reign.
Oh wow. His was deep and begs one to remember history’s tendency to repeat itself. For good or for evil. Rise up!
Oh, yeah! Brava, Wendy! I think this would be good for a larger audience. A Facebook post, perhaps? The rhyming is spot-on and such an important message. Thank you for writing it today!
Wow: “We’re overwhelmed with work? // We’re busy bingeing? / Facebook-cringing? We’d rather post and smirk?” What a mirror you’ve put to us today!
WOW, Wendy – that was excellent! I loved the rhythm and rhyme scheme of this, and of course the message – loved the lines “We’re busy bingeing? / Facebook-cringing?” Puts the responsibility right in our laps!
Thank you, Kate. This was just the prompt I needed this morning.
Wow! Love this outpouring of love and passion at the end of all those shoulds.
—————————————————————————————————————
This Morning
after Stephen Dunn’s “Loves”
I love the sour taste
Of homemade yogurt
I love the way our dog
Comes down
No longer exactly jumping
Off the couch
Waiting for one of us
To drop a full spoon
Onto the floor
I love the burst of blackberries
Sour and sweet
In each spoonful of yogurt
I love the memory they bring
This morning
Of picking raspberries
Strawberries
Blueberries
With my grandmother, dad and brother
In the woods
Behind the church
Getting bitten by the black flies
We didn’t love
I love an impromptu trip
To Barton Springs
Arriving on just the free side of eight
I love looking
For the nature of today’s light
For the color of today’s green
In the water
On the trees
I love hanging out by the pool
Texting friends
Taking my time
Nothing needing to be done
This morning
I love trying and failing
To identify the ducks flying over
I love listening to the loud chatter
Of the Carolina wrens
I love putting on my swim cap
Tucking my hair in
Pulling on my googles
Remembering my oldest nephew
Samuel
Loving his costume
As the best part of playing soccer
When he was little
I don’t exactly love
Inching into the cold water
I talk to another swimmer
About how this is always the hardest part
Getting in
Reminding us both
But let’s be honest
Mainly myself
It feels good
Once you’re in
And moving
Connection making the moment better
Repetition too
I love the gasp
After I finally inch as far as I can
Shifting to swim
Into the cold
I love moving slowly
Through the water
Watching for fish
For turtles
Swimming around the tallest clumps
Of stargrass
Whose name I learned today
For this poem
After swimming
I love talking
To another swimmer
Best way to start the day
So much shared gratitude
I love standing under
The hot water
Of the solar-powered shower
Even if the water is barely a trickle
Looking out at the pecan trees
The blue sky
Andrei’s infinite sky
I love thinking
About how often my Mom
And my Grandma
Appear in my poems
Even if when I was younger
I might have thought it was more likely
To be my Grandpa
Is it because their temperments
More closely matched my own?
Walking back to the pool
I hate seeing a message
From my Dad to call him
Knowing it’s likely sad news
About my Aunt Mary
I hate hearing
That she’s starting hospice
Even as I know it’s right
The hard, right thing
I love the memories
That flood the texts
With my cousins
Memories of love
Of care
Of all the people
That lived with Aunt Mary
Over the years
She never hesitated to take in
A young person in need
Making us feel
Completely at home
———————————————
Photos of Barton Springs this morning along with this poem at Pedaling Poet
This poem touched my heart in ways I can’t quite put into words. The weaving in of family, the questions about hospice, the connections to the past all grabbed me on an emotional level. The poem came together in this way that made me sigh and sit and think and then read it again. Thank you.
I loved this Sharon! It went to unexpected places that you connected so effortlessly (which is craft at its best and not easy, lol). Your short lines just pulled me through your poem and I loved all the connections that you made — with nature, with other swimmers, with relatives, with yourself — this was teeming with connections! And I smiled broadly in surprise at the metafictive line, “Swimming around the tallest clumps / Of stargrass / Whose name I learned today / For this poem.” So, so good!
Sharon, what a spectacular poem to write all about this morning. All the getting into the water images and the reward of the cold swim, but there was so much more, like this beauty: “stargrass / Whose name I learned today / for this poem.” Thinking of Aunt Mary today.
Oh my goodness, Sharon—after reading your poem I feel I was meant to create this prompt just for you! Like Denise, a line I especially love is “Of stargrass / Whose name I learned today / For this poem.” Stargrass? What a name! I love how poem-attention brings us to see new things, pushes us to get to know them. There are so, so many other lines I could praise. (I’m loving that “sour taste / of homemade yogurt” with a “burst of blackberries,” those “pecan trees” against a “blue sky”…) A detail that really hits for me is your realization that your mom and grandma appear in your poems when you would have expected “it more likely / To be [your] Grandpa.” I had a similar realization lately, when I prepared a poetry presentation and it was mom, mom, mom—and I was honestly surprised!
Sharon, thank you for the morning of wonder, of little events that filled it with love. Your poem reads as a celebration of each moment, and I applaud you when you
“love the burst of blackberries
Sour and sweet
In each spoonful of yogurt
I love the memory they bring,”
or
“love talking
To another swimmer
Best way to start the day
So much shared gratitude.”
And others already mentioned stargrass – the star of the swim party ))
So much love in your poem. It made me think about how often we miss or take for granted small daily delights.
Here’s what came to mind today.
Should I or Shouldn’t I?
I should know better
But I write the letter
To express my attitude
But today it’s not gratitude
I should know better
Than to mail the letter
To explain what I feel
Writing I feel zeal
But then I recall
It’s my fault after all
I should been kind
A result I don’t find
Works for me today.
Shall I tell the truth
What about Auntie Ruth?
Will she be hurt about this
Oh my I say as I pound my fist.
Telling the truth even in love
Doesn’t always work
God in heaven, up above
Stop my fingers from hitting send
Maybe the relationship you will mend
And their marriage won’t have to end.
Anna,
I was not expecting your ending!
I always admire your use of rhyme.
Fantastic dramatic build up!
Anna! So much of a story lurks in your poem—this could be a poem-teaser for a full novel! (It actually reminds me a little the novel The Correspondent, where one character writes a letter containing a hard “truth…in love.”) I think my favorite part of this poem is that you’re able to create SO much narrative tension in such a short space. All that said, I hope, hope, hope all works out!
Hmmm. That’s an idea, Kate. IT would have to be fiction, because I made this up as I wrote. Wanna help me by drafting scenes that come to your mind? Consider the poem you wrote today. Really, I don’t mind collaborating on a novel. It may be fun to do this summer. Message me on FB!
Authors Note: The first two lines are based on the Magic Mirror expression from Snow White.
HIM/THEM/HER/ME
MYSELF:
Mirror, Mirror on the wall
Who is the fairest one of all?
Who is imprisoned upon the wall?
Is it just me – or a demon after all?
Tonight, I touched my fingers to the silver-wrought glass.
my-her-it’s palm brushed mine, it’s-their-my smile sweet
Sickeningly sweet, a void bulging with dagger teeth.
My fingers pricked, blood blooms and dries upon the glass.
My fingers pulse, life rivulets taste salty and-
Red twisting in the circle of my thumb pad.
What would happen if I set her free? Would it become one with me?
Would he ever trust me, after keeping them incarcerated, under lock and key?
Or would she consume me,
taking their revenge until I am but an unraveled story
my bones sucked in ink, my heart gushing crimson glory
Do not-not-not turn off the light
But my eyes, those cursed orbs, they grow heavy in their nestled sockets
Sleep, how it mocks me.
Do not-not-not turn off the light, my consciousness calls
For then you and I will be one and the same, the devil unchained
And no one is coming to save —CRUNCH
HIM/THEM/HER/ME:
. . .
L.M.,
The imagery in this poem and the alliteration create such strong emotions, and you really give some creative license to your reader to unpack what the content is about.
The shifting pronouns on either side of the mirror really highlight for me the complexity of identity. Super interesting! And I love the image of “Red twisting in the circle of my thumb pad”—so vivid and visceral.
Ashley, you gotta read TWO, ONE, NOW THREE, a novel I published a couple of years ago, then join me on a sequel with scenes fleshed out from this poem!!!!
Kate, what a winner!
I am eager to write! Thank you for this engaging and unique prompt.
Kate, thank you so much for today’s prompt. Following Dunn was something new to me. Provided freedom with a bit of structure.
writing a poem
somedays the hard part is choosing what to write
other days the words flash into my head
as I stand at the stove
what’s interesting about writing – if you know what
you want to say? if it all comes out perfectly on the page
the first time
the struggle to find the next word, the right way to say it
is part of the challenge, I mean fun
if I haven’t got a clue what I want to say next,
I’d have to sit at the table and miss the chance
to walk to the back door to see if the idea might be
growing on a tree
I’ll never be consistent. I never write the same thing twice.
If I wasn’t asking myself:
What’s next? What on earth would I have to think about?
Then there’s the:
I’ll type it up later and read it in the morning.
Whatever am I writing about?
What am I trying to say?
And finally, there’s the wrap it up, Langley.
Cut til it’s clear – say something what you want to say.
Pressing publish doesn’t really mean you’re done.
Jamie,
I love a good poem about writing poetry.
My favorite stanza:
made me smile. I can just hear you saying that ti yourself.
Jamie,
The last line “pressing publish doesn’t really mean you’re done” should be framed and in every ELA classroom. We really are never fully done with writing since it is such an extension of our selves! Beautiful work!
I think my favorite part is “the chance / to walk to the back door to see if the idea might be / growing on a tree.” You capture so well that wandering feeling of looking for, waiting for the word… This poem just captures so well the ever-changing process of writing—something so important for our students to know!
Thanks for this prompt today.
Time’s Reflection
I loved to ride my horse
and my motorcycle
the breath of wind in tresses
as astride either
I held the day in my hands
the speed, the course
I could do everything ahead of me
when I was the one
creating time’s flow
but now
time creates the flow
It’s something it does
I do all that I can as it comes
I relax reins, avoid holes
holding my coffee in my hands
sitting on the deck
the puffing wind tangling tresses
as if I were loving my motorcycle
or my horse again
Oh Donna,
I love the reversal / reflection
Beautifully crafted.
Donna, this was my line for the day: “I held the day in my hands.” There is something very intimate and parental, and caring, and loving in these words. yes, and I can relate to changing time, roles, responsibilities, and, too,” “do all that I can as it comes.” I also like how you used to hold the day, but now holding coffee is enough.
I love the sound of “relax reins, avoid holes / holding my coffee in my hands.” What craft! And I love thinking about how the experience of time and control shifts as we age. I haven’t ridden a motorcycle in ages, but I can still bring myself to the feeling of the road, especially on sunny days far, far away from the city.
Donna,
I love the imagery of freedom and control that you explore in the poem–“the breath of wind in tresses” and then, after the turn, “I relax reins, avoid holes”.
Kate, thank you for hosting and introducing us to Steven Dunn. I am also grateful for your mentor poem. Love how you tell about things you should be doing as if they come to your mind, at least it seems that it all came in so easily to you.
I Could Have Been
I could have been a singer,
with a musical ear inherited
from both my parents,
a voice that knows its way
through melody and breath.
I could’ve traveled the country,
moving from stage to stage,
small rooms, large halls,
living in applause.
Of all callings, a baker
Could be my thing to do:
My pastries and cakes gather praise,
they say their delicate beauty
are matched by enjoyable taste.
What could be better
than a famous chef in the family,
apron and hands dusted in flour,
offering sweetness as a gift?
I could have been a book editor,
attentive to language,
to the subtle precision of words,
to punctuation with its elusive power,
to structure, flow, formatting.
Editing: the art of seeing
what others almost say,
of holding worth stable
until it finds its form.
I could have been a regular
nine-to-five worker anywhere,
clocking in and out
of a life neatly measured,
leaving work at the door,
forgetting about completed tasks,
not carrying them home.
Instead I chose to be a teacher.
Of all the lives I could have lived,
this one, where learning never ends,
where care and clock don’t belong in one sentence,
where rewards don’t come immediately,
where time is never quite enough,
but love, and meaning, always are.
Oh, Leilya, what a wonderful take on the prompt. I loved seeing your many talents highlighted, and yes, you really could have chosen these as career paths. The fourth stanza sets up the last that I knew was coming. “clocking in and out” “neatly measured” “not carrying [tasks] home”–all such a great intro for being a teacher, which is a beautiful description of what teachers do. Thank you for sharing.
You touched my teacher heart… where learning never ends (even when you retire!)
What a great take on the prompt! I love the “I could have been” stem as a way to grow appreciation for our many gifts and to honor the path chosen. I think this poem hits especially hard as my freshman-in-college daughter has recently decided not to pursue a career in the field she’s most obviously talented in, because she doesn’t want the associated work life. That and your poem help me see how passion and talent exist in and out of career.
This should be mandatory reading at every retirement dinner! I love it. My favorite line: “where care and clock don’t belong in one sentence.”
Leilya,
I love all of these possibilities which you give your full respect to.
But most of all, I love
So happy for your students who receive your care and respect.
Leilya, another marvelous poem showing the wonderful talents you possess and everything you could have been. I adore “his one, where learning never ends,
where care and clock don’t belong in one sentence,” It’s so true. I agree time as a teacher is never “quite enough.” Your final line says it all! Thanks for sharing this with us today!
Love, love, love!!! And we are all the better because of what you chose to be! 💜💜
Thank you for this. I really enjoy reading your writing! I tend to think we all have 1000 lives inside of us that could’ve been. “hands dusted in flour, offering sweetness as a gift” is a beautiful line that paints the image of putting care in the word career.
Leilya,
Love, love, love, “I chose to be a teacher.
Of all the lives I could have lived,” Reminds me of the bumper sticker that says teaching is the profession that makes all others possible. Love that this poem IS so “attentive to language.”
Leilya, your last stanza! I love it! “[L]earning never ends…care and clock don’t belong in one sentence…rewards don’t come immediately…time is never quite enough…but love, and meaning, always are.” YES to all of that!
i love how you used this form to enumerate the things you could have been and then landed on his what you are and describing it so aptly.
Leilya, This is a beautiful poem! I love the exploration of “could haves” and the details that you include to illustrate those potential paths. I hear your “musical ear” throughout the poem through alliteration and consonance and internal rhymes that help create the flow and cadences of the poem. I absolutely love this line: “apron and hands dusted in flour, offering sweetness as a gift?” What could be better? Except the gift that you give to students as a teacher.
Kate, what a prompt. Thank you. I can see how this would be accessible to students (and to me). And you have given us a wealth of ideas to run with. Thank you. What a poetic and lovely list of shoulds you have created in your poem. I love the lipstick poems on the mirror and your husband waiting for you.
Things I Hope
When I hoped,
I could smile
in the rain,
the unpaid bills,
and the fears.
When I was hoped for,
I said yes, and I came:
to Michigan
into the nursery during the night,
to you on your deathbed.
A hope for America–
(after empire is extinguished)
that she would become
a new kaleidoscope of
color, light, and generosity.
And what’s more substantial,
more hefty, than hope?
Of all homes, this one
Of all endings, quickly
Hope: If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?*
——————————-
*Percy Bysshe Shelley
Hope, substantial and hefty, an sustain us through many struggles…
Like Diane, I am struck by your description of the “heft” of “hope.” I’m so used to thinking of it as the “thing with feathers,” as something airy. But here you remind of its great power, its ability to bring a “smile,” even in the face of “rain, / the unpaid bills, / and the fears.”
Denise, what I hear in your poem is that even hope needs a little lift. Losing hope is such a terribly heavy feeling. I, too, hold a hope for America, and you said it so eloquently:
“(after empire is extinguished)
that she would become
a new kaleidoscope of
color, light, and generosity.”
Love the definition of hope in a form of a question you chose from P. B. Shelly.
The beauty of poetry is that hope can be the thing with feathers and also “more substantial, more hefty…” I think I have felt the heft of hope more than the feathers. Your poem offers hope to the reader.
Denise,
I feel the heaviness of your poem. I love the way that heaviness yields to hope.
I’m sighing into that hope as I read it.
Denise, your poem is provocative. I feel the weight of these hopes, the reality of a daily life being difficult, and the unexpected losses that call us away from our homes. I love the image of America becoming a kaleidoscope of “color, light, and generosity.” What a gift that would be! Your poem is something to treasure.
Denise,
If all the emotions we experience, love and hope are the ones that help us live and survive. Love that Shelley quote. Love the vulnerability in your words.
Denise, my friend, I felt this in my core:
Sending my warm thoughts.
Bless us all here in this crappy country.
Listen, the first item on
my TO-DO list (or more
aptly named, perhaps,
my honey-do list) is to
comprise a laundry list
of items perishable and
nonperishable for the
grocery list (being mindful
to check expiration dates
not just sell by dates when
actually using the shopping
list) because of that one time
(We’ve needed to institute a
checklist protocol when I’m
by myself and buying items
like dairy, poultry, fish, eggs,
ground beef, deli meats,
apples [Do you know how
many different types of apples
there are?] oranges, onions,
watermelons, avocados,
anything really that needs
any kind of visual inspection
or physical palpation of said
item or really any otherwise
otherworldly discernment on
the part of the shopper when
picking out “the best” items)
after that one time, I feared
I’d need to start checking
off things on my bucket list
ASAP before it was too late;
So, now, I’m asking for some
help, from you, if you see me
“out in the wild” and struggling
to find the right peach or apricot,
lend a hand or nose (because
apparently you need to also
smell some produce, too, before
putting it in the cart) but I get it,
I understand, I’m more a realist
than idealist In Kroger, you might
just turn away and head down
another aisle, needing to fill your
own basket, I get it, I do, but,
but if you find me confused,
babbling to myself, trying to pick
the right bushel of grapes (Do
they even come in bushels? Or
are they in bunches?) if you
stopped, offered, simply, a word
or two of encouragement, I’d
definitely be relieved and certainly
would devote a line or two for you
on my Gratitude list.
__________________________________________________
Thank you, Kate, for your prompt and mentor poem – and Dunn’s – today! I loved how gently tender your poem was in spots and then how relatable it was, too, “Folding / after drying – no more linen mountains, / monuments to my inefficiency,” ugh! For my offering, I thought I would write a “list” poem using different types of lists when suddenly the poem began to turn, making a kind of internal poetic listing, in an odd direction … ah, so it goes, sometimes, lol.
Scott,
I so enjoyed following this stream of thought through the brief lines moving my way through the grocery aisle. And this call for someone to lend a hand or a squeeze of the fruit is a perfect way to draw in the community experience of a grocery store, recognizing that there really is a lot of fruit expertise wandering around, if only they knew you/we were open to advice.
Peace,
Sarah
Scott, what fun! Your conversation and request for help is so telling. I actually don’t pay as close attention as Keith to the dates, so I kind of need my checklist too. I do pride myself on picking good produce though) The details and long lists of anything
is so interesting to read in one sweet long Scott poem.
“bushel of grapes” “Or are they in bunches?” was perfection.
Scott! I love this list about and of lists. I am a lister of lists. I love the way you build suspense for “that one time.” I love the way you help me see how heavy might fall my directives when I send my husband to the store. I appreciate this reminder that not everyone checks to make sure there’s no hint of possible mold on the strawberries and that even a check doesn’t mean the middle berry isn’t already ruined. I loved this invocation of the shared human experience—an intensely sensory one—that is choosing our foods. I’ll definitely pause in the market and think of this poem soon!
Scott, as I read your poem, it felt like my reading speed was increasing as if to catch up with your thoughts. My husband would be your friend in that shopping trip. every time I complain about the quality of fresh produce or the amount of things he bought (that were not on the list), he now simply says: “I went unchaperoned.” I like that the poem was driving your moves and words, not the other way around.
This poem made me smile because I imagine that “one time” of which you will never be totally absolved involved you failing to get the good stuff at the grocery. My husband now asks for pictures. So much can go wrong in Kroger!
Scott,
I would love to meat you, your mind a buzz with poetry, in the produce aisle at Kroger.
Thanks for your humorous take on lists within lists within lists.
Of all delectables, kare kare
Tender ox tail in peanut stew
Bok choy, eggplant, sitaw,
The usual garlic and onions.
Low and slow the meat is cooked
Peanut butter and crushed peanuts next
Filling the kitchen
with its inviting aroma.
Only for special occasions for
Who can afford ox tail daily?
House blessing,
Christening or yearly return home.
Of many happy memories, Liza
Came. We shared communion
Over jasmine rice and peanut stew.
I will follow her someday.
Cayetana,
I just watched my husband work is way through an ox tail casuela here in Peru, and I had a vegetarian pumpkin cazuela (stew). So lovely to connect, witness your gathering of ingredients and the stewing of food with the stewing of happy memories with Liza.
Sarah
I love how this poem funnels to a particular moment with someone special. I’m especially thankful for this poem today, after learning yesterday I have yet another food intolerance. I was feeling a little sorry for myself, but your invocation of “peanut stew / box choy, eggplant, sitaw, / the usual garlic and onions”—all of which I can eat—got me excited for such beautiful meals that can still await me.
Liza is lucky to have such a special meal prepared slowly with love and care. Kare kare sounds so tempting right about now. Thank you for sharing.
I loosely used the prompt, and thoroughly enjoyed it. Thank you for introducing me to it. I wrote about my loves, like the inspiration poem.
I love…
I love lazy days, which only materialize,
when I create them, and set them free.
I love how the rules change
each time I engage in “my day off…”
Maybe I drink coffee and blog all day,
and maybe I do load after load of laundry.
Maybe I get dressed; maybe I don’t.
I love sugar candy, in an obsessive kind of way,
consuming the entire bag,
box, or other container. Who doesn’t have a
hidden pleasure, one they don’t easily confess?
I love Springtime, and new life, and babies.
Baby kittens, baby chicks, new to this earth goat kids.
Wobbly feet, fluffy feathers, fuzzy furr…. babies.
I love a greasy burger,
with all the trimmings.
Cheese dripping off the sides,
grilled onion and jalapenos,
piled high in the gooey delight of
American cheese. Not cheese product.
Some days I inlude the trimmings less essential:
lettuce and tomato and pickles.
Who am I kidding? Pickles are essential.
Even on a jalapeno burger.
I love my children,
born of my womb,
or not so much so.
Some of them raised me,
all of them teach me,
how to be a human, full of grace
and forgiveness,
not so black and white as I once was.
I love the grey areas,
because few things are ever black and white
and I take issue with those who say they are.
I want to lay down an example here, but my mind
is suddenly on vacation.
I love lazy days,
when people don’t judge me,
don’t see me, don’t know me.
I love lazy days,
they make the productive days so much more
significant.
-Carrie Horn
Carrie, what a love-filled poem listing, wandering, exploring the loves of your life surfacing a bit as you gather them into the next line and the next from the concrete to the abstract as Kate offered in her prompt and Dunn in his poem. Love how you circle back to the agency you have, you choose on lazy days.
Peace,
Sarah
Haha, I wholeheartedly agree: “pickles are essential”! On a more serious note: I love your opening insight, that “lazy days…only materialize / when [we] create them” and that inherent to such days is that “the rules change.” You’ve really got me thinking about how at the heart of leisure is whim—but that we have to decide to let whim guide. Anyhow, may today bring some of these loves to you!
I love how your poem circled back to lazy days. I love lazy days, too. I love how your poem included burgers and candy and your children and the grey areas. I could relate to so much of this. It made me feel included.
Carrie, such a nice walk through the lazy days where you stop and linger over some thoughts. I like the flexibility and all the “maybe”s. loved these lines:
“I want to lay down an example here, but my mind
is suddenly on vacation.”
Thank you for letting me wander with you a bit.
Parenting can sure change the way we see the world.
“Some of them raised me,
all of them teach me,
how to be a human, full of grace
and forgiveness,
not so black and white as I once was.
I love the grey areas,
because few things are ever black and white”
I love both your prompt and your poem Kate— your presentation of the should’s is very much like my own and I like you presented them, just like they swirl in our minds. I wish I had more time to spend today, but this is a poem and form I’ll visit again. Thank you!
Grace
I love that there are erasers on pencils
and that I learned at an early age
not to rub too hard or I’d make a hole
and have to start again from scratch.
Better to leave a slight smudge,
a gentle warning—don’t hold on too tight.
I love the one who sat without fidgeting
though I was purposely,
persistently late,
I love his cap and sweatshirt,
his effortless equilibrium
and acceptance of my sheltering smudge.
I love that what I learn one day I forget the next
and learn again.
Yesterday’s poem had so many holes
I had to crumple and toss.
Today I started from scratch again—
sometimes there’s grace in the loss.
Fantastic! Especially the holes in the paper from eraser, and yesterday’s poem…I will think on the lines
“Yesterday’s poem had so many holes
I had to crumple and toss.
Today I started from scratch again–
Sometimes there’s grace in the loss.”
Poignant and profound!
Ann,
I love this theme of writing, rewriting the concrete paper and the abstract writing of late with a sheltering smudge. From yesterday to today to sometimes. From what is lost in an erasing and what is lost in a tossing and that there, there you name “grace.” Lovely.
Sarah
Hard to believe you didn’t have much time today, the way your poem artfully weaves the “hole” and “smudge” imagery throughout! I am especially taken by the end of the first stanza: “Better to leave a slight smudge, / a gentle warning—don’t hold on too tight.” I love the idea of how it can be better not to erase in full—that gentle reminder that perfection is impossible, that change is inevitable.
Ann, I love what you have shared about writing – beginning with the eraser. How old were we when we figured that out? and then the one in the cap and sweatshirt – how a little says a lot and finally the idea that there is grace in loss. I’ll have to remember that one.
“Yesterday’s poem had so many holes
I had to crumple and toss.
Today I started from scratch again—
sometimes there’s grace in the loss.”
This poem is so true. I have felt these feelings repeatedly throughout my writing life.
Ann, these words resonated with me more than others in your poem today: “I love that what I learn one day I forget the next / and learn again.” Make me feel seen and not alone. The ending of the poem also sounds like a universal truth, at least in my universe. Thank you for saying what I sometimes struggle to define.
I really enjoy your writing here. “effortless equilibrium” is so satisfying. I love how you bring back the holes and not holding on too tight is taking loss with grace.
Ann…I love this! That first stanza is so specific and concrete and I love that you come back to it again at the end. I’ll keep thinking about this one!
Oh my gosh! I love the way grace is treated in this poem. My favorite line was “Better to leave a slight smudge,
a gentle warning—don’t hold on too tight.”
Thank you for sharing this poem and your own! I really connected to your line about things we should do. The love for your husband was particularly touching and might be what inspired my own.
“Together” by Erica Johnson
I want to be with you
pressed together in the booth
of the Mexican restaurant
first date and a thousand more.
I want to be with you
wiggling into the dog pile
a mass of squirming bodies
all vying for attention
but you save the best
for me.
Of all hands, yours to hold
Of all noses, yours to boop
Of all bodies, yours is the one
that should be curled up with mine
Always.
I want to be with you
cards splayed and dice thrown
fate rolled us together
like the best of burritos.
I want to be with you
a cup of coffee or
a Stanley of water
pour it and mix it
and when it passes between
we find the excuse to brush hands
and I want to brush my teeth
next to you at the sink
for all of my days.
When I am with you, I hum.
There is music, even if you prefer
the silence of the road.
Is there anything better?
My hand in your hand.
What am I going to do with you?
Love you forever.
What a sweet poem! I especially love, “I want to brush my teeth / next to you at the sink / for all of my days.” It reminds me of when I told an artist friend that I put the painting he gave me and my husband for our wedding (a painting of a bride and groom facing each other) between the his and hers sinks/mirrors in our bathroom, and he was kind of offended (“My art is in your bathroom?!?”)—and I tried to explain that that counter’s a place we come together each day and where I’d be sure to see the painting, haha. I love, too, “When I am with you, I hum”—what a wonderful representation of the elemental effect of each other’s presence. I kind of want to steal your poem for my 25th wedding anniversary this week!
What a sweet love story. Thanks for painting such a beautiful word picture. You shared little special shared gestures (of all noses, yours to boop), and the treasure of moments mundane (and I want to brush my teeth/next to you at the sink). Your poem gave a warm vision of your love.
Erica,
Lovely. I am thinking back to all the poems I have read by you and wonder if I have ever ready a love poem. This. This is beautiful in all the spaces concrete and abstract that you can name and touch and that you can feel and savor. And there is a presence and anticpated future here that I love.
Sarah
I haven’t written many because it wasn’t until recently that I have been with someone that constantly inspires such poetry. ☺️
This love poem feels as fresh as spring air. My favorite lines: “fate rolled us together/like the best of burritos.”
This is such an explosion of being with someone you love. There are many favorite lines here. I miss my husband so much! Love you forever!
Kate, I sure wish I was still in the classroom to use this very accessible prompt. Kids would love it and truly thrive using the structure. I adored Dunn’s poem . . . even as long as it was and your mentor poem stuck to my ribs.
Inner Battle, Outer Ally
I regret not watching my weight,
no stepping on the scale
and adjusting my gorging
to stop the creeping up of the number.
I anticipate lifting dumbells,
spending time on the treadmill,
counting calories, swallowing jugs of water
and eating an outlandish amount of protein
(and maybe pinching my gut and injecting
who knows what in to stem the hunger).
Of all vices, I chose sugar,
gobbling sweets up at each meal
and at the end of the day.
Gluttonous gorging not
a nightly nibbling.
Of all avenues, I choose GLP-1
as a tool to stop the food noise
and give me the discipline to slow
down the eating,
hoping that as the pounds disappear
I’ll have the will to put in the work.
When I ate more than I needed,
I felt conflicting emotions of comfort
and guilt, knowing that the pounds
would go up,
as would the cholesterol and glucose
but incapable of stopping
using food as salve for the deep-seated
traumas big and small.
When I attended exercise class at 5:05 a.m.
each morning, dragging my ass from the
bed I shared for too few hours with my husband,
all I really did was add more stress–more cortisol–
to my body, leading to counterproductive results.
And injuries galore.
So what’s more important: health or happiness?
“I’d rather be fat and happy” was my catchphrase
until the fat eroded the happiness
plumping up the shame and embarrassment
as the size of pants went up once, twice,
now three times
over the course of five years.
Will The Shot be the missing piece?
Or will it make me nauseous, cause me
to lose my hair, keep me up at night . . .
resulting in my looking like a saggy,
hollow-eyed zombie?
Body image: a walk through funhouse mirrors,
distorting what you see,
causing an unrealistic view of things.
Weight loss: an activity that takes
over your identity. Damned if you do,
damned if you don’t.
~Susan Ahlbrand
11 April 2026
Whew, Susan, this poem really hits, probably in large part because I have been learning about “body image” as “a walk through funhouse mirrors” from a family member’s experience with an eating disorder. I admire the way your poem unearths conflicting emotions and drives, and I wonder if this is one of the benefits of the list poem form—the iterations a way of looking ever closer at complexity. Thanks for something so real today.
Whoa, Susan. Wow. I am with you every stanza, every for and against, every effort and compromise. You capture this bikini industrial complex of the media and the Seventeen magazine I am guessing you may have read like I did in my very formative body image developing years. And you walk through this narrative of the shot for what it might be or offer in a very real sense, because there is much to understand about two-sided daming you so aptly close with, not offering any single answer.
Hugs,
Sarah
I read this after returning from a very long and lonely walk…my current form of extreme exercise to try to fight the battle of too many extra lbs. I, too, have tried the protein and the heavy weights. I loved how your poem gives an honest analysis.
Susie, that is such a candid narration of your struggles. I appreciate your openness and vulnerability. You are right, we don’t know what shots may do or what GLP pills can cause. Your definition of body image is spot on. This one is disturbing: “Weight loss: an activity that takes
over your identity.” Thank you for sharing such a sensitive topic. Sending hugs 🤗
Mi Perrita Bilingüe
Me encanta la forma en que
me tocas con tu nariz,
la forma en que
entonces en que retrocedes
mientras me miras,
tus ojos que dicen
“Vamos a la armario de las meriendas;
te pastorearé en la dirección correcta.”
Tu lenguaje
cristalino,
tan diferente
del mundo
fuera de nuestro hogar.
por Susie Morice © once de abril, 2026
My Bilingual Doggy
I love the way
you touch me with your nose,
the way
then you walk backwards
while you look at me,
your eyes saying,
“Let’s go to the snacks closet;
I will shepherd you in the correct direction.”
your language
crystal clear,
so different
from the world
outside our home.
by Susie Morice © April 11, 2026
Yes! Our pets don’t need to speak the same language that we do orally, because they can still communicate perfectly.
Susie, I too have a bilingual dog who places his paw on my leg and lets his eyes speak the exact words your dog speaks and skulks away only when I say, no more snacks. What a perfect closing (and sad reminder of the world outside our homes).
Susie,
Brilliant idea to write in two languages to show communication w/ your pup. I know the “take me up the snack closet” look well.
Lol! My dog was just now talking to me about going out – I spoke back to her… in French..(the little I remember) but she doesn’t speak French yet evidently.
We do seem to understand dog though “your language crystal clear”.
Thank you, Susie! This poem brings such wonderful memories of my beloved and dearly missed dog, Badger, who would hurriedly scoot himself backwards across two rooms to his doggie bed, unable to take his eyes off me at the promise of popcorn. All I had to do was say the word and he was a scramble of joy. And to see him jump to catch one kernel?! Glee.
Susie,
Qué ternura tan luminosa hay en este poema. Me encanta cómo capturas ese lenguaje silencioso y tan claro entre ustedes—esa inteligencia amorosa que guía sin palabras. Tu perrita aparece como una compañera sabia, casi cómplice, que entiende lo esencial. Y ese contraste con el mundo exterior hace que el vínculo se sienta aún más íntimo y protegido. Gracias por compartir un momento tan delicado y lleno de cariño.
Paz,
Sarah
Susie, I absolutely adore your loving poem describing your bilingual doggy. The first two lines are perfect, but your end makes the reader pause. Yes, the world outside is “so different”. I like the idea that you can find peace with your beloved pet even when the world feels out of balance. Hugs!
Susie, a Duolingo! I love that you did this in two languages and the one of my native tongue is absolutely captivating – I can see your doggy herding you right over to the snacks. Your message of clearly understanding our dogs when the rest of the outside world is so unclear is spot on. They tell us all we need to know. Adorable!
Thank you for this prompt, Kate!
Things I’ve Loved and Lost
My favorite chair
upholstery worn so thin it always felt
like the cool side of the pillow.
My mother, sick of its old-world pattern,
its lumpy seat cushion,
scrimped and saved for over a year to replace it
only to have her four-year-old sob at its loss.
“Where will it go?” I wailed.
Inconsolable,
I rode between my parents,
in the cab of Papaw’s truck,
hauling my beloved chair to its final resting place,
the town dump.
It was the 70s.
Recycling had not caught on, yet,
in eastern Kentucky.
It tore my heart to think of that chair,
outside in scorching sun,
mountain rainstorms…
The spot in the front room
where it once sat
now as empty as the space in the yard
where a tree used to be.
My favorite doll
Dorothy, of Oz fame.
With articulated elbows,
she could hug
Barbie and Ken and Skipper.
I loved her blue-checked dress and braided hair,
her thin nylon socks and plastic ruby slippers,
the little woven basket she could hold
in her plastic hand.
Toto, a rubbery gray terrier,
with black dots for eyes,
peeked over the rim.
I ran inside, for just a moment,
for Kool-Aid maybe,
or a banana popsicle.
My Barbies, spread like tornado victims,
across the small overgrown front yard,
the unraveling green apron of our old house.
I needed a short break from whatever drama
was playing out that day.
When I returned, Dorothy,
the star of the show,
was gone.
She was not in Kansas anymore.
I crawled around the yard, searching from front stoop
to chain link fence.
Toto was there, in a patch of wild onion grass,
safe in his basket.
Years later, I was a wife, a mother,
still lamenting the mysterious loss of that doll
when my sister admitted, under duress,
that she took Dorothy and hid her
inside a cinder-block
in the unfinished basement
of our childhood home.
Mystery solved.
It’s no mystery that sisters can be cruel.
She said it was because I would not let her play that day,
which was probably true,
and also cruel.
She did not understand my storylines.
Instead, her Barbie’s only dialogue…
“Can I borrow a loaf of bread?”
Bread?! My dolls and I had no time
to dole out bread.
My favorite car
10-years-old already
when Dad and I
bought it at a local used car lot,
a red Nissan Sentra,
previously called the Datsun Sunny.
I called it Senny and could not contain my pride
for learning to drive a stick shift.
Senny was my college car, carrying me off to school
and back home to the hills.
One night, the driver’s side windshield wiper
flew right off
during a heavy rainstorm.
I’ll never forget it.
I was driving blind for a moment, like a boat captain
caught in a swell.
I couldn’t even see to pull off the road,
but somehow Senny plowed through the storm
to safe harbor.
That car, with a crack down the windshield
I couldn’t afford to fix
and four nearly-bald tires
would have driven on no gas
I believed…
so strong was its love for me.
And that’s the gist of it…things I’ve loved
because I thought they had
some otherworldly way
of loving me back.
Your car did love you back, otherwise it would have died on the road, like a car I used to own.
Lori! What I especially love about this poem is the way that across all three sections of different things “loved and lost” you’re painting a portrait of place: from the “mountain rainstorms” and “back home to the hills” to (my favorite) “the small overgrown front yard, / the unraveling green apron of our old house.” Neat imagery on a granular level—and a strong and loving sense of place on the broader canvas.
Lori, your poem feels like an ode to lost objects. Beginning with the chair, I had a couch my mom encouraged me to replace and believe me, it was problematic. And your doll, Dorothy! I’d still be angry at a sister who took her and hid her. My dad did that with a pair of jeans of mine, my mom hated. I still don’t find it funny. And your car, I sit here wondering where Senny’s parked. Thanks for sharing your losses and their stories.
Lori, such a great poem. Mesmerizing in the details of your beloved chair, doll and car. The naming of the cruelty between sisters was so powerful, universal really, but we don’t always name it. And your powerful justification: “My dolls and I had no time / to dole out bread.” Thank you!
Lori, so sweet that you cared so deeply for that chair, and your doll and the car.
my own first car was a Nissan Sentra
~
a silver gray six speed stripped of everything including radio and floor mats. Because of affordability. But maybe my favorite car ever. Thanks for bringing back the memories and sharing the way you cherish your things.
Much appreciation, Kate, for sharing Stephen Dunn’s craft with us (1974-1994)(phew), and for inviting us to craft in a new way. I really appreciated the way you used space, intentionally, in your poem and used it to play with my own today. You seem too young for crowns, but I know that flossing (snap…my mouth is worth more than I am).
It Must Be April
b.r.crandall
Saturdays aren’t for meant showers.
Those birds singing on neighborhood trees
aren’t wearing tuxedos, after all….
skunks aren’t smelling like apple pies.
I probably should care more
about how alley cats clean themselves, though.
because I keep tweezers in a vanity,
behind a bathroom mirror I try to avoid.
Landscaping on weekends is not for this man.
I’d rather be basking in distractions,
with procrastinations to my habitual multitasking.
a man sipping coffee,
barefoot, in a ripped t-shirt
and a navy pair of Fruit of the Looms.
Thankful to miss today’s generation of manity insanity
that zest for jawlines & skin care.
I learned long ago to hug lifelong flaws
which include the ways love
has handled my stomach.
In the card catalogue of bodily complaints,
these hairy man boobs have become a fave.
Yet, when I was younger I bucked differently…
laced Sauconies and weighed all the prose & cons
of my youth
(wasted on the young).
I shawled myself with preparations
of Talking Heads teaching me to sing…
how did I get here?
But then I think about the seeds. This soil. Our Sun.
Getting these fingers into the ground (such a dirty mind),
to plant possibilities for another day,
so future seedlings can transcend this Earth, too,
where they, perhaps (maybe) (hmmm), might
bloom in gorgeous greenery
before they’re clipped
or taken
by frost.
I love this! I relate to your words deeply. I am not in love with lawncare and your quip about landscaping hit home. I also laughed out loud about your dirty mind. This was a great read this morning! Thank you for sharing.
Bryan — I toodled right along with you this morning. It’s showering a cold discomfort into the landscape here. I, too, sit in my grubby-but-comfies. I LOLed at your F del Looms…but it is Saturday, the holy day of NOT the rest of the week. I LOLed again at the youthful “prose” (witty, right there) and “cons”… resonated for sure with me. The last stanza shifted me to spring and seeding and making a difference, even though it’s all so fleeting. I really loved your poem this morning. Thank you! Now I have to step over the dog and go heat up my coffee. 🙂 Susie
There’s so much great play in your poem—from the very beginning, with the nod to “April” and then “showers.” Another fave: “the ways love / has handled my stomach,” a witty nod to love handles, I presume. Oh, and the verbs: “bucked,” “shawled,” etc. Fantastic!
Bryan, your first stanza brought me right into your Saturday morning mindset and social commentary on manity insanity…but when you brought in the seeds, the soil and the sun, I confess I got a bit choked up for the future seedlings..and our beautiful earth in so much more danger than winter frost.
Bryan,
I see your poem, Carrie’s, and Susan’s in conversation, or in conversation with my Saturday, sitting here watching videos, listening to the street life, and deciding if I will go outside. You offer such precision in the particulars of place (tweezers behind the mirror) and clothing (Fruit of the Loom) that feels so intimate. And the gentle shifts in time, in reflection to the past, another layer of becoming/became, which are the seeds you draw on in the final stanza. And, for me, I like to think of the seeds in your poem and the seeds of your life that continue through us, your readers, and through your students.
Peace,
Sarah
This is so wonderful. Love the honest approach to who you are and what you care—and don’t care—about.
fantastic!
My favorite is the no-landscape stanza. I’m over here cheering the laziness of the day. Yes to half-clad selves and unmatched no-shower Saturdays!! The kind with hardly a hairbrush through the hair, coffee on repeat,
maybe a pony tail and no makeup and yes to going on the porch like that too
with the big fuzzy Uggs and writing all day. And waiting on the landscape and seedlings. Love knowing we’re not the only ones!!!
Kate, first of all, thanks for your guidance here, which hits the goldilocks spot between structure & freedom : ) And thanks for your gift for sound in line: “plunges of spine assigned”, “aside but him, to ride”, “linen mountains”, etc.
As always, I post what I write here. Here’s today’s offering, which is inspired by teaching Odyssey for decades and by taking on a new role soon (College-Freshman-Dad):
“Commencement”
I love stories of return,
& of difficult return:
twists & turns, temptations,
newly discovered strengths,
and the difficult lesson
upon the longed-for door step
that home is too small
for the you that’s here.
Love’s lens sharpened by pity
of those that remained, waited,
and maybe even
longed for this new you.
What new selves must we be now?
You, unpacking your worn bags
in this room turned
stage, your return show
in a role you’ve long outgrown.
Me & mom at the threshold
of your room she cleaned,
watching you text friends
also returned for the break,
planning froyo, coffee, or
just a hang somewhere,
your favorite supper
warming, waiting on the stove.
Did you miss us? You hungry?
Was it all worth it?
Welcome home, my love.
Joel — what a strong vein of love is pulsing through this piece. You miss that kid so much! Lovely sentiment. The bustle to make everything feel right for the return. I love thinking about “stories of return”… a very meaty theme that I am going to explore…thank you from prompting that! I loved your poem… will you give it to your new “adult” …so quickly that all happens? Thank you for sharing the emotional, loving connection that tugs at this scene. Susie
Joel: This poem really hits for me, the mother of an only child now in her freshman year of college—a child whose “room [I] cleaned” before she came home for winter break, who met up with other friends returned at the Crumbl one town over. Indeed, I made “my love” her “favorite supper.” I feel seen!
And as I read about your odyssey, as well as of your noticing of the sound in lines, I can’t help but think you’ll really enjoy the poem “Argos” by Michael Collier. I hope you do!
https://www.fishousepoems.org/argos/
p.s. I’m glad I re-read your poem, because its artful sound jumps out even more, as does the line, “What new selves must we be now?” It really is a time of transformation for all of us.
Joel, I love the direct address in this to your child. The wondering you do through this verse, in each stanza, that gently revisits what was (watching the texting) and what is to come (your favorite supper) to welcome home your love, your family. And I see that line break between supper and warming. And I wait in that space briefly for the coming home, the reunion toward the final line of Welcome home, my love, which is beautiful, tender. Lovely.
Sarah
Joel,
what a bittersweet stage of watching your child come home and seeing all
the changes and coming right down to the most important questions of all –
warming, waiting on the stove.
Did you miss us? You hungry?
Was it all worth it?
and my favorite line of all:
Welcome home, my love.
Kate, thank you for hosting and sharing Dunn’s poetry. I am drawn to your lines about studying your husband’s face as I try to do this with my kids and partner–noticing changes and amazed by time’s shift.
I could sleep in, start #lazysaturday
on an eventless weekend day, anomaly
my kids are self-sufficient now
they won’t judge me, lowkey
I could see how productive I can be
in my robe all day, a movable blanket
who made this rule anyhow?–wearing
“clothes” as appropriate public behavior
I could skip my kombucha |
heated neck wrap | coffee-protein
stretch | green tea routine
nobody is looking
I could remember others don’t care,
call it self-care, make it a dare,
since it’s rare, rhyme my verselove,
unshare my creative pursuits, ere
I could eat an entire row of thin mints
a full box of little debbie cakes
a carton of mint chocolate ice cream
all for breakfast, or brunch if I keep sleeping
I could avoid the gym
use single digit weights, is 10
really better than 8? maybe just
walk, to get five-digit steps today
I could
but
my body
would know
LOL! Oh, that last stanza. I love the truth of this. I would love a day like this in my moveable blanket. Oh, my goodness the truth of this is perfect. It’s why I don’t mind a sick day or a rainy day. Alas, it’s gorgeous here and I need to get up and out! Go, go, go!
I can have my bags packed in 15 minutes…..now TSA is a different story, but I can be there for
I could eat an entire row of thin mints
a full box of little debbie cakes
a carton of mint chocolate ice cream
all for breakfast, or brunch if I keep sleeping
Yes! I’m down for some Swiss Cake Rolls and Zebra Cakes. What time?
I love the way you throw it all out for #lazysaturday, and if this is a thing, like a real Instagrammable thing, I want in. Perfection in a poem, you say and think about what we are all desiring, this doing and eating whatever we want. Love it!
First of all, Stefani, I’m not sure I’ve read or commented on your work yet — so glad that this is my introduction to you : ) There’s some center of a bullseye you’re hitting here with tone — the light-heartedness lands because you capture what so many people internalize about the shoulds of adulting. That successive “my kids don’t care”, “nobody is looking”, “others don’t care” and then the “my body / would know”? What a journey!
Damn, you’re witty, Stefani—especially that one-stanza shit to rhyme! I really feel you with this poem, lowkey. 😉 My husband and daughter find me a little rigid in some of my routines, but I just feel better doing them. “Self-care” sure looks different depending on the self!
Stefani,
I love this. Feels like you letting yourself wander a little, testing the edges of “I could.” The robe, the Thin Mints, the whole unstructured day… I can see you smiling as you write it. and I, too, could eat the sleeve of thin mints but only when no one is looking, and Dan is always looking these days.
So I am reading this poem as what if or what happens when no one’s watching. When all the routines, the expectations, even the “sharing” fall away. Who notices? Why does it matter? And I ask myself this all the time. Does it matter? Do I matter?
But then that ending—your body would know. Oof. That is it. That is why it matters, why you/we/us matter.
And also that ending makes me think about how we can’t really escape ourselves, even in softness, even in wanting rest, wanting ease. Is there always a whisper of could and should?
Gosh, friend. A lot to sit with here. Hugs.
Sarah
Kate, I am drawn in by your list of shoulds. I have each one of them, but you have put them together with such a skilled poet’s hand. And that last love song of a stanza. Yes. As I look to my husband of nearly 44 years, I have to remind myself of this long lasting love and what a true gift it is. Lately I focus way too much on his annoying eating sounds. 😉
I lost a colleague this week, very suddenly. I wish I would have appreciated her more.
Sandra
I should have noticed your gentle grace
of voice genuine and truthful.
I should have found you to say goodbye.
I should have appreciated your enthusiasm
instead of tiptoeing away down the hall.
Now I look at the sky
and notice the sun’s rays
as they spray light behind the clouds
and realize your short life
was given and taken
like sunshine on a cloudy day.
Margaret, your poem and Jennifer’s are so similar in the goodbyes and the giving and taking, exploring the theme of loss. I’m awestruck at the way you capture the essence of life as a gift, one that does not last forever, like sunshine – – can change on a dime. I chuckled at your focus on the annoying eating sounds. I was doing that yesterday morning as my husband ate a Pop Tart in the camper and I got annoyed at that and his heavy boots walking around when I was trying to write a villanelle. I’m sorry you lost your colleague. I will take your poem and try to find a sun’s ray today to remind me to appreciate the light while it is here.
Margaret.
I am so glad you are here and deeply grateful for your presence with Ethical ELA over the years. You have shaped me as a writer and human.
This poem. Whew.
So tender and full of quiet regret—the sunlight image is beautiful. Your noticing now feels like a gentle, loving act of remembrance.
This is, indeed, an invitation/call to tiptoe towards.
Sarah
Oh Margaret, I am sorry about your loss but this gift of words you provide today is so welcome and so relatable. Your metaphor of life in your fourth stanza is heartbreaking. Thank you for sharing this.
Oh, my. I’m sorry for the loss of this person full of enthusiasm that maybe was a little to bright sometimes. I’m glad your poetry time gave you space to address her spirit. The losses begin to pile up and it’s true strength, I think, to keep going and honor these lovely people. It would be easy to give in to the sadnes.
Your colleague is not truly gone as you’ve memorialized her in this poem that is alive with her.
Margaret — I’m so sorry that you have lost a colleague, Sandy…and suddenly is even harder. Naming her here seems so important. Your poem pays such caring homage to the spirit of a good person. We, who share with you today, care and send love. Susie
Wow, if ever there was a nudge to not “tiptoe[] away down the hall.” My husband has been working to approach all things with curiosity of late, and your poem seems to me a gesture in this vein, a reminder that we may appreciate something or someone if we turn towards them. Of course, we can’t throw open our hearts to all things and people all day, and so we will miss the opportunity of some of them… Sitting with you in this truth today.
p.s. Loved your note about reminding yourself of the gift of long-lasting love in the face of annoying eating sounds!
Margaret, I can’t read your words without needing to swallow the lump in my throat. Your list of should haves. While they may not have reached Sandra, she remains in your heart. I believe that’s where people go.
Avenida Cultura
I love when we walk side by side
and then don’t—
the quick decision at the puddle
in front of the Cortina store,
how we break without saying anything,
one of us stepping up to the curb,
arms out a little,
testing the narrow.
Not the puddle itself,
but the balance,
the small risk of it,
how the body remembers play
before it remembers caution,
how we pause the sentence
and pick it up again
on the other side.
I love having somewhere to step out to,
and something that lets me come back,
the thread not pulled tight
but not lost either,
something to lean on
without holding me still,
I love how we live like that sometimes,
not always aligned,
the line loosening between us,
slack we learn to give,
not drifting off
but not held tight either,
the way a body leans
and trusts something will steady it,
a rhythm I can keep my life to,
again and again.
Sarah, the simple puddle and the childlike balance of navigating it, arms out, resuming the sentence like the puddle was a mere comma in the grand scheme of the universe, is a poem of such depth and beauty – – you really made the break in stride a thing of beauty, showing the ways your love works with the sustaining and the flexing. I like that you think of play before caution.
Sarah, the notion of play as the strongest muscle memory in your second stanza has me thinking about how we (as adults) often push these feelings back. How freeing it is to play and let loose in ways that often go unnoticed. Thank you for sharing today.
I need to be that student who just plus-ones another : ) I want to second everything that Kim says here, and I want to thank you for the image of a relationship, not as a lockstep thing, but a rhythmic trust for life. Glad you have a love that supports and walks with you that way!
Sarah, this is beautiful. My favorite phrase? “testing the narrow.” My goodness, that says so much. Thank you, for Verse Love!
Such a beautiful poem it made me cry, remembering. April is the month my husband died. It has been many years but in random years the anniversary stirs that grief. This time, a lot of poems have made me cry. In a good way.
This is a really beautiful poem, Sarah, in its emotion and art. Truly, I admire the way you draw out so many layers of a moment’s meaning, the way you find in this moment a reflection of the depth of a connection. I especially appreciate this poem as Andy and I will celebrate our 25th wedding anniversary this week; you’ve got me meditating on the “slack we learn to give, / not drifting off / but not held tight either.” Oh, and I just love “how the body remembers play / before it remembers caution”—makes me want to lean in to that innate gesture toward play more often!
Such beauty captured in a tiny moment of parting. I immediately connected with that simple act of parting but not separating.
Oh, Sarah, this poem, this acknowledgment is artistry. The “dance” between two people over time and played out on a sidewalk with a puddle is just perfect. The little gestures, the hand offered, the remembering “play” before “caution”… just beautiful. As I read this, each image halts me to take the time to visualize, and in doing that I find a deep and meaningful connection between you and the walking partner… it deepens as the “again and again” lets the rhythm ripple slowly as if water disturbs when a zephyr sweeps the surface. Just a gorgeous poem. Your writing over these last several years together on ethicalela has become more and more beautiful, artistic, and deeply grounded in shared experiences that offer the reader something very special and knowable. Hugs and love, Susie
Sarah, wow, what a perfect love poem. The tight descriptive focus of moving together as one and then naturally pulling apart when an obstacle like a puddle arrives is gorgeous. I love each stanza and particularly loved the last two. The rhythm repeating and the thread not being pulled tight but holding still. Incredible poem!
what a great description of a healthy relationship.
Sarah, What a wonderful love poem. The puddle can be so many things. I love how you place us right with you in the scene. I can see how you and your husband have a rhythm that comes from being side by side, but also complete individuals. It reminds me of a poem by Li Yung Li? About making the bed. I will go look for that poem again.
Kate, thank you for hosting us today with such a lovely prompt. I love those shoulds in your poem. Idon’t think I did it exactly right, but I did feel elation this morning and wanted to capture it….somehow.
Elation Over the Song of the Wood Thrush
it’s 6:38 a.m. when I hear it
we’ve just taken the boys out
to do their morning business
when a familiar note plays
from the branch-pew of a tree
on Pine Mountain
like a retro diner Jukebox favorite
a song to stir the heart
not call-like,
not chatty or operatic
definitely not theatric
(like that one lady in church,
–thinks she can sing)
still, this voice offers hymn
praise to its maker and in
that way they are alike
this voice isn’t
wearing colorful Gucci garments –
picture instead
a simple watercolor painting of
dark, milk, and white chocolates
splotched with dots
and caramel feathers
the star voice of the woods
and doesn’t even know it
doesn’t show off or sing louder
like I would do with a voice
like that ~ why would I
ever say anything?
I’d sing it all, asking where the
tomatoes are in the grocery store
and what is my balance
at the bank and I’d be the
talk of the town for all the
wrong reasons ~ folks
would say I’ve gone off
the deep end
……but if I were a bird
I’d hope to be a Wood Thrush
the best voice in the choir
so humble
so unassuming
so musical
turning heads
with elation just to listen
and even sour Simon
Cowell would look up
and smile, knowing
there’s the talent
and press the Golden Buzzer
but with my Wood Thrush ways
I’d shun the competition
not needing his endorsement
I’d crap on his head
my own golden buzzer
on my way to another branch
still singing
Kim, I could write for years and years and never have “this voice isn’t
wearing colorful Gucci garments,” in a poetic reference. When I came across this, I thought, “wow,” someone has paid attention to the world around them. Gorgeous.
Kim, I feel like every April, poems of spring, birds, and growth branch out of the prompts we receive. I love the birdsongs that blossom as well, and laughed a bit thinking of one of the birds that perches on my deck wearing Gucci. Thank you for bringing this sound to life today.
This Merlin-app-user appreciated the surprise of each stanza, each sentence delighting in the song: from the “familiar voice” to hymn, to star voice, to star voice, etc. Really appreciate the humor of the competition imagery in the last two stanzas especially — what a wrap up!
Kim! I love “branch-pew,” especially before the reference to “that one lady in church, thinks she can sing.” And I was immediately a kid back in church, trying with my brother not to giggle at the warble of “that one lady.”
I think my favorite part of this poem is when you describe what you would do with “a voice / like that,” how you wouldn’t “say anything / [you’d] sing it all”! First of all, you present hilarious scenarios of you singing around town. Second, oh do I have that voice envy!
KIM KIM KIM — this is brilliant. I just was smitten with every single line. The wood thrush is so perfectly described here. And the Kim-voice is bold, bodacious, raucous…and I LOVE that. The lady in church … LOL I know that lady… hard to be reverent when she hits those screechy, warbly soprano notes…oh dear. When you get to YOU having that voice, I was just in love with your “golden buzzer”… “sour Simon” getting his just desserts. This is a totally grand poem. Enter this one in a contest….read it aloud at the next poetry reading down there. Everyone will be in the aisles. LOL! Way to go! Susie
Not being blessed with a singing voice (I can’t carry a tune in a bucket), I envied not only the song of the Wood Thrush but your captivating way of capturing it with poetry!
Kim, I love the direct narrator’s voice pulling us readers into the setting and how you reveal the Wood Thrush as the song you hear near the end of your poem. I love the diction throughout your poem and the reference to Simon Cowell is funny which works well with the “golden buzzer”. Your last line is delightful.
Kim,
LOL and LOL some more for “I’d crap on his head
my own golden buzzer
on my way to another branch
still singing”
This poem feels so reverent and kind until that golden buzzer moment. I want to be a wood thrush and crap in the drop and run early morning crower down south on the scroll from here.
Kate, thank you for this prompt. I so enjoyed your bio. I want to hear tales about what being a writer in residence at the Hemingway Foundation. It sounds cool!
I’m sharing my mess of a … I don’t know what from this prompt. Please know that I’m not currently feeling sad or sorry for myself. There must be some corner of my brain that wanted to get this out! I’m actually pretty excited about a Saturday to go out and enjoy…however, I might call my sisters and see what they are up to!
Of all the world’s eldest
daughters tidying up
messes of little brothers,
sisters,
why am I sitting here
adrift in nostalgia
at my table with bone china,
cut crystal salt and pepper wells,
linen napkins beneath the silver?
I am the only one I trust
to wash them later without nicks,
chips, and tears.
They came, wine glasses in hand,
not one blessing gifts
about to be received.
Who will inherit
this bit of earth?
Who will tend
this bounty?
You put your soul into this poem and I am connecting with you across the miles. Who will inherit this bit of earth? When we contemplate the end of things, the things that matter, but don’t, we drift into nostalgia (I have a love/hate relationship with this word.)
Linda, I admire your nostalgia and wish I had more of it instead of the little I do have. I enjoy wondering about all the people who ever used our family’s salt cellars and love their sparkle. I’m glad you offered a blessing – – you are setting the example and would make your parents proud. And more than the things, I’m glad you and your brothers and sister still gather and hold presence, honoring the legacy of a strong family. Have fun today!
Linda,
I love the way the poem holds two truths at once: the fullness of a beautiful setting and the undercurrent of wondering—who sees this, who values it, what happens to it after me? Those closing questions open the poem outward in a really powerful way. They feel less like despair and more like a kind of inheritance of attention, of stewardship.
And knowing what you shared—that you’re not in a sad place—actually deepens it for me. It feels like one of those corners of the mind doing its work, asking the big, quiet questions that don’t always match our mood but still matter.
Yes, this is poetry’s invitation to us to “get this out.” Call your sisters. I will email mine today! Thanks for the nudge.
Sarah
This poem fulfills in all ways. The first time reading was enjoyable, but then I reread and reread for craft. The birth order…the labors of the oldest child. The thanklessness of younger children….the family histories left upon us to carry…but what stands out the most is the ‘care’ not to wash them in any way to cause ‘nicks/ chips and tears.’ Phew. Stellar, Linda. Stellar.
I agree with Sarah that knowing that you’re not feeling sad deepens the poem; we hold so many things at once throughout our days. I suppose that’s one of my favorite things about poetry (a.k.a. free therapy), the chance to let something lingering below the surface rise up.
I am most struck by the lines “I am the only one I trust / to wash them later without nicks.” Though I’m the youngest, I fill the role you describe, and after becoming overwhelmed with all the care for my elderly parents of late, my sisters told me that I just had to let them do things “even though [they] won’t do them as well.” For self-preservation, I finally agreed… but, oh, has it been hard to let go! All this is to say thank you for helping me to hold this experience up to the light.
Your poem brings to mind one other thing; the very many “salt and pepper wells, / linen napkins” and items of “china” and “silver” my in-laws have saved from many elders of many generations that they expect my husband and me to take on some day. !
p.s. Being Writer-in-Residence at the Hemingway Foundation is cool and involves me writing in his restored birthplace Victorian home. Full of stories indeed!
Kate, I just loved your poem! Be back to write later.
Kate, your poem has me thinking of all the should’s that are still remaining on this second from the last day of spring break. But that fails to acknowledge the potent and beautiful wording your spill into each line. Especially that last – wow! Thank you for offering a new prompt that students will love and find accessible too.
I will lose people
throughout this lifetime,
more at the end
than the beginning.
I will lose them like a patient
with Alzheimers
whose memories fade
one by one,
first pruning the extraneous threads
before dwindling to the core.
Of all those who go,
family.
Of family,
parents before siblings.
When I imagine loss,
I cannot fathom a child,
much like I cannot understand
a God who would create
and then take,
plus then minus.
What is more devastating
than watching His deft hand
prune the tree
with such careless abandon?
I wonder if a mother
would
could
should
birth then death so easily.
ooof. This is a poem I feel deeply. The anticipated grief thing is real. Your last lines really hit home. The word, “easily,” is perfect.
Jennifer, first of all, you made this form yours, and your poem is a great mentor for me. The subject you discuss is so relatable. After so many personal losses, I still question God. Why?
“What is more devastating
than watching His deft hand
prune the tree
with such careless abandon?”
And then your final indirect question leaves a traceable mark in my heart. Thank you!
Your poem gut punched me today as I face the loss of a colleague who just this year was realizing her dream of her own classroom. “What is more devastating than watching his deft hand prune the tree with such careless abandon?” Oof. Touching my anger over Sandra’s totally unfair death.
Jennifer, this one hits hard and real, and I often go down the hole of wondering about the whys too. So much on the living side of life is so unclear. Grief is the cruelest and so is suffering. Your last line uses birth and death in a unique way, and I love a poem that makes me stop and give thought. It’s so effective to the work of the soul. To birth. To death. To do these things easily – – yes, unfathomable.
Jennifer,
Right away, I feel the steady, almost inevitable truth in your opening:
“I will lose people / throughout this lifetime, / more at the end / than the beginning.” There’s something so clear-eyed about that, and it grounds everything that follows.
And then that image: “like a patient / with Alzheimers / whose memories fade / one by one”…feels especially powerful.
The way you move into “first pruning the extraneous threads / before dwindling to the core” is just stunning. It captures both the tenderness and the quiet violence of loss, how it reshapes what remains.
Hugs,
Sarah
It’s these lines for me, today, Jennifer.
The shortness of the + and the -, that just hit.
Regarding your note before your poem, Jennifer: The breaks we get as teachers (spring, summer, winter) are so wonderful but such pressure, too, yes? Pressure to get rejuvenated, to pay attention to the household things we ignore during the business of the semester… As I get older, I am trying hard to see the opportunity of breaks but let the pressure go.
More importantly: your poem. I got a chill while reading, really from the very beginning—because there is no escape from “I will lose people.” And the reference to Alzheimer’s hits hard as I watch my mom fade. A detail that especially struck me was the juxtaposition of “deft” and “careless” as you describe God’s pruning of the people in our lives—that implication that God could but doesn’t prune otherwise. It strikes me, too, that this poem feels somehow both heavy and heartening—hard stuff but offering the chance not to be alone with hard truths… Thank you.
Jennifer — Wooooo… “I wonder…” you ask questions that I ask as well…this poem is so rich with the inevitable yet inconceivable responses I have to losing people close to me. The way you state/phrase the lines is really powerful. In particular, the flow and meaning of “”a God who would create/and then take, plus then minus.” carries a meaningful jolt. “…prune the tree/ with such careless abandon” is the way the loss feels in so many ways. This poem speaks loudly to me. Thank you for sharing today. Love, Susie
Pow. Er. Ful.
At every turn. I always try to share a part that resonates more, and each time I read it, I’m hit by something different.
Bravo.
I tried to use your template/guiding question for one single stanza, Kate
Thanks
Kevin
I might
write more in a day
than I am able to do now –
stories, poems, a novel, perhaps,
even tacking that musical play
taking up space in my mind –
when I have more time;
it just might happen,
but who knows?
Thinking on writing’s
a little bit different
than doing the writing:
some drafts just never get written
Kevin, this is a wonderful first attempt. I, too, agree that thinking on writing is different that actual writing. Your final line is honest and relatable.
Kevin,
It is Saturday. I finished two weeks of language school here and am taking more time this morning to read our poetry and think through what I want ot say to the people who so fill me up with joy. So glad you are here.
I really love how you open with that expansive imagining: “stories, poems, a novel, perhaps, / even tacking that musical play”; it feels full of possibility, like a mind that is alive with ideas and not afraid to dream a little beyond the page.
And then that gentle turn: “when I have more time; / it just might happen, / but who knows?” There’s such humility there, and also a kind of acceptance that feels very human.
What stays with me most is this line: “Thinking on writing’s / a little bit different / than doing the writing.” It names something we all feel (okay, I feel) but don’t always say out loud.
And the ending with “some drafts just never get written”; that feels both wistful and strangely peaceful. Not regret exactly, more like an acknowledgment of all the lives and versions of ourselves that exist in possibility. I am holding that now, too.
There’s a quiet wisdom here, and a kindness toward yourself that I really admire. Even in naming what hasn’t been written, you’ve made something that is here, is real, and does matter.
I’m really glad you put this one down.
Peace,
Sarah
Intrigued….”that musical play,”… hmmmm. Good morning. Thanks for always being one of the first to draft with us.
Does this ever hit today, Kevin! My time as Writer-in-Residence at the Hemingway Foundation is coming to a close, and I spent a long drive last night talking to my husband about if I’d taken sufficient advantage of the opportunity, how I could take more before I go… and while I mostly want to just give myself a break—my days are packed!—I do know that writing time is often the first thing I let go and that scheduling it in (especially being accountable to a writing buddy which I have been on and off for a few years) can work. All that said, I really do believe that “thinking on writing” is part of the process!
I agree with the last line! My notes are there; someone will find them after I’m gone.
Kevin if there is a poem to relate to it’s this one! So many ideas and there is either not the time or the will to get the things written! Thanks for sharing this poem.