Welcome to Verselove—a space for educators to nurture their writing lives and celebrate poetry in the community. Each day in April, we come together to explore the power of poetry for both heart and mind. Write with care, for yourself and your readers. When responding, reflect back the beauty you find—lines that linger, ideas that inspire. Enjoy the journey. (Learn more here. If you’d like to host a Verselove Day in 2026, sign up here.)
Our Host
Barbara Edler is a retired English teacher who taught English Language Arts, Speech & Drama, and TAG students for over forty years. She is currently a CowPoke, a.k.a. a writing tutor, for Kirkwood Community College’s online writing center called KCCCOW. She loves to write poetry, flash fiction and more. You can find some of her poetry published in editions of Lyrical Iowa, Grant Wood Country Chronicle, The Cities of the Plains: An Anthology of Iowa Artists and Poets, Words that Mend, 90 Ways of Community, and the book Teacher-Poets Writing to Bridge the Distance: An Oral History of COVID-19 in Poems which was published due to the efforts of Dr. Sarah J. Donovan and Caroline Lopez. Most importantly, she enjoys writing with the supportive Ethical ELA community and appreciates all of Dr. Sarah Donovan’s efforts for making VerseLove and the monthly Open Writes accessible for all teachers and writers.
Inspiration
Writing about the essence of an experience, person, or place can often be captured by creating a list. Catalog poems do just that by cataloguing the senses, actions, and ideas of a particular topic. Today’s inspiration comes from two different poets: Andrea Carlisle and Michael Carey. Andrea’s poem “Emily Dickinson’s To-Do List” captures some of Emily’s famous behaviors. In the first stanza, Carlisle writes:
Monday
Figure out what to wear
Put hair in bun
Bake gingerbread for Sue
Peer out window at passerby
Write poem
Hide poem
You can find the rest of her poem at the following link: Emily Dickinson’s To-Do List by Andrea Carlisle | The Writer’s Almanac with Garrison Keillor
Michael Carey’s book Poetry: Starting from Scratch offers a delightful way for students to craft a poem by writing a “Things to Do” poem which uses the catalog technique. Students created poems about things to do on their phone, at a play, and with a lavender pencil.
Process
Walt Whitman has often been credited for inventing the catalog poem. A catalog poem basically contains a list that enumerates actions, ideas, feelings, observations, etc. You can find several examples and a wonderful definition of catalog poems at the Poetry Foundation. Check out this link: Taking Stock with the Catalog Poem | The Poetry Foundation
Catalog poems can be serious or silly. Framing the writing around a “things to do” list may inspire your own students’ poetry. Here are a few steps you might employ to begin today’s piece.
- Choose a specific event from your past, a special pastime you enjoy, a favorite place you have visited, or somewhere you can often be found such as your classroom, a coffee shop, a bookstore, the park, etc.
- Quickly list what you recall or observe. Include as many sensory details as you can as you create the list.
- Read through your list and select the ones that appeal to you the most.
- Begin drafting your poem.
Barb’s Poem
Whiteout
white bandages, cotton balls, gauze
line the sterile countertop
outside the small room, sirens wail
bright fluorescent lights flicker above me
everything is ghastly white—
the walls, my gown, the clock, the bed
a buzzing sound shatters my head
the only color—red
blood splatters below my feet
the only witnesses to my silent screams
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.
COME OF AGE
You
Have come of age
If little things that mattered
Don’t matter any more
You feel secure
You act mature
Every moment is a treasure
You look at the big picture
Wealth is not a measure
of your happiness
Bright is your future
Night Time To-Do
Cook 5 dinners
Beg children to eat them
Wash hands and faces
Toss out wasted food
Play hide-and-seek
Unload dishwasher
Brush little teeth
Encourage little jammies
Read two more books than planned
“No. I won’t sleep in your bed with you.”
Tickle three backs.
Put two kids back in bed.
Tickle two backs.
Set a timer.
“Mama has to go. She has work to do.”
Load the dishwasher
Check the monitor
Sigh
Grab ice packs for an old knee
Open computer
Feel too tired to do work
Text mom friends instead.
Chea,
Your poem captures the nightly routine and exhaustion so perfectly. The last two lines are so relatable!
I rush to work
I set up shop
I make myself a cup of coffee and turn on some rock
I sigh and I relax
Until a customer awaits me at the other side of the counter
I smile
I take their order
and I go to the corner to brew up their wishes
I make many wishes come true
Once my time is up and enough have been granted
I clock myself out and have the scent of coffee with me for the rest of the day
Barb, I’m late to the game. What a fun prompt! It prompted me to write about a recurring dream I have about this odd place…A good psychologist would probably have a field day with it! XD
“Dream Home”
A stairway leads to the
apartment,
and the journey up them
can be crackhouse dirty or
quite the opposite.
The key is an integral piece
of the puzzle
and I’m always puzzled
to realize
that I still possess it.
Am I still paying rent?
It seems that, yes,
this is my other home
My woman-cave
My young years
My past lives
My love.
Pass through the kitchen
and find a bathroom,
one of three, four
haunted by ghosts and demons
if you progress through the
hole in the shattered
back wall of it.
All of the bathrooms are haunted.
I fear them with their cracked walls
And broken bricks.
When I try to shower in them,
I find them too small
with nothing to wash
myself with – I’m like Alice
in Creepy Wonderland.
Now pass through the kitchen again
and proceed up the staircase to
another place I fear: a long, white
hallway. Countless bedrooms
open on each side, and
all is white, white, white.
Quickly I descend,
Frightened at what
I might encounter.
I know this place,
these places.
Haunted,
though they seem ready-made,
waiting for me
to inhabit them,
to come home.
Where is home?
Where is home
Home is here, home is there
As I lay my feeble head on the breasts I fed
In the boldness of the fists that loved me first
It is the truth of my identity
That where I am embraced
There, in that square
There I call home
8:12pm
okay one more episode then it’s time to go to bed
9:37pm
okay time for my nighttime routine
11:03am
okay am I reading the time right? *blinks* wait…
1:02am
stop please
2:29am
please stop
3:07
I need to sleep please stop
8:00am
*alarm rings*
8:15
*alarm rings*
…
I like this. You demonstate the shock that comes with loosing track of time very well. Your poem desribes the dread you feel when you cant sleep and realize you have to get up early.
Beautiful memories .Classroom.
When I Was Eighteen
(Najma Masood)
I sat by the window,
Notebooks in hand.
The teacher spoke softly,
I tried to understand.
My heart would race
When it was my turn.
I’d write my name
And wait for the words to burn.
The fan would spin,
Laughter in the air.
My friend would smile,
We didn’t have to share.
I thought of home,
And what was to come.
Happy and scared,
I knew I wasn’t done.
Najma, I love your poem and how you show us yourself at 18. Your learning emotions are clear, and I appreciate the joy you share with your friend. Your closing stanza adds a lovely emotional touch, showing even though you are scared, you are willing to make the most of your situation. Powerful poem! Thank you!
Your poem describes feelings of anxiety in school, trying to do well, and finding comfort in friendship. You present emotions that many people at that age also expierence.
Phone things
Ring
Ring
Ring
Every time
Any time
Any where
Broken peace
Broken thoughts
Broken actions
Broken conversations
Who now
What now
Family friend foe
Anticipation
Ignore?
Nay
Pick up
Hello
Great poem, Betty to show how one reacts to the phone. The Broken series is impactful! I like how you ended this piece by answering the phone. Very rapid pace and relatable poem!
Your poem perfectly encapsulates my family through the years, thank you for your words!
This is great. I can feel how strongly you feel about this topic though your text. I agree that phones have disrupted our lives and have robbed us of moments unseen. It is a shame.
FUTURE YOU
What would it take
To meet greet seat
To chat eat sleep
With future you
A whole lot of grit and tenacity
What would it take
To not even have time for yourself
To sit back and relax
To put your feet up
To bask in the sun
To throw caution to the wind
To let your hair down
And dance the night away
What would it take
To rise above the turbulence
Be true to yourself
Be fulfilled and purposeful
A whole lot of grit and tenacity
Betty, your poem is fantastic. I love how your poem flows and the rhyme elements that add zip to your poem. I especially enjoyed the second stanza, imagining what it would be like to be able to take all that time for myself. Your closing stanza definitely shares some great advice! Rising above the turbulence is important. Thanks for sharing your “Future You” with us!
Betty! The reminder to stay disciplined and consistent while still prioritizing our overall health. Thank you thank you thank you I needed this reminder.
Finals
The clock is ticking
tick tick tick
2 more weeks
4 classes
Numerous final projects due
First, assignments due today
Next, assignments due tomorrow
Finally, the weekend
Relax
No
Focus
Next, assignments due Monday
Suite follows until the end of the year
Freedom
But not yet
So close
So much stress
Just breath
Check
Count your fingers
Check
Watch the clock for a minute
Check
Another minute
tick tick tick
Time speeds away as the end of the year closes
And a new one begins
Katelyn, yes, this is that time of the semester.
“Relax / No / Focus” – this is so familiar. I feel like that during the weekends too.
Hang in there! “Just breath,” as you say. Thank you for writing and sharing!
Katelyn, you effectively captured the end of the semester stressors. The clock is racing. I feel the final moments in your poem, but love how you close with the idea that although one stage of your life may be ending another stage is ready to begin. Good luck and thanks for sharing your very relatable poem!
Good evening poets! Thank you for sharing your beautiful craft today. I have enjoyed reading your amazing contributions. I am currently exhausted so I’m heading to bed, but I will be back in the morning to comment on any poems that may appear while I’m snoozing. Don’t forget to look for Glenda’s community poem too! Good night!
Oh, I had so many good ideas for this one today. I wanted to emulate “Loves” by Stephen Dunn, in which he catalogues cleverly the concrete and abstract… I planned to write something so moving and layered… but wow was the day long and wow am I tired. Hence, something quick and silly:
Things I’ve Given My Daughter
Blond hair that turns brown in high school
Blue-grey eyes
Bunyons (sorry)
Brain pride
Book love
Bach love
Bliss with chocolate peanut butter ice cream
The sweet name “B”
I love all the “B” lines…and totally understand the feeling that comes from long days and ambitious intentions!
Kate, ahh, this is so precious. Perhaps you can do something later with the concrete and abstract, but your poem today is just full of love, and I do appreciate how well you were able to use the B word to show all the wonderful and maybe one that’s not so fun to your daughter. I absolutely adore your final line: The sweet name “B” Thanks for putting forth that extra effort to compose and share!
Kate, this is precious! Save it for your daughter. I would frame this poem.
Kate, this is perfect. I love the last line that wraps up all the B words with nice bow.
Aw Kate your daughter sounds so adorable, I wish to share my love for choc peanut butter ice cream with mine one day
Barbara–your invitation had me thinking all day…and anticipating that this kind of poem might be easy. But, oh no, as poetry and writing does, it brought up all the incongruities of this time of the year. I wrote a bit more about it on the blog version of this poem. Whatever this is…I appreciate the invitation and the inspiration.
https://thinkingthroughmylens.com/2025/04/23/things-to-do-npm25-day-23/
Things to Do: Spring Version
Bees buzzing
flower to blossom to bud
classroom’s a-buzz too
pollination taking hold, growth is everywhere
Poems sprouting
first graders composing
in their heads
fingers counting
how many words did William Carlos Williams use?
Tasks multiplying
let’s change access to the
report card system
as T3 opens and assessments pour in
12 characters or is it 16 for that new password?
Holding want-tos and have-tos
balancing the 26 days remaining
planning lessons that will be scrapped
in the frenzy of endings
and beginnings
building new classrooms with the students
we haven’t yet let go
Kim Douillard
4/23/25
Kim, I like how you move from buzzing bees to buzzing students and compare their growth. The three first stanzas opening with the Noun+Participle creates the dynamic progressing movement in the poem. I can relate to the end-of-school year want-tos and have-tos as well as not being ready to let students go. Thank you for writing and sharing and for the link to your blog.
Oh, do those “poems sprouting / first graders composing in their heads” give me hope—and reason to keep up the good fights in writing teacher ed!
Wow, Kim, I love your poem. I feel that frenetic energy bouncing off the page as it clearly shares the activities of young children learning and composing. I am a huge fan of WCW so I immediately imagined “The Red Wheelbarrow” as being a mentor prompt for these students. I loved the imagery you begin with and how that metaphor aptly describes spring and a busy classroom, but my favorite part are your closing lines:
planning lessons that will be scrapped
in the frenzy of endings
and beginnings
building new classrooms with the students
we haven’t yet let go
Those lines pulled hard onto my heart strings. Loved it. Thanks for sharing your incredible poetry with us and thanks for sharing your blog post link, too!
Kim, you have really captured the incongruities and fast pace of the end of the year. Well done.
It’s 10 pm. I’m trying to sleep. Haven’t been able to find inspiration for a poem all day. This just happened. (But, of course, it did.)
Things to do upon retiring to bed
Adjust the pillow
Straighten the covers
Throw off the covers
Wonder why it’s so hot
Check the A/C
Lie back down
Adjust the pillow
Straighten the covers
Close my eyes
Muse that last week I was so jetlagged I fell asleep immediately after lying down
Wish that I could fall asleep so easily
Think about all the things I’m doing that prevent me from falling asleep
Hey, that’s the list I need for my poem today.
Write a poem. See above.
“Wonder why it’s so hot” – oh, do I ever connect with that! I love that your brain generated a poem instead of sleep and I’m delighted that you shared it. Now, may we both find ourselves tired enough to sleep quickly & easily tonight!
Cheri,
I hope you get some rest. This was the perfect poem to describe what so many of us experience. Glad you had a little energy left to share it with us. Night night!!
Cheri, I am right there with you adjusting the pillow, checking AC, covering and uncovering my feet, and so one according to your list. You did write a poem, which is great.
A long time ago, my doctor suggested me to keep a pen and a notepad by my bed, so if I suddenly remembered something and was afraid to forget it, I’d write it down, so I could fall asleep without worrying about it. It never helped me; I’d get even more anxious ))
As the others have said, this is so, so relatable. You’ve made me feel a little less alone as I head to my bed, nervous that it will be another flop-around night…
Cheri, oh my, your headnote had me laughing aloud. I so get the difficulty of being inspired at times and then something just pops. Of course, retiring to bed is a process. I love how you artfully share your routine here. I am one who does a lot of fussing with the pillows. I adore the way your structured your poem. So much fun! Thank you!
Ha! Of course the poem writes itself when you’re trying to sleep–that’s how it always goes. At least you could get up and write it down rather than struggle with it in your dreams all night! Wishing you sleep now that the poem is written!
Barb, I forgot to finish my introductory comments earlier. Thank you for the great variety of mentors you gave us today. The white and red contrast in your poem is so stark. It makes me curious, and your ‘silent screams’ are frightening. I really enjoyed the poem about Dickinson with her white clothes and hidden poems. Beautiful!
Denise, thank you so much for your thoughtful comment. I have a poetry book that is devoted to Emily Dickinson. It’s so fun and the Emily to do list one is my favorite. I’m not at home as I traveled to see my aunt in the hospital and then went to my sister’s home instead of driving back home, but I will be sure to share the title with you later. I was thrilled that I found it online so I could share it today.
Barb,
thanks for hosting and for this flexible prompt which brought me back to Barton Springs where I went for a quick swim and reset button before work this morning.
————————————————————
Barton Springs
I only go when it’s free
before 8 am
or in the winter
it’s always 68 degrees
give or take
I’ve swam there
when it was 17 degrees
and a 110
I’ve swam with fish
and turtles
and cormorants
who are either
neotropic or double-crested
the light is always different
Sharon, I am completely drawn into your poem imagining what it must be like to go swimming at Barton Springs. I love the specific details about the water temperatures and the wildlife you swim with. Your final line is amazing. I truly love how this adds such a powerful and provocative close. Gorgeous poem! Thank you!
Ah, “the light is always different”—and so worth so many visits. Inspires me to get out…
Sharon, 68 F sounds so cold; you are a brave soul. Last summer the water in our pool was around 93F – unusually warm, but I loved it. I am wondering how it feels to swim with fish and turtles. I imagine you in the diver’s suit elegantly moving among the reefs and sea creatures, like in the documentaries from National Geographic
Thank you for sharing.
Sharon! What a nice way to include numbers into your poem, I rarely see it, I appreciate being able to read such a poem, thank you!
Oh, I do love a catalog poem, but I’ve never approached one in this way. Thank you for the prompt to catalog the sensory details first, Barb. My poem ended up taking a very different turn than I thought it would when I first read the prompt this morning. In fact, I found myself remembering a moment I had all but forgotten…
Fade out
in front of us
pale blue eyes fade to pink
pink nose against the white fur
white fur wet with red blood
dripping on the green grass
soaking into the brown dirt
the brown blur amidst the green bushes
white teeth in the blood-red mouth
pink foam dripping from the black lips
soft warm body in our pink hands
dark red blood on his white shoes
running over the green grass
slapping across the gray concrete
through the brown door
long loud wail from the house
clear sharp silence
the high blue sky fades to pink
above us
Amanda,
This is the most gorgeous, ethereal description of a wounded sentient being I’ve ever read, I think. The specificity of color, of repeating and linking colors punctuated by a
“long loud wail from the house
clear sharp silence”
next to the nonspecific, unnamed source of the sound blows my mind. So good! Then the ambiguity of the fade out takes us to the pink sky. Lovely.
Ooof, Amanda, I love how you’ve captured this very alarming scene. i can feel the terror, sadness, and grief within that sharp silence. The colors you’ve used to help show the scene are vivid and bright and really pulled me into the scene. I felt especially alarmed by the “pink foam dripping from the black lips'” and these lines were riveting
dark red blood on his white shoes
running over the green grass
slapping across the gray concrete
through the brown door.
Your final lines work like a closing film’s final sky scene. Outstanding poem! Love that title, too!
Amanda, your poem is so well crafted. The movement with colors is incredible, and there are so many of them: pale blue, pink, white, red, green, brown, blood-red, black, and gray. And it seems to me that I am watching a scene in slow motion. I can almost hear that “long loud wail” followed by “clear sharp silence.” Thank you for this rich imagery!
Barb,
This is a great prompt–thank you for all of the resources! My poem started with a list of noticing today. Your poem was harrowing! Full of terrifying, unsettling imagery. I was really pulled in!
Purple lined the road today
and there was purple in the mountains
that wasn’t there yesterday,
at least as far as I could tell,
I saw it as I looked up at bright blue skies
The clouds parted today
and the clerk at Dollar General
asked me how I was doing,
like, really asked, in a
human to human way,
I made note to make note
because today, that was
enough.
I appreciate the way noticing the colors in the first stanza leads to noticing the kindness in the second. And something about the lines “like, really asked, in a/ human to human way” tickled my fancy. Perhaps it is the “like” which, to me, made it feel more, well, human.
Yes, Dave, the clerk did something that can change the trajectory of a person’s day and it doesn’t happen often enough. I appreciate that this is the experience you shared. Love the purple softness in the beginning too.
Dave, one of the things I most enjoy in spring are the shades of purple. Anymore I see numerous fields covered in purple. Your purple lined road and mountains had me visualizing that incredible color. Your second stanza is compelling. It’s amazing how sometimes we can have a very strong connection with a stranger. You can feel for a moment that someone is truly taking an interest which made me appreciate your closing lines “because today, that was enough.” Thanks for sharing your incredible craft with us today!
writing music: a to do list
first
turn on my phone
and
tap
through apps, and apps, and apps
until i reach
the one i need.
second
scroll through saved sheet music
and
cluttered notes with scattered lyrics,
unfinished verses, catchy choruses,
pick one to finish, or sing, or
a blank slate to paint on.
third
pick my instrument
piano, ukulele, or guitar,
though usually it’s the smallest,
the wooden body smooth against my leg,
the four thin strings dancing underneath
my fingertips.
fourth
decide on a song
a favorite i’ve written,
or the newest one,
both about longing
to be loved
to be had
to be held
until the notes and rhythms
soar from my lips
as my heart begins to heal
and music is just pouring
and pouring
and pouring
through my bedroom.
five
write a new song
fingers clacking on my phone’s
tiny keyboard
until verses come to exist
six
sing, baby, sing
seven
repeat until you’re okay
until you’re lips are tipping up
into a grin
until you’re fingers are guitar string
calloused
until you can’t think of anything
except for the music
the lyrics
the melodies
until your eyes fall shut
and you can begin again
tomorrow.
Molly, your poems reflects the power of music.
“repeat until you’re okay
until your lips are tipping up
into a grin”
And, because I’m just a wee bit superstitious about numbers in a religious and cultural way, the fact that peace came in verse seven gave your poem extra power to me.
Thanks for sharing.
Molly, oh my gosh, your poem is fantastic. I love the progressive joy as you process creating a new son. My favorite stanza was “six/sing, baby, sing”. The grin in the seventh step is also incredibly joyful. I like that you show you will do this all again tomorrow. It would be fun to hear one of your songs. Thanks for sharing your music writing process and delightful poem!
Willard Hall–A special place that once was a women’s dorm at OSU
Front doors greet me
Two ramps like
Open arms ready
To collect and hold
To nurture and keep
The living room
Gentle whispers of
Women from before me
Winds rapping against
The old french doors
A basement library
Full of secret treasures
Computer lab I spent
Furiously typing or
Racing against clocks
Three versions of me
All within on building
Student, mother, wife,
Divorcee, wife again
Teacher, mentor, friend
Ashley, I love how this dorm is personified, greeting you like a close loved one whose open arms are ready to embrace and nurture. The whispering is compelling as well as that basement library “full of secret treasures”. Your closing stanza shows you’ve dealt with some challenging moments, but that you made it and are all the stronger for your experiences. Very compelling poem!
Ashley, this is absolutely beautiful.
The library, the living room, all of this just pulls me right there with you.
#verselove
start
stop
say
I
can’t
decide
that
could
be
a
poem
hell
anything
can
be
a
poem
respond
to
3
poets
and
post
don’t
apologize
Kasey, I hear the “tired” and “end of the day” feels in your poem that speaks to the reality that poems can be anything. One of my “I am never going to write” students actually fell in love with poetry because anything is a poem as you know.
Kasey, you captured something I wish more people realized–poetry isn’t constrictive and oppressive. People have so many rules and ideas about what a poem should be that they forget sometimes that poems can just be. I love the gentle reminder in your words.
The form here really works, especially for the stanza “hell anything can be a poem” which made me smile because, well, there it is, isn’t it?
Kasey,
What a great portrait of our community and the freedom it brings:
Kasey, I am fascinated by your poem. I love how you created a skinny poem and show what you are thinking and doing. The emphasis in the third stanza is my favorite one. Yes, a poem can be anything! Pure joy! It’s wonderful, of course, when people do respond to three posts and I think this is a great space to share any poem. I know I have numerous duds that I just have to shake my head although I often end up apologizing for the outcome. Your final two words: “don’t/apologize” is exactly what I needed to hear. Thanks for sharing this brilliant poem that reflects both style and your striking poetic voice. Loved it!
Barb, this is one of my favorite prompts because it helps me focus. Today, I was consumed so I spoke my poem into my Notes and let it be. Didn’t want to miss writing today so I gave myself grace.
Barb, your poem really shocked me at the end.
Stop Checking Boxes and Live
Former First Lady, Michelle Obama
was a box checker
Not like checking shipping boxes
Not like grocery store boxing
But a list maker
Not like a shopping list
Not like a list of things to do on Friday
But a Life List
Not like a bucket list
Not like a vision board list
But a must-do-by-a-certain-age list
Not like kiss a boy before 7th grade
Not like secretly smoking in 10th grade
But a go to Princeton, graduate Harvard, be a successful lawyer list
Not like that would fulfill her dreams
Not like that would make her happy
But fall in love, become a mom
And start living a life of purpose list
© Stacey L. Joy, 4/23/25
Hell yes! Live! I love how everyone found a way to let this prompt inspire them. Excellent poem! I love the rhythm. Thank you!
Love this rhythm of “haves and have nots” back and forth with nice balance and contrast. The 7th grade kiss oof. Thanks for sharing this take
Stacey, I love the structure that you grounded your poem in. The Not and But lines kept me hooked! And what a great theme!
Stacey, I need to try using audio apps to help me write. Obviously based on your poem, it works amazingly well. I love how you define types of lists here and the kind of lists we often make such as the bucket list and vision board, but I adored the levity of the “-do-by-a-certain-age list’. Your ending closes with such a joyful note. Loved it! Thanks!
It’s been several days since I was able to participate and I was inspired to pop back in today because my students are presenting poetry and others are about to write multigenre papers. I decided to write what I think could be a poem in a multigenre paper about “the power of a community of voices” so here it goes:
A Protest Piece by Erica Johnson
I decided to partake
popping over to a protest
and demonstrating democracy
I was not prepared for
a capital crisis on the capitol
where the lines are drawn
not unlike the lines we drew
in permanent marker on poster
which warbles with movement
and the din of voices
ebbing, flowing, weaving
around and into the streets
arms linked or outstretched
and stomping feet standing
or sitting stamping
and always
call and response
call and response
TAKE ACTION and
chanting, chanting, chanting
color bleeds across concrete
leading up to steps
United We Stand!
Erica, yes, this could be that poem! I’m liking “color bleeds across concrete / leading up to the steps / United We Stand!” I’m reading it as red and blue bleed together to be united against injustice and oligarchy.
Erica — I feel the energy of this protest poem. Love alliteration and play on words in “a capital crisis on the capitol” and this vivid image “the din of voices/ebbing, flowing, weaving
around and into the streets/arms linked or outstretched/and stomping feet standing
or sitting stamping.” You’ve really captured the power of the protest and community.
Excellent protest. I felt the emotions and frenzy and passion as if I were there! Thank you for this poem and for taking ACTION!
Erica, your poem is powerful. I love how you build the energy in this poem and end so triumphantly at the end. I’m so glad you were able to participate today because your poem reminds us about the power of community voices. I also really liked the verbs you used throughout your poem and the “warbles with movement’…that really jumped off the page for me as I could visualize that protest sign’s movement. Outstanding poem! Thank you.
It’s crazy to me how this was the prompt because I was half writing this poem on my walk after school today.
What do you notice on a spring
afternoon
after school?
Of course I noticed flowering trees
in splendid pinks that if painted would be critiqued
not realistic enough
the grass is green
It’s spring
the grass is long
I need to mow
Also the clerk at Trader Joe’s said
“Awww
I’m going to miss you-
I liked talking to you”
as she loaded my last bag in my cart
handed me my receipt
and I thought that even though my teens don’t
exactly like to chat
at least someone likes talking to me
I saw people drive by in a Volkswagen convertible beetle
top down
in the front seat was an older man
holding a wooden pirate ship
almost exactly matching one
my son got at an antique store years ago
that my other son recently took a picture of
on top of an amazon box
to use as a metaphor for a school assignment
and I thought that if someone is trying to send me a sign
with pirate ships
that is kind of confusing
On my walk through the park there was a kid
maybe eight years old
scooting his scooter around the track
staring up at the blue sky
there were clouds — but the pretty kind
He exclaimed
“This
is
America!”
at least I thought he did
I was listening to my audiobook
What do you notice on a spring
afternoon
after school?
You describe a beautiful yet confusing world. I like that you cover nature, then your shopping and ending with “This is America!”
All so true…
Would love to hear more about that metaphor … thanks for sharing your noticing of a lovely spring day
Ona, so fun! I loved taking this walk with you today after school. Your voice in this piece is so charming. I love the scooting boy, the blue sky with the pretty kind of clouds, his exclamation, and your listening to your audiobook. It is such a great description of this little event. The whole poem is so fun.
Ona,
We wrote parallel poems today! Spring grabbed me and made me notice all of the wonders around me, too. I love your description in the 3rd stanza of the people in the convertible! So random and your description is amazing, especially the coincidental pirate ship!
I love how you capture your walk after school with your observations and interactions. I absolutely loved your lines:
I liked talking to you
as she loaded my last bag in my cart
handed me my receipt
and I thought that even though my teens don’t
exactly like to chat
at least someone likes talking to me
Oh, boy, do I remember those days. I’d love to see your son’s metaphor photograph. Sounds creative and unique.
Thanks for taking me on this walk. I enjoyed it very much!
Ona,
Perfect framing w/ the repetition. It shows how interconnected our random moments in life are, which is kind of cool. I already adore your son who put the antique pirate ship on an Amazon box to construct a metaphor. He’s definitely the kind of kid I loved having in class.
Catching up from yesterday. Stay tuned for a poem using today’s prompt.
I invited Literacy to the table. She was delightful as can B. We drank T.
She seemed shy at first, as if she was trying to decode each word—sounding out her thoughts. Once she started, she began speaking rapidly, as if I were timing her. “Listen,” I said. “This is not a race. It isn’t about accuracy, and your pronunciation is just fine. I invited you because I want to know U. I want to C U. I want to understand. ¿Comprende? This is all about communication.” So, Literacy took a big deep breath . . . and started to cry. “U C,” she said, “Sometimes people get all phocused on phonics—It’s like they’re hooked. Yes, foundation, foundation, phoundation, but it doesn’t stop there. We need to play with words, slay with words, sing and be sung. U know?” And I did. So we did. We sang. And we shared stories—hers, mines, ours. We laughed, then cried some more, then sang a song of hope. “C, this is Y,” she said, “This is Y I live. This makes me feel whole.” We drank more T, made lists, recited poems, made declarations, asked questions, wrote our dreams, and shared our resilience through story. Y’all, Literacy is a beauty, and she is invited to my table any time!
Julie, clever and oh, so dear. What a great topic for your prose poem. I would love to invite Literacy to my table. I especially love “shared our resilience through story” Yes, indeed. Of course, I have to mention how appropriate and captivating it was to see the B, T, U, C, Y, etc.
Julie, your prose poem is definitely provocative. I fall into the trap of reading things incorrectly at times due to the emphasis I received with phonics as a child, but literacy is so much more. By the time you get to the end writing dreams, asking questions and sharing resilience, I am applauding aloud. Thanks for sharing and I look forward to your next submission.
Special Interests
To be a curious
human, is all he needs.
To ask lots of follow
up questions, the answers are not the point.
To look at his
eyes, glowing with pleasure.
To mirror gestural
shoulders, gleeful giggle- you are with him.
To hold private
yawns, remembering this is bonding.
To resist subject
change, for it will fall back to the former.
To accept expertise
overload, knowing it’s his way of being.
To silent the wish: just once
he might ask me a question.
This is lovely. I really liked the subtle moments of bonding here. Thank you for sharing.
Sarah, this is fascinating. I loved reading the “Special Interests” Wikipedia page you shared. It makes your poem more meaningful. I like the anaphora of “To…” with all the verbs. I feel like your poem helps us to be there with you and this expert in your kind conversation.
Sarah — I love the way you caputure the complexities of a relationship here. The acceptance of a loved one for who they are, yet the wish for something to change is so authentic and honest.
Sarah, I love your poem shows someone who is autistic. You expertly detail the behaviors of an autistic person well. The speaker’s actions show how much one must practice patience. Your ending reminds me of having a friend who doesn’t have time to hear your ideas, etc. adding to the precarious emotional balance within this relationship. Powerful poem! This would be a great piece to discuss with pre-teachers who are preparing for a variety of special needs individuals.
Barb — Thank you for your prompt today and your poem. I was really struck by the vivid images of the sterile white hospital and then the contrast in the last stanza was so powerful! I’ve been in a writing funk these last couple of days, and wasn’t sure I could find inspiration or motivation to write until I went for a walk.
Springwalker
On my walk today,
I caught a peculiar sight—
a woman dressed like spring,
balancing on the wooden rails
of a raised flower bed.
One arm outstretched
like a tightrope walker,
the other clutching
a water bottle.
Pollen floated around her
like soft gold dust.
She drifted among
purple yarrow,
yellow coneflowers,
her face a quiet mask
of zen-like concentration.
and I wondered
what world held her so mesmerized?
Tammi,
The title of your poem is lovely. I see it as a title of a book perhaps. This character is mesmerizing in the “soft gold dust.”
Sarah
I love the imagery of this poem — it almost feels like you encountered the Personification of spring itself!
That’s a beautiful thought, Erica. It does seem like that!
Tammi, such a sweet poem. You describe this person so perfectly. We could recognize her anywhere. “Pollen…like soft gold dust” is such a beautiful image.
I am glad your walk inspired you, Tammi, but I get it. Some days it takes me a long time to think of anything to write. First, your poem is immediately inviting, and I love your title. I am captured by the peculiar sight and the way you describe the woman is illuminating. The pollen, purple yarrow, and yellow coneflowers add a lovely touch to the whole scene. Yes, she must have had “zen-like concentration” and your final question is provocative. Striking poem, Tammi!
Morning catalog
flavors of jam
not breakfast but a snack
waiting for the water to boil
hear the clothes tossing in the dryer
delicates hanging in the air
my stomach growls
cutting slices of fresh pineapple
kifir cereal
waiting
do a little yoga stretch
walk to see the birds
open the gate
lots of chirping and diving
no newspaper?
wet my face
eyes blinking
lotion
protect from the sun
don my hat
footsteps crunching forward
Thanks, Barbara. This was fun.
Susan — This sounds like a peaceful morning! I love how you progress from the must-do morning tasks to the sounds of nature and then your “footsteps crunching forward.”
Love this close look at the moves of a day, the gestures of care in “wet my face” and “don my hat.” Simple. Lovely. Poetic.
Susan, this sounds like a delightful morning. I love the clipped lines that speak so much and are so familiar. Your voice is strong, and we feel we are with you in all these morning activities.
This is a beautiful poem! I love the details here, you describe them so vividly! Such a gorgeous moment.
Susan, you’ve captured the morning perfectly in this poem. It feels inviting and fun. I appreciated all the focus on action and the moving forward at the end felt powerful and indicative of more than just walking but rather making the best of each day. Very fun poem to read! Thank you!
Lots of options and directions with this one! What better catalogue of genres than on Netflix??? Thanks for sharing the lists and lists of options, I enjoyed reading them and finding inspiration today.
pilot
“So for Season 1’s episodes, we start like this—“
1.01 girl picks college
1.02 girl picks major
1.03 girl falls in love
1.04 girl graduates
1.05 girl gets job
1.06 girl cohabitates
1.07 girl gets engaged
1.08 girl plans wedding
1.09 girl gets promotion
1.10 girl gets married
1.11 girl gets pregnant
1.12 girl buys home
1.13 girl delivers baby
1.14 girl quits job
1.15 girl has more babies, retires, and dies
“Whoa, that escalated quickly,
do I get any say
in how the episodes play out?
Like what if episode 7 doesn’t happen
because she’s really independent?
Or what if she really doesn’t want kids?
It just doesn’t feel like
the right character arc?”
“Oh.
So you want to be the director now?
How 2025 of you,
I bet the show gets canceled.”
**tears script and storms out**
“Of course I want to be
the director in my own—“
CUT.
C.O. Your poem struck home with me. One on the tasks I’ve been working this summer is transmigrating scenes from my Christian fiction series into scripts for a movie series. The director of Episode One, keeps reminding me that he’s the director, not me… As a Christian, I’m challenged by your poem because so often I forget that I must trust the Director if my life, too.
So, I’m not sure I say thank you, here. But, I can say, effective writing. It evokes this reader’s response! You hit a double home run! (Is there such a thing? )
C.O. I am so impressed with your voice in this poem. It’s clear you are invested with the story line, and I love the sarcasm I hear at different moments. I like the questions that share a potential shift in the story’s direction, but I enjoy your second to last stanza the best where you add the director’s action. Your closing lines add the perfect touch for why you might want these other angles become part of the script. Very fun poem and provocative! Thank you!
I love the strong voice in your poem and the interjection of the narrator. What a creative approach to this prompt!
C.O., wow, so clever and fun, this poem. I love the conversation with the director–the “How 2025 of you,” and the answer “Of course, I want to be the director…”
I love the use of episode titles and then the conversation at the end of the poem! What an interesting way to approach this prompt. I was especially charmed by the ending.
CO, this is a great list poem. I recently gave up cable and have used many (most) of those searches as I have tried to navigate this way to unwind as the primary means, You are right that it allows the viewer to be the director of their viewing.
This is such a relatable poem. As a woman, it often feels like our lives are dictated for us. I love how you capture the feeling, and it is such a creative way to talk about the idea! Great work.
This is awesome! No one wants to be a NPC in their own series!
This poem is about my father’s motorcycle accident, it happened on April 8th, 2024 at 5 pm after work. This affected me so heavily and still does. I hold so much anger towards the woman who hit him, for not watching, who misses a loud, bright orange and white bike. I was so thankful that my dad’s back wasn’t destroyed, as he had previously had two back surgeries years ago. If you drive a bike, please always wear your helmet because that is why my dad is alive today. Always watch for your motorcyclist because they might be someone’s kid, family member, or parent. just watch and pay attention, don’t make the same mistake as this woman did because she owes my parents over half a million dollars for her mistake, and she will always have that thought in the back of her mind that she almost killed someone. because I will always remember this.
Motorcycle and car
It happened a year ago,
I remember that call at 5 in the morning,
I hung up at first, I thought it was my alarm.
But it was my mom.
I remember the words that came through the phone,
Your dad was hit by a car, but he is ok.
My mind was spinning and questioning what had happened,
I asked…
How hurt was Dad?
did he hurt his back?
will he ever ride again?
Will he be able to do the things he loves?
I was in my freshman year of college, and finals were rounding the corner,
I went home immediately,
The thought that I almost lost my dad was scary,
I was his first child, his first daughter,
I couldn’t stand the thought that a Woman pulled out and almost killed him.
I remember that summer, I always watched my dad’s back,
I was going to make sure that he heals right,
That he doesn’t get hurt, or do things he shouldn’t,
I became overprotective of my dad, and I still am,
I never want to experience a near-death of one of the people I love,
especially the ones who raised me and are my biggest support.
Hailey, thank you first of all for sharing your personal reminder of why it is so important to watch for motorcyclists and secondly for sharing this traumatic experience with us. Your poem immediately pulls us into your world, the phone call, emotions and questions. Your dad is surely blessed to have such a loving daughter who cared for him after the horrible accident. Your final two lines show the seriousness of careless driving. Powerful poem full of heart-felt emotions. Thank you!
Hailey — I am so happy to hear your dad is okay. How terrifying this must have been for you and your family.
I can relate to this as my son had a close call about eight years ago when a motorist turned right into a the cross walk clipping the front wheel of my son’s bike. Fortunately, my son wasn’t hurt. The infuriating thing was that the motorist didn’t even stop to see if he was okay.
Thank you for trusting us with this sequence of reflections. The scenes you hold onto and how it has shaped you and your relationship. This is, indeed, a catalogue of memory for “the ones who raised me and are my biggest support.”
Hailey, thank you for sharing a very real and raw list of all the feels and scares that came from a moment of not noticing a man on a bike. Motorcycles have always scared me, but more so since a time, long ago, when I was the first to arrive at the scene of a man who was off his bike on the road, Your poem brought back all those feels. I am very glad you dad made it through his ordeal. He is lucky to have you in his camp.
Hailey,
Thank you for trusting us with your story, for advocating for your father and all motorcycle riders. We don’t see as many folks riding motorcycles around here (too cold) as where I grew up in Missouri. Your passion and love for your father shines in this poem. He’s lucky to have a daughter who is so devoted. Your poem gives dual meaning to “watch my dad’s back” given his previous surgeries and your concern for his safety both before and after the accident. I just finished “Tiny Beautiful Things” by Sheryl Strayed. Many of the letters have a “why me” ethos, and Strayed responds, “why not you? Why not me?” That is, there often is no rhyme or reason for things that happen in life, but we all share the common reality that we will suffer. We will experience loss. We will see loved ones die, and we will die. My youngest son and I had a conversation Sunday about his recently coming to the understanding he’ll likely see his parents die. That’s the natural order of things. I remember how hard my father’s death was for my grandmother. She had already lived through a two-year old son dying, and at the time she watched a second son die young. None of us want to see our people die, which is why it’s so important to make our time together count, to do all we can not to let all sorts of things come between us. That’s not always an easy thing to do, but it sounds as though you’re on the right path. Peace.
Barb, thank you so much for prompt and for the mentor poems. I like the contrast of white and red in your poem. Such a punchy ending!
I will return to respond to poets later today after I finish my actual To-Do list.
Here is my poem:
Time Traveler’s To-Do List
Visit childhood for five minutes—
hug that girl who worried too much.
Let her know she’ll be okay.
Drop by your twenties—
say no for her,
the kind of no she didn’t know she was allowed to say.
Stand quietly next to the woman
who stayed up too late with papers and dreams.
Tell her it mattered; someone remembers the lesson.
Revisit the kitchen from last week—
the one where you laughed with your husband
over something small and ridiculous. Store that joy.
Write to your future self:
Be soft with your edges.
Take your time getting there.
Leave a note in tomorrow’s pocket—
“You don’t have to do it all.
Just don’t forget to feel it.”
Oh this is so special. I love this much more than the usual “write a letter to past self” exercise. How sweet. Thanks for sharing this list
Leilya,
Im feeling all the feels reading your poem. This resonates w/ my desire to tell my younger self some of these same things: “Store that joy.” and “Be soft with your edges.” are my favorite parts.
Leilya, you are one of the most wonderful responders and I appreciate your presence so much in this group so I know when you say, you will be back that I can count on you showing back up. It’s always a treat to receive your comments. I adore your poem and the clever way you take us through your life. I also appreciate how you move to the future and end with ““You don’t have to do it all.
Just don’t forget to feel it.”
Wow! What fantastic advice about how we should embrace each day. Thank you for sharing another incredible poem with us all today.
Leiyla — This poem is beautiful. These lines really got me — “Be soft with your edges” and ““You don’t have to do it all./Just don’t forget to feel it.” Great message for us all!
Leilya, What a lovely closing stanza of wisdom literally and figuratively leaving notes in tomorrow’s picket– perfect.
Leilya,
I so love the direction you took with this!! Time traveling. I think this would make a cool prompt in itself.
The culminating line is perfect.
Leilya, this is magical. I want to try to write my own “Time Traveler’s To-Do List” poem. So clever, nurturing, healing and beautiful. Some of my favorites: “Be soft with your edges.” “say no for her” and “Store that joy.” Absolutely beautiful!
Leilya, this is a very clear reminder to appreciate the moment(s) but also how fast the moments pass by. I sure wish I had talked to my younger self and told her to just relax and enjoy the moments.
Barb, thank you for this prompt! I’m in Philadelphia for the day…
city walk in Philadelphia
streets of freedom, jazz, history
17th century, 18th, 19th, 20, 21st
so varied, this artistry of geometry
gothic victorian georgian federal art deco
historic and modern
a city that builds into the sky
my fledgling understanding
of architecture leaves me giddy
as a child
waffled carved rippled
curved diamond checkerboard
cherubs scrolls leaves
terraces balconies gardens
immense old apartment towers in
ornate yellow terra cotta
ooh, an accordioned art center
these straight-laced
red brick brownstones
storytelling murals
on sides of constructions,
glistening in mirrors and gems
skyscrapers
in steel, concrete, and glass
bumping into clouds
one steps through time
on Philadelphia streets
and liberty
breathes through buildings
Oh, Maureen, I remember Philadelphia, such a rich city with tons of history, it is truly “a city that builds into the sky.” Another amazing line at the end I couldn’t pass: “liberty
breathes through buildings.” Beautiful imagery throughout your poem!
Maureen,
You’ve captured the juxtaposition of past and present in this poem filled with color and geometry. This is most evident in your closing lines:
“one steps through time
on Philadelphia streets
and liberty
breathes through buildings”
I’m recalling my own visits to the city of brotherly love as I walk through your words today.
BTW: Did you add a line to my poem? To clarify, I wrote and posted a poem, and Mo commented on the original w/ the suggestion I let others add lines.
Hi Glenda, yes, yes, I added several lines…and I keep thinking of more horrors. Thank you for this outlet for my rage!
Maureen, wow, you’ve created a piece of art by creating this poem. I love the way you pull us right into Philadelphia and all you see from the color to the shapes, I am entranced. I especially loved this stanza:
waffled carved rippled
curved diamond checkerboard
cherubs scrolls leaves
terraces balconies gardens
Your final line is delivered perfectly and adds an important element of Philadelphia-liberty! Gorgeous poem! Thank you!
Maureen, I love how you captured the essence of my hometown! I love the last stanza. I never take for granted that I got to walk on the same ground our founding fathers walked.
Maureen — I’ve never been to Philadelphia but your vivid picture of the architectur and rich history makes me want to go. I love the way you bring the city to life in your last stanza
— “one steps through time/
on Philadelphia streets /and liberty /breathes through buildings
Maureen, wow. What a great poem chronicling your architectural musings in the City of Brotherly Love. I loved “my fledgling understanding / of architecture leaves me giddy / as a child” and the first stanza, which really sets the stage so well for the rest of the poem.
Maureen, this is a great reminder of the sights and sounds of this amazing city. The last time I was there was for a passport on a tight timeline! Even then, I had lots of time to walk around and appreciate the intermingling of old and new,
Dog Decor
Visible Dog toys in first toy basket:
Purple angelfish
Yellow chicken
White Lambchop
Visible Dog toys in second toy basket:
Pink bunny
White lamb
Llama #1– the one with the best squeaker
Visible Dog toys in third toy basket:
Pink squishy bone
Llama #2– the smaller one that’s Christmas themed
Dog toys I know are there but that I don’t want the dog to find, at least not while I’m on a Zoom call:
Purple honky pig. PLEASE don’t find this one. Please.
Turquoise narwhal
Any of the little Christmas squeaky toys that are probably too small for you to play with but I haven’t gotten around to throwing them out yet
Dog toys currently scattered around the living room:
Grey walrus with blue bow tie
Brown puppy
Note from dog: normally more would be out, but it was a scary early morning with thunder and lightning, so play was not a priority
Why, oh WHY do you never play with the giraffe with the squeaker only you can hear?
I am smiling at the loving indulgence of your sweet dog. Wonderful list! I’m reminded of noisy toys of my children, when they were young.
Sheila, what a delightful poem! I love the toys you don’t want the dog to find during the Zoom meeting: “Purple honky pig. PLEASE don’t find this one. Please.” The question at the bottom I want to ask too
Sheila,
This dog mama loves your poem. Stanley, however, does not play w/ toys, but my toddler grandson does, and my DIL bought the most annoying rabbit for him for Easter, so I do k ow why you don’t want the dog to find certain toys. I love that this poem has five stanzas, like a Shakespearean play, and I love the title. Bringing the dog into the poem so they can have a voice is genius.
“Note from dog: normally more would be out, but it was a scary early morning with thunder and lightning, so play was not a priority” LOL!
This is a fun inventory poem! I love the different descriptions of human and dog responses to each one. Fun.
I envision a wonderfully loved pup with lots of toys and I am thinking probably a few coats and dishes as well. A great poem of love.
So. many. coats. And collars– don’t get me started on those . . .
Oh my gosh, Sheila. Your poem is hysterical! I love the color details you share about each toy and when you get to the “Purple honky pig” I started laughing aloud. Your final question is a hoot! You obviously love your dog because they certainly have a lot to play with. Very fun poem! Thank you for the huge laugh and smile!
Barb, that was fun. I paid close attention on my walk this morning, thanks to your prompt.
Things to Do Today
1) Give a new name to springtime in the Mojave, for there is no word for this desert spring. [It’s not like springtime in the Midwest, which springs to a summer of growth and an autumn of harvest. Springtime in the desert is its own sweet thing, shouting to the world before it springs into the fire of searing summer.]
Here’s why our spring needs a new name:
a. The Juniper and creosote scent drifts on the breeze
b. The red-tailed hawk rises, watches for a meal
c. The tiny green star inside the blossom of the strawberry hedgehog cactus shouts, Look at me
d. The purple of the Mojave aster salutes this day
e. The bees make merry
f. The sparrows—Brewer’s, white-crowned, black-throated—hold a concert
g. The phainopepla enjoys the sparrow orchestra, while munching mistletoe berries
h. The hummingbird feast on flowers
i. Grandfather Nolina, like Father Time, passes the dried torch of last year to the next generation, where bees dance around the new fresh blossoms
j. The purple desert chia flowers wait to dry out and nourish others
k. So many shades of green
l. The quail’s wings shake and shiver
m. The apricot mallow flower holds a dozen shades of coral
n. My feet crunch sand to ground me in this place
o. And more and more and more
2) Write a poem
3) That will do
Marvelous, Denise! I am smittened with the vibrant movement of the opening “shouting to the world before it springs into the fire” – wow! “phainopepla” took me to the dictionary – wonderful to learn about this new beautiful bird. Beautiful poem, inviting me to travel to the Mojave….
Denise, this is a brilliant idea to give the Mojave a new name. I am rooting for something in connection with this line:
“The tiny green star inside the blossom of the strawberry hedgehog cactus shouts, Look at me”
I think I need to visit that place too–so much to love about it!
Denise,
Here in Idaho we call spring “second winter.” You write
“Springtime in the desert is its own sweet thing, shouting to the world before it springs into the fire of searing summer.”
and then do a beautiful job explicating what this means in your gorgeous area of earth. Giving voice to the strawberry hedgehog cactus is the melody we need.
Dang, Denise, your observational skills are intense in this poem. I love everything I learned by reading your poem and I would have loved to have been with you on this wonderful springtime walk before the searing heat of summer. The colors and wildlife come to life, and I feel so bathed in beauty while reading your poem. Figure out what you will call it. I know it will be perfect. Gorgeous poem! Thank you for taking me with you virtually on your walk:)
This took me quickly to the California desert. I am missing out by staying stuck in the city. Spring is a great time to be in the Mojave.
Thanks for painting this picture for me.
A fun use of bulleted list format! Love the 2 and 3 bullets. Cute and descriptive thanks for sharing with us.
Denise, the sights and sounds of your desert amaze me, but your word choice, phainopepla, had me searching google for help! Great poem that challenges all the senses!
I love, love, love the a through o of this list! Desert spring is amazing–you remind me that I need to make an effort to get back there at this time of the year. “The apricot mallow flower holds a dozen shades of coral.” I so love all the subleties of color in the desert.
Barb, I love making lists, so this prompt was right up my alley! Your poem has so many strong images that had me on edge (in a good way). I wrote my poem as a “side-by-side comparison of our aging house and our aging selves, but couldn’t get the format to work here. I used bolding instead.
The Catalogue of Aging
The House
The Residents
A new furnace & heat pump to warm in winter and cool in summer.
Sometimes we’re too warm, and sometimes we’re too hot.
New deck flooring because tripping and falling would be a bummer.
Goodbye strappy sandals, hello Kizik slip-ons – all in the name of safety.
A tar driveway with cracks and patches
Age spots and crinkles on once-smooth young skin.
New windows to keep out the breeze and batten the hatches.
A favorite blanket to keep us warm while watching TV
An older roof with some curling shingles
Older feet with some curled toes.
Rita, these parallels make me smile. “Sometimes we’re too warm, and sometimes we’re too hot” especially struck me.
Love this side-by-side writing – cause and effect, in a way. Smiling at my recognition of “hello Kizik slip-on” …great catalogue of aging!
Rita,
This is brilliant. My house is almost 27 years old. I wish replacing my body parts were as easy as replacing the dishwasher, The shoes are a conundrum. I’m tired of not being able to wear the shoes I want to wear.
Rita, so fun! Clever concept, and I love the last lines best of all. The double use of curled / curling in those last lines is just perfect.
Rita, I love your poem and how you’ve structured this poem to show all that needs to be done to revive an aged house. It does require so much and I was reminded of all the things we should be doing for our aging home. One thing that captured my attention though was your “hello Kizik slip-ons” I do not know what these are, but I’m thinking I need to find out and get my own pair:) Thanks for explaining how you originally structured this poem. Clever!
This is so creative and clever, Rita! I recognize familiar patterns and parallels. My favorite is:
“tar driveway with cracks and patches
Age spots and crinkles on once-smooth young skin.”
Oh I love this as side by side. A wholesome look at both parts of your life, the people and the things. Thanks for sharing in this format
You made me so glad I came back to read more even if I was tired after class tonight! Yes, I often notice the similarities in my creaking getting older body and my old house. This is a keeper.
Barb, I really like the idea of a list poem and both your own model as well as the poem about Dickenson make me smile in both their ability to connect to the reader AND empower the writer. Thank you for the ideas and models. My own poem started in my head as I was walking thinking about nature and then went past a house where a U Haul trailer was being stuffed. I brought back all those headed to college and first apartment memories!
Have you?
Loaded beds, stacked boxes,
Sweating, breathing expletives,
Rolled rugs, stuffed clothes,
Shoving into crevices,
Culled piles, ditched treasures?
Driven for hours,
Searched in boxes, glared into bags,
Hoping you have the key?
Looked to the Heavens,
Wondering about this move?
Rented apartments, found trucks,
Knowing it is for an interval,
Believed in opportunities to learn and grow.
Moving the mounds of belongings
Required for young lives
On their maiden voyages?
I really like the rhythm you’ve established by alternating past tense lines with present participles. It’s a nice effect.
The hard work you describe is very familiar – and made me wistful for
Anita,
Asking questions to catalogue is a stellar idea. I’ve moved cross-country several times, but all moves were when I was a young adult. I remember those moves in great detail. It was hard! Your line
“Looked to the Heavens,
Wondering about this move?”
is one I still ask when I contemplate moving.
I like how you described the hard work you do and the rhythm you put in your work.
Anita, ahhhh, I love this very realistic poem that delves into the act of moving and starting new beginnings. I especially adored your final lines with the “mounds of belongings” and “maiden voyage”. Beautiful poem that reminds me of all the books I always moved and how I heard plenty of grumbles about them, too! Thank you for opening a memory and inviting me to take this moving ride with you.
Anita, yes, yes, and yes! I moved eight times, five of those in the States. It all seems too familiar, and I hope I don’t have to move anymore. Never rented the apartments though. The temporality of renting must be emotionally taxing. Thank you for sharing!
Moving is the WORST, but you make it sound much nicer and more poetically pleasant! Thank you for sharing this piece, even if it hurts my back to read!
Nice memories you got on your walk and then passed them along to us. I like the memories I got if moving…so many times in young adulthood. One time we couldn’t find the box that had the shoes packed. I had to go to the store for a pair. I like the format you used asking questions. It really got me thinking and relating to your poem.
Poet Friends,
Mo suggested I turn my poem into a community poem so others can add lines to “Record of Wrongs.” If you’d like to add a line or lines, here’s a link to a Google doc where you can do that.
Record of Wrongs (Community Poem)
I (also) try not to keep records of wrongs and try very hard to overlook small disagreements and forgive most of the time; however, I added to your poem. I could have added several lines. It is very hard for me to watch and listen to the threats and lies.
Phenomenal idea! A community poem about an essential topic. Thanks, Glenda!
Fantastic idea. I’ll add something later this evening. Very fun idea, Mo, and thanks for sharing, Glenda!
Will check it out later, when I get to the laptop, Glenda! I like the idea for a collective community poem.
What a great idea! The line “because I don’t love the offender” is such a strong contrast to the opening of the poem, it draws me in to want to read more.
Barbara, thanks for taking me on this journey. I enjoyed learning more about this form and my time crafting a poem.
Trying to write a poem
I’ve read a little about a catalog poem.
I’ve read a few examples.
I was surprised to discover Homer’s Iliad was one,
not nearly as interesting as the Odyssey
(and I doubt I’ll ever read that one again).
I’ve always loved Whitman’s Song of Myself.
I guess I’d say I love Whitman.
I discovered Why We Oppose Pockets for Women
(Alice Duer Miller). The suffragette made me smile.
I even learned that Bishop’s poem One Art was one.
Is it really “not hard to master?”
My coffee is nearly gone.
My page is filled words.
A few scribbles.
Words in the margins.
Numbers too. It aids reordering.
Guess I’ve written a poem!
Good Morning, Jaimie…I like to say the poem has written you. Congratulations. Looking forward to more from your Odyssey & Leaves of Grass. Wonderful.
I love how your poem would be a powerful model for students who find writing challenging. Reflecting and thinking and before you know it, you have writing. Well done
Jamie, what a fantastic way to show your exploration of this poetry form. I like how each line reads like a new discovery. Your final stanza pulls us into your place and actions, showing us, you’ve been busy scribbling notes and with that effort have created this clever poem. Loved it! Thank you!
Jamie,
I like seeing the literary touchstones you visited today.
Thank you Barb, I love your poem Whiteout. Great one. I loved the images and feelings I felt while reading it.
Here’s my contribution today:
Open my eyes
take a deep breath
no. Bigger than that
breath out slowly
drink some water
look around
listen
listen again
take another deep breath
smile
don’t ignore the silence
listen inside the silence
watch the clock, but not too closely
give myself some grace
take a deep breath
pray
stand up
feel my feet on the ground
lift my hands to the sky
take a deep breath
hug my wife
kiss my wife
say I love you
keep my eyes open
keep my ears open
someone may also need to hear I love you today
but in a different way
without words
be open to those empty spaces where
someone need someone to be.
Go there.
take a deep breath
listen
ignore the noise
listen again
take a deeper breath
feel the sunlight
even if but a moment
feel the air
outside and inside me
let today be today
tomorrow will take care of itself
lay down
close my eyes
take a deep breath
Luke, your list is evidence of a day well lived with abundant listening, reflecting and feeling. I felt the peace of your day envelope me as I read it.
Luke, I love the focus of your poem breathing deeply and processing the importance of being present by ignoring the noise and by taking the time to listen closely. I really loved the line “be open to those empty spaces where
someone need someone to be.”. Those empty spaces are significant. Thank you for sharing a provocative and compelling poem.
Perfection in the deep breath and listening to the silence. Such peace.
Luke,
Reading this calms me.
thank you
Barbara, thank you for the prompt today! Reminded me to slow down a minute since I have been busy in moving mode, and often forgetting to write.
Moving
It doesn’t start with boxes,
But with thick-skinned trash
Bags, opaque and dark,
So that on trash day, neighbors
Don’t see what parts of life you
Decided to live without.
Preschool art work donning
A chemical whiff of paint,
Old clothes adorned with nursing clips
Not utilized in over a year now,
Books with covers falling off,
Evidence of home projects that
Lacked time or money to get done,
The Christmas tree that’s lights are dimming,
Thin towels wearing holes from our
First apartment, our bed frame in which
I held two newborn daughters, the pear tree
We planted with our hope that move was last,
Only four years grown.
Bulging bags are taken to the can,
To the curb, left only for the garbage
Trucks. If only we could carry it all, we
Say each time, and each time I wonder
When can I stop deciding what to live without?
Jordan, I loved your poem and the details about what’s hidden in those “thick skinned trash bags.” You’ve shared a little bit of your life with us. Moving is on our horizon, and we never put the trash bin out unfilled. My daughter’s advice is that if you can replace it for less than $20, let it go!
This is wonderful, Jordan…I love the soul that comes with removal…departure…separating…turning into trash. Fantastic choice for today’s prompt.
Jordan, I appreciate the image of those thick skinned trash bags holding all that we want to hide even if we do not really want it! Your powerfully chosen words like those pre- school art pics and nursing clips makes your poem real to many of us. So many things we do not need and yet – how do we decide?
This poem reminds me of a time I helped a friend unload her moving truck. She had so many boxes of craft supplies that she was embarrassed and started labeling them random things like “fishing tackle.” I love the idea of not wanting our neighbors to know what we’re throwing out that we saved for so long. Touche!
Jordan, wow, I understand the difficulty of choosing what to discard. I love how you opened this poem, thinking about what we may want to keep hidden from neighbors. Your details help illustrate important moments of your life like the two newborn daughters. Each stanza carries its own special focus, and I like how you crafted the stanzas to flow into the next section. Your final line is the perfect final note, making us all pause to consider your question: “When can I stop deciding what to live without?” Powerful poem!
Great! I love this, I especially love the first stanza. and the call back in your last line.
Oh that last line feels so many things! I am in a minimalist household now which feels good. But I love the visuals of items hiding in trash bags, that’s so clever. Hoping the moving slows down and roots plant!
Barb, Sometimes, we just to add “No!” to our list of things to do. Even when we’re retired.
No, Thaks
Today I’ll stay on task
No matter what they ask.
The answer will be, “No, but thanks for asking.
Can’t you see? I’m already multitasking?”
“But, we’ve been invited out for dinner
Being with them will be a winner.
Don’t you want to go?”
Yes, I want to go, but the answer still is “No”.
Oh, Anna, your poem is delightful. Your rhyme scheme adds your wonderful sense of humor, and I love that you end with No! Great image to go with all your multi-tasking! Very fun poem and sage advice, too!
Anna, this is great. There are so many things we all need to do and yet, we all need to put say no on our lists, sometimes!
Anna, I love everything about your poem – the rhyme, the conciseness, and the “No”.
I like how you wrote about your self-regulation, good on you for making the right decisions.
Good rhymes and good boundaries here!
Unlock door,
Grab water bottle
Say hi to faculty
Turn on computer
Check email
Huh . . .
Note from student about what he’s doing
While he’s gone this week . . .
Last line, “Most of the day was spent flying thought”
Flying thought interests me
Flying thoughts
Ideas for poetry?
Or the jumble of dreams
Throwing pieces and bits of experience
Into new patterns
Or into old patterns in random ways
Our subconscious search to understand
To make sense of life
To connect the absurd
Into wholeness.
Sound tracks long forgotten play
While jack rabbits and sandhill cranes
Move through the scrub oaks and junipers.
And log cabins not yet built
Invite all to take comfort
From the troubled world beyond.
Kelley, wow, I love the energy of your poem. Your opening action invites the reader right into your world, and the flying thoughts is delightful. I am especially impressed with how you pull us into the soundtracks of forgotten days and the beauty you create with the jack rabbits and sandhill cranes. It’s like a film where we see the immediate then are pulled out to see a much larger picture. Very compelling poem! Thank you!
Kelley, your poem reminds me of how often I read what I think. I thought the student wrote, flying “though”, so I looked for you to write about the students free to be flying outside while you sat cramped inside at your desk. Oh well. That’s why rereading is so often taught by conscientious educators. Thanks for the reminder about “flying thoughts”that may need to be harnessed.
Kelley,
This is fantastic! The autopilot of the first 5 lines interrupted by the “huh” and the student email is such a great juxtaposition for the flight of fancy that you take us on for the rest of the poem! You pull us into a whole new world by the end of the poem–just the kind of daydreaming that we need!
Thanks for the prompt today, Barb. I’ve been drowning in To Do Lists – personal and school related. It seems to be never-ending, because it is NEVER-ENDING. I’m working on this “Ta-Da!” List.
April Ta-Da! List
Looked out my window this morning
at the pink-purple magnolia,
pregnant with blossoms
ready to drop.
Turned around and took my to-do list
and slid it under a thick volume
of British and American poetry,
let it rest under the weight awhile.
Sipped my vanilla laced coffee –
slowly, oh so, slowly –
breathe it in, breathe it out –
Face the day with calm.
Got to work and first thing
a child made me laugh,
not a soft, quiet laugh
but a hearty, bent over laugh!
With tears in my eyes,
I walked into the library
to hear children chant
poems I have written.
Poems about rainbows, spring,
sunshine, monkeys, and laughter,
Words that lift and float in the air –
Breathe them in and breathe them out.
Looked out my window this morning
at the pink-purple magnolia,
Blossoms open to spring,
I am ready for the day.
Lovely poem, Joanne. I adore the library scene and want to be there with you celebrating sunshine, rainbows, and laugher while words float and lift spirits. I really appreciate the weight of the British and American poetry book, the heavenly coffee, and the need to breathe. Fantastic poem full of beautiful blooms and moments!
Joanne, I like the Ta-Da list so much better than any To-Do list. What a concept! Hearing children chant poems you’ve written must be quite the joyful moment. I would have tears in my eyes, too. This is sweet and precious.
Joanne,
Your home makes me happy.
Here’s to making more ta-da! lists and fewer to do lists.
Going to have to circle back to this for a poem prompt. Or just switch over entirely.
Thanks for exciting my imagination!
*poem
Barb, you’re offering all of us a poetic bandaid this morning (or at least I’m reading a reason you might need one). Hope the poet is better now and all is okay. I love this prompt and the ways listing becomes another form of witnessing. Thanks for hosting today…went with the morning ritual before I must head off into a very chaotic day.
Ritual
b.r.crandall
the eye opens to sumo wrestle
a sun-ray, but it never wins.
i get up, thinking about
the percolating gurgles
of morning caffeine brew.
the staircase, once a playground
for sliding, jumping, & leaping,
offers its rail to support
one step at a time until i
reach the kitchen, stretch,
& scratch like an orangutan
(such a miserable bastard).
a closet grunts, squeaks, while
a gray lid is lifted. the blue cup
scoops Purina one into a bowl,
before raisins get toasted,, &
I hit play on the maker of life.
the toilet. the overnight bladder
gets emptied before reading
awful news of what they’re doing
now. a rant of hopelessness –
followed by socializing my human
connections. a book of faces.
the robotic beep alerts me
the mocha is made, the priority,
of slow sips, two cups,
while staring into the sky.
a dog, once fox-curled, does yoga,
before leaping onto my shoulders
to watch children walking to school.
the breathing finds its rhythm,
still groggy. Wordle for a minute,
then a search for ethical poetics,
those verse lovers & curiosity of
what they’re up to today.
April. things to do. more lists.
potential categories. artful reflection.
another poem is born …
ready for its bottle.
Bryan, wow, your poem is brilliant. I appreciate how effectively you pulled me completely into your morning routine. Your language is rich with imagery, sensory details, and emotions. I can hear the robotic beep, the dog food being poured, the smell of mocha, (yum) and trying to become awake through stretching and yoga and solving that darn Wordle puzzle! Your closing is divine! Thank you for sharing your marvelous craft today. It does need to be bottled! P.S. glad I could provide the band aid:)
Bryan,
You and Stefani are keeping it real today. Your poems are in conversation and deserve a side-by-side reading. I’m so grateful I don’t have the coffee-making and dog-feeding chores. My hubs takes care of those. Love the stretching image in
“stretch,
& scratch like an orangutan
(such a miserable bastard).”
Little TMI w/ that bathroom detail. LOL! Perfect ending:
“a search for ethical poetics,
those verse lovers & curiosity of
what they’re up to today.”
I like peeking at poetry every morning, too,
Bryan, there are so many things I love about your poem. I love the flow of your movements as you begin your day – eye opens to sumo wrestle, a sun beam but it never wins, the staircase once a playground for sliding offers its rail to support, a closet grunts, squeaks, while a gray lid is lifted. Your morning acts flow together, clearly rehearsed. And I love that you end your poem with sharing that the poem is ready for its bottle. Thanks for carrying us through the first moments of your day.
Bryan, your poem is filled with hints about your morning as you emerge from bed and head to the stairs (once a playground) and read (the awful news) and find your rhythm (Wordling for a minute). You made me smile and read again in your ability to record, analyze, and comment on the day and the world all at the same time!
Track Mom in Spring
Show up at the track: 9 am
Three layers on, water bottle in hand.
Amble over to the high jump
Cheer on each attempt.
Loud speaker squeals
”Final call 4×800!”
Meander to the start line,
Shed the first layer.
Start gun sounds
Runners pound the track
Spectators and athletes alike scream
Chat with other moms
Wait for the next event.
4×100, 3200m, 100mH
100m, 800m, 4×200, 400m
Sprinkle in some “Let’s GO Saxons!”
Shed the second layer.
300mH, 1600m —
Focus!
Keep quiet, cheer silently,
video rolling.
More chatting —
it’s now 1 pm.
200m, 4×400
First leg this time,
Video ready.
Make it to the car
just as the skies
open up.
©️Jennifer Kowaczek April 2025
Barbara this was a fun prompt. Thank you for your poem, the visual I got from your words were powerful.
We were at the high school track meet last night which became the inspiration for my poem. My daughter participated in the 4×8, 1600m, and 4×4. It’s so exciting to watch, but also l o n g days.
Jennifer, I totally understand. I remember well my son participating in track and your poem perfectly illuminates a loving mother’s efforts to capture their child doing their best to succeed in a variety of events. That in itself can be exhausting. I can feel the anticipation in “Keep quiet, cheer silently, video rolling”. Wow, those lines are a poem in itself. Sounds like the track meet ending just in time. Thanks for pulling me into this day, the unlayering and joy of cheering your child on! Loved it!
Jennifer,
Fun poem. I love the pausing and waiting and all the details about events. A track meet is full of simultaneous concurrent action, but attending and working one can be a cold experience.
Track meets can be an eternity! But what fun to watch your daughter compete! Love the poem!
Barbara,
Thank you for this prompt. This was a perfect one for me since I’ve been making lots of lists while driving Route 66 with my family this week. I loved getting the chance to start a poem this morning before we head out to the road!
People Along Route 66
Livingston, Illinois-
There’s the 93-year-old man inside The Pink Elephant Antique store.
He sits on a bench, his walker in front of him,
Sucks on bulk candy from the sweet shop next door.
Tells me how he remembers when the Interstate was built. I asked if they were happy about being able to get somewhere faster.
He shook his head in a slow, sad way,
“Where’d we need to go?”
Cuba, Missouri-
In the history museum, an older man named Rottenburg greets us. Tells us Civil War stories as if he had been there.
“Missouri’s the only state that never surrendered. To this very day, we’re still fighting the Federal Government.”
Parita, Missouri-
George greets us at Gary’s Gay Parita, an old filling station done up just as you’d expect to see on Old Route 66, plus some.
Gary died ten years ago, owned the place for sixty.
George, his son-in-law, greets us at the front porch of the gift shop. Hands me a postcard.
“Where you folks from? I make myself comfortable here so you can too.”
Out back, there’s a kitchen, tables, free cold drinks and ice cream. Day after day,
He sits.
Welcoming the world.
Galena, Kansas-
At the old Texaco filling station,
Doc Hudson’s out front.
Inside is Gearhead Curios, the owner, whose nickname is Retro Petro makes a show out of his bathroom when I ask if I can go.
“Had a couple once get married right here in this bathroom.”
Welcomed all five of us inside.
Explains each detail down to the oil can soap dispenser. Poses us, my husband on the pink toilet, me standing at the urinal. My sons flanking the sink, my daughter holding her nose between us.
Snaps our picture.
Every day since we’ve started the road, my daughter has asked, “Where are we going?”
I don’t know how to answer.
We are going until we get tired.
We are stopping when we see something interesting.
Still another day until we hit halfway and here’s the trick to enjoying the ride-
Notice the land, the birds, the plants along the road.
Meet the people
Who are the jewels
That link us
Together
Across
This
Land.
What an amazing journey you are on, Emily! I adore everything about this poem. I feel like I’ve been pulled into a scene from Blue Highways. I love meeting these strangers and absolutely would love to see the photograph from the old Texaco filling station. Gearhead Curious sure knows how to entertain his visitors. I can just imagine your daughter holding her nose. I am so inspired now to take a similar trip. It just sounds so intriguing, and I would love being invited to free cold drinks and ice cream! Your poem is a journey in itself, and I loved the ride. Thank you!
Emily,
This poem fascinates me because I was born in Joplin, Missouri and grew up close to route 66. I have stories of my own about that road. When I was a kid the drinking age was 18 in Kansas, and there was a bar called The Ranch in Galena. That’s where teens went to party. It was right on the mother road. But what fascinates me most are two things: Thst old man saying, ““Missouri’s the only state that never surrendered. To this very day, we’re still fighting the Federal Government.”
Missouri did not succeed from the union. I have family who fought w/ the union in the Civil War, and there is a Civil War battleground near Route 66 in Carthage, Missouri, which is also home to one of the last drive-in theaters, the 66 Drive-In. Did you stop in Joplin at the Route 66 monument? Thank you for this jaunt down memory lane. I love your poem.
Glenda,
)
We did stop in Carthage and saw the Drive Inn and went to the little free Civil War museum. We saw the sign in Joplin too. Thanks for more history! (The party place on 66!
What a great story and poem, Emily. I’ve been to The Pink Elephant and enjoyed it. I love how you’ve taken us off the main road with you on your journey. I’m so glad you are appreciating the jewels along the way!
I love this poem so much! The people you meet along the road are so lovely.
My husband and I took a Route 66 road trip in 2007 — we got engaged on that trip. Not as he planned it, but it’s actually an even better story. We then got married at the odell, Il service station in June of 2008. We made it as far as Needles, California before car trouble hit and aduusted my husbands plans. We finished the route as part of our honeymoon.
Jennifer,
I love this! You got married at a service station. That’s a great metaphor for married life.
Emily, I got a text from Glenda urging me to make sure I read your poem today – – she remembers that a couple of summers ago, we drove half of Route 66 and had such an amazing time. The people, the stories, the memories, the photos, the history, the landmarks, THE FOOD….and the hotels. The Blue Swallow, the Wagon Wheel….all of those things are flooding back. The funniest stop was the Uranus Fudge Factory, and I still think of those memories there. Thank you for taking us down the road with you. I often return to Travels with Charley by Steinbeck when I think of seeing the changing landscape of America from the car. It’s so different from flying to a place and thinking you’ve seen it. Enjoy the trip!
Wow! What an experience! And this poem is the perfect way to chronicle it. I see a photo book with the poem’s lines in it!
Barb,
Thank you for hosting. These are wonderful resources you’ve offered. I fell down a rabbit hole reading the article and lots of poems. Your poem is heartbreaking. The deeper meaning of whiteout is not lost on me as you watch that blood pool.
Record of Wrongs
-I Corinthians 13:5
I keep a record of wrongs though the
bible says love keeps no such account, but
Since I don’t love the offender,
I keep a record of wrongs:
Wrong: Mocking a disabled person.
Wrong: Calling American POWs suckers & losers
Wrong: Xenophobia, bigotry, racism
Wrong: Denying women bodily autonomy
Wrong: Defunding federal agencies that serve economically disadvantaged children
Wrong: Insulting our allies & destroying an eighty-year-old alliance.
Wrong: Abandoning Ukraine to Russia.
Wrong: Defiling the people’s house with tacky gold tchotchkes & a fake assignation paint-by-number bloody ear portrait.
Wrong: Stealing from charities & mass deportations to a Gulag in El Salvador.
Wrong: Blackmailing law firms & universities like a twenty-first century Nero.
Wrong: Dodging the draft & raping women.
Wrong: Paying off a porn star & politicizing the judiciary.
Wrong: Traumatizing children by showing them bloody ear photos of a fake assassination attempt.
Wrong: Donald Trump & his cabal of cultists destroying due process and other freedoms.
And the catalogue continues because
I keep a record of wrongs.
You should keep a record of wrongs, too.
Amen
Glenda Funk
4-23-25
Glenda, wow, your poem is on fire with the wrong doings and illuminates the long list of crimes and injustices being danced upon our national stage. Your poem could be written on separate signs to parade past the White House as a protest of why many of us are angry and writhing with indignation. Your language is precise and hard-hitting. I especially liked “Denying women bodily autonomy” and “Donald Trump & his cabal of cultists destroying due process and other freedoms.” I’m so glad you were able to capture the endless list of grievances today. Thank you for sharing this incredible poem and your amazing, powerful voice! Amen! (I don’t know how to do emojis, but if I did, I would put a few hearts and fires here!)
I suspect you could have gone on a bit more with your list, Glenda. How about being super pumped for the Pope’s funeral? Withdrawing from the Paris Climate Agreement? Moving classified documents? Hawking his Bible? Hey, maybe this should be a group poem- we could all add a line.
That bloody ear photo for the kids at Easter was so bizarre.
I hear what you are saying about not keeping a list, but I can also see why you have kept this list. I really like your last line, too.
Mo,
I love your idea about making the poem a group poem and adding lines. I’ll drop the poem into a doc and share the link so people can edit it.
Record of Wrongs (Community Poem) link. Add your lines!
I already wrote and added to your poem (above) but I am commenting again because I am still thinking about this important perspective of SO many wrongs. It is not OK to be quiet, It is NOT ok to threaten, torture, and deny.
PS I meant to add, I think you should send this to the NY Times
I like the list you created about wrongdoings, and maybe I will create a list of wrongdoings, especially in this generation and politics.
Glenda, this is staggering and I like that you end with a call to action that we should keep lists too. This world is not the world I thought would be the world of 2025.
Incredible accounting of the awfulness, Glenda.
Glenda, this is a long list of wrongs. To see them compiled together is painful. I don’t know how long we need to work to change some things. Sad.
Glenda, brava, my dear. I think keeping a record of these kinds of wrongs is like remembering history, so we aren’t condemned to repeat it. Thank you for starting the community poem; I added a couple of lines. I like that you started with “Mocking a disabled person.” I feel like that was the most ridiculously disqualifying action, and I am always in shock that it wasn’t enough to make people not support him. It is also significant that most of your lines have two wrongs in one line–of course, that is always room for another. Thank you for reminding the world.
Glenda, I love that your poem has grown since your posting! It made me smile that an Anonymous Liger and Anonymous Elephant were adding lines along with mine! And I’m saddened, of course, that it will just keep growing. He has done — and will continue to do — so many terrible terrible things… Thank you for this accounting!
What gets me every time is how you are able to harness your rage and turn it into poetry, into art. Each line here is its own particular wrong and powerful on its own – put them together and… GRRRR.
For the Patron Saint of Kedvale
By Mo Daley 4/23/25
You taught me
to love all children,
no matter what
You taught me
sharing is an expectation
not a choice
You taught me
to think globally
even though you lived locally
You taught me
to always have faith
especially in the darkest times
You taught me
that family is a blessing
chaos notwithstanding
You taught me
honor myself, and by doing so,
I honor you
Mo,
This is an excellent catalogue reinforced w/ “You taught me” repetition. Love the formatting.
Mo, wow, I love the way you let us know your message through the title. Your specific lessons shared in similar fashion adds a powerful impact. Plus, the things Saint of Kedvale taught are phenomenal such as ” to always have faith
especially in the darkest times” and ” that family is a blessing
chaos notwithstanding”
Your poem flows like a prayer. Deeply moving poem! Thank you for reminding us, too, how important it is to love all children, no matter what! Outstanding poem!
This is a lovely poem. The ideas embracing. But who is the patron saint of Kedvale? Is it your mom? A teacher?
You got me, Kelley. It’s my Mom. I grew up on a street called Kedvale.
Mo, what a wonderful tribute. The repetition works to give the reader time to consider each lesson while linking them all together.
Mo, I already know who your patron is. Your Mom taught you well. I love the final lines: “You taught me /honor myself, and by doing so, / I honor you.” You are a great learner!
I love the repetition of the phrase “You taught me.” Adds so much impact to the poem! This is a beautiful poem.
A Haiku
How to stay active:
one) Do what you want to do
two) Repeat step one.
____________________________________________
Barb, thank you for this prompt and your mentor poem today! The stark contrast between the “sterile countertop” filled with all its “white bandages, cotton balls, [and] gauze” (under the “bright fluorescent lights”) and the “red / blood splatters below [the speaker’s] feet” is brilliant!
Thanks, Scott. I love your format today. I’m surprised to find a haiku but it’s perfect. Yes, to repeating step one. Very fun poem!
SInce I retired almost 2 years ago, I’m constantly asked, “What do you do all day?” I’d like to put your haiku on a t-shirt instead of having to explain myself. You got to the heart of the matter and the secret of happiness.
Scott,
When I was hired for the teaching job I held thirty years, the VP told the principal to hire me and added, “She’ll do what she wants and say what she thinks.” I tried not to disappoint. I thought you’d appreciate this anecdote in light of your brilliant, uncomplicated list.
Yes, Scott! Love this – short and to the point to a “T.”
These are syllables to live by. LOVE THEM, Scott.
This made me laugh. It could have been W.B.’s answer to how come he’s so rich. Rule one, make money. Rule two, repeat rule one. But your version is so much better, and so full of what real richness is.
Barb, thank you for your amazing prompt. Your acute sense of observation is really inspiring,
I make no claim to being a poet. I just feel extremely grateful that I had this chance to life, to be in this world even though it seems to be unravelling at this very moment. Instead of dwelling on the negatives, I try to cast a compassionate gaze on the world, to see its immense beauty, to ease my restless mind by observing its infinite marvels, whether these are in the boundless and unfathomable Universe or in the tiny details in our own circumscribed existence, details we often fail to notice and appreciate. This world of yours and mine is beautiful beyond words. I cherish it and I keep it close to my mind and my heart.
Small Musings
Live like a writer.
Carry a notebook and a pencil.
With a mind alert and senses sharpened
Drink in the world.
Observe. Observe.
Observe the minutest details:
The tiny spider hanging on an invisible thread,
A fat drop of rain bouncing off a surprised leaf,
The arched back of a battle-hardened cat,
Two ants halting their industry for the briefest chat,
The silent snore of a sound sleeping sibling,
The trills and tweets of twig-bearing birds,
Specks of dust swirling in a mid-morning beam,
The dark brown rim around a slowly fading flower.
The podgy grip of Baby around Grandma’s twiggy finger.
Marvels abound in our miniature world.
Catch them before they disappear,
Disappear forever amid unfulfilled dreams.
Krishboodhram, wow, your perspective is fantastic. I agree that it is so important to observe the infinite marvels. Your poem is full of gorgeous imagery. I feel like you have captured a Thoreau perspective with the ants and spider. Your closing call to action is phenomenal. My favorite line is “A fat drop of rain bouncing off a surprised leaf,” There’s so much to drink in and your title is perfect. You are definitely a poet. Thank you!
I have written middle grade novels for years now and observing like this is what I’ve had to learn to do more and more. It reminds me of what E.B. White said, “All I want to do, all I ever want to do is to say I love the world.” (That might not be the exact quote.) I love your line about the dark rim of a fading flower. I love noticing all the little details. That’s how you learn to love the world. (And become a good writer!)
Kristi,
This is gorgeous. The tactile imagery makes me long to observe “A fat drop of rain bouncing off a surprised leaf,” and all the other wonderful things in your list. The ending is perfect, too, as we grave climate change and species extinction. Wonderful poem. BTW: You definitely are a poet.
I adore this poem. You start with very useful instructions for those of us who desire to write or teach writing, then you move into lovely sensory images and alliteration. Well done.
This is a beautiful reminder to notice it all, observe, and write it down. I like the way you suggest things to notice, too, and I love the tweets and trills of twig-bearing birds. It takes me back to the weekend seeing that Brown Thrasher pulling worms up out of the ground. So much to see if we only take the time. I love this poem!
My dear, you ARE a poet. The details you notice/capture and your word choice are clear evidence.
Krishboodhram, this is lovely. I’m with every one else here, too, you are most definitely a poet. I love the alliteration throughout and the subtle repetitions in your poem: “Observe. Observe. / Observe” and “Disappear, / Disappear.” (I’m glad that one only got two!) Thank you for crafting and sharing this!
Barb, thank you for hosting us today with a list poem! It may be my favorite kind to write – – so many possibilities here. Your poem has such an energy to it and a haunting feeling, one of fear and uncertainty of an operating room. The silent screams bring it home in that way that we have all felt scared and alone. In honor of Earth Day yesterday, I went outdoors for my list poem, reflecting on a weekend at the top of Pine Mountain while camping.
Things You Might See in FDR State Park in Georgia on a Springtime Weekend
a trio of Segwayers gliding over the Delanor Lake bridge
a pair of kayakers paddling in the late morning sunshine
a young barefoot boy running up a hill with a shovelful of something to dump in his bucket
a family fishing off the dock
a couple on bikes, one pulling a child seat, with a Collie running between them
a man paddling a jon boat with a woman fishing off the back
a lone female with worn boots and a tent backpack and hiking poles entering a trailhead
two squirrels flipping through the hardwood canopy like Cirque du Soleil gymnasts
a hammock strung between two trees with a reader flipping pages
a Brown Thrasher, the State Bird, breakfasting on worms on the mountaintop
a Magnolia tree with shiny leaves reflecting the sunlight like mirrors
campers and tents of every size and color nestled beneath the trees along the lake
a wooden footbridge with a mysterious cave entrance….a possum’s cottage?
a group of kids circling a table, working on a camp craft
me, raising a Mason jar of sweet tea, offering you a drink
come sit with me and watch the happy world for a while!
Kim, you sold me with the list and your final invitation…I am in! I like the possum cottage phrase–although I want to call this an oxymoron because of my general dislike of possums:)
on my way! This sounds like a wonderful place.
I would so much like to be observing first hand this “happy world” you describe in your poem. However, your vivid lines are the next best alternative. And I can say this is a really soothing experience.
Kim, wow, your poem is like an incredible landscape full of exquisite action and color. I especially feel curious about the footbridge with a mysterious cave entrance. I want to be in this poem drinking in that gorgeous sunshine and kayaking across the lake. Your poem is pure joy! Love the way you end with that wonderful welcoming glass of sweet tea and an invitation to sit and be happy. Golden poem, Kim!!! Loved it! (I always appreciate your thoughtful responses to my poetry, too, even when there’s much to be desired.)
That sounds dreamy! I’d love to come and sit with you. I enjoyed reading all your observations. I can see it all!
Kim,
Tnis is an idyllic outdoor, Earth Day tribute to nature and the joy it brings. My favorite image is in the line “two squirrels flipping through the hardwood canopy like Cirque du Soleil gymnasts.” I often observe squirrels. They are acrobats! And does this camping weekend mean you bought a new camper? If so, which one?
I love your happy world, Kim. Thanks for sharing beautiful glimpses of Georgia!
Your ability to recall and string together so many great details is astounding. And, I wanna go!! When??
i would so come sit with you and watch the happy world in this place for a while, Kim! Every image is so clear that it could be a video I just watched vs. a poem I just read. But of course I would then miss the Kim-spin with words…like “Cirque du Soleil gymnasts, “breakfasting,” and IS that at possum’s cottage, I wonder? Would be a great place for my Poetry Possum to live (my spin-off of the Fox). More than anything I love that people are outdoors in nature together and savoring it. So much peace emanates from the scenes. I am savoring it myself.
Oh, I feel like I am there with you! Pass me a Mason jar!
Barb, your poem’s stark images – medical setting/emergency/blood – leave me begging for more of the story. The descriptions, just “bursts,” are so vivid; the spareness paints the scene like a movie clip, and the reader doesn’t have the chance to trip over words. It’s REAL. Furthermore…when it comes to story, the key is that the audience care about the characters, and here I am, holding my breath, so worried for the you in this poem. Just – pow. A little poem, packed with so much power! Thank you for today’s inspiration. Took me a couple of ‘false starts’ to get going today, and then I remembered something I recently decided I should write about. Nothing big. Just a recollection. A little bit of homage, before I forget…
Papa George’s Chesapeake Bay Retriever
huge brown dog
coat like a fraying braided rug
(smells like one, too)
she is older
than my seven-year old self
and outweighs me
by a good bit
her steps, slow
her tail, not prone to wagging
(just a little, now and then,
and only when Papa George
is in the room)
her nails, pure talons
her eyes, golden
and kind
looking into mine
giving me courage
to hold out my hand
without fear
of those long beige talons:
Cindy, shake
and a well-worn
musty brown paw
probes its way
into
my waiting palm
Fran, your use of “long beige talons” is a such a great way to describe this retriever’s reach. Thank you for sharing.
Fran, nothing steals my heart like the utter love of a dog for the people it loves – – especially children. The dog who outweighs you being so submissive and gentle is a testament to the love Cindy held for protecting those who were loved by her master. Loyalty and love – – the feelings of belonging. What a sweet, sweet picture your poem paints today, and that musty brown paw at the end – – I can feel the scratchiness of the paw pads in my own hand, and I want to shake her hand too.
my goodness, this list poem put a lump in my throat. What a beautiful memory of a precious pup. I love those “little” old lady dogs. They are so sweet. I love how “talons” melt into “well-worm musty brown paw”
Fran, I see the “well-worn musty brown paw probing its way into your waiting palm” and I feel the mutual affection between you and the retriever. I think this is a very touching poem.
Fran, your poem is amazing. I adore the way you pull the reader immediately into the scene, knowing the dog smells like a braided rug. You’ve captured the essence of Cindy and her beautiful golden hair and why she is beloved. I especially enjoyed the sensory appeal you create with “those long beige talons”. Yes, those do sound sharp. By the end you feel as though you are right there with her, holding out your hand to receive her wonderful paw for a shake. Cindy is clearly smart and beautiful! Thank you for sharing this gem of a dog with us today and thank you for your generous, supportive words.
Fran,
You’ve honored that old dog and offered a tutorial about how to be close to any dog. Gorgeous imagery throughout, but my favorite is st the end:
“and a well-worn
musty brown paw
probes its way
into
my waiting palm”
Oh, love this, Fran. The ending especially poignant –
and a well-worn
musty brown paw
probes its way
into
I love this, Fran. “Beige talons.” I’m a sucker for any dog poem, especially those of childhood, which always brings forth my first memories of puppy breath lying on a linoleum floor in Utica, New York. The memory outweighs it all. Wonderful.
Fran, I love the portrait of the retriever. Love that she still wags her tail when Papa George is in the room. Always true to the one she loves. And she still “probes [her] way into [your] waiting palm.? Love your ode to the pup.
“Then I remembered something I recently decided I should write about. Nothing big. Just a recollection. A little bit of homage, before I forget…” Fran, I’m so glad you did! I’m so glad I was able to see Cindy through your “seven-year old self.” I love this moment of your recollection, “her eyes, golden / and kind / looking into mine / giving me courage.” She sounds like a very good dog! (And, craft-wise, I love love those Ws and Ms and Ps in your last stanza!)
Barb,
Such a great prompt! Your mentor poem with its stark simplicity is so complex.
Two
Yesterday
I bore witness
to two strong women
telling their story
of addiction
of abuse
of DCS
and parent aides
and CASA
and drug court.
They bravely shared of
their time at
Dove Recovery House
and
the love and
acceptance
and therapy
and sisterhood
and tears
and accountability
and
The Work
They told of
foster homes
signing over rights
adoption
and
more than one
family made
without the
bond of blood
They told with pride
about
owning a car
having a job
paying their own rent
sponsoring a little
feeling whole and complete
for the first time ever
Yesterday,
I bore witness to
two strong women
who are breaking
the cycle
Two
-Susan Ahlbrand
23 April 2025
And we are witnesses, too, of their triumph, Susan – with tears in our eyes. It CAN be done. Many lines strike me deeply; I especially love how you capitalize “The Work.” It is so, so important. As is this poem…which needs to be shared widely.
Powerful- from experiences that we may not share, to everyday things we endure, there is a lot of beautiful human connection in your piece and within these women. Thank you for this.
Susan, I love the positive ending, this tough truth and how hard it is to break. I am headed to a CASA luncheon later this week and love what consistent support they bring to this fight. Thank you for sharing.
Susan, this resonates with me in a deep, deep way. I am the mother of two strong women just like them, and I know the miracles that are lurking there in the layers of their lives. It only comes with prayer and the willingness to do the hard work of the soul. Thank you for writing this poem to tell the good news that recovery happens.
A list poem suits this situation perfectly…a foundation of accomplishments. Wonderful.
Susan, your poem moved me to tears. I love the way you’ve captured these two women’s stories. How they have broken the horrific, debilitating cycle of addiction. How they have found joy in the things many of us take for granted: owning a car, paying rent, having a job. The way you have crafted this poem is fantastic. The short lines and skinny stanzas add a wonderful emphasis to each part. I also like how you ended with Two because how it can be heard in two different ways. Your poem is an incredible tribute to these two women. I hope you can share this with them somehow. I know they would be deeply touched. Thank you for sharing this experience with us!
Wow! I love these women! Your poem made me think of a friend who I’m helping through a tough spot who is also breaking the cycle. It is not easy and I admire her and these women for gathering the strength to do it!
Susan,
These brief stanzas w/ white space tell such a singular but important, all too familiar story. This happens through the anonymity. Your framing w/ the repetition and the breaking of it in “breaking the cycle” is perfect, emphasizing we don’t have to stick to the same narrative.
That is bearing witness, indeed. Phew. And it’s also an indication of who you are as a human being, especially concerned with the cycles circulating communities needing support & care. “Feeling whole and complete” is a human right.
This makes me want to hug you. I love the repetition of two at the end.
This poem encourages me! It takes courage (and encouragement) to break a cycle! Thank you for seeing these women and their courage!
ooooh, I do love a good list poem! The contrast of so much white and then that red at your feet. Yikes. There are so many horrible possibilities. I love that the reader gets to fill in their own blanks there. What a fun thing to ask students what they think happened?
Valentines Day: Found on a Middle School Floor
Candy wrapper
Lollipop stick
Taki dust
Paper fortune teller
Flower petals
Pink fingernails
Deflated balloon
Penny
Pencils
Pom pom
Dance ticket
Lip gloss
One fake eyelash
New student’s schedule
Hopes
Hearts
Valentine’s Day is my favorite day of the year, as a human and a teacher. Thanks for sharing some throwback glitter- I can’t believe that was 2 months ago.
A perfect list poem, Linda! Every object has its own story – imagine!! – and my favorite is the “one fake eyelash.”
Linda, the “Taki dust” had me laughing, now it can be red and blue–ick! Thank you for sharing.
That one fake eyelash is cracking me up. This image comes to mind – – some girl with no idea she is lopsided….. and then the hopes and the hearts to keep it all right where it belongs, scattered for us to find as we move through the rooms of our day.
Linda, I love the focus on all that is found on a middle school floor on Valentines Day. I think your poem would be a perfect way to introduce students to an observation writing prompt. You could read this aloud without the title and ask them where this place is or what is this, etc. I adore the color you capture with pink fingernails, hearts, and penny. The one thing that really cracks me up is the “One fake eyelash”. Your ending is precious. Brilliant catalog poem! Thank you for lighting up my morning with fine memories of M.S. life.
Linda,
This is a picture of middle school. I like the tangible with the false eyelash surprise, but ending w/ the intangible “hopes dreams” makes the poem perfect.
Now these are words to make music within a morning poem. Nice.
Good morning Barb, thank you for all of these examples and for sharing your words–haunting me this morning.
when i wake up
i will hit snooze because i
deserve more hibernation
then snooze again since i
play mind tricks with myself
–a little more shut-eye will help
then reset a new alarm for
tomorrow because i’ll
get up and out
to the gym on time,
to improve my slumber
just one more snooze
but i don’t get any REM because i
wonder why my smart phone
seems dumb and has
a nine-minute snoozer
and then i’ll google why it does for
probably the fifth time in my life
to remember why it can’t just be 10
and then i’ll fall back asleep one
minute before the next snooze and
feel groggy and unrested, bitter at
clock options–digital and analog
but first i must fall asleep
to encounter this
Ha a wonderful poem for me to read while wiping sleep from my own eyes. I especially liked the last part “have to fall asleep first for any of this to happen” seems like the perfect anxiety before bedtime. Thanks for sharing and get some zzzzzzs!
Oh, Sleep! I ought to have written of it yesterday, ha! Your poem’s thought-flow is exactly right. Just like one’s desperate thoughts, trying to grab more sleep. I had to laugh at “I wonder why my smart phone seems dumb”… a great observation, in the moment, Stefani.
Stefani, I hit it three times this morning myself. Your poem has that universal agreement – finding sleep and feeling rested and ready enough to get up and face the day is such a struggle some days – – and yet the blessings of the day are right within our reach. A hot shower and clean soap…..and the hope of getting up on the first buzzzzzz tomorrow. I feel seen!
oh, how I love “deserve more hibernation.” Yes, indeed! And, amen to that!
Oh, Stefani, this is such a relatable poem. I love how you open and close this poem. I feel your sleep frustrations and that desire to just sleep a little bit longer or hey, just sleep! I loved the word choice throughout especially “mind tricks” “nine-minute snoozer” and “before the next snooze”. Brilliant and relatable poem. I hope you get your gym time and a good rest. Thank you for sharing your amazing poetry with us today.
Stefani,
This was my life on repeat so many times. It’s like a morning version of that old movie “Groundhog Day.” That nine minute snooze is dumb. Why isn’t it ten minutes to snooze? You brought the hard reality to my morning.
Getting to your early-arrival later this morning after thinking about my own list. Looks like we shared a similar wake-up call. You have me, however, because you get up for the gym…I get up to stare into space…just one more snooze.