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Our Host
Rita DiCarne lives outside of Philadelphia, PA, where she teaches 7th-grade ELA at Our Lady of Mercy Regional Catholic School. After 40 years of Catholic Education, she will be retiring in June. Rita has been a fellow and teacher consultant with the West Chester Writing Project for the past 25 years. When not teaching, she loves meeting monthly with a community poetry writing group at her local library, gathering with her book club friends, The Chapter Chicks, and blogging at Practicing What I Teach. Rita’s favorite thing is spending time with her four grandchildren, who bring sunshine to her life.
Inspiration
After the unexpected death of my husband, Chuck, in September, I was desperately searching for glimmers of hope. We had been married 45 years and together for 52 (high school sweethearts), and I could not imagine a world without him.
My search led me to poet Andrea Gibson’s Substack, Things That Don’t Suck, and to her poem “A List of Things I Love.” Reading Gibson’s poem helped me find those glimmers of hope and love by opening my eyes to everyday things I had been overlooking. Here is Andrea Gibson reading a few lines from her poem. Andrea Gibson
Process
Today’s invitation is a chance to notice what is on your mind or on your heart. Take a minute to think about the things you love, or hate, or wish for, or scare you. Your list can be about whatever is tugging at you today. I modeled my poem after Gibson’s list, but feel free to use any form of poetry that speaks to you.
Rita’s Poem
Things I Love
I love how good it feels to take off my shoes when I get home after school and feel the plush carpet beneath my feet. I love how animated middle school boys get when they play board games. I love sitting in the warmth of the sun shining through the window.
I love a sharpened #2 pencil. I love writing and receiving handwritten letters, whether on fancy stationery or a page torn from a notebook. I love beautiful postage stamps.
I love the diverse music of the 70’s that whisks me back to my high school days when I met my forever love. I love acoustic guitar covers of songs. I love seeing bits and pieces of Chuck in my children’s words and actions.
I love that in the midst of heartbreak and a world gone wild, there is still joy to be found.
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.
I love the cold, bundling up to stay warm.
I love my furry friend, my cat, who keeps me company.
I love my partner, who does everything to make sure I am not stressed
and makes sure I am always laughing.
I love my friends, my family, and my faith, which guide me through life,
and have never given up on me.
Thank you for the prompt.
Things That Don’t Suck (for a Writer)The early morning quiet
before the world remembers you exist
Tea going lukewarm
because the sentence mattered more
A line that shows up unannounced
and insists on being written down
The notebook—creased, overused—
still holding more than you thought you had
When the cursor blinks
and, for once, doesn’t feel like pressure
Writing your way into something
you didn’t know you were trying to say
Crossing out a word
and finding a truer one underneath
The way a draft slowly becomes
something you can almost recognize
Reading back a paragraph
and pausing—not because it’s perfect,
but because it’s close
The middle of the day slump
where nothing works
and you stay anyway
The small shift—one sentence—
that opens everything back up
Silence that feels earned
Closing the laptop
not finished, not polished,
but honest
And knowing
you’ll come back tomorrow—
not because it’s easy,
but because it matters.
I love the cold side of my pillow, gentle jersey sheets against my cheek.
I love the all encompassing hugs of my children, they love with their whole soul.
I love a good spreadsheet, special formulas working like secret agents of organization–hiding in the background and ready to pounce.
I love a good book with a good grovel or a tongue-in-cheek banter between characters.
I love my faith and my family, grounding me, holding me, and never forsaking me.
Hi Ashley, thank you for sharing the things that you love! “I love the all encompassing higs of my children, they love with their whole soul.” I thought this line was so sweet and really shows the love you have for your children!
Thanks, Rita, for sharing your story and Gibson’s beautiful poem. I’m always looking for hopeful pieces to share in my classroom. I’ll definitely add this one to my list of mentor texts.
Here’s my draft:
Capacity for Love
I love waking up before everyone else, pouring a steaming mug of coffee, and reading a worn paperback with the cat on my lap.
I love walks in the woods, breathing in the deep scent of pine, the sun like a warm hand on the back of my neck.
I love the crunch of a briny pickle rescued from the refrigerator in the middle of the night.
I love the sound of a fire crackling in the grate on a chilly Chicago evening.
I love our human capacity for love. How even on our darkest days, the smallest of tokens or gestures — a flower, a hug, a piece of dark chocolate— can remind us there will be better days.
Your first line had me reaching out as a kindred spirit! Those moments of quiet can be so rewarding. Your play on sensory details brings these moments to life.
Hello Jesherburn! I really enjoyed reading your poem. The last line where you talk about the human capacity for love really stuck with me. It is true that even the smallest gestures can make someones day better!
We’re 13 days in — well, 12 when this was posted — and I have yet to write a poem. I know I am not to sit here and guilt myself with why I have failed, but rather to just write and that this is a space with no pressure for perfection.
This topic sat with me for a bit. Love…! Oh, how I sometimes gag at that word, but use it so often.
Today I have decided my love list to be a list of words or phrases that stand out to me in a short story found in The Paris Review, issue Summer 2025: “The Visit” by Anuk Arudpragasam.
I think it came out as a lovely reason why I love showing up for myself despite the struggles I face with more complex and hurtful interpersonal connections.
In Summer 2025
customary powers
amplified no doubt
the only detail
from the sink
anxieties
sweets
her opinions
she tried not to respond
there was no point
a chance to show her that she wasn’t ashamed
Hi Amber,
Today is day 14, and I too am just getting started! I’m glad you took the time to post. I know it was hard for me to get over my own feelings of guilt for waiting so long to jump in.
I love your found poem! The final line “a chance to show her that she wasn’t ashamed” was such a lovely ending.
Thank you for sharing!
Jessica
Amber,
I miss too! I think the beauty of this community is how fluid it is–go back into past prompts or skip ones you do not feel drawn too. No matter what, all are welcome 🙂
Rita, I love writing these lists–especially on days that feel like a stretch to find things love-worthy. Permission to pay attention and appreciate what is right in front of you is such a gift! Thank you!
Things I Love Today
Raindrops kissing my cheeks as I walked the beach this afternoon. Life-giving water from the sky, promised yesterday, arrived today. Will we get enough to be more than a light caress?
Immersion in a novel…making it hard to set aside to take up today’s must dos. I keep picking it up, puzzling through the story, and reminiscing about time in warm water, watching sea turtles swim, and the sweet and sour taste of lilikoi from my Hawaii experiences. (Pick up Bones of Hilo by Eric Redman if you want to know more)
Sister time. Four miles side by side, words spilling about all the things and nothing at all. Wind and water, conversation and contemplation, fitness and fun. With a bit of shopping thrown in as the cherry on top.
Kim,
So glad you named the novel. We were in Hilo last year. It is so lush. We live all of Hawaii. And getting lost in a book during all this (waves hands around in exasperation) is everything.
Side by side, words spilling about all the things and nothing at all… walking through life
Kim, delightful things to love this fine day. The description of the novel really did invite us to know what it was, and you answered our unasked question.
Kim, your poem is a gift of noticing. Love the imagery in “life-giving water” and “light caress.” Sister time is precious. Every time I talk to one of my sisters, and my husband asks what we talked about, I find it difficult to pinpoint because it’s “about all the things and nothing at all.” Thank you!
Kim, what wonderful imagery you have given us, especially in the first stanza.
“Raindrops kissing my cheeks – live-giving water – light caress,” these are beautiful.
Kim,
When you wrote about “immersion in a novel,” I found myself chuckling because I know that feeling all too well!
I love your dark brown eyes. I have loved them since the first day that they looked up at me 30 years, 8 months, and one day ago.
I love the way that your face lights up when you recognize joy on someone else’s face.
I love how you speak up for people who are not able to speak up for themselves.
I love your passion for learning and that you always have an interest you are pursuing.
I love the linguistic part of your brain, both how languages work and how to work a language.
I love your sense of humor.
I love that you are humble and kind, and I love when you know that you are worth speaking up for.
I love when you spend time with me, when you call me, and when you send me letters.
I love you and I always will, Son. No matter what.
From the dark brown eyes looking up at you to spending time snd receiving letters, and everything in between, so full of love.
Oh, what a precious topic to write about all your loves today. Julie, your son sounds like an amazing young man. You obviously know him so well, and appreciate such a wide variety of characteristics in him. That last line is so important.
I love that your poem reminds me that I know my children and I know those strengths not always seen at first glance by a stranger or a new acquaintance. I love, love, love the ending. No matter what. I belong to an organization that we jokingly refer to as the “no matter what” club (iykyk). There are things that I can cherish about your son, even though we’ve never met… “I love how you speak up for people who are not able to speak up for themselves.” Your ode to your son is simple. It is deep. It’s meaningful. Thank you for sharing that piece of your heart.
Julie, I wasn’t sure who your subject was at first, but what a wonderful love poem to your son. Thank you for sharing with us what an amazing man he is. I hope you share it with him.
Hello Julie! This is a beautiful poem! You go into such great detail about the things that you love about your son. I liked how you listed all of these things you loved and revealed that it was about your son
I love lists
1) to do
2) even if I don’t
3) to structure the day
4) that shape-shifts with my whims
I love whims
~~impulsive yesses
~~changing course in the
~~mid
~~dle of a thought
I love thoughts
ooooo little bubbles
o o o o o o hOping tO flOat
O o O o O or p*p
in misty sprinkles
I love sprinkles
of fairy dust
on donuts
of starshine
of lOve
I love the way you made thoughts into little bubbles that floated across your poem.
All the ways you played with words made this fun to read and makes the reader feel happy!
I love the shift from the numbered list to whims that float and change course. That contrast is everything!
Allison, what a playful, fun, distracted poem! I love seeing your thinking and the shape-shifting of your thoughts in this delightful gem.
Allison, what a clever list. I love how you moved from one stanza to the next! Your formatting and font choices greatly enhanced the meaning of the words.
This poem is so fun to read. Thank you for sharing this. The play of lower-case and upper-case makes it float!
Rita, Thanks for your prompt~ I read your poem earlier and carried your poem— and your forever love— in my heart all day.Thank you for sharing your grief and reminding us to find joy in simple things.
I love the nod and smile of a stranger
when they make room for me
in a crowded pew or a park bench
as if to say, the world is harsh
and broken, but you can sit beside me;
here there is is peace and kindness,
I love the sound of children’s laughter
breaking through this nagging dread
of a world drenched in bitter discord.
The world is harsh and broken
but laughing children charge me
to advocate for justice and for joy.
I love that when April comes, there’s a place
where pews and benches,
roads and bridges
are built by poets
who welcome me into personal sanctuaries
of hope and healing.
That first stanza…making room, holding grade, welcoming others. It’s always beautiful to build bridges and pews with you….I just wish you were a neighbor so we could kvetch more and lose ourselves in more and more languaging. As always, you bring hope and healing to any and all who read you.
Your poem is lovely all the way through, Ann, with the kindness of strangers and laughter of children, but oh- how I love the ending stanza! Structures and sacred spaces built by poets, personal sanctuaries of hope and healing – indeed. We need these reminders to make these places – and to welcome others into them.
Oh, Ann! That’s first stanza gives me all the feels. I love it so much.
Your poem is so much more than a list of a few things you love . . . it’s a deep, insightful study of human nature and human hope. I LOVE the whole thing, but that second stanza just hits me in the gut.
Peace and kindness, justice and joy, hope and healing- those pairs are perfect.
Ann, your poem is a ray of hope in this harsh and broken world. I need more poems welcoming me into personal sanctuaries of hope and healing right now. Thank you for providing me with one.
Loves of My Life
By Mo Daley 4/12/26
I love when Logan refuses to go to bed
until he has a story from Mamo
I love when Nathan asks me again
why the cowbirds refuse to take care of their babies
I love when my husband makes me a pot of tea
with just a pinch of sugar and a splash of milk
I love when I finish a book
and immediately start another
I love learning new things, like how to use a log splitter
even if my back hurts
I love spotting the first butter butt
in spring
Mo,
This celebration of the ordinary things you love is extraordinary in its expansiveness, which you do is a few lines to such great effect. You are the concision queen!
Mo, I am so glad I decided to read just a couple more poem before I prepare for the week! This is a wonderful list from the stories to the questions to the warblers!
I am with Nathan about the cowbirds – one of these days I will write about them. An idea has been brewing in my head. There’s so much energy and wonder and courage (the log splitter-!) in your lines. The poem is a joy to read.
Mo, I never thought about the transition of reading one book and starting another. There does seem to be a space there, worthy of a poem. Love that line. My greatest reading these days is listening and, in-between, I fret the change in voices with the hope that a new book is as good as the last one. I can rid many things in my life, but I tend to hoard my books (something tells me I’m not the only one). I’m now heading online to read more on cowbirds (most likely bringing Will Farrell and his cow bell for the ride).
Mo, the yellow-rumped warblers are out in droves here, and I love their trilling warbles. That pot of tea sounds just absolutely divine. I’ve been seeing all the books pop up on Goodreads, and I know your count is already so, so high this year. I hope to catch up to my goal in August – – inspired by you!
The lines about your family are lukewarm hugs for each one.
Mo, you tell us so much in these lines. Now I am off to learn about cowbirds and butter butts because they are new to me.
Beautifully specific details…what an art!
Sunday Afternoon
I love dirt under my nails
after an afternoon of getting
“pretties” in the ground.
I love my ferocious jungle panther
who loves to “help” me
and roll around in the dirt
I love the sharp midnight smell
of lilacs in the breeze,
periodically engulfing me jn scent
I love discovering volunteer perennials
with my plant identifier app
growing in new spots
More than anything, I love sharing
these everyday, ordinary moments
with you.
Julie, I can see that “ferocious jungle panther” helping you, ha. The lilacs waft right off the screen – such poignance in that fragrance, a “sharp midnight smell.” It pierces my imagination.I love my plant app, too. Your ending lines crown it all to perfection.
Julie, you’ve absolutely captured the beauty of spring…and though it will still be awhile before we plant “pretties” in the ground, your poem makes me long for the scent of lilacs in the breeze and the joy of spotting volunteers with my not-quite-ferocious helper rolling in the dirt.
Julie, and with one line you triggered so much to look forward to….the lilacs. I love encountering the lilacs in the sparse moments of my day when I take a break from technology…teaching…the world. I appreciate your everyday moments.
I especially appreciate the ways you brought the unlovable (dirt under fingernails) into the lovable space of poetry, where we value the grasshopper, the puddle, the wasp, the death. The “sharp midnight smell” opened the window of my bedroom in the old house, a half-mile down the road, June 2001. I was so young.
You remind me of my sister-in-law who loves these things especially the dirt, the cat, and plants popping up.
It was nice going into your Sunday afternoon garden, Julie. Great start with “dirt under my nails” and then all the “pretties” you are sharing with your reader is delightful.
Julie, I am not a gardener, but I love flowers. “Volunteer perennials” are usually the way my garden expands. Your line about the lilacs took me back to a memory in my childhood home. Thank you.
Rita, thank you for this wonderful invitation and for your poem crafted of lifetime loves. My heart goes out to you on the loss of your husband. I believe you are finding many glimmers in your now-different world…they are shining like diamonds here in your poem! We all need these glimmers – and reminders to look for them.
I have not been writing much in community of late–but I am always, always composing. It is is good to be here again today, taking stock of things we love.
Writing poetry, for one 🙂
Small Enchantments
At Christmas, we were given
festive snowman candleholders
with tall black-wax tapers
that light themselves
at the exact same time
every evening.
The gift was given
with the granddaughters
in mind
but no one has loved
these candles
more than my husband.
Every evening, as the shadows fall,
he watches the mantel
for the first candle to light
and then the next—
“The candles are on!”
he announces
with childlike glee.
He loves them
so much
I can’t bear
to put them away
but
I can’t abide the snowmen—
it’s April—
so off to the market I go
where I find white bud vases
adorned with big blooms
of palest lavender
(mums? Dahlias? Not sure
—they’re porcelain anyway).
I think
the tapers
will just fit
but how’s
this gonna look?
The candles
are meant for winter
for matching
the snowmen’s
black top hats
they’re likely
too much
for delicate
spring vases
yet
with a bit of padding
yes, the tapers fit
and somehow
they seem
more elegant than ever
in this season past snow
casting their soft halo-glow
over his tired, smiling face
in our quiet, holy space
as evening shadows fall.
This sounds wonderful, Fran. You’ll have to let us know how the newly reformed candleholders work. I smiled so much at your “The candles are on” line. It reminds me of how we midwesterners automatically say, “Cow!” when we pass one in a field. I love the poem.
Fran, how good to “see” you hear again. Your narrative poem is full of light jst like the candles. I had no doubt you will make it work, so no wonder “they seem more elegant than ever.” The ending of your poem is so peaceful and comforting as your “quiet, homy space.” Gorgeous poem!
Fran,
The symbolism in this candles illuminating your husband’s love of the candle gift and your love for him is striking and complex. There’s so much light and somehow a bit of melancholia here that complicated my reading and has me thinking about the duality in “as evening falls.” This is a poem about life, yes? and how temporal it is. Stunning.
You’re ever-intuitive, Glenda – yes, and thank you.
Fran, this sounds like a wonderful solution to the “snowman” issue in spring! I have not seen such magical candles, but I do have programmable outside lights that do not respond well to daylight savings changes and drive me bonkers rather than filling me with joy!
Fran, this poem is so lovely. You have truly created a holy space in this season past snow… such a deep and unspoken love as evening shadows fall. Really, I love this poem, this moment,
I’m ready to say a few players with your husband and you in this sacred, holy space (Snowmen or no Snowmen). I’d likely bring noise, but I’d also bring a flashlight to welcome your evening shadows. I love the devotion made to the light. We all need more devotions to light.
Fran, I’m so glad you are here writing! I always look forward to your poems and what is happening in your Z town. It’s so fun that your husband loves the candles that light up at a certain time and finds the childlike excitement of announcing it – – the simple things really are the joy in life, aren’t they? And you found new holders! Springtime ones! Perfect for a quiet, holy space as the evening shadows fall.
Fran! I’m so happy to be reading your words! That last stanza is so so lovely: the soft S’s and the rhythm and rhyme of it. Beautiful!
Quiet, holy place… evening shadows fall
Such beauty and peace…Thank you, Fran
OK, Fran, welcome back! I was just thinking I was missing you here this month. You are a storyteller extraordinaire, and your stories were missed. I hope you missed us too. This stanza is magical and so very rich:
Thank you, Fran. It’s so good to see you here! Isn’t it amazing what brings us such joy?!? I love these lines, and I pictured your husband’s face (my made-up version) in my mind. It made me smile.
“The candles are on!”
he announces
with childlike glee.
I am glad you were able to find a new base for the candles so they could remain in your “quiet, holy space. Beautiful poem.
Rita, thank you for hosting and for sharing this lovely list poem that deepens our connection to you.
the way
the way my grandson
calls our pup Stanley, “my dog,”
the way my granddaughter
chubby-cheek-baby smiles,
the way my new friend Janette
says, “I got you, B” to our
geriatric traveling companion,
the way my husband cooks
homemade meals for our rescue, Lucy,
the way hot, humid days soften my skin,
the way new tastes taste & flowers bloom,
the way my son makes travel possible,
the way some poet friends sustain
my muse & pull me from the
ledge when I’m ready to quit,
the way new places humble
my heart and put first-world
problems in proper perspective,
the way art speaks and inspires
in an inaudible voice connecting
past to present:
these are some things I love on
this April day, in this moment of life.
Glenda Funk
April 13, 2026
*****
The Canva is a painting of the floating village we visited on the Mekong River. I purchased the painting on Coconut Island, which is also on the Mekong River.
Oh, Glenda, this is a beautiful poem full of wonderful details that express you and the things you love. Each detail is a lovely reveal. The closing with the connection to art is particularly compelling. Your Canva art is stunning. I’m love the moment in time detail! I’m so glad you’re here sharing your incredible poems and experiences!
So many loves in this poem, Glenda – so many things that matter most. Glad to hear of your rescue, Lucy – I can so see your husband cooking meals for her! Grandchildren… joy…every moment with them is incredibly precious. I especially love your line about new places humbling your heart…many things humble my heart these days, and I know that’s good.
Glenda, I love how you write about how important travel is to you. I couldn’t agree more! Lovely.
Glenda, the painting is beautiful. Thank you for sharing! I live all the ways you listed in your poem, especially the ones about your grandson and granddaughter. I also appreciate
“the way new places humble
my heart and put first-world
problems in proper perspective.”
Learning the world by travel helps see things from many angles, and you are are so apt to pick up the clues. I also like that these are things you love at this moment in your life opening possibilities for other things at other times in the future.
Glenda, thank you for sharing this beautiful poem and painting. I love how you not only tell us what you love, but also how you direct the focus to the person or thing and give a very specific image of what you love about them. It tells so much about each of the people, places, and things you love.
Glenda, usually your writing pulls at my heartstrings. Today, your poem filled with images of love as acts of giving, caring and doing. Your words are a gift.
Glenda, I’m so impressed that you are able to travel, write, and make the Canvas so creatively as you do when you are on the move. I try and try to write as I travel and find it so challenging, but you pull it off beautifully. Putting first-world problems in proper perspective is one of the reasons I love traveling – – seeing a different view of the world and knowing not to take anything for granted. Gorgeous!
I like the way you spoke love of the people in your life… but it’s those chubby cheek baby smiles that are so easy to fall in love with
Oh, Glenda, “the way…” what a powerful and beautiful form for this list of loves. And that closing! “these are some of the things I love on / this April day, in this moment of life” is so rich and effective. And I have to say I love, love that these are just “some of the things”
I love a long, hot shower after two days in the woods. I love the long drive home, reflecting. Redbuds in full bloom. Cool breeze from the mountain. Surprise of very little traffic.
I love my husband and my sons so much and yet I love being in the company of women. Women on retreat. Bunkhouse beds. Stars in the sky. Yoga in the field. I love the way women wander into conversations with one another even if they are strangers. As soon as they are three feet from one another. Or walking alongside.
I love greeting my husband after a weekend away. How I really miss him. How our eyes meet. Smiles break open. A long, deep hug in the driveway.
I love how he knows that my shower comes before conversing about my weekend.
I love.
—-
Rita, thank you for this prompt. It is a beautiful complement to yesterday’s, I think – staying on a theme of love and gratitude. Very sorry to hear of your husband’s death; I’m so glad you have poetry to comfort.
Ahhh, this is so beautiful, honest and loving. I really enjoyed the descriptions shared in the poem from the drive to your husband’s greeting and why you choose to go camping with women. The redbud trees have started to bloom here. My favorite spring color and I loved that you included them in your poem. Gorgeous!
Maureen, I, too love my drive to and from work – there’s something new and wondrous to see every day. The redbuds have been exceptionally beautiful this year. I note how you opened and ended your poem with a shower…renewing. Every day we live and love, we must renew – and I love your ending words!
Maureen,
A poem that says it all so beautifully and succinctly. Love the language, sequence, metaphors. Gorgeous.
Your poem describes all the wonders of a revitalizing weekend, Maureen. I wish I could have been there with you. It sounds terrific!
Maureen, thank you for sharing your loves. Your poem masterfully captures women’s ability to connect. I, too, love my family, but enjoy time with girlfriends because, just like you notice “the way women wander into conversations with one another” is amazing. Sharing and talking seems much easier. The ending of the poem made me smile; your husband knows you.
Thank you, Maureen. There really is something about being in the company of women that lends itself to conversation. I loved how you detailed the reunion with your husband and how he knew the shower came first – the sign of a good relationship. 🙂 Your last line is perfect!
Maureen, your poem describes the way one feels returning to the familiar and kind family who knows you well after a powerful weekend of connecting and growing. I feel some of the energy ooze through your words.
Two words… that in the end say it all.
Rita, I loved the blend of your details about professional and personal life, the way you wove music into honor your grief and joy. Thank you for the prompt and the invitation.
Easy Sunday
I love waking up with nothing planned, staring into the coal-lined eyes of the most perfect bichon, his curly white fur contrasting cool white linen. I love how his tail gently wags and he sighs while he puts up with me shifting his body so I can hold him more closely than he’d like
I love a poached egg, especially on crusty toast with feta spread and pesto, the perfect tension against my fork before the yolk comes barrelling down. I love the quiet movements of my girls preparing their own breakfast, Tess playing with a toy, El reading a news article, John with his Miyazaki book on the daybed, all of us quietly independent, together
I love a balmy 65 degrees after a week of grays and saying an audible, “ah, you’re here,” to the white magnolias on the neighborhood tree, a sign of spring
I love the quiet compliance of my family cleaning, knowing I care more about tidiness than they do– the tiniest noticings of the sink trays in the dishwasher, the questions about the location of the feather duster, the lemony smells of the different sprays in different rooms
I love the waves on our small lake on a mid-day walk, the pressured sensation of beating the storm. I loved easy jokey chatter with my teen and watching the hair of my tween fly in the wind as she scooter raced her friend
I love a library trip and holding the door open for a young mother carrying a toddler, a slight memory of how hard it used to be. I love how easy it is now: El finding her novel and horror movie, me texting my sister in law for a recommendation, and then, the surprise anticipation of a new cookbook that looks promising
I love deciding not to touch the ten essays I brought home just in case, thinking through tonight’s soup instead.I love adding flour to a metal bowl and watching a dough hook do my work for bread. I love steeping a bag of tea and writing a poem on my porch while the rain softly falls
“I love how easy it is now.” So easy, so quiet, so perfect. Your whole description is just perfect. Your every day really is poetry. Love everything about this.
Brenna, I really enjoyed these prose-filled stanza, so rich in detail. Felt decadent for me as a reader. Each is a scene of itself. Makes me think this is a great way for students to brainstorm memoir ideas, too.
Your words “I love a poached egg, especially on crusty toast with feta spread and pesto” got me thinking in a whole new way about eggs – these sound delicious. I can really relate to the “Ah, you’re here” of that spring magnolia.
Wow, this was absolutely lovely. As that mom struggling with the toddler at the library, this gives me hope and a beautiful feeling of peace. Love the lemony smells, the waves on the lake, the feeling of contentment here. Ahhhh.
These small snippets into your Sunday are lovely. I especially like the description of your tween flying in the wind with her scooter. You show such contentment in all.
Brenna, thank you for this gift of a poem filled with people and thing you love. It is rich, quietly vibrant, caring, and generous. You capture each thing as a treasure, which tell me you learn by experience. My favorite part is about your family, where each one is doing their own thing, but you are together.
Ahh.. I thoroughly enjoyed your easy Sunday! Your descriptions and flow of each stanza was spot on. I too love so many of the things & connections you mentioned from the white linen to the poached egg to the library and your daughter. A pure delight to read & feel with you.
Brenna, your poem makes me feel relaxed. From the dog to breakfast to “all of us quietly independent, together,” the detailed images make me long for an easy Sunday just like this one. (I, too, take essays on little vacations to my home and back.)
Hello, dear Brenna! I did not know you were in this April space. I must now go back and look for all your poems.
I love…so many lines: the quiet compliance, the cool white linen, quietly independent, the pressured sensation of beating the storm–
Your words gave me pleasure and reflection. Thank you.
I like picturing the family all accepting tasks and tidying the house… extraordinary ordinary at the same time
I love the ache in my back
and also the one in my knee.
I love the salt tangle of my hair
and I love the dust and the fuzz
that collects and floats and settles again
as soon as I sweep.
I love the way it passes through the thin walls
of the membranes of lungs,
seeping also into my blood.
I love the food we make
and I love the dirty dishes in the sink,
the laundry piled and the stacks of books,
the soap scum and hair collected in drains,
I love also the unflushed toilets,
the empty toilet paper rolls,
the overfill trash bags and the dog
always barking when he could just chill.
I love the leftovers saved but never quite finished
and also the smell of the compost bucket
in the hot hot heat.
I love the salt wind that grimes out windows
and the way our windows never keep the outside
out.
I love the weather of this house
along with the sand.
I love the sweat on my skin
and the sounds of our children squabbling,
our children
in this home we made,
salted
dusty
breezy
humid
and full
of dirty dishes, books, and laundry
and love.
Wow, Jon, I never would have thought to love these everyday things. More power to you because that is what life is made with–salt, dust, breeze, humidity, dirty dishes, piles of books and laundry, and LOVE. I love this so much.
Aaah this is perfect. All the little (dirty) things that are signs of LIFE and LOVE. It rings like the last line of Elisa’s poem, down below: “I love my life. As I’ve lived it. As I’ve loved. I wouldn’t change a single thing.”
Jon, I love how you flipped the script on typical loves, and how right it seems. With each line of your poem, I see a life well lived, with focus on things that really matter and not a bit of concern about the trivial dirt or laundry…clever poem.
Wow, Jon, your poem is absolutely brilliant! Describing all the dirty dishes, laundry, stack of books and how you love the grays, etc is such a wonderful understatement and unexpected. I love the end and how all the points are catalogued. Ending with “and love” is perfect! Kudos!
Jon,
I love all the details & descriptions. I was expecting a twist at the end but your love for all the everyday things is so sweet & sincere.
Jon, this is such an honest poem. In a world where social media wants us to think everyone lives a Pinterest life, you are keeping it real. I love this because love is all that matters, and it sounds like your family has love overflowing.
I love the love that you bring to all of the things we might dismiss, or not include, on our love list because your list is evidence of the blessings—the home you have and the people who live in it. Love.
My favorite phrase is “this home we made”…
Jon, I missed this poem the first time I was looking through, but what a gem! I think my favorite thing is that (for me anyway) the imagery of the salt tangle of hair and the salt wind that grimes the window and, finally, the sweat on skin (salt again) really anchor the 3 distinct sections of your poem. This was a treat to read!
Rita, thank you for hosting and offering us to look for hope in everyday things. I love your final line and find it relatable.
Unsettled
Today refuses clarity,
refuses to line up neatly
like spring garden rows,
won’t taste like strawberries
from the festival downtown,
or sound like next‑door laughter.
Even the morning coffee,
usually my faithful cheerleader,
hesitates to offer comfort.
Something unnamed,
heavy and untamed,
takes a seat beside me,
and I let it stay for now.
Leilya,
I can relate to what you are describing… all I can say is that it will pass. You’ve really done a wonderful job of capturing what it means to be and feel unsettled — a universal feeling.
Leilya, I love how you built concrete nouns (strawberries from the festival downtown) into a poem that is abstract and relatable. I LOVE the last stanza and the rhyme you incorporated alongside the personification. The acceptance of its presence is key for me too.
Wow, Leilya, all the details that seem unsettled are rich, specific, and make me relate, but then you have captured a great truth here in that last stanza. So well said, all of it, and that last line that shows such a wise and experienced response to it.
Leilya, these lines really speak to me –
Truly, there are days like this. I love that you welcome it.
Leilya,
This captures the zeitgeist of the moment. It reminds me of “The Second Coming,” and that last line feels like “the beast slouching toward Bethlehem.” Stunning and provocative poem.
Oh my, Leilya, your poem is heavy but amazingly beautifully written. The heavy and untamed taking a seat is striking. Hope your world improves soon. Hugs!
Ah – so much here in your creative wordcraft resonated with me, Leilya! The comparisons work perfectly…alas, the letdown of the usual coffee cheerleader… you know the day can’t be good when that happens, ha. That wild unnamed thing at the end sends shivers. At some point, I would have to ask it to name itself…how beautifully you capture the feeling with your title.
Leilya, thank you for sharing. Your poem reminds me that every day will not bring us comfort and joy, and that’s okay. Sometimes we just have to sit with what we can’t name. I love how you let it sit beside you without overtaking you.
When coffee hesitates…love the way you build the sense of dread and uncertainty through the specifics!
It’s Sunday afternoon, not quite dinner time but close,
And rain is softly pattering against the windows.
A friend calls days like this “soft.”
I love that.
I look up from my computer and see a furry orange “couch cushion,”
Sleeping on the glider rocker that I will never EVER get the cat hair out of
Resting up for his next session of chasing his kitty brother up and down the hall.
I love that, too.
I love the neighbor boy down the street flinging open the door and running out,
Yelling, “Jason!” and throwing his arms around my dog when he sees us pass his house.
And even when I scold the dog for spinning around and bouncing
When it’s time to go on a ride in the C-A-R,
(I’ve told my students that if I ever show up with a black eye, it’s my dog’s fault)
I love his exuberance.
I love it so much I tell people that “exuberance” is his middle name.
A woman just passed my window
Wearing a bright red raincoat and carrying a bright red umbrella.
Boy, do I love bright colors, especially on a rainy day.
Somehow the green is greener.
And today, as I enjoy a peaceful Sunday,
I love that the house not on my “to look at” list
Is the one my realtor insisted I look at thirteen years ago.
I can’t imagine living anywhere else.
Sheila, your poem is so relaxing and comforting. I found myself slowing down as I followed your eyes and witnessed what you saw. Love so many amazing phrases/lines in your poem, like this one in the first stanza, “And rain is softly pattering against the windows,” or that one in the forth: “(I’ve told my students that if I ever show up with a black eye, it’s my dog’s fault).” Enjoy the rest of your Sunday!
Sheila,
I love how you workd the “I love” in in different ways in different stanzas. This is such a cozy poem, the way you work in the different pets and neighborhood characters to create a scene is special. I’m glad you ended up in your home; this is peaceful and perfect.
Sheila, it was a joy to look in on your Sunday afternoon, the stanza about Jason is a favorite. You gave so many details that I feel I could pick him out at a dog park. That last stanza tells such an interesting tidbit too. I’m glad you listened to the realtor!
Somehow the green is greener… I like that line! It feels happy, especially as you follow that with the story of how you got your house and now can’t imagine living anywhere else. A very happy ending.
I feel as if I am perched at your window, watching and savoring the world around me. Love that “furry orange “couch cushion,”” and how much love is revealed from all the cat hair.
Sheila, I love your descriptions of your pets. I have a grandson whose middle name should be exuberance! Your poem reminded me to notice things like rain softly pattering against the windows and bright-colored raincoats and umbrellas, because those things bring me joy.
Rita,
All About Love
I love the shape of language, the way it can fold and unfold. The sensual nature of sounds, the rhythm, the play. The beauty of metaphors and connections. How it can dazzle and bedazzle you all at once. I love how you can get lost in your imagination but also wake up to a reality check that can unearth you. I love how there are so many ways to say love. Amor. Amore. Amour. Agápi, Ai. Prem. Pyaar. Muhabbat.
Bearing witness in romance languages. Traveling to the Greek isles. Soaking in the sun. Black and golden sand. Oceanic waves that sweep you away. Rendering verses of poetry. Twinkling the night away. Provoking the heart to orbit around the sun. Searching for meaning and creating constellations. Sometimes all at once. “I love you” from your daughters. Nothing short of magnificence. The folding and unfolding of pink Magnolia blossoms. Waiting for the sunrise to invite you into the day with open arms. A good chai with ginger and cardamom. A perfect playlist of songs. A good joke in the middle of the day. Mixed feelings about surprises but love adventures — the double-dare kind. Skydiving, rock climbing, kayaking and sailing in the ocean. All with a trusted friend or guide.
I love big and small acts of kindness. The way a stranger will say, “bless you.” or open the door for you. The way a student greets you with a smile even before you fully arrive to class. The way a cat meows and purrs. The way a baby plays peek-a-boo. A notecard from a friend who says, “thinking of you.”The way friends rally around a colleague in need of sick days. The way a community organizes a run for a student battling cancer. Mostly, we don’t want to do harm, but these days you wonder…
We want to smile at the server who brings us our meal. We want to say thank you to the chef who made us fresh brick-oven pizza and stuffed artichokes. Grateful to friends for good company.
We sometimes have so little of each other. It all feels ephemeral. Hold on to all that’s euphoric, wild, silly, giggly, deep and even complicated. Love with care and trust.
Revel in the here and now.
Darshna, thank you! Thank you for this gift to see the best in the world when it seems to fall apart. I struggled today and felt desperately sad, but your poem, while making me cry, open the floodgates to hope–tomorrow will be better.
Like you, I love language, so the first stanza made my linguist’s heart tingle with joy understanding how language can “fold and unfold.” Your advice is wise and precious: “Hold on to all that’s euphoric, wild, silly, giggly, deep and even complicated. Love with care and trust. “
Thank you, Leilya for your thoughtful comments and poetry. It’s wild how we can have these moments of sadness or confusion that can weigh us down, but reading and writing in community has been uplifting for me.
Oh, Darshna, what a lovely poem. I loved moving through the different elements of the stanzas. My favorite part was the transition from the “the way” stanza that named different ways people show up for each other to the “we want to…” stanza that brought out, for me, the struggle there is in sometimes being the best versions of ourselves–but the ultimate desire to do so. I found your poem so optimistic and presence-giving in an uncertain time. Thank you.
Darshna, wow, wow. This is sublime! So beautiful in all its detail and lovely language. Your first stanza makes sense–with such a love for language you can create something so breathtaking.
Big and small acts of kindness… something we should all do, and notice as we see them in others.
Sarah a, your poem is layered in beautiful expressions and experiences. I especially enjoyed the cat and baby but your closing is brilliant, poignant and true. Thank you!
Thank you, Darshna. Your poem is so beautiful. “Revel in the here and now.” I am seriously working on this! You gave me so many things to notice and revel in as I move forward.
The Wishing Tree
“If wishes were fishes,
then we’d all be fishermen”
Is something that I’ve caught myself thinking time and time again
A broken record within the confines of my mind.
What is a wish, but something unobtainable?
What would be the point of reaching for the stars
If all it took was to rise upon one’s tiptoes?
As a child, I heard whispers of a Wishing Tree.
At 12pm sharp, you venture deep into the woods.
Alone.
A scrap of parchment is all you need.
Tie it to a low-hanging bough
Let the ink of your heart absorb into the bark
And wait.
You wait. And watch. And hope.
And maybe- just maybe– if you are truly protagonist material
Some sort of devil (some say angle) will grant your wish.
But what about us NPC’s?
The side characters?
The ones who wait, who pray, who mourn.
When will it be our turn?
If ever?
So come sit with me
under the Wishing Tree.
Listen to the rattle of bones
Answer the moans of souls left unanswered.
If you are very brave- or very stupid-
Bring with you an axe
And chop away.
Away until the parchment slips fall and become one with the mud.
Away until the stinging green sap gathers under your fingernails.
Away until the dryads flee and the very stones beneath your feet tremble.
Away-away-away until it is no more.
For what would the devil do then?
Wow, this poem goes deep. Your ending surprised & entranced me – “chop away… until the parchment slips fall and become on with the mud.” There is a sadness here, but also a shouldering up to face reality. Well written!
Wow! Thanks for sharing this poem with intrigue and depth. It left me surprised with anticipation and ruminating about the characters.
L.M., you are raising a provocative question here with “What would be the point of reaching for the stars / If all it took was to rise upon one’s tiptoes?” Yes, indeed. How often are some wishes granted at the cost too huge for the others? You made me think, and it’s a sign of a great poem. Thank you!
I love this poem, particularly the opening lines. “If wishes were fishes…” and then your use of “caught” right after. Wonderful. Also, I enjoy thing about the wishes of non playable characters, nice touch
nada Surf has a line in a song that goes “wishes don’t do dishes”
Your poem has really got me thinking, especially these lines.
“What is a wish, but something unobtainable?
What would be the point of reaching for the stars
If all it took was to rise upon one’s tiptoes?”
I would be too afraid to visit the Wishing Tree, which makes me think about the complexity of wishes and whether they are granted.
LM,
This is such a lovely, attentive piece—you can really feel the care in how you notice and name what matters. I’m so glad you shared it with us.
If you have the time and energy, I’d gently invite you to read and respond to a few other poems, too—it’s such a meaningful way we witness one another here, and it’s always interesting to see how the same prompt unfolds in so many different, beautiful ways.
Sarah
The first moment in my poem happened today, and came to mind when thinking about “Every Day Moments” I love. I tried out a ghazal.
The Language of Winks
Adelyn winks at me, sitting behind her in a crowded room –
“I’m doing great, huh, mom? Are you watching me?” it says.
Liesl winks at me (by closing her eyelid with a finger) –
“I’m copying you, mom, see how big I can be?” it says.
I wink at Tyler, when we catch eyes across the table –
“What will happen next? Let’s watch and see.” it says.
He winks at me, across the aisle of the silent room –
“Since I can’t kiss you now, I’ll send one on the breeze.” it says.
Jess winks at me, in the middle of a family gathering –
“There he goes again, I think it’s time to flee.” it says.
Mom winks at me, when something doesn’t sit right –
“We’ll unpack this later, guaranteed.” it says.
Delia winks at me, at the moment of truth –
“I’ll keep your secret, under lock and key.” it says.
I wink often, to pass a message to those I love –
“I’m here, I’m yours, we’re meant to be.” it says.
Oh, Rachel, I could’ve highlighted the whole poem! It’s captivating and speaks volumes of something as small as a wink.
Love, love, love!
Oh, this is lovely, Rachel. I love how many things a wink can say– you’ve captured it so well.
Rachel,
This is such a fun way of capturing the everyday moments. I really love all the winks and touching details that make this poem come to life!
Rachel, what a delightful conversation in winks. I love how each family member add to this interaction, but I am especially touched by the youngest (right?): “Liesl winks at me (by closing her eyelid with a finger) – / “I’m copying you, mom, see how big I can be?” it says.”
It made me remember the little me, who couldn’t wink yet, so I would close my right eye with my finger.
The final two lines are are full of love and your commitment. Thank you for this poem!
Rachel, what a great job your poem did of explaining the different meanings held in a wink. I had never thought about it before, but those little winks speak volumes if you know the language! Your format is perfect.
Rachel,
This is so tender and quietly playful—I love how each wink carries its own little language. “Since I can’t kiss you now, I’ll send one on the breeze” is just beautiful… it stayed with me.
Sarah
To Like and Love
I like eating out, walks on a sunny day,
My first sip of coffee, shared laughter,
But I love vanilla milkshakes,
especially when shared with a beloved grandchild.
I like reading books, but I love writing poems,
that touch another’s heart.
I like all kinds of music,
but I love those tunes that evoke magical memories of times gone by.
I like parties, dancing and games,
but I love deep conversations, defining moments and unexpected embraces.
I like people, but I love my husband, my family and my close friends
with a depth that is inexpressible.
I like your qualifying statements that further fine tune what you love rather than simply like!
Rita, I liked your take on the prompt, and it reminds me that we don’t have a lot of words for different kinds of loves, like some other languages have. Your form really helps emphasize the specialness of that vanilla milkshake shared with a grandchild and the deep conversations and more. I missed seeing you the last few days! I’m so glad you’re back.
Rita, I’m one hundred percent with you although I prefer chocolate shakes. Your poem is so relatable that I do feel touched as wonderful as spending time with a grandchild or an unexpected embrace. Simply gorgeous poem!
And I love what you’ve done here, subtly distinguishing between “likes” and “loves.” It’s like distinguishing between happiness and joy.
Rita,
I appreciate your distinction between like and love. I am a big fan of vanilla milkshakes too!
Rita, thank you for your beautiful poem. It somewhat reminded me Stacey Joy’s poem from yesterday by the way you structed it based on the opposites. The distinction between “I like” and “I love” sometimes gets lost in this country (from my observations), and I am glad you clarify it so well, especially in the final two lines: “I like people, but I love my husband, my family and my close friends / with a depth that is inexpressible.“
I particularly enjoy the I like but I love dynamic in this piece.
Rita, I like your poem, but I love your format. This could be my poem, except I prefer chocolate to vanilla and tea to coffee. Your poem reminds me how often we say we love something (I do it too often), but maybe we only like it and save the love for the inexpressible.
My mind went along the same route as Denise–we definitely need more words for love and all the different kinds of love we experience. You did it well with your comparisons to your likes. That first stanza: I like eating out, walks on a sunny day,
My first sip of coffee, shared laughter,
But I love vanilla milkshakes,
especially when shared with a beloved grandchild.
There’s an EduProtocol called Sketch and Tell
that I employ with my students every once and
a while when I want to see them visually interpret
a moment or passage of text. For instance, they’ll
draw Enkidu’s foreboding dream in the beginning
of our Gilgamesh text or they’ll visualize Polonius’s
line to Reynaldo, “Your bait of falsehood takes this
carp of truth.” Since I also use Pear Deck, I can show,
anonymously, their images to the class, which they
get a big kick out off; now, before I show them I usually
say something like, these bring me such joy, and
the thing is, I’m not kidding or being facetious, I really
do enjoy their depictions of Beowulf ripping the arm
off Grendel or seeing them illustrate what happened
between Hamlet and the pirates (as explained in Hamlet’s
letter to Horatio). This analysis, this comprehension,
this articulation of their ideas and thoughts transformed
into artistic expression is a treat to behold and I am
honestly moved by them so I truthfully tell them that
(unlike when I ask them to thread their line of reasoning
throughout their essays and tie them to their thesis statements
which are often horrible, terrible, awful, and terrible, and
I tell them some bald-faced lie by gently saying, these could
use a little work, here are some samples and examples of
how we can improve them.)
___________________________________________________
Rita, thank you for this prompt and for your mentor poem today! I’m so sorry to hear about your husband – together for 52 years is amazing – and I am heartened by this line, “I love seeing bits and pieces of Chuck in my children’s words and actions.”
❤️ ❤️ ❤️
Nice. You have to tell them when you can, don’t you? “…this articulation of their ideas and thoughts transformed into artistic expression is a treat to behold and I am honestly moved by them…” It’s nice to not have to lie about that activity! Such a fun poem.
Haha I can see it all – what fun with your students. I would love to see some of their drawings. Beowulf & Grendel, the carp of truth – much less serious than those “horrible, terrible, awful, and terrible” essays, so I can see why those students take them more seriously!
Scott,
I, too, am a fan of EduProtocols. I think Jon Corippo would ADORE seeing your poem! Sketch ‘n Tell never disappoints and neither does your poetry! Pear Deck for the win!!! 🍐
🍎
Scott,
Another fantastic and clever poem! I really admire your creativity and how you implement it with your students too. So many rich details with superb organization.
Thank you, Scott. I love the idea of visually interpreting a moment or passage of a text. Sometimes, I think the students surprise themselves with their drawings. Your ending about their essays made me chuckle aloud. If we want to be gentle, sometimes the only choice is to lie. 🙂
I love all of this, Scott. Your experience reminds me of 1) Showing second graders a series of beautiful haiku smack in the middle of a Cat Kid Comic Club book (so unexpected!) and 2) Their glee in composing an epitaph in haiku for a dead lab rat (“She was a good rat…”). “Their ideas and thoughts transformed into artistic expression is a treat to behold and I am honestly moved by them” – yes! A thousand times yes. These moments are worth gold (unlike the thesis statements, heaven help us all, ha).
What scares me:
Cancer; many loved ones have struggled and died
Dementia; many loved ones have struggled and died
Floods; gentle rain turned into a deluge
Airplane near misses; I still need to go to the Philippines.
Blind obedience. Aren’t we born to question?
Relying solely on test scores; there are at least seven intelligences.
War; can’t we just get along? How about we talk it out?
Cayetana, How succinctly you expressed your fears, so many of which resonate with me, especially the one about “blind obedience.” Thanks for sharing!
As someone who struggles mightly with economy of language (as today’s poem is certainly evidence of), I love how the simplicity yet depth of this poem. And, I share many of these same fears, most especially the
It’s one of the major reasons that tipped my desire to retire . . . the over-reliance on data.
Cayetana, Bravo, my friend. You have captured your fears in such a compact list with your small commentary. So heartfelt and makes me want to give you a hug and commiserate. Two that I really have on my list too are: “Blind obedience. Aren’t we born to question?” and your last line about War. How fitting these days.
Cayetan, your list of scary things is so on target, but also a nudge to remind me of sad/glad experiences with them all. The nudge to give thanks for the glad things and offer prayers for those experiencing the sad ones. And your closing question is so “on target. “How about we talk it out?” You’ve initiated the thinking, and maybe the talking will come soon. Thanks for the double-duty poem.
Oh, those airplane near misses . . . those scare me so much I may avoid flying for a long time– which doesn’t work when you need to go to the Philippines.
Beautiful poem that goes at the heart of all things that are scary… your poem makes me wonder, feel, and question all that you’ve shared.
Cayetana, what a powerful poem! You expressed your fears and gave reasons for them using such an economy of words. I can relate to many of them, but I am particularly scared of the blind obedience. Thank you.
Oh, Cayetana. Thank you for tellign the truth about some very scary things. I’m scared, too.
*telling
Rita, your poem is poignant! I adore the end and appreciate your prompt today. My deepest sympathies with the loss of your husband and loved the line: “I love seeing bits and pieces of Chuck in my children’s words and actions.” Your closing line says it all! Thank you! I decided to write a triolet today.
Soft Spring Days
I love a soft spring day
floating down the cool river
beneath lavender skies, golden rays.
I love a soft spring day
when nature chases my blues away,
when the moon’s a silver sliver.
I love a soft spring day
floating down the cool river.
Barb Edler
12 April 2026
Barb, I am sitting on my porch for the first time this spring afternoon, reading your poem. I am wearing a fleece vest underneath my spring jacket and drinking hot tea; yet, your poem captures that strong spring image that I feel as I celebrate a warmer afternoon after a long winter! I wasn’t sure why I brought my Chromebook outside to read poem, but now I remember that I needed to chase the blues away!
“when the moon’s a silver sliver” – I felt the need to whisper this lovely line. I also love a soft spring day.
Barb, the repetitive resonance of “a soft spring day” rings so true for me today. We’ve waited so long and today I was able to enjoy the softness and sunshine of a walk, reading on the deck and opening the windows. Also, I enjoyed your color images…”lavender skies, golden rays.” Love this!
Ah, the soft spring days on the Mississippi. It sounds so beautiful. “beneath lavender skies, golden rays” is such a breathtaking line. I’m going to have to work on a triolet. I forgot about that form. 🙂
Barb,
This is so lovely and perfect! I especially love your lavendar skies with golden rays. The imagery is breathtaking.
Barb, this is a beauty, a gift to nature! I especially love the sound of these two lines:
I need to try triolet more. You use this form so well. 🩷
Barb, you got me with ” a soft spring day / floating down the cool river.” I want to walk or ride in a boat with you so nature can chase away my blues, especially today. Thank you for the lovely, comforting images!
I enjoy the gentle, meditative nature of this piece, especially the repetition of soft spring
Barb,
Id love to see you collect all your river poems into a collection. I want to sit in a boat and feel at one w/ the river l. I love the repetition of “I love a soft spring day floating down the river.” It’s an idyllic image.
Thank you, Barb. Soft spring days are the best! My favorite line is “when the moon’s a silver sliver.” I am looking forward to spending more time in nature and chasing my blues away. Thanks.
Barb, nature DOES chase the blues away, without fail – certainly on such an idyllic day as you describe here. I sense the ethereal beauty of the moon (nice word play, “silver sliver”) and the peace of that river. For some reason, lavender is a word I have been drawn to of late. Not sure why. The color just beckons, doesn’t it?
…..when the moon’s a silver sliver…..gorgeous! We sat outside this evening just to watch the watercolor sunset with its oranges, pinks, and purples…..there is something so rich about nature chasing the blues away. A soft spring day is just the right medicine for healing the world, if only everyone would open eyes wide enough to see the peace it brings. Love your poem today!
I love words!
The words of a poem
that grab a hold
of my heart
and release a sigh-
because they know me.
The words spoken between
mother and children
of jobs, relationships, and life
that astoud and fulfill
because they are a part of me.
The words of a perfect metaphor
that make me see things
in a different way
or understand the unknown
because they stretch my mind.
The words written or spoken by
students in the classroom
of gratitude, books, or life
that emphasize our connection
because I strive to know them.
The words of a song
that push me to run faster
or unleash feelings
that make my body react
because music touches me.
Words, real or imagined,
reveal
our stories,
our connections,
our feelings,
our hearts.
Heather, love this poem and all the different ways the narrator shows the power of words. The ending stanza is perfectly delivered.
Heather, same! “I love words,” too! “Words, real or imagined, / reveal / our stories, / our connections, / our feelings, / our hearts.” Yes, yes, yes, and yes. Thank your for crafting this so well and for sharing it with us!
Wow! I, too an a love of words. I want to take your structure and write a poem of my own about words. My favorite stanza was the one about “words of the perfect metaphor.” Isn’t it a thrill to find one of those when you write?
The power and magic of words . . . definitely captured in your poem!
Heather, what a great focus on the kinds of words you love. That first stanza is really going to stick with me. Sometimes I read a poem and I think, “I wish I would have written this poem.” It seems absurd and haughty, but what I realized just now is what I really mean is what you said, “because [the words] know me.”
Heather, this stanza stands out for me because it resonates with my current “use” of music. I tend to listen to music when riding my exercise bike, and it amazes me how often the same song can “mean” different things on different days! Sometimes they “warm” my heart, and other times they upset my stomach! Usually, when the words make me feel “guilty” about something I should have or not have done. 🙂
The words of a song
that push me to run faster
or unleash feelings
that make my body react
because music touches me.
Heather, thank you for bringing attention to words and their multifaced ways of conveying. If you haven’t read yet, Darshna wrote about language, and it magical ways “to fold and unfold.” Your poems each each other at least partially. The final stanza sums up all the words’ superpowers.
Heather, the last stanza is so true. Thanks for sharing your love of words with us today. You made me think about words in ways beyond the written page.
Rita,
What a wonderful prompt, and what an inspiring way for you to try to move forward without your husband of so many years. I’m so sorry for your loss and for having to carve out a new normal. But, kudos to you for your positivity.
I Love . . .
I love when I see our son’s name come across my cell phone screen if it’s between 4-5 p.m.
because I know he’s calling to catch up during his commute home from work.
I love when I get goosebumps at church because I know it’s the Holy Spirit
whispering in my ear about something happening during Mass.
I love when I got more than two green letters on the first try on Wordle;
it ups my chances to get the right word in four tries or less.
I love when I am tugged awake by whatever and it’s past 4:00 a.m.
meaning I made it past the Demon Hour, but it’s not time to get up yet.
I love when the ginkgo tree in our backyard drops all of its bright yellow leaves on one day,
typically in late October.
I love when our Standard Poodle uses his muzzle to nudge my hand to pet him.
I love when I hit our garage door opener at the end of the street and it opens on the first try.
I love the days when I think of my dad and warmth fills my chest and a smile tugs at my lips; it’s better than when I am filled with sadness and grief.
I love going down a rabbit hole no matter the topic . . . space travel, Tom Holland, the best pubs in Dublin, my eighth grade English teacher’s whereabouts, the best mother-of-the-bride dress styles, easy sources of protein, anything Kennedy, or getting rid of a rotten smell in the kitchen drain.
I love that we had four kids go to four different universities, but I wish we had that family college that we all had allegiance to.
I love when our youngest reaches out when times are tough and gets real vulnerable even if it means he’ll shy away later in quasi-embarrassment.
I love when a picture I have never seen from my childhood come up on my Facebook feed.
I love when early teenagers ride their bikes around town.
I love running into former students and seeing their faces’ light up and hearing them eagerly share what’s up.
I love having The Andy Griffith Show on in the early evenings . . . my husband in the recliner and me on the couch, laughing at Barn and knowing exactly how Ang is going to help Aunt Bee feel needed.
I love spending time with childhood friends and being able to pick up right where we left off even though we are years and miles away from who we once were.
I love when the yolk of the dippy eggs is the perfect amount of runny.
I love knowing that our four kids have an unbreakable bond that goes way beyond us.
I love when the choir starts singing “The Irish Blessing” or “Fly Like a Bird” and my eyes seek my like-minded friend on the other side of the church.
I love having the house, the couch, and the remote to myself in an evening, but at the same time, I miss my husband.
I love being able to list so many things that I love.
~Susan Ahlbrand
12 April 2026
Susan, your list is completely relatable. I, too, am so happy to get a phone call from a child and love running into former students. The church scene is beautiful. Gorgeous and uplifting poem!
This lovely poetic list reminded me of so many things I also love! You and I definitely could spend time exploring those rabbit holes – that is something I do love. I could also relate to the calls from your son, the eggs, the waking in the night, the time alone (yet lonely) with the TV remote. This poem is a clear window, yet also a mirror. That’s what I love about it!
Susan, your gratitude and zest for life come shining through this poem! And that last line says it all. I love all the details in your line about The Andy Griffith Show and reading about your ginkgo tree, my favorite tree.
Susan, I don’t know where to begin because I love so many things about your poem. I can relate to the Wordle letters and going down the rabbit hole (I blame that on all the Nancy Drew books I read). You really got me thinking about goosebumps at Mass; I will have to pay more attention now.
Susan, it is wonderful to love so many things – – you are positive and find the good. So much of these resonate deeply with me, especially a son calling to catch up on his way home from work. And this too:
I love when the yolk of the dippy eggs is the perfect amount of runny.
That is a special kind of love – – and there isn’t a margin either way – – it has to be just right. I love that you shared so many things you love. And could list so many more, I’m sure.
One of my favorite places in my home is my writing room. My daughter designed it for me. So I decided to do a quick poem and write about something I love in each of its corners.
4 Corners of Love
I love my lavender velvet swivel chair
where I can cozy up with a blanket and journal
gliding back and forth in slow side-to-sides
knowing that movement helps unleash my creativity.
I love my colored pencil and Inkjoy pen holder
organized by cool and warm colors-
it rotates allowing me
to access the colors I need to match my creative mood of the day.
I love my collection of nature items
scattered across the top of my bookcase-
pinecones, shells, rocks, chestnuts, feathers
that with just a glance bring up memories of places and times.
I love my antique Smith and Corona typewriter
that originally belonged to my mom and aunts.
Knowing that when I use it,
their fingers created the same click-clacks, chings! and whooshes.
I love my writing room-
all 4 corners are me.
How wonderful to have such a cozy, special room of your own. And what’s not to love about “a collection of nature items” in a writing room?! (I’ve got two stacks of beautiful beach rocks from the northwest coast…)
This is perfect! Thank you for giving us a glimpse into your space. I love the sounds in the last stanza. I wish I had kept a typewriter. I would agree that the 4 corners do reflect who you are.
Oh my, this all sounds so wonderful. There is truly something wonderful about art, comfort, and nature’s special gifts. Your closing lines are perfect to reveal exactly where you are and adds more insight to the title. Gorgeous poem!
A special writing room designed by your daughter and filled with memories and inspiration is just about as good as it gets! I must admit you had me with your description of the lavender velvet swivel chair that I probably would never have splurged on but would absolutely adore! I do not even need a picture to be writing alongside you.
Well, if I’m not feeling tons of envy right now! I have always said that I want “Susan space” in our house and is sounds like you have a perfect space! I love how you decided to tackle your favorite parts . . . by the four corners. That is so clever and helped to narrow down the descriptions. I love the whole poem (and want your room sooo badly), but I especially love the stanza about the typewriter and its onomatopoeia.
I am so jealous right now! Your descriptions of each corner brought the room to life. I love the onomatopoeia at the end. I remember typing on my mom’s Smith Corona.
Rita! I’m so glad you’ve been able to find these bits of joy, and I thank you for helping us all find some today, too. The fact that this activity was hard for me today shows just how much I needed it!
Love Song for My Daughter
I love the beat drop in “EoO”
anywhere really, but mostly with you
when you’re driving and I’m sitting shotgun
and it’s sunny out. I love that you love
the volume as high as I do: feel-the-bass
loud, probably-against-the-law loud.
I love how we both lift our shoulders
in anticipation of the drop, how when it
lands, we bop in sync to the reggaeton beat.
I love dancing in the kitchen with you, trying
to salsa right and then just weaving our hips
and swinging our arms, hands clasped. I love
that we can swing right from Bad Bunny
to Mahler, swoon at the Roma rhythm
in the third movement of his first symphony.
I love how much you love Sibelius’s violin
concerto, how you introduced me to it,
taught me to love it, too. I love most
watching you play it, seeing you feel your power
when you nail the first cadenza. What I love
more than anything, besides you, is watching
you play the concerto’s opening notes—
not showy at all—their haunting hint of something
you’ve been able to feel since you
were just a child.
This is a pure love song to your daughter. Such joy and pride come through the screen. I hope you share this poem with her.
A love song through song – simply magical! The words you chose, the language, cries to be read aloud (which I know I’ll do). I can’t resist.
I love the sounds and movement in your poem. What a special connection between you and your daughter.
Kate, what a lovely and fun poem. The delicious actions and music are full of energy and radiate the need to move, to swing, to dance. The narrator shows such love and connection to their subject. Truly lovely and loving!
Goosebumps, Kate! This is beautiful and touching and rhythmic throughout! I love the dancing in the car to the dancing in the kitchen to the swaying and swooning to all different types of music to finally watching and appreciating and loving how she plays “the concerto’s opening notes.” Such a wonderful poem!
Kate, this poem literally sings and dances right off the page! It is clear that music is part of the fabric of your family.
Kate, the love for your daughter oozes in every line of this poem. I love all the different ways you connect through music. It is evident that the two of you share a special bond.
Thanks Rita for bringing us back to the theme of love! I had it in my mind to do a list pome, especially after listening to Andrea Gibson (thank you for that introduction as well), but I had a happy encounter as I scrambled for breakfast ingredients this morning and that led to my poem today!
Ode to the Lady at Dollar General who made my Day (Again!)
I didn’t mean to end up at Dollar General
but I did; I tried to go to the cute local market
But it was closed,
its hours as unpredictable as the
lunch hours at the local
post office that holds my check hostage
if the PO Box number is not clearly displayed,
but I digress.
I ended up at Dollar General
because it is the only place to go that
doesn’t take an hour round trip to get to and from,
even though they prey on rural communities
and choke local economies like Virginia Creeper
snaking around and strangling the small shrubs that
we’ve worked so hard to plant each Spring,
And after foraging for my milk and eggs and flour,
passing the prettily pasteled Dolly Parton melamine bowls,
ending up at the check out counter,
the woman ringing me up is
the same woman who rang me up
before the blizzard,
when the first snowflakes floated down as foreshadow,
and when I needed batteries on New Year’s Day
and a turkey baster on Thanksgiving.
She was singing, loud and proud,
a happy song, I found myself humming
and if I know the words, I might have sung
myself, and after the chorus she said
“I sorry, sometimes I just get carried away”
and I said “who doesn’t love a little singing in the morning?”
Who doesn’t love a little song to start the day?
Dave — This Dollar General trek was way too fun. The reasons you’ve gone there are so funny and precisely why folks find themselves in that mecca of crazy crapola. It is funny funny funny. And your “digress[ion]” on the P.O…. oh lordy.. been there. The song at the end…perfect. You could maybe do a collection…write about all the oddball places that you’ve wandered into…it’d be a stitch. Susie
I love how this poem moves, Dave—how we trek through your town, through the store, and then arrive unsuspecting at the main attraction: this wonderful singing woman. What I think I love most is how even in these featureless stores (that “choke local economies like Virginia Creeper”—great simile!) we find such feature-full humanity—and dependability. I love that she is “the same woman” who has rung you up in all your times of need, on those holidays when it’s so hard to find what we’re looking for.
p.s. I didn’t see your poem from yesterday until today but wanted to say I love its care and conviction.
Thank you for taking us on this trip to Dollar General with you! I loved it. Last time I went to our Dollar General, I bought a roll of wrapping paper. The man at the checkout counter bopped me on the head with it after scanning it. He said he couldn’t resist.
STOP!!! Lmao! That’s amazing! I would imagine working at Dollar General would make you inclined to moments of lunacy or delirious hijinks anyway!
True story! I wish I had thought to turn it into a poem. Yours was genius!
Oh, Dave, I love the narration of your poem, the specific details about place and other times when shopping at the Dollar General. I also adore the bit between the narrator and the clerk, but the ending is simply divine. Yes, who doesn’t love a little song to start the day!
Dave, I love how you wove the woes of Dollar General ( and all the other not really a dollar stores jotting our landscape) into a celebration of their willingness to be open and get our dollars, while a clerk, likely making minimum wage, is still able to find a reason to sing! As your last line says, we all need to start the day with a song!
I really enjoyed this, Dave! What voice it has.
I especially like two parts . . .
and the specificity in the second stanza, especially
Dave, your poem made me chuckle. I loved your little asides – post office hours, Virginia Creeper, Dolly Parton melamine bowls. They added to the poem’s charm.
“Who doesn’t love a little song to start the day?”
If only we could all get so carried away by what we love.
Dave, you are such a gifted storyteller. I like how you draw me into the poem, and I follow you from wherever you are to Dollar Genel. Love the singing Lady from the Dollar General, who helped out out multiple times. Indeed, who doesn’t love a song in the morning? Thank you for sharing!
Loving these lines, Dave,
And love the way it captures life as you know it these days. I miss the singing more locally, but lord knows we have the dollar stores, too.
Rita, thanks for the prompt to think about the everyday thoughts that keep us going.
Observing Life and Learning
Most days when I arise
I stroll to the window and open the blinds
Wondering what today I’ll find.
Will life be moving or standing still?
I moved, will they, who share this space with me?
The stream flows, the birds flit
The turkeys stroll, the ducks roll.
The deer just sometimes sit.
Years of classroom teaching,
I’d do the same.
Stroll to the doorway, hoping by reaching
Touching a shoulder and greeting each student by name.
That this will be the day
They open their blinds?
When they leave
What’ll I record as my finds?
Will learning be moving or standing still?
Moving both ways. From me to them
And from them to me.
How will I use this tomorrow?
Will they be surprised to hear
The ideas that from them I borrow?
Anita,
I love the metaphor of peaking through the blinds that extends throughout the poem and the reciprocity of teaching and learning that happens in the classroom!
Wow! I loved your comparison of window blinds to the students’ willingness to learn the lessons you were offering.
I love the unexpected turn at the poem’s end—that you’ll borrow from your students. I love the open-hearted, open-minded state of this reciprocal learning.
I love the questions in your poem and the metaphor. I just wrote about how I love metaphors because they make me see things differently. The movement from the literal blinds to the classroom certainly did that for me.
What a brilliant comparison! I am sure your students loved you as much as I know you loved them. I love this movement of learning:
Anna, I love the question “Will life be moving or standing still?” I never quite thought about it that way before. I also love the wonder of whether the students will open their blinds.
Thank you, Rita! I loved your poem and took to heart your invitation “to notice.” I retired June 1st, 2025. (Congratulations on your upcoming retirement!) Though I loved teaching, I knew it was time (after 31 years) to shift gears. One indicator was my daily envy of everyone I passed as I drove to work. I wanted to enjoy their morning walk, their slow start, their actual hot cup of coffee. Now those morning walks are a glorious reality. Here are some things I’ve noticed.
The Walks I Envied, I Now Enjoy
Last spring, before retirement,
I dashed out the door daily,
driving to my windowless work space.
Once there, I loved reading and writing
with seventh grade students,
and chatting with colleagues
during hall change;
but on the way from front door
to classroom door,
envy rode my stiff shoulders
like a green snake curled on a rock.
I passed neighbors walking their dogs
with meandering ease,
my poor dog having been dragged out
to do her business before daylight.
Heaven forbid I spot a neighbor
sipping coffee
on her porch
while my coffee, hastily Keuriged,
was destined to grow cold in its cup
on the corner of my teacher desk.
I dreamed, while I drove,
slow morning starts,
long morning walks…
Time to notice dozens of anthills
constructed, in sidewalk cracks,
by the hardworking insect nightshift.
Time to slow down and feel the tap tap
of a low-hanging dogwood branch
arcing over the sidewalk,
barely ruffling the top of my hair
as if I were a stray,
temperament untested,
but still deserving a gentle pat.
Time to pause and study the huddle
of white-capped mushrooms,
heads bent,
looking (for the world) like tourists
conferring over a map of area attractions.
Time to listen, unnoticed,
to a woman two streets over,
wearing her gardening hat.
“I. Don’t. Want. To. Rake. Over. The. Blue. Plants!”
Her words the staccato rhythm of warning;
her husband’s reply,
a sharp blast of the leaf blower.
Perhaps yard work will be their therapy,
I think.
Perhaps not.
Time to wonder how I missed
the neighborhood memo
“Plant purple phlox!”
Gaudy in their beauty,
flanking brick mailboxes,
flaunting their spring wardrobes
from newly-mulched garden beds.
Time to wonder at a little hill
near the creek,
covered with dandelions,
some still yellow blots against the grass,
a child’s rendering of sunshine…
Others already gone to seed,
floating on thick stems,
whimsical white clouds.
Time to wave to a young mother
washing her car.
Hose coiled in the driveway,
Spray nozzle aimed at her long-suffering floor mats.
Rivulets running toward the sidewalk,
no doubt laced with traces of gatorade
and cheerio dust.
Time to pause and acknowledge the cluster of trees,
dubbed the five sisters,
their roots and limbs
inextricably tangled,
alternately leaning in and crowding out.
Sometimes supporting; sometimes stunting.
Time to spy
with my little eye
a splotch of wild common violets,
uncommon in their loveliness.
While I watch,
one, lighter than the rest,
rises…
a butterfly,
causing my heart to lift
in awe and imitation
of its tender
petal-wings.
Lori, I can very much relate to the cold, keuriged coffee on the corner of the desk and rat-racing past folks who have the time to enjoy a morning walk. I love the attention to detail and all of the observations and inferences that you bring to life in your poem. The leaf-blowing husband made me laugh! And I love all of the references to the vibrant renewal of life in the Spring!
Lori, that ending! I love all the “noticings” you’ve made throughout, all the vivid details, but it’s that ending that is so so beautiful, “While I watch, / one, lighter than the rest, / rises… / a butterfly, / causing my heart to lift / in awe and imitation / of its tender / petal-wings.” (I’m ending year 31 this year, and I’m not quite ready yet, but if I read more poems like yours, who knows, lol….)
Lori, you have certainly captured this chapter! It really is about TIME to do those things you didn’t have time to do before as you balanced a full time job, long commutes, and all the busy aspects of life. I’m still teaching grad students part time, which I used to do after a long full time teaching day! Now, however, I can also write with more regularity!
Oh, Lori, I feel like I could have written this, but it would have lacked the beautiful sensory images yours contain. I, too, retired last year and I, too, yearned for a lot of what you did. I loved (mostly) the time in the classroom with the kids, but there was so much on the outside of the school that I began to notice I was missing. I relate sooo much to
Thank you, Lori. This line wonderfully expressed how I feel right now, knowing I have to go to work tomorrow.
“envy rode my stiff shoulders
like a green snake curled on a rock.”
Your poem reinforces why I am looking forward to retirement. I want the luxury of time to take notice.
Lori, having the time to notice nature and your neighborhood is a heady celebration in your poem today. Anyone considering retirement might after reading your poem. I love the lyrical flow of your last lines.
Lori, there is so much to love here about your morning, the dog walks, the hot coffee, and being able to observe neighborhood exchanges and engage in conversations. When the indicators are there, they’re there. I came in later, so I don’t have the tenacity for 31 years, so I’m calling 27 my number, calling the dogs for a walk, and brewing a K-cup. Thank you for capturing the enjoyment of the mornings that are leisurely and actually enjoyable. You are assurance for me that there is so much to look forward to! Love that you are watching the one little violet spread its petals and hug the world.
I love when my children call me for no other reason than to check in. Hello. How are you? I love you.
I love reading books that draw me in and make me lose track of time because you don’t ever really know what’s gonna happen next. And even if you think you do, you want to read on to know for sure.
I love when a student surprises me. Writing on their own. One single sentence where previously there had been none. They: seemingly unaware of what they’ve done. Me: jumping for joy and wondering, how?
I love lazy weekends with my partner for life. Thrift shopping, watching TV, reading, drinking rich, dark coffee at breakfast.
I love spending time with my granddaughters. I love going to libraries, parks, celebrations and “going rogue at Target” with them, as my oldest granddaughter likes to say.
I love family gatherings. I live for family gatherings. Even when they’re fraught with overflowing emotions (usually mine) about how we’re not in the same place anymore and have to plan our family get togethers while we’re still enjoying the present moment.
I love my life. As I’ve lived it. As I’ve loved. I wouldn’t change a single thing.
We have so many loves in common ” when children call for no reason”, “reading books that draw me in”, “having to plan family get togethers because we are apart but love every moment together. Your poem articulates the feelings in many mom hearts with adult children.
Oh my! Your poem touched me in so many ways. There is so much joy in this love poem.
Haha “going rogue at Target” with your granddaughters sounds like a blast. My favorite thing about your poem is your last line – simply beautiful, and what a peaceful mindset to have.
Elisa, your poem is so relatable, but it is the last line that resonates with me.
“I love my life. As I’ve lived it. As I’ve loved. I wouldn’t change a single thing.”
Even with all the challenges, I wouldn’t change a single thing about my life either.
And…I love “going rogue at Target,” as do my grandchildren!
Thanks, Rita, for today’s open prompt and the love-list. I do miss hand-written letters (and have boxes of them stored in a closet upstairs). I love kicking off my shoes, too…at any time of the day. I read your prompt, but then had to give up my morning to, well, school. the whole way there I was thinking I really need to write a letter to Sisyphus. This poem came out of me instead.
Well, I Tried
For a while Sisyphus
was my wingman,
but he moved to Boulder last year
to pick seeds from his teeth.
Lives on Strawberry Mountain now
& left all the absurdity to me.
There are only so many costumes
a guy can wear to make
the hill more interesting
(& Lin-Manuel Miranda’s advice
grew old real fast). Not everything
can be a musical.
I knew I probably should call Job
(well, J.B., he’s been J.B.
since childhood when he,
like the others, didn’t show up to
my 3rd grade birthday party),
& I listened carefully, as
all his options had changed.
(We all know how that goes).
That’s when, I immediately pressed 0.
For a second, thought I got God
& my faith would be restored,
but it turned out to be a joke.
It was Odin & his crows. again.
“An eye for eye,” he said laughing.
“I’ll transfer you”
“Hi, this is Loki,” the new voice said.
“How can I help you?” (oh, brother).
I told him about my day, my week,
my work, my life, & how I was
in need for a little more meaning.
The stupid bastard hung up on me.
& of course I called back.
I’ve been waiting on hold ever since.
Very clever, Bryan–Sisyphus moved to Boulder, lol. “Not everything can be a musical” is a killer line too. I feel the frustration in those Loki stanzas, ending with the god of mischief seems appropriate these days.
Brian, I love that your thought of a letter turned into a poem. It really does feel like all the gods are misbehaving these days. My favorite parts are when you started the phone call – “options had changed, immediately pressed 0, I’ll transfer you,” etc. I could feel the frustration culminating in “the stupid bastard hung up on me.” Sometimes I feel like I’m on hold forever. Thanks for sharing.
Bryan, I am still laughing at the imagery of picking seeds from his teeth on Strawberry Mountain in Boulder. Hilarious! You always pull us in and hold us with humor…..hopefully Loki’ll remember you’re on hold soon…..
Bryan, your wildly creative mind never disappoints – I am always awed by your craft. Hysterically funny and piercing in turn. “Not everything can be a musical” – I adore this for many reasons but mostly for “hearing” it in this narrator’s voice, in light of so much trickery, “absurdity,” and disappointment. Not to mention being left on hold (that Loki!). Somehow I want to tell this narrator to not give up…it’s all a test of endurance for sure…but faith can be restored in the most unexpected ways. When you least expect it…
I LOVE…
that I don’t even lift the pen,
just one swooping swirl,
my signature
a single flourish across the bottom of the letter;
when a paring knife
slides like a razorblade
through tomato skin
slicing disks of Cherokee Purple
onto toast;
when the Costco greeter
glances at the entrance card-reader
and blurts, “Wow! 23 years!”
Crazy, but loyal shopper.
I love…
crisp, clean, cool cotton
on my skin in August,
sheets just pulled
from the line;
shoving my full face
into a panicle of lilacs
in May,
old purple and sweet;
the bubble of biscuit dough
under my kneading palm
baby-butt soft,
tender ready for the oven.
I love…
that my list
is far too long
for this
poem.
by Susie Morice © April 12, 2026
Susie, I loved the paring knife slicing the tomatoes, and the Costco loyalty. The loved things and experiences you chose to describe left me saying, “Yes. Yes. Those are things I also would love.” Your final stanza is perfection.
Oh, that bubble of biscuit dough. I love when someone names something I know and love but never thought to name!
Susie, oh my, I do love your closing lines and all the things you love are simply delightful. Your diction is perfect to show the tomatoes, the Costco greeter’s reaction, the sheets of the line, oh yes, please…and “shoving my full face/into a panicle of lilacs/in May” is pure fun! I also loved “baby-butt”. That’s just darn right fun to say. I need to put that in a poem or a flash or something. Thanks for sharing your delightfully you poem!
Susie, what memories you evoked for me. The sheets from the line and the lilacs brought me back to my childhood. Isn’t it wonderful to have such a long list of loves?
Love, love, love Susie and all the things Susie loves too!!! There’s something sweet and perfect in “baby-butt soft” for the dough! 🩷
Susie,
I love the way you set the words “I love” apart from specific things do they can breath and move on the page. I love that this poem feels like an invitation to say “I love.” I love that ending and know you have more to add to a poem that really isn’t too long at all. And zi love you. 🥰
Susie, we share so many loves, especially tomatoes and kneading dough. I wouldn’t go for lilacs though–they cause headaches for me. Most of all, I like that there are many more things you love that aren’t included in the poem. It tells me you love life, and it’s extraordinary! 🥰
Susie, baby-butt soft oven-ready bread is the best description of bread I’ve ever read!! That panicle of lilacs, and the fresh-air dried sheets that are like no other pleasure when you tucker in for bed….and I stopped and scratched my head when I read about crisp, cool, clean cotton – – I am sitting here in a new white nightgown because I, too, love the feel of cotton on my skin. We are much alike, my friend, and that makes me happy!
Oooooooooh!
I am so glad I searched for your poem. It was just what I kneaded :-).
Check out Julie Elizabeth Meiklejohn’s poem, that also mentions lilacs, and pulled me back 25 years.
You also taught me a new word, panicle.
But what I most enjoyed was the sweeping motion of each line:
the signature, the knife, the sheets, the face into the sheets: each motion is a full-armed embrace of life.
<3
Allison
Susie, you captured the specificity that makes poems work so well. Naming the tomato variety and putting it on toast literally made my mouth water, and I’m not even hungry. And that ending is perfect. Thank you!
Thanks for sharing Andrea with us. Her voice is lovely.
I love hearing the cry of the hawk soaring overhead
I love the white dove feeding in my yard
I love the streaks in the sky from an airplane heading south
and I love wondering where it is going.
I love the giggles of a child eating breakfast next to me
and I even love her wishing I would eat faster and squirming in her seat.
I love my cat welcoming me in the morning with purrs.
I love the smell of fresh morning air
and the expectation it brings
confident that each day the world will be brighter.
Susan, I really enjoyed the positivity and optimism of this love poem. Your specific details brought the poem to life…the child eating breakfast beside you, anxious for you to eat faster, the imagination brought about by contrails, the hawk, the dove…wonderful!
Susan, I almost had a giggle line in my poem today. Is there anything greater? I love the opening focus of your eyes on the sky and how you lead to your cat’s morning purrs. Your poem is full of beauty, sound and joy! Loved it!
Susan, I love how hopeful your poem ends. It’s those hawk cries, giggles, and purrs that remind us that simplicity is a gift in itself.
Rita, what a dear inspiration you found in Andrea Gibson. The last sentence of your poem is so inspiring. Peace to you as you navigate the loss of Chuck.
Everyday Loves
I love eating room temperature ripe tomatoes that in a tiny way remind me of eating warm tomatoes fresh from my garden in Iowa. I love hearing the priest say, “The body of Christ, the bread of heaven.”
I love hearing the silly song I’ve chosen on WhatsApp, which means one of my grandsons is video calling.
I love that Rita and others in April inspire me to write a poem each day. I love that this community will read my poem or others, witnessing love or whatever is on our hearts today.
I love the crunching of sand underfoot and wildflowers filling my view on my daily walks. I love how the curious hummingbird hovers in front of me, almost long enough to scare me.
I love the sound of soymilk steaming, then the filling of my mug for my morning double bergamot tea latte. I love the privilege of sitting on this loveseat with my long love in retirement.
Sand underfoot. Wildflowers. And then soymilk steaming. Privilege..loveseat. The out and in places of love that shape your experiences offer such grounding and gratitude. Love this.
Denise, the memory of tomatoes, the priest’s words, your grandson’s special ringtone… This poem is a window into many of the loves of your life. I enjoyed reading every line!
Denise, I feel the gratitude towards community this month too and the opportunity to write with others, sharing in their wisdom and appreciating their craft and care. This poem is a great reminder to remember all of the small blessings that we encounter everyday.
Denise, I love everything about your poem today. All the details brought a smile to my face, and I adored the way you acknowledged Rita and this community. So many of your details inspired an emotion and sensory experience at the same time. Your closing lines were simply divine! Beautiful, joyful, poem just like you!
Denise, thank you. If a hummingbird hovered in front of me at all, I would be scared. I only like listening to birds and watching them from afar! The love you have for the simple things in life reminds us of what is really important.
Denise, you have done this mentor text proud with a wonderful list that makes me smile. I too adore those warm ripe cherry tomatoes from the vine and the inspiration from you, and this community, that somehow inspires me to reflect deeply and write every day! You did, however, leave me wondering what silly song announces your grand!
Denise, Your sensory images make this poem come alive. The last line touched my heart…I, too, have a “long love” that I still enjoy seating beside.
I really appreciate the specific images you bring out, and I especially appreciate “The body of Christ, the bread of heaven”
I love that.
Denise,
Inlove imagining you hearing that grandson call and the image of you on the call. I also love most of this: “I love that Rita and others in April inspire me to write a poem each day. I love that this community will read my poem or others, witnessing love or whatever is on our hearts today.” But I wish it didn’t remind me of those who don’t read any poems and aren’t st all interested in anyone but themselves and having their poems read. I love that image of you and Keith on the loveseat.
Denise, Susie M. also wrote about the live of tomatoes. I am with the fellow tomato lovers here, lol. And I love to read your poems every day; they show how amazingly kind and generous you are. These lines are my favorite, as I, too, have a soft spot for my grandkids:
“I love hearing the silly song I’ve chosen on WhatsApp, which means one of my grandsons is video calling.”
So many beautiful sensations and moments to love, Denise. The bergamot tea latte sounds divine and I can relate to the curious hummingbird lingering long enough to scare you – the line between awe and fear is very thin. There is such comfort and promise in those words spoken by the priest, indeed.
Hi Rita,
Thank you for this prompt and for trusting us with your grief. I couldn’t move past 45 years of marriage and 52 years together. I pray that you are filled with an abundance of loving memories and that you have all the comfort and care Chuck would want for you. Congratulations on your upcoming retirement. I’m with you, 40th and final year.
I watched Come See Me In the Good Light a while back and it moved me deeply. They exemplified resiliience, strength, and unlimited love. I chose a Golden Shovel from Andrea’s substack article, “Don’t Skip the Sadness” and my striking line is: It’s all going to end. That’s what makes it beautiful. Don’t skip the sadness.
What Makes it Beautiful
Counting the days until summer is different now. It’s
sorrow, joy, gratitude and fear all
wrapped together. I know that I am going
to sob “the ugly cry” when I attempt to
speak about my 40-year journey’s end.
Imagining a new way to be, to live. That’s
hard but necessary. It will be my turn to do what
I choose, be where I want to be, and that makes
retirement a new chapter, not a closed book. Life will change and it
will open a path I’ve never walked, something extraordinary and beautiful.
It’s okay to cry. It is time to celebrate. Don’t
try to fake like I’m ready to run, dance, and skip
through the tulips. This journey has given me the
fulfilling joy, love as vast as blue skies, and what will pass is this profound sadness.
It’s all going to end.
That’s what makes it beautiful.
Don’t skip the sadness.
Megan Falley and Andrea Gibson
©Stacey L. Joy, 4/12/26
I’m hear to read every bit of 40-year wisdom you can offer the rest of us, and know that ugly-cry will be real (probably last for days) and continue for the rest of your life. Imagining new ways to be is on par for classroom educators and you’ve already been doing it for four decades. Now, you get to BE you, for you. You deserve it, and I love these double-dipped, word poetry poems of yours.
Stacey — You will be amazed. The “new chapter” is exhilarating and demanding. You have such a skill set for joy that you will bring it with you every day. You shoveled out another beautiful poem today. You could read this on the podium when you get up to speak at the retirement party…I’m guessing you and your students will be bawling like babies… YES…I love the message of not “skip[ing] the sadness”… it’s all part of the journey. The “new path” will be something I look forward to hearing about in your poems as they continue to pour from your pen, and you’ll be doing it all on a newly configured clock…YOUR clock. Yahoo for YOU! Love and hugs, Susie. (I went back to yesterday’s poems this morning…didn’t have the energy to do that last night.)
Stacey, this format is enchanting! I enjoyed reading your poem. I retired last June and still haven’t quite gotten the hang of it. I’m getting there, though!
Stacie, thank you for your kind words and this beautiful poem. “Life will change and it
will open a path I’ve never walked, something extraordinary and beautiful.” This is what I am hoping to find in retirement as well. It is bittersweet because Chuck is not here to share it with me, but also because I truly loved my job. I hope you treasure the sadness and enjoy whatever life brings your way in this new chapter. Congratulations!
**Stacey
Sorry, my fingers go quicker than my brain!
I appreciate the extra time you took to spell it correctly. I can’t tell you how peeved I am when Stacey is spelled all the other ways even though the screen shows how I spell it. ☹️
Thank you, Rita!! We shall see! Congrats to us both!
Stacey, you truly are the master of the golden shovel poem. I love how your chosen line works so beautifully to sharing the message that letting go of a career is sad. Because gosh darn it, it is! 40 years educating is quite an accomplishment, and I love how you find and share the love and joy you’ve experienced as an educator. May your retirement be blessed!
Stacey, you have chosen a wonderful quote to lead you into this next chapter. When you love what you do, I guess you are always a teacher in some capacity and I suspect you, like me, will seek ways to support teachers and students in a new capacity. I must admit, however, that I do feel a twinge of jealousy as those 20 somethings greet their students in the morning. It is the best of careers!
Stacey, what a wonderful sadness you have in store. A lifetime career full of moments of pride, ugly cries are certainly allowed. Like Barb said, you are a master of the golden shovel!
Today’s prompt feels both similar and different. I wrote about “everyday loves” things I love in everyday life that may or may not be ordinary. I shared photos on blog, if you want to see the pics to match, go to https://randomthoughtsofagratefuladdict.blogspot.com/2026/04/the-poetry-of-everyday-loves.html
Everyday Loves
I love kitty kisses.
Not just any kitties,
but my loves,
Turtle and Fluffy.
My child bestowed the name Turtle
upon my pretty kitty,
because we had high hopes
she would be a tortoise shell.
Fluffy got her name because,
as a small, abandoned kitten,
her fur fluffed straight out.
Just stood straight out,
FLUFFY.
So I started calling her the fluffy one.
It morphed into her name.
And now, well,
Fluffsy-wuffsy,
ain’t so fluffsy anymore.
But she knows her name,
so Fluffy it is.
But I digress. I was just planning to freefall
and write about all those loves,
not just those two crazy bottle babies
that still call me Mom.
I love…
rain in Spring
and ducks splashing in puddles.
I love Duke the dog,
who might also we called
Gargantuan.
He’s kind of rotten,
not enough training,
and a little too much puppy.
But I love his derpy goofy self.
I love…
how my very own Ed Sheeran,
the cat,
who thinks his name is Eddie,
and loves me in his possessive yet aloof kind of way.
I love…
how my kiddos
count me on their friends list.
and even act like I’m a best friend,
trusting me with their
fears, triumphs, failures, needs,
all of it.
This is my favorite love.
It tells me I’ve grown,
changed,
become trustworthy.
I love….
Jesus.
Because he loved me first.
I don’t love Christians.
Enough said.
I love…
Spring
and all the new life it brings:
kittens, chicks, goat kids….
vegetables, flowers, houseplants.
I love tiedye.
The process,
the outcome.
The thing I call
“the magic of tiedye,”
which is really just the mystery of…
I can think it will look like this,
but I won’t really know
until it’s rinsed and unfurled and revealed.
Art that mimics life.
I think my life will turn out like this,
but I won’t know until it is later unfurled.
I love that.
-Carrie Horn
Gosh, I love everything about your poem. Everything. From your lovely kittens to your kids considering you a friend, to your knowing that Jesus loves you and not loving Christians. I can relate and connect to it all. Thank you for sharing your writing.
Loving Jesus and not loving Christians has taken me awhile to be able to process and accept. But Christian’s are the worst (or best) at killing their young. I thought I couldn’t still love Jesus if I didn’t love Christians. But they are separate entities. I’m learning. Glad I’m not too old to learn (i.e. dead). Thanks for your response.
Tiedye IS a metaphor for life!!! I never thought of that. Your poem is filled with love and happy feelings; it’s no wonder your children call you friend.
Carrie, what a variety of things are listed in your poem. I think I am going to start looking at life as “the magic of tiedye.” I like the idea of having some expectations but leaving room for what the unfurling reveals.
Carrie, this is an incredible list poem that is real, raw and honest. Your poem grows from fluffy cat names (pun intended) to serious questions about labels and how they come to define and separate people. My life is also a tiedye (love the comparison) and I am grateful it is still unfolding!
Rita, your prompt is a wonderful invitation to think about the parts of this life that I treasure. Like you, I love the smell and feel of sharpened #2 pencils and have a wonderful stash of beauties I use every day, I really appreciate your honest sharing of your journey through living with all its pain as well as joy.
Today, I am thinking and writing about a specific part of love that I have long cherished: the relationships between members of an extended family across generations of children, grandchildren, cousins. If your are fortunate enough to gather, in real life or through words, even if rarely, these moments are a treasure of this life.
I treasure those times we become one, greeting with
Hugs, good-nighting, more than once, cementing love,
And when
When they lean in, lost in the moment,
Before the story ends and they scamper off, laughing,
And when
The crickets’ song becomes the soundtrack of the shared
Stories, memories, before they head off on their own paths
And when
They share hopes, dreams, reminders that
Roots allow us to hold tight through challenging times
And when
A smile, wave, nod, word, or side hug is an a
Acknowledgement of the gift of presence,
And when
Their words, actions bring buried memories
Roaring back to the present even if no one else knows
And when
A moment, as hard as it was to find, to make
Creates a memorable treasure.
Your use of repetition is powerful in your poem and adds action- add when….
Anita, this poem paints such a beautiful picture of the small moments of family life that are large in meaning and memory. I loved it!
Anita, what a lovely picture of an extended family your poem brought to mind. The repetition of “And when” reminded me of the long goodbyes my family often had, needing to say just one more thing before we went, or the long bedtime rituals when the kids were young, with one more thing to tell me before they went to sleep. I lost a cousin this month, and seeing the rest of my cousins at the funeral was a bittersweet reminder of the love of my mom’s huge extended family. Thanks.
Anita, your poem carries such a perfect message. I adore the way you share the familial connections and how deeply moving these moments are. Hearing the laughter, sharing the dreams, holding someone close that you love are all clear and poignant. Thank you for sharing such an inspiring and important message. Really loved theses lines:
“A smile, wave, nod, word, or side hug is an a
Acknowledgement of the gift of presence,”
Anita, so much familial love in these lines. “When they lean in, lost in the moment…” is such a capture. I can see a picture. Here’s to more and more family times across generations.
Verselove: Day 12 The Poetry of Everyday
I love Christmas songs in April,
Stevie Wonder’s Songs in the Key of Life,
John Grisham audiobooks,
true crime podcasts,
and the orchestra of frogs tuning up in my backyard.
I love Earl Grey cookies,
peanut butter ice cream,
Frosted Flakes for dinner,
and fried rice for breakfast.
I love blues,
Tardis blue
Cerulean blue
The poetic blues of Etheridge Knight,
And the down home blues of
Mississippi’s own Muddy Waters.
I love reruns of Frasier, but not Cheers,
I love Noah Wylie in now in The Pitt, and before in ER.
I love the FBIs & the NCISs,
I love the memory of watching Hee Haw and Sanford & Son at my father’s side.
I don’t love Paw Patrol or Pokemon, but I do love H, so I guess
I’ll be there on the double.
I love Salamanca Tree Hiddle,
Charlotte and Wilbur,
Esperanza who longs to be Lisandra or Maritza or Zeze the X,
Sula, Milkman, Sethe, and Pecola,
Celie, Shug Avery, and especially Sophia, Sophia,
Esch, Jojo, Kayla, and Annis
Who all live rent free in my head.
I love music, memories, and stolen moments to myself,
and the invention and acceptance of medicine that supports my mental health.
April 12, 2026
Tracei Willis
Tracei. I am carrying your lines and holding your words including the names of those who live rent-free. And in the dont love of Paw Patrol, ha, and the last line of “acceptance of medicine.” Sending comfort.
Tracei, your list is fabulous and one I can connect to on just about every level! Those characters from books I have read and the great shows I have seen live “rent free” in my mind as well! Thankfully, I can tolerate the Paw Patrol, Pokeman, and Stacey from the Babysitter Club for the spell they become tiny blips in the lives of those I love.
Tracei — Ooo, you and I share some of the same loves. I love so many here… Muddy Waters, and the blues, Esperanza, Shug, Stevie, the Pitt… scads…. It’s so fun to read poems that share so much common ground. And yet, here we are two totally different people. Maybe not. :-). The joy of writing poetry together. Thank you for sharing. Susie
Tracei! Your love logs from today and yesterday really speak to me—from the awareness of the limited time left with my elderly mother to the Earl Grey cookies, the peanut butter ice cream, Songs in the Key of Life, Toni Morrison books galore, and more. Really makes me feel like I have a kindred spirit today. Thank you. 🙂
Oh, Tracei! You’ve written a poem that makes me feel as if we are kindred spirits!
Tracei, there are so many things in your poem that could be on my love list as well – the music, the blues, and Noah Wylie. Your last stanza hits home for me. Taking care of our whole selves is the self-care we need, in whatever form it takes.
Tracei, you got me with the first two lines:
“I love Christmas songs in April,
Stevie Wonder’s Songs in the Key of Life.”
Your love of blues is also inspiring. Yu poem ending is honest and touching. Thank you!
Thank you for sharing this prompt Rita. I really liked how it helps us think back at the little things we usually take for granted but that matter.
I love the quiet before my students arrive,
when the classroom belongs only to possibility—
chairs askew, board still blank,
the day not yet asking anything of me.
I love how eleven-year-olds hold big ideas
in small, uncertain words,
how they make history feel close enough to touch.
I love the smell of something baking—
butter, sugar, something soft and golden—
a kitchen that forgives every extra taste.
I love that food becomes memory,
that leftovers become something new,
that sweetness can hide quietly inside.
I love the half-finished lesson plans,
ideas spilling faster than time allows.
I love that I still try.
I love and I don’t love
how life doesn’t always follow calendars—
how timing slips,
how the body speaks in riddles
you are left to interpret alone.
I love the tenderness hidden in worry,
how even fear is proof
that something inside me cares deeply
about what could be.
I love careful goodbyes,
the ache of missing someone
who is still out there becoming.
I love that even on uncertain days,
there are still glimmers—
sunlight through a window,
a student’s unexpected answer,
the first bite of something made by hand—
in the simple, stubborn fact
that I am still here,
still noticing,
still making meaning
out of ordinary days.
Just a wonderful poem about the glimmer and fizzled that a day in teaching holds. The repetition of “still” is something that matters in the accumulation of days, in the teacher who is also becoming. Love this poem.
Oh my, this is a wonderful list of the moments that make your life richer just by happening. Your line, ” even fear is proof that something inside me cares deeply,” is a keeper and a testament to you as a person as well as a writer
“I love the quiet before my students arrive,
when the classroom belongs only to possibility—”
Your opening lines took me right into your classroom, though in my mind’s eye, it was my own. Oh how I loved those quiet moments!
What a great poem. I love all the possibilities and uncertainties it holds. The last stanza really stands out for me. It offers such hope that if we keep looking, we can find those glimmers even on the more challenging days.
Sharon, forgot to say how much I loved your poem! The details were gold. <3
Thanks, Rita. I’ve been reading your blog since the fall with the TwoWritingTeachers community; I’m happy to see you here as well. Thanks for reminding us to focus on small moments of joy.
This made me laugh. I used to sponsor a boardgaming club at my first middle school. There’s an abstract game called Samurai that usually pushes adults into quiet contemplation. When my middle school boys played, they were loud, raucous trash-talkers. Thanks for returning that memory to me.
———————————————————————————
Travis County Rare Bird Alert
I love reading the rare birds alert for Travis County
News I can handle in the morning
I love the variety of reports birders write
When eBird flags a bird as rare
Requiring further documentation
To convince Cornell labs
That the bird they claimed to see or hear
In their eBird checklist
Is really their bird
Despite the statistical unlikeliness
Experienced citizen scientists matter of factly
Explain why they are confident in their id
With the economy of field marks
“Reddish-brown thrush
with extensive black spots
on underparts”
Others cast a reasonable doubt
“Only seen from underneath”
Some call forth the repetition and grace of poetry
“Same bird,
same place,
I shall leave it alone now…”
Others are unimpressed
“Male seen throughout this season”
Some appeal to history and geography
“Ongoing at equestrian location”
Others rely on the expertise of others
“Confirmed by ornithologist there”
Some birders judge
“Sitting on top of branch being unassuming”
Some create a sense of purpose and place
“Pelican passed by while we were fishing Lake Travis
where the Pedernales joins the Colorado”
Some capture the wonder of a child
“We saw one in a tree by the river chasing bugs!”
Some make me want to give them a pep talk
“Sorry, but that’s the best I can do”
Some write an entire short story, rising action to denouement
“Jenny Dubin initially sighted what she thought might be a Townsend’s Solitaire as we approached the dry creekbed of Bee Creek, but nobody got good enough looks. Back at the house, as we ate lunch, this passerine slightly smaller than a robin flew into the oaks and sat serenely and silently while our group puzzled over its ID and got plenty of photos. We noted the white eyering, gray body, and buffy brown tinted wing bars, and ruled out Bluebirds, American Robin, vireos etc. Pics sent out through the wire confirmed our suspicions. Jenny was also quite certain she saw this bird when she scouted the ranch last week. Pls note that the ranch is private property and not open to the public, unfortunately.”
Some mark the struggle
“Nemesis bird finally found! Lifer!”
“Finally!”
My favorites are the exuberant ones
“Best views of a fishing Booby I’ve had!”
Need some news you can handle in the morning?
Read the rare bird alert for your county
Better yet
Grab your binoculars
Start an ebird checklist
Tell the world
About the Eastern Phoebe
Saying her name
Bobbing her tail
On your neighbor’s pecan tree
———————————————————————————
All quotes are from eBird Alert, Travis County Rare Bird Alerts.
Find out how to subscribe to your county’s rare bird alerts and what other cool things you can do with eBird at my blog Pedaling Poet.
Oh, my gosh. This is such a delight—the voices, the humor, the tenderness toward each kind of noticing. I love “News I can handle in the morning,” and that ending invitation feels so generous and alive.
Sarah
Sharon, as a birder, I absolutely loved this poem! There is a phoebe outside my window, in our yard, who says her name every spring, greeting the day with her beautiful song. This was gold!
Sharon, this is fun and conversational. I love how digital networks can bring forth these type of events. I got a chuckle with your “nemesis,” line as my partner feels this way about the Canada Goose. Thank you for sharing today.
You are speaking my language, Sharon! I get the rare bird alerts for Pike County, Georgia and love the birding that happens here, especially on the shoals. I too have been flagged a time or two
When eBird flags a bird as rare
Requiring further documentation
To convince Cornell labs
That the bird they claimed to see or hear
In their eBird checklist
Is really their bird
Despite the statistical unlikeliness
And the conclusion I came to this morning when a Baltimore Oriole turned up in the back yard somewhere in a tree is that it was……you guessed it….a Mockingbird. I usually participate in the GBBC each year, and sometimes I go to Pine Mountain, where I first heard Bachman’s Sparrow overlooking the valley below. Oh, your poem just absolutely thrills my soul and the roll call of birdsong.
Sharon, this is absolutely delightful. At first, I wasn’t sure this was real but then I realized it really was and read it again with a nod the the power of birds to impact our lives. At my local park, long ago designed by the Olmsteads of Central Fark fame, there are signs about the many different birds that can be seen or heard if you stop to watch and listen. During the pandemic, I began to follow them with my preschool grands who hung out with me during the day. I still walk and listen and now I know when they are with me on my walks.
Sharon — As a veteran birder, this just made me laugh… so funny and terribly interesting. Ha! I particularly loved the “fishing Booby” and the “judge… unassuming”… LOL! I’m sitting here with my door open (it’s finally warm here in MN) watching the juncos and nuthatches and house finches at my feeder. I’m anxious for the downy and hairy to show up again. Happy Birding! Susie
This is priceless! I love every line and will read again and share with my son as well. He and I have attended some birding events in our town. On one outing, we were birdwatching in the local cemetery. The guide continued to say, “All hell’s about to break loose.” My son and I did not know what to expect! I still laugh when I think about that.
Sharon, you make me want to be a birder. I am just trying to identify the birds in my area by their songs and calls using the Merlin app. What a creative way to use the findings of “citizen scientists.” Your introduction of each remark was spot on.
Thank you, Rita, for the variety of joys here. When the body feels good, when the music is good, and when you can recognize the blessing of the memory of Chuck.
I wish I had something as touching as yours. The other day, I decided to make a really impersonal list of interactions on my campus. I don’t know why, but it is a list of everyday loves, of everyday gifts to one another. Community, I discovered, is created by combining con- (“together”) and munis (“performing services”). Today’s offering is a haibun that’s a kind of list of loves. As always, I post what I write here.
“Campus haibun”
He parked in reverse. She trusted him. He thanked her. She smiled at them. He waited for her to cross. She held the door for them. He complimented him. She texted her. He shared a thing with him. She walked past them. He remembered her. She helped him. He thought ahead for her. She answered her. He asked him. She did a thing she’d long wanted to do. He did his best. She slept in. He put on an orange vest. He reserved the room. She brushed something off his shoulder. He held the door for her. She said thank you. He asked if he had lost weight. She showed up when she said she would. He entered on crutches. She decided to go back. He dressed up for the day. She knew he’d say that. He had a weird idea. She felt better after all. He put everything where it belonged. She noticed. He unlocked the door. She drove herself home. He showed her a thing on his phone. She had everything ready. They ate.
Boringly good days
are the norm on our campus–
home away from home
Oh, Joel. We have haibuns coming up. You will love it.
Your poem, so quietly beautiful, the way you honor the unnoticed gestures that make a life, a campus, a community. I love “He did his best. She slept in.”—how tenderness lives in both, and you let that be enough.
Ah, the power of small acts of care but here the tiny interactions (short sentences) accumulate into something that feels, well, almost sacred. This is not a place but a series of actions offered to one another to cultivate community.
Lovely,
Sarah
Thank you, Sarah, for being the master-noticer you are. You’re guiding us all in how to be the readers that each of us deserves : ) And yeah, the cumulative sanctity of those small actions is something that I hadn’t quite clocked until I decided to record them
Joel, this was so beautiful. The whole poem made me smile, and I was amazed at how emotional the sheer simplicity of it was, underscoring, of course, the haiku that follows. Beautiful haibun.
Joel, thank you for sharing this today and reminding us how community simply is performing life together. The power of community on a college campus is also unique as traditional undergrad students discover these simple treasures simultaneously while exploring their “new” adult identities. I also appreciate this day/night image–what campus are you at?
100%! The poem is about / inspired by Greenhill School in Addison TX. The image is two photos I took (1:40PM & 1:41PM) of the eclipse on April 8, 2024 : ) Where are you?
Boringly good days – – I feel this right in my heart. These small gestures, each its own powerful sentence in the haibun prose setting the stage for the haiku to wrap it so beautifully in closure, show a level of tenderness and care only found in the safest and most caring places of all. And I feel it.
Joel — This is a fascinating approach to writing today. I have on many occasions listened and scripted the conversations of those around me in public places, but I haven’t done that for quite awhile. I’m inspired by your sense of “community” in paying attention to people just living their daily lives… pretty much in harmony. Made for a very interesting moment. I didn’t know about the “haibun” form …thank you. I’m going to mess with that. Thank you again. Susie
Joel, thank you for introducing me to the haibun. I could envision those “boringly good days” in your concise slices of life on campus. If only all of our communities could be like the one you describe in your poem today.
This is filled with goodness and light and how the act of noticing is, itself, poetry! Thank you for this haibun. I love it.
Thank you for the wonderful prompt, Rita! I am glad that writing has helped you grieve your loss. I thoroughly enjoyed your list of loves!
I’m back in Jeju (a small island that’s part of South Korea) for Spring Break, my first visit since leaving nearly two years ago, and it’s been so good for my soul. It’s only been a day and a half, but my bucket is already so full it’s overflowing.
Back in Jeju
I love not needing GPS,
the familiar landmarks
guiding my way
I love the double-take
when people see me
Wait! What?!
smiling and laughing before coming over for
a big welcome-back hug
I love waking up to birdsong and
a gentle, cool breeze in the morning
rather than honking horns and heat
I love the unexpected bout of tears
when I gave my friend a bear hug
I love catching the tail end of
hallabong and cherry blossom season
I love when owners of my favorite restaurants
are so happy (and surprised) to see me
I love being a tourist
in a place I used to call home
I love that even in the rain
Jeju feels like sunshine
This is so full of warmth and return, that feeling of being held by a place again. I love “I love being a tourist / in a place I used to call home”—it feels so tender and true.
Thank you for “the unexpected bout of tears” smack in the middle of this catalogue gifts. For as often as you directed my eye out there to the senses, you arrested my attention with that … well, with that unexpected internal shift.
I want to join you in Jeju! The notion of not needing GPS in a place is so comforting:) The stanza about being a tourist in a former home is also powerful and a lived experience I can relate to. Thank you for sharing and enjoy your trip.
I can so appreciate your feeling of being a tourist in a place you call home. It’s a little unnerving and comforting all at once to feel that shift of change even in the familiar surroundings. Your poem shares it in such a real and affirmative way.
Jennifer,
Having read so many of your blog posts celebrating life in Jeju, I’m here for this homecoming return. I simply adore these lines: “I love being a tourist
in a place I used to call home” I know that feeling. It’s a bit discombobulating.
I really liked the idea of enjoying the familiarity of being home and it shows in the line “I love being a tourist in a place I used to call home”
I wanted to be there with you as soon as I read that you didn’t need GPS! True indication of being in a home space. All the love and joy permeates throughout your poem. Enjoy!!
How wonderful to be remembered and welcomed! It is a beautiful reunion with friends and a place that loves you.
I always love reading about your travels. What a wonderful welcome back to a place you once called home. Your last two lines really encapsulate your love of Jeju.
“I love being a tourist
in a place I used to call home
I love that even in the rain
Jeju feels like sunshine”
The juxtapositions of tourist/home and rain/sunshine delighted me! Your entire poem shows your love for Jeju. What a happy homecoming!
Thank you for writing about your return. I appreciated the second paragraph!
Rita, I can’t imagine what you have been through. Thanks for sharing yourself with us today and this prompt. I have loved Andrea’s poetry and honesty through her cancer battle. Their movie is incredible, too.
After a busy Saturday, I am writing on my back deck looking out at the bayou. There is such a peace here I want to just stay all day.
Listening to Wind Chimes
I love the way the cypress needles
look like bright green feathers of a wild peacock.
How no matter where I am, I hear the echo
of the Carolina wren in conversation
with the waking world.
How I can choose a slow pace
on Sunday morning.
I love the soft caress of April breeze.
How red the cardinal, its flash of light
and piercing sighs.
Mary, I do not know what a prayer is,
but, I want to be present with my one
wild and precious life.
Margaret,
You’ve made my bird-watching, poetry-reading heart happy.
Thank you.
Love the call to Mary Oliver here. I organized an entire unit around this theme when I taught 8th grade. Love remembering that. Your poem feels attentive and alive, like you’re letting the world teach you how to notice. I love “I can choose a slow pace / on Sunday morning”—that quiet permission feels like a prayer in itself.
Sarah
Margaret, I feel the peace transporting from the bayou directly through to my soul and love, love, love the nods to Oliver in the final stanza. I want to be sitting right there hearing the wind chimes and feeling the breeze and the peace in person. That is gorgeous, my friend! What a blessing to have the presence of cardinals, too……your parents, saying hello!
Margaret, thank you for this lovely poem, which reminds me that I can choose to take a slow pace on Sunday morning. I love the bird references; I often hear the Carolina wrens in my backyard here in Pennsylvania. I have been using the Merlin app to identify the songs and calls of the birds in my area.
Margaret, I can see your beautiful bayou through your poetry.
The chimes, the birds, Sunday, April… they do beckon one to be present with one’s wild and precious (and all-too-short) life. Lovely, Margaret.
Rita, I was so sorry to hear about the loss of your husband. I’m so glad that you found Andrea Gibson. They’re one of my favorite poets to introduce to students. My poem today is about my buddy Sam.
Sam
I love the way anxiety
Inspires a wary “woof.”
I love the way he looks up
Resembling a wolf.
I love the way his back leg shakes
For no reason at all.
I love the fact that his mixed breed
Made him a lap-sized small.
I love the way his dark eyes fill
With love when they adore me.
I love his energy (most times):
(At least he never bores me).
I love it when he chases balls
And skids on hardwood floors.
Did I love it when his groomer
Wouldn’t see him anymore?
(Nope. Didn’t love that.)
I love it when he dangles paw
The minute I grab socks
An afterschool walk with him:
the ultimate detox!
I love it when he leaps into
The air with boundless joy
I love all about my Sammy,
My Supernatural boy.
Sam!
Sooooo cute!
Wendy, I am regretting that I didn’t write about my dog. Your Supernatural Sam sounds like a perfect dog. I have a bumper sticker that I keep in my laundry room that reads “Lord, help me be the person my dog thinks I am.” Their ability to just love us as we are is a gift.
❤️ ❤️ So, fyi, Sam was born while an episode of Supernatural was on, according to the former students of mine who were his original owners. They named him Sam after one of the main characters. 😜 We ❤️ Supernatural, too, so his name stayed!
Wendy, I’m laughing and nodding at Sam’s personality, which I can see so clearly: small dog, big personality. Probably too much personality to actually fit in his fur. This happens here in our world too:
I love it when he chases balls
And skids on hardwood floors.
I am so glad you included a picture – – yes, I can see in those eyes that Sam seizes the day. He looks ready for all the living he can pack into every moment, and he is blessed to have you. Wait, or is it the other way around? We never can tell either….
This is just bursting with love and personality—he feels so alive on the page. I love “his dark eyes fill / with love when they adore me”—that mutual adoration is everything.
Wendy, I love Sam so much just from reading all this fun and joy in being his mom. The two lines I highlighted brought back memories of Pierre, my childhood poodle.
I hope you continue to behold all Sam’s love and the same for him, he knows you love him.
Thank you, Wendy. Your poem about Sam made me smile. I am not a dog owner, but I have a granddoggie, Keith. (a rescue that came with that name. The entire litter was named after the Rolling Stones.) I know my son and his family feel this way about their buddy. I love how the posing of a question broke up the repetition and gave us a glimpse at the flip side of being Sam’s person.
Look at that adorable fur baby! I loved your rhyme. The part about the groomer made me laugh. We encountered a similar situation with our Jersey.
Rita. I know a version of this love and life with Chuck, and my heart aches for you. And I also thank you for letting me/us witness your great love in this space. I appreciate Andrea Gibson’s work deeply; isn’t it wonderful how poets can comfort others. And in reading, I also visited Ada Limon and June Jordan, finding Ecology. Jordan helped me uncover a poem I needed to write today (to process a nightmare I had last night about returning to school committee work), wondering how my loving, in and of the world, will hold and carry me when I return to my life in the US after a year away.
Return
When I came back after a year away
my return confused the plump
turkey vulture
her A-frame hunting tower
at the start and finish
of my country road walks.
She hops the electric wires
shadowing my route
then lifts
wide, circling
as if measuring me
for breakfast.
I wonder if she sees injury
before it happens
or only after
if she knows
what it means
to come back altered.
The road is the same road
gravel, ditch, the lean of fence posts
but something in me
does not fit the way it did.
If I go away again
(big as she is, watching)
will I be safer
or is this
what it means
to stay
to walk under her
committee questions
to expose my wounds
for a kettle’s feast
to feel that patient hunger
in their circling
to wait in their wake
and keep going.
Interesting note about vultures: A pack or group of vultures is referred to by different terms depending on their activity: a kettle when in flight, a committee when resting in trees or on the ground, and a wake when feeding at a carcass. These social birds also go by the collective nouns “venue” or “volt.”
Sarah,
I love how you reflect on your return through the thoughts of a turkey vulture.
And how the rhythm of your stanzas match a walk in the woods.
And how your clever use of the vocabulary of vultures adds a lovely depth and specificity to your worries.
I’m nerding out on the terms used for groups of animals, first of all. My favorite part of your poem is the rhythm. The variety of line lengths, the spondees, the killer line breaks and this stanza especially “if she knows / what it means / to come back altered” with its surprises & emotional pictures with each line.
Absolutely love the connection to vultures. So many people shy away from them, but you put them in a beautiful light. A connection we all need to have with nature. To understand their purpose in order to understand our own. You definitely orchestrated this in your poem. Thank you.
Sarah, I was gripped by your whole poem, but this stanza brought another level of wonder:
I wonder if she sees injury
before it happens
or only after
I’ve often wondered if buzzards spot the weak ones and follow them, waiting, since they are always circling and ever watching. I like to think not, but nature is cruel and striking.
This is a beautiful and haunting way to anticipate the return to your lovely US home. It’s funny, though, as we were coming home from camping and drove through a town in our own county that I hadn’t driven through in a couple of months, I quipped to my husband that I feel like a stranger in my own place – – there are houses going up and a new business and trees cut down for more development. I felt out of place, like this was all new terrain. It made me think of your return when I read your words of the road being the same road – – and I wondered….about the fit you describe. Will it be like an old friend where you pick up like always, never having missed a beat, or will it take some adjusting to find and feel home again? I can’t wait to hear about the experience, and no matter what – – it’s one to embrace. So few of us get to taste the world the way you have done, and I am excited to hear more of the journey.
I remember Fran Haley writing about the death of a turkey vulture’s mate (she let us know they mate for life, like swans, and she kept a vigil for her expired partner vulture for days before moving on, accepting). It gave me a whole new appreciation for the species.
Thanks, Kim. I will look for that poem from Fran. Have you heard from her?
Hi y’all. I’m here <3
And, this was from a dream I had last night about returning to the school and committee work there.
This is amazing, Sarah. I’m trying to think of all the magical ways that vulture might be seeing you and your return….it’s been a year after all. She’s still doing as she has always done, but you altered the plans for a while (again…thinking of Toto’s return to his homeland in Cinema Paradiso)…but that was decades! (Or Odysseus with his dog…you got a vulture).This is one of my favorite poems of yours over the years. It’s mesmerizing on so many levels…especially because they circle and are looking out for carrion.
Phew. Applauding the way words fall to the page. I wish the fox in my neighborhood would be more consistent on my routines. I’d love to build a better relationship with her that we have.
This turkey vulture poem haunts me. I feel sameness yet electricity in your return and the question of should you stay or go away.
Sarah — There is so much here that bears our senses of worry. I hate that you had the nightmare, but I love that you dug into that feeling and found the vulture. Your descriptions… “measuring me” are so accurately predatory. The bit of ornithology at the end (I love this kind of information) makes your word choices even richer…and they were already loaded. A year away from “questions” and “expos[ure]” is not a small thing. We change, of course, as we open our world, and you have not only opened, you have dug deep, explored, LIVED a new kind of life for months now. It will be different, and that is a blessing. It may all take you to your next big chapter… all of it is your story for the making. I’m anxious to continue to read what you share. Love, Susie
Thank you, Sarah. Your poem brought back a memory of when we found an injured turkey vulture in our backyard. After making many inquiries, our neighbor volunteered to put the vulture in a box and transport it to a rescue. Unfortunately, when a turkey vulture feels threatened, it vomits. Our poor neighbor had to endure a smelly trip in the name of saving the bird.
I can only imagine your “back-to-school” dreams. I am sure that after a year of travel, you will be returning to the US in an altered state.
These lines resonated with me as I am trying to “come back” to a world that looks so different since Chuck’s death. It is all the same physically, but something in me no longer fits the way it did. This entire poem will stay with me for a long time.
“if she knows
what it means
to come back altered.
The road is the same road
gravel, ditch, the lean of fence posts
but something in me
does not fit the way it did.”
Sarah, I love a dream poem or, in this case, a nightmare poem. How is it that dreams can be poems? Such magic! I found the following lines hauntingly beautiful.
“The road is the same road
gravel, ditch, the lean of fence posts
but something in me
does not fit the way it did.”
Sarah, your poem is compelling. I can’t help feeling some trepidation with the turkey vulture. (I see plenty around my neighborhood and they’re not a good look!) The sense that they are ready to pounce is clear. Keep going is all you can do. I hope the transition home and back to work is lovely, but if the turkey vulture is dropping in for the kill, may you have the ability to escape their hungry claws.
Sarah, vultures fascinate me. They are not the harbingers people tend to think – rather misunderstood birds. They can represent renewal. rebirth, cleansing, purification… but how real the tension is in your poem. Coming back altered, something in me not fitting the way it did…these powerful observations strike deep chords with me. Thank you for this. Strength to you on your return.
Rita, thank you for hosting today and condolences on the loss of your husband. Your vulnerable sharing of that here is appreciated, and I love how you’ve found small joys in words during this time.
The poem I drafted today wouldn’t format correctly here, so I am adding a screenshot to see if that works. But then I played a bit more below with the formatting on this site.
✅ meta list poem
🔲 I love a good list, a directory for my day
🔲 check boxes to guide my priorities, to dos on various post-its
✔️ a decade ago I blogged about using my young kids as living post-its
🔲 agendas to assess accomplishments
🔲 tasks organized in a digital space for long-term goals
🔲 Google Keep grocery lists for collaboration and community
🔲 lined notepaper to guide Sunday chores
🔲 to flip to a clean piece for the new week
🔲 hand holding our executive functioning
🔲 success, small strikes, scaffolding steps toward progress
✔️ note: use scaffold in a poem once during April
✔️ draft a list for Verselove on 4.12.26; turn into poetry
🔲 check, tally, archive—a mark to move me on
Stefani, I am captivated by the form with the boxes and checks as goals and aspirations. I’m a fan of the lined notepaper only because I know the lines make my handwriting behave. I’m trying to get more aligned with Google, but the old tradition in my finger bones just keeps resisting. I love your nudge through your poem to get me acclimated for a more digital world of accomplishing the things I need to do.
Stefani, This poem is so cleverly done! A list about a list! There are so many things on the list I love. Is it terrible that writing a poem for Verselove is a list item? Or is it the best part of the day, not a chore at all? Don’t we all love a “check, tally, archive—mark to move me on”?
Stefani,
This is truly extraordinary. I LOLd at “kids as human postures-it notes.” I find the poem you’ve crafted on this site visually appealing.
Stefani, thank you. I, too, love a good list. You gave a very comprehensive list of lists. I love the boxes and check marks; they are so satisfying to look at. Whenever I “flip to a clean piece for the new week,” I usually have a task or two to bring forward as well. (oh well)
Clever, clever, clever!
Rita, thank you for hosting us today with this powerhouse of a prompt. I so love a list poem, in prose fashion too. Thank you for leading us to Andrea this morning – what a beautiful soul they were, gone far too soon. I thought of Tom T. Hall’s song I Love, and it brought a smile to my face. As did your poem! Thank you for inspiring us today. I, too, am thinking of the days of retirement ahead and would love a travel writers’ club someday. Reading travel books, writing travel articles and poems, and seeing new places.
The Nest
I like going places~
camping, girls’ trips, weekend getaways
but I love coming home
I love bone-tired sleep, the kind where
you don’t move all night and have sheet imprints
on your face from the weight of
not carrying anything with you to bed
putting it all down at the foot
climbing in, clocking out, cloud-drifting off
I love waking up to dog noses
in my face saying Let’s Go Outside!
I love Skechers Slip-Ins for when the grass
is too tall and wet with dew for the regular slippers
I love opening the front door for the sun
to barge in, full of life and light and laughter
I love checking bird nests, finding
a clutch of four brown-headed nuthatches
snuggled under mama bird on a
bright, cool Sunday morning
like a prayerful blessing of their own
a nest where they will learn
to fledge, fly, and face a lifetime
of setting out and coming home
to their feathered nests
the places they’ll grow to love best
Kim, we are definitely kindred spirits. Loving that bone-tired sleep. Waking up with the lines to prove it. Oh and the nest checking. I will have a new clutch of wood duck eggs soon. A new couple has been checking in and out of the house. I feel like we were writing side by side this morning.
I feel the joy and love here. This is so warm and grounding, like you’re letting us feel the relief of coming home in the body—the sleep, the dog noses, the sun rushing in. I especially love the way it moves into the nest at the end, how that small, tender image opens into something bigger about leaving and returning, and it just left me feeling held in the best way. I also wrote about coming home today, but it didn’t feel like this. I am channeling the comfort you offer here.
Kim,
I love how you capture both the adventure and community of travel and the comfort of returning home tired from all the fun.
Kim,
You’ve crafted a poem full of comfort and lovely alliteration: “climbing in, clocking out, cloud-drifting off,” “full of life and light and laughter,” “fledge, fly, and face a lifetime.” These lines sing a lovely spring song.
Kim, I am not a big traveler, but I do love the feeling of coming home.
“not carrying anything with you to bed
putting it all down at the foot
climbing in, clocking out, cloud-drifting off”
I need to do more of this – putting things down at the foot of the bed. Thank you for the reminder. I also love how you equated travel with the birds –
“to fledge, fly, and face a lifetime
of setting out and coming home”
These lines really do sum up our lives perfectly.
Kim — Oh man, this is outstanding! That description of “bone-tired sleep” is priceless… the creases on the face, the
soooo perfect! The nuthatch babies and the doggos waking you. What a great poem! And the birds coming back home… tying it all up so perfectly. Sweet! U da bomb! Susie
Your love of the natural world shines through your poetry! Those nuthatches! That coveted night of sleep! Thank you for a list poem that created a reel of loveliness in my mind.
Kim, what a rich poem full of sensory appeal and striking images. I love how you lead to this line: “climbing in, clocking out, cloud-drifting off”. Now, that is tired! I also adore the way you shift to the dogs waking you and all the wonderful sights in nature that enrich your life. Gorgeous poem with a fantastic closing line! Beautiful!
Kim,
Great minds think alike! I almost put (with a nod to Tom T. Hall) after my title.
Oh, how I yearn to experience this:
Hi, Kim… I dip back into Ethical ELA and it’s almost as if I have never been away; I find myself back in my poet-shoes with my poet-people and yes, they are SKECHERS SLIP-INS; especially Bobs when you know a portion of the purchase goes to help animals in need. Nests, new life, the miracle and glory of it all – I read your words and I am home again. Likee the birds themselves <3
Rita, I am so very sorry for your unexpected loss. We can see that he is still here with you – in your children’s words and actions, in the joy he would want you to continue to find. Thank you for your openness and invitation to write about loves.
in april
the buds
are barely there
but still,
they march forth,
tiny soldiers
emerging,
taking back territory
in a fight against
winter’s
death
in april
rains saturate
the soil,
life-giving
re-birthing
land-nourishing
drops gently
nurturing life
Into existence
in april
seeds become
whatever they may
hardened shells
softening
surviving
each a gift
awakening
after so much sleep
this is what i love
Jennifer, your repeating line – in april – is engaging and brings all the vibes of spring to the forefront, and I especially love the awakening juxtaposed with the deep sleep so we feel the full emergence of spring. I especially love
tiny soldiers
emerging,
taking back territory
in a fight against
winter’s
death
Beautiful and it calls to mind the dormancy and growing seasons and their necessary roles in each time.
Jennifer,
I love following the brief lines down the screen, savoring a few words at a time. This feels so quietly hopeful, like you’re honoring how small and determined that early growth really is, not flashy, just steady and brave. I love “tiny soldiers emerging,” and how the poem keeps returning to April as a space of becoming, where even the softest things are doing the hardest work.
Sarah
Jennifer,
I see you and I have a similar time compression and inductive approach to this prompt. I almost always write before reading but won’t post until later in the day. Your first verse reminds me of the tulips in my front yard and the way they look like erect band members right before opening their blooms.
Jennifer, thank you. Your poem fills me with such hope. Each stanza – the buds, the rains, the seeds – reminds us that with spring comes the joy of witnessing the awakening. Your format and repetition kept me engaged to the very end.
Jennifer — Your description of the seeds and the buds took me right to my walk this morning with Rayo…. we walked along after yesterday’s rain, looking at all the fallen seeds and buds, knowing that leaves are going to push through in today’s big warmup here (it’s 72 now and heading to 80!!!). The fast-popping lines FIT the act of the spring growth/change. Lovely rhythm. Hugs, Susie
What a beautiful song to spring! These were my favorite lines:
“tiny soldiers
emerging,
taking back territory
in a fight against
winter’s
death”
Beautiful depiction of spring’s return, Jennifer…natural but yet such a miracle. Your lines capture and convey nature’s determination and gentleness…love, even. I believe it’s there, deep in the rhythms.
Rita — Thank you so much for your prompt. I have been absent the past few days as I’ve been preparing to sell my parent’s home. Your prompt was just the inspiration I needed to get me back in the poetry writing groove. I am so sorry for your loss. I hope you continue to find solace in writing.
Some of My Favorite Things
I love tangy custard lemon bars paired with the bitter jolt of coffee.
I love a brisk walk to the lake at dawn.
I love when the daffodils awaken.
I love watching the morning hustle of students walking and biking to school.
I love backpacks and waterbottles.
I love how sunlight catches the glass elephants,
lined in a neat herd on my mantel—my mother’s keepsakes.
I love looking at black and white photos of my parents, especially ones when they kiss.
I love a basement busy with crafting college students, the scents of glue and paint.
I love that my children enjoy 80’s music and that they sing along with me.
I love a dinner with my family, conversations about travel and dreams.
I love saying goodbye to winter and hello to spring.
Reading this was a great way to start my day. You’ve covered so much ground and shared so much of your life in so few words. I love that you chose to write “daffodils awaken” rather than sprout or bloom. It was unexpected, but perfect. Thanks for sharing.
Your list brings smile after smile.
Tammi, so glad you are back with us. I’ve missed seeing you here. I love that you’ve taken the everyday and uplifted it into moments that celebrate life – the hustle of students, the sunlight on the glass elephants, the scents of crafting. Mostly it’s the family togetherness that drew me, the moments where they hold such importance in your life.
Tammi, this line caught my breath
I love how sunlight catches the glass elephants,
lined in a neat herd on my mantel—my mother’s keepsakes.
The herd of elephants on a mantel, so unexpected, is charming and brings a smile as I think of the line, “Elephants remember things,” from the book about Water for Elephants. The remembering and keepsake together is such a bold statement that family lives on forever. Nothing forgotten.
Tammi,
This is so full of warmth and everyday joy, the kind that sneaks up on you because it’s rooted in such real, lived moments. I especially love “sunlight catches the glass elephants,” because it holds memory and light together so beautifully, and the whole poem feels like a gentle gathering of what matters most. And the 80s music made me smile; it was all over Montenegro, too.
Peace,
Sarah
Tammi, your list is so uplifting and elevates the ordinary. “I love how sunlight catches the glass elephants, lined in a neat herd on my mantel—my mother’s keepsakes.” This line caught me off guard and made me smile – first at the “herd” and then thinking of my mother’s keepsakes that I have.
This lovely list conjures image after image – so clearly! I love the glass elephants and the crafting college students.
This is great, Tammi! I especially relate to:
The Flip Side
I love the smell of a clean house … but struggle with scrubbing the shower.
I love singing in Oratorio … but struggle with rehearsals ’til 10 pm.
I love dancing and reading with grandchildren … but dislike getting viruses from them.
I love the Iowa vistas … but hate Iowa wind.
I love the care of my worship community … but hate religion used to justify war.
I love the creativity of my students … but hate the voice-robbing of AI.
I love road trips through the West … but hate open carry in Texas.
I love the connectivity through my phone … but hate my addiction to it.
I love and I hate. … Oh, to love more.
Kim —
I love your juxtapositions and how you balance the everyday frustrations “ but struggle with scrubbing the shower” with the thought provoking, “I love the care of my worship community … but hate religion used to justify war”
This is a very cool way to think about things we love and their flip sides. I love how the last line leaves us with what’s almost an imperative “to love more.”
Oh, to love more… me, too. I share many on your list of loves (and hates). The clean house, not the housework; kids, not their viruses; connectivity of my phone, not the scrolling habit; and so high on the list, my faith and worship, but not having it used to justify war or other wrongs.
Kim, each of these pairings brings deeper meaning to what you love. The things you love could be (should be) the stuff of life, until we are reminded of why they aren’t. Great title, great concept, great way to get us thinking further.
Kim, I like the way you structured your poem with the intense feelings associated with each thing. You had me with the smell of a clean house and kept me right to the loving more at the end.
Kim!
Oh, don’t get me started on cleaning showers. Whew. We have seen a lot of showers on our year of travel, and this is something of a nemesis for me. Really, though, your poem. This feels so honest and human, the way you let love and frustration sit side by side without trying to smooth it over. I really love that closing line, “Oh, to love more,” because it doesn’t ignore the hard parts, it just leans toward something better with such quiet hope.
Sarah
Kim, I love the format of your poem. Often, we forget the flipside.
“I love the smell of a clean house … but struggle with scrubbing the shower.
I love the connectivity through my phone … but hate my addiction to it.”
I could relate to so many of your pairings, but these two lines resonated with me the most.
I am going to work on loving more, even some of the flip sides.
Your poem is perfectly titled! When I was in elementary grades, I had told my mother someone I hated. She told me that if I really thought about it, that person is really someone I can love. Her reasoning? because hate and love is the same coin.
“The Flip Side” – the perfect title! I really enjoyed reading your list of opposite emotions and the events, circumstances that elicit them.
Love the structure of this and the very apt title.
Thanks for the reminder to look for the things we love. To keep finding the joy whatever path life takes us on.
Some Things I Love
I love to hear birds singing in the morning. I love old hymns and music on the radio when I’m driving.
I love my favorite coffee mug that feels just right to hold. I love the aroma of coffee with a hint of cinnamon and smooth Italian sweet cream.
I love books, all kinds. I love reading on my kindle. I love having books from the library and books of my own.
I love writing. Letters, stories, slice of life. And poems.
I love friends and family and time spent together. Just sharing life. Making memories.
Diane,
I can smell that coffee! Sounds delicious!
Love your last line:
“I love friends and family and time spent together. Just sharing life. Making memories.” These things are so important in life!
Diane, I love your opening line. I’m lying in bed listening to what truly makes spring for me – the birds singing. They began about two hours ago, announcing morning, their gentle wake up and get moving a reminder to lie in bed a bit longer and breathe in the laziness of a Sunday morning. They’re my slice of life. Spring break ends today – they’ll be hurrying me along tomorrow.
Diane, I stopped – – at I love having books from the library and books of my own. We are birds of a reading feather, my friend! I remembered all the holds I had coming in while on spring break and had to call to tell them please hold until I get back…..I’m picking them up tomorrow and can’t wait to feel the library vibes when I go get them. Your poem reminds me that there are ALL KINDS of books to love.
Diane,
I am loving the feel of I love repeated in these lines today though I didn’t borrow them for myself. Your poem is a balm for me today. So gentle and steady, like a quiet inventory of what makes a life feel full, and I love how it leans into the ordinary without trying to make it anything more than it is. The line about “just sharing life, making memories” really stayed with me, because it gathers everything before it into something simple and deeply true.
Sarah
Diane, having a mug that fits just right in our hand is wonderful. Other than the fact that I am a tea drinker, your list could have been mine, too.
“I love friends and family and time spent together. Just sharing life. Making memories.”
The older I get, the more your last line rings true for me.
The line about a coffee mug reminded me of a tea mug a friend made for me. After years of hot tea, it broke. I decided to bury it, instead of just throwing it.
What wonderful loves you’ve listed! Thank you for sharing this poetic glimpse into your happy moments. I enjoyed reading your poem!
Diane, your lovely poem is a celebration of things I also enjoyed. I really appreciate how your poem lands on “Making Memories”.
Rita, thanks so much for this invitation. It was just the flexibility I needed on this calm morning.
Calm
you can find it in the early weekend morning
just before the sun rises
the house (and my mind) is calm
an unexpected gift of time
it also lives in the parallel lines of newly
vacuumed carpet
and in a classroom moments before
students enter
it’s the best-laid plans before they
go awry
and the bow in hand, a private practice moment–a piece that
you love
there are memories of your grandmother’s voice
tinny soprano—praise and love
a genuine hug
rolling on 4 wheels (or 2) living in
the moment
doing anything in the moment without
thought for what comes next
Calm is a stanza of poetry in the middle of
a burning world
a cellist in the midst of war
a cool breeze on a sunny day
calm is found within the storm, not
outside it
David,
Your home poem is just beautiful.I love the specificity of “ parallel lines of newly
vacuumed carpet” and especially loved this stanza —
“Calm is a stanza of poetry in the middle of
a burning world
a cellist in the midst of war”
I love all these ways to find calm. Unexpected gifts of time, memories of a loved ones’ voice, a cool breeze… so sweet to think of this at the beginning of my Sunday…
What a beautiful poem…it brings me calm and peace just reading it. I love that you’ve mixed sentimental things, like your grandmother’s voice with ordinary ones, like the newly vacuumed carpet.
David, this shift that comes at the end of the poem is brilliant
calm is found within the storm, not
outside it
Oh, the lesson of learning to find the peace in the midst of chaos, the calm in the storm, the strains of cello in wartime.
David,
Isn’t it great how the prompts can sometimes offer us just the right invitation and on other days open up space for us to write something entirely different? So glad you are here.
Your poem feels like such a generous meditation on calm, the way you find it in both the smallest, ordinary moments and the larger, harder spaces where it feels almost impossible. I really love “calm is a stanza of poetry in the middle of a burning world,” because it holds that tension so beautifully, and the ending lands with this quiet wisdom that feels earned and deeply true.
I will carry this with me today.
Sarah
David, your calm poem is just what I needed after a stressful week.
“and the bow in hand, a private practice moment–a piece that you love”
This line brought me back to my college days and the solitary hours in the practice room with my string bass. Thank you for taking me back and reminding me to cherish the calm moments that can be found every day.
David,
Thank you for this gentle reminder and cathartic verse. I love poems that exemplify abstract w/ concrete images. Your stanza that reads
“Calm is a stanza of poetry in the middle of
a burning world
a cellist in the midst of war”
is why I return to this space. I just finished my evening yoga routine, and your poem is a lovely conclusion to that and a busy day.
This is a gorgeous poem, David. Calm is in so many things if we just notice it.
Thank you for the cool prompt- may your day be filled with joy!!
I love to be in darkness,
in a dew soaked field,
Listening to owls,
and smelling daffodils.
Ten minutes,
before day breaks,
Western breeze –
off a silver lake.
Waiting on,
an Eastern Tom,
to explode,
with a daylight alarm,
for my soul.
But……
There has been,
a time or two,
I’ve heard the howl,
of the untrue.
Yes….
Way back,
past the tangle of briars,
I heard,
The Froon’s desperate cry!
Oh….
How the hair,
spiked on my neck,
Fear, Freeze,Fight,
I was a mental wreck.
Yet…
I loved,
that I was there,
Trapped by his howl,
in grayness I stared.
His call,
was a croaking howl,
a loud whisper,
that traveled miles.
one of,
unaware,
one of a peace,
a double dare,
a spine tingling release.
Shaking…
I visualized,
the Froon,
a frogman,
crossed with a Loon.
That hid,
in the Georgia woods,
no one ever saw him,
and no one ever could!
Elusive as the buck,
sly as a coyote,
and for a few seconds,
The crowls, controlled me.
Green,
with yellow eyes,
charcoaled wings,
with a red underside.
Long,
forked tongue,
with webbed hands,
sharp canines,
tall as an oak,
he could stand.
Caked,
in muck,
and honeysuckle,
six foot wing span,
with bear knuckles.
Crowls,
only twice a year,
a cry,
to enforce fear.
Why….
was I chosen,
twice,
to hear the Froon,
maybe my time,
was coming soon?
Do….
Hunters,
endure the fright,
they force on their game,
with might?
How…
I would love to,
figure this,
out,
maybe when,
I hunt this
morning,
I will crowl,
with a shout?
Whatever….
is the case,
I will never
forget the
Froon’s grace.
for leaving me alone,
In my place,
Only,
allowing my heart to race.
And..
I loved the experience,
with all of its glory,
But…
Most of all,
I love to tell stories.
-Boxer
I was living in the calm of your early morning adventures and then the Froon. What a great juxtaposition and an honesty about humans in the woods. “Most of all, / I love to tell stories.” That line is the perfect ending. Thanks for sharing.
Keep telling the stories!
Clayton — I love the way your narrative poem unfolds and the way it moves from grounded in reality to fantastical was so fun. Last stanza is a perfect ending to this tale!
You had me going. I was Googling the Froon…..all I could find was a cold case of a girl with that name who disappeared while hiking, and then as I read on I could see it was like a mysterious creature, and then of course that last line had me laughing….a storyteller you are, like no other in the Georgia back woods. Imma need a sign for my driveway…..Froon Crossing. As elusive as the Yellow Bear. Good one.
Boxer,
I really needed to stay with this one, moving down the screen to uncover another and another “love to figure this out” and that is just the form of the poem, curiosities. The way it starts in that quiet, almost sacred calm and then slips into something eerie and mythic without losing its sense of wonder. I love how the Froon feels both imagined and completely real.
Sarah
What a storyteller you are! I was feeling so serene and then bam. I like how your use of interjections moves the poem along while offering the reader a place to catch their breath.
Boxer — Your “story” had me grabbed all the way top to bottom. The “Froon”… the sense of demon is so creepy and real. These descriptors:
whoa…excellent stuff! The “darkness … 10 minutes before daybreak” is my witching hour… I have some wicked dreams in that slot… and the Froon story is now sure to show up one morning this week. Ha! Oh no! I loved this. Soooo creative and captivating. Susie
Rita
I am sorry to hear about your husband. I hope poetry has given you solace. Instead of a list, I wrote a light-hearted poem about keeping lists. Thank you for the prompt.
Kevin
I do love me a list
of all the many things I need
to get done,
and the satisfaction
of my pencil scratching,
’cause it’s one
less thing to worry about
for the day; and now I’m on
to something fun
You captured how we can make through the day by writing. In a few stanzas you embraced how we as writers can take on the world. “ less to worry about” – because we let go with our poems. Very captivating!!
thank you
The simple pleasures of checking something off a list. You’ve captured it so succinctly and can now move on to something else fun. Thanks for sharing.
The satisfaction of the pencil scratching… great detail.
Kevin,
I love the simple truth in your poem. Creating a list can truly be freeing and therapeutic!
Loved the verse–“There has been a time or two. …” and all the verbal sounds of this poem. It begs to be read aloud. Thank you!
I love this too! What a fun poem…love the unexpectedness of your line breaks.
Kevin,
So satisfying in its rhythm, the poem mirrors the pleasure of checking things off and moving forward. I love that shift into “something fun,” because it reminds me how even small acts of order can open up space for joy. I will hold onto this today.
Sarah
Kevin, thank you. What a great list poem about a list. I could feel the satisfaction of the pencil scratching and the sense of freedom when the task is completed. Enjoy doing something fun!