This is the Open Write, a place for educators to nurture their writing lives and to advocate for writing poetry in community. We gather every month and daily in April — no sign-ups, no fees, no commitments. Come and go as you please. All that we ask is that if you write, you respond to others to mirror to them your readerly experiences — beautiful lines, phrases that resonate, ideas stirred. Enjoy. (Learn more here.)
Our Host
Mo lives in a Chicago suburb with her husband and two extremely spoiled senior citizen dogs. She is busier than ever after retiring from a career as a middle-school reading specialist. Mo loves to travel and spend time with her family, especially her two talented, charming, intelligent, and handsome grandsons. Lately dreaming up home renovation projects has kept her busy. She co-authored 90 Ways of Community: Nurturing Safe and Inclusive Classrooms Writing One Poem at a Time with Sarah Donovan and Maureen Ingram.
Inspiration
This time of year always gets me thinking about traditions. There are many my family and I look forward to celebrating with each other. I really love hearing about other peoples’ traditions, too.
Hayrides, Oktoberfest, pumpkin patches, bonfires, corn mazes, pumpkin carving, and cooking might be some of the traditions that come to mind when you think of fall.
Today’s poem is a way for you to flex your poetic muscles while letting all of us learn a little bit more about you and the traditions you observe.
Process
Write a tanka or series of tankas telling us all about a favorite, or maybe least favorite, fall tradition. A tanka is a traditional Japanese poetic form of 31 syllables over 5 lines. The syllable count is 5/7/5/7/7. Usually there is a turn in the third line. Consider focusing on sensory images to help us feel like we are right there with you.
Mo’s Poem
Pumpkin Patch Pilgrimage
Buzzing bees, roasting
nuts, sneeze-inducing hay call
to us from the field
inviting us to partake
in fall’s pumpkiny pleasures
We wander inside
the corn maze waiting for the
cow cars to drive us
to the socks-only bouncy
pad where we collapse giggling
Sweet, spicy apple
cider donuts warm our souls
as the meltdown starts
erupting over pictures
at the stair step photo spot
The llamas, cows, pigs,
ponies have been pet and fed,
red noses and bulging
eyes mean too much hay today,
a quick train ride, then back home
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.
Pumpkins on the porch,
cold air warning winter’s near
I carve out a smile.
With each scoop, the season shifts,
and fall feels real in my hands.
Christmas Cheer
All together we
Gather all around the tree
Shining Christmas lights
Can be such a big delight
Being blessed is such a sight
Your last line just rolls off the tongue, RC. I hope you share this with your loved ones!
Great poem about your love for Christmas cheer. Those last two lines are awesome!!
Such beautiful, lovely poems! I had a lot of trouble writing this one because I realize that all the family traditions have ended. Don’t read mine if you want cheer.
Thanks for your prompt, Mo. We have a pumpkin patch near me and I should go down and enjoy the sites.
Dead Traditions
Grandma made the yummy
We gathered, laughed and drank wine
Then traffic got thick
and bad weather dissolved cheer
Moved the turkey to my home
We cooked and gathered with joy
Then the loss of two
not able to be with us
took smiles off our face
We now go on different paths
Sis travels to her son’s house
And I try to invent new.
Hi Susan,
I’m offering warm thoughts because I know the deep loss of traditions that have ended. I hope you will visit your local pumpkin patch and find something there to bring you a little joy.
Thank you for sharing your poem and your truth. We need truth more than traditions. 💙
Hi Susan,
This is so very real. Loss and the ways that we figure out a new way forward always seem amplified during the holidays. Thank you for sharing this. I hope that as new traditions evolve they can still bring you joy!
Susan, this is real and raw, but I still find hope in your last line. The reality is that things change and we have to change, too. I feel the sense of loss as time goes by as well. I am the youngest of nine and it’s not fun watching all of our lives change so much as we age and go on different paths. Hugs.
This is very real and great emotion. This poem definitely stuck with me.
Mo, I loved your sweet and imagistic tanka today! Thanks for this lovely prompt. Just returned from visiting my daughter Emily at college and three guesses what I brought her! XD
“Planting Seeds”
Set the oven to
275. Once the
pumpkins innards are
de-pumpkined, dumped all over
dishtowels, drying,
mix melted butter
with salt (a teaspoon), and some
Worcestershire sauce.
Coat liberally with butter
and love. The oven will bake
them up – crisp, salty
in an hour. Serve them hot
to your sweet daughter
(who’s also a bit salty) –
and years from now, when she’s grown
she’ll never forget
that warm kitchen, that salty crunch
and from her dorm room
will issue a request, phoned,
texted, mailed: pumpkin seeds, please!
Wendy, love your poem from the title till the final line –heartfelt, warm, loving! I am sure your daughter will cherish the sweet moments and keep the seeds not just to mail/text you, but to replant with the next generation.
What a sweet reply! Thanks, Leilya! ❤️❤️
This is so sweet, Wendy! And now I have to try your recipe. I’ve never added Worcestershire before. I’m sure you made your daughter’s day with the seeds you planted.
Wendy,
How sweet to bring a delicious tradition to your daughter while she’s away. I was always envious of moms who came to my dorm to bring delectable home-cooked meals. My Mom was not that kind of cook and definitely wouldn’t have come to my dorm to bring food she cooked. LOL.
I appreciated the sensory delights in this popular tradition. I haven’t eaten home-baked pumpkin seeds in over 20 years. Now, I’m wishing I hadn’t let that tradition go when my kids grew up.
Love this sweet/salty mix!!
Great idea! I shall try that. Thanks for your poem and inspiration.
I love this, Wendy! Your alliteration throughout (but specifically in stanza one — “de-pumpkined, dumped all over / dishtowels, drying”) is wonderful. And I smiled wide at the lines “to your sweet daughter / (who’s also a bit salty),” lol.
Wendy,
“De-pumpkined” is my new favorite word! And I love the alliteration in that 1st section. My other favorite thing is how you play with sweet and salty! The passing on of traditions is a wonderful way to end this one!
Wendy,
Baking is love! So many memories in those little seeds. I hope you’ll share this one w/ your daughter. Maybe frame it. It’s beautiful art and the recipe.
I enjoyed how loving this poem feels. Such a cute tradition and the recipe sounds great!
Pumpkin Patch at Dusk / Dawn
Empty fields of orange,
pumpkins left without their laughs.
Sun sinks, cold settles.
I walk where joy used to be
fall feels heavier this year.
But
Morning dew sparkles,
bright pumpkins wait in long rows.
Kids run, boots kicking leaves.
Warm cider, hayride, shared smiles
autumn joy grows like sunlight.
What a haunting contrast between your stanzas. I felt the weight of the pumpkins left without their laughs. I like the idea of the pumpkins waiting in long rows.
N/A,
Excellent contrasts in your poem. Brilliant line: “pumpkins left without their laughs.” It’s a line I wish I’d written. Yes, the world feels heavy, but it seems to me the fall colors have lasted longer.
I like how this poem makes a shift. After Halloween, the pumpkins not chosen lie in a big heap in our nearby patch and feel forgotten. I like how your poem puts life back into them.
N/A, “pumpkins left without their laughs” and “I walk where joy used to be” are gut-punch lines. The juxtaposition between stanzas is really brilliant, each making the other sharper.
I like how the poem shifts and thinks about the pumpkins perspective!
the only pumpkin pie
I’m up first to prep
the crust – butter, eggs, flour
next roll it out round
and lift into the quiche pan
bottom pricked, gonzo beans weights
ready!
for the filling mix
pumpkin sugars spices rum
add eggs cream and milk
an old recipe found years
ago back on page of Parade
I admire anyone who makes their own pie crusts. I gave up years ago. Your last line brought a big smile to my face, as some of my favorite recipes have been cut out of magazines.
Jamie, your poem tells yet another pumpkin pie baking tradition. I love that you are making your crust and filling from scratch – to me, it’s the best way. Your poem makes me want to go to the kitchen and bake something. Thank you!
This poem reminds me of my grandmas house on Christmas. Love this!
Mo, thank you for the prompt and for your pumpkin patch poem. I can feel the chill in the air and the tasty cider doughnuts!
Bright skies leave us
in shadows, twilight pulls night
over us—dark blanket.
White lines like breadcrumbs guide us
home through darkness, Sunday nights.
Love your crisp and vivid images and the juxtaposition of light and darkness here, Dave! I can see the “dark blanket” of night and the “[w]hite lines like breadcrumbs” perfectly!
Dave, gorgeous poem. I love the contrast of white and dark. The sense of traveling home resonated for me.
I love riding home with you. Your words paint a beautiful picture – twilight pulls night – dark blanket – white lines like breadcrumbs – all to find home.
Dave, your last two lines have such a calming effect on me. Although that dark blanket sounds pretty good, too. Perfect poem for a Sunday night.
Dave, “White lines like breadcrumbs guide us
home through darkness,” — just a gorgeous image here!
Your images in this poem fit my night tonight as I sat on the hill and watched the bright skies leave and the dark blanket of fog coming over me. The white lines could be from car headlights or flashlights or could be the last remaining light beams from the sun as it sets.
Mo, I love the fun shared within your poem. I always think I’m going to do something like visit the corn maze or pumpkin walk, but then another autumn goes by.
Triumphant Disappointments
First in ten. Do it
again! Which way? That way! We
celebrate each score
with shots of honey whiskey.
Longing for the win—dreams dashed.
Barb Edler
16 November 2025
Barb,
This is the thrill of victory and the agony of defeat! It’s so hard watching one’s team lose and almost win, but we’ll always have poetry to channel the angst. I like these traditions. Love the paradox in your title.
Barb, what a way to celebrate each score. I’m sorry your team didn’t win……maybe the honey whiskey at least dampened the pain of defeat. Next year……
I love it, Barb! If I had shots with each TD I’d be asking which way too!
Barb, sorry about “dashed dreams.” You’ve got a great tradition going there with those honey whiskey shots. Your title is kind of oxymoronic today and works so well to present the poem.
Barb, while I am not a football fanatic or even a fan, I sure do have family members who celebrate it all, even with shots of honey whiskey! Yes, it’s part of the holidays!
Ouch, sorry about that USC loss yesterday. Your poem captures and keeps the hope right up to those last two syllables.
Mo – Thank you for your prompt and your poem. Your pumpkin patch adventures made me think of when my children were young. Such joyful times! And the “Sweet, spicy apple/
cider donuts” caputures the wondeful tastes of the season.
Dumplings and Kraut, What’s That About?
When most families
indulge in mashed potatoes,
kraut, both sweet and sour
is laid upon our table.
Perfect dressing for dumplings.
Light and fluffy fare,
warm dumplings, gravy-drenched kraut.
Heaven on the tongue,
And for Grandma, foaming beer,
To complement our feast day.
Dumpling creation.
The mantle has passed to me.
Eggs, flour, salt, and milk.
Make the batter, crack, crack, crack.
Hope the balls of dough will float.
When most families
indulge in mashed potatoes,
our tradition lives.
Fingers crossed the Thanksgiving
dumplings will pass the muster.
Tammi, your title is my question! But your poem answered it deliciously! What do the balls of dough float in? Is kraut the same as cabbage? What cuisine is this? In other words, in what kind of restaurant would I expect to see dumplings and kraut?yor poem has made me curious about trying this combo.
Always learning something new readers poems in this group!
Hi Anna,
Our dumplings and sour kraut are Czech. The kraut is cabbage, and the dough is boiled and, hopefully, floats in water. Sinkers aren’t too fluffy. LOl!
Thanks, Tami. Visited the Czech Republic when my daughter was in te MA youth state orchestra and they are festival to tour and play in Dubrovnik! Why a trip bd yes we had kraut, but I don’t recall specifically…dumplings. Thanks for the memory.
Tammi, I absolutely adore your title. Dumplings sound delicious. This is a treat I have never had very often. The Thanksgiving feast sounds scrumptious, and I love your use of diction to show the treasured dumplings enjoyed with “foaming beer”. Fun poem!
I shouldn’t be this hungry, but my mouth is watering right now. This sounds like a wonderful tradition. I bet your family is happy you are continuing it!
Tammi, one of the unexpected blessings of reading your poem (and others) today is my heightened awareness of many different traditions that are part of our collective culture. On some level I have always known this, but today, I am celebrating the diversity that makes our world work and reminding myself that embracing new traditions is a great thing!
Tammi,
Your 2nd stanza is literally making my mouth water! And I really enjoy the description of making the dumplings in the 4th stanza. So many senses are indulged in reading this.
Held tight in their arms,
love only grandparents have.
Magic in a hold.
Change was still unknown to me,
until two turned into one
Oh D J,
you capture such emotion in only five lines.
i feel the love of
and the grief of
Thank you for sharing.
DJ — There is so much emotion in this short poem. I am so sorry for your loss. The holidays are challenging times after the loss of a loved one. I understand how you feel after having lost my father in April.
DJ, ahhh, I love the magic of your poem. A grandchild is pure magic. Lovely poem!
Your beautiful image of your grandparents hold rings familiar to me. Your last two lines are wistful marking change. Lovely sentiment in 5 lines.
Hi DJ. I’m not sure how to read your poem. It seems to me it’s either about incredible love or incredible loss. It sure has me thinking, though. You’ve packed a lot into just 5 lines.
DJ, your poem captures the special relationship with grandparents and the emptiness when their hands are not there to hold. Your poem is lovely and the emotion is pure. I hope you find happiness in your memories.
DJ,
There really is magic in a grandparent’s love, speaking as one myself.
Thanka-Tanka
Grateful, thankful, blessed?
November tradition now
includes finding food
resources for students who
won’t eat turkey without SNAP.
C.O. I find your integration of the modern air of issues to be very well done as it applies to something so many of us see as second nature (eating a Turkey). Very well done.
Oh boy. This is a tough one, CO. Thank you for sharing this with us.
C.O.
This breaks my heart and makes me angry, too. The U.S. is the richest country in the world, yet children still go to bed hungry.
Thanks for the reminder. C.O. while many of us are looking back, your poem reminds us to look around and to be aware that we should care enough to share.
Oooooh, C.O., what a powerful punch. I love the question with the modern mantra, and the answer – – a twist of reality. I do feel so much for these little ones who suffer most.
Yes, C.O., this is a sad reality for many this year. Foodbanks in my area are stretched to their limits. The SNAP losses with new standards and certifications are going to crate havoc for many. There are also the many families impacted by deportation and immigration concerns as well as so many layoffs…this is a sad reality.
C.O., This is heavy. Adding the question mark to the cliche is perfect and profound.
Thanks, Mo for your poem with the sensory images that really took us to the place. Your poem evoked memories of holiday meals at our house.
Holiday Dinners: Prepping and Sharing
Growing up, back then,
I was one of five, not ten.
I was a “Small”, but
I was never thin, so when
Holidays came. I was game.
Game to fix turkey
At Thanksgiving and Christmas
I was Cook. No sass!
Obey and get food ready!
Enjoy and don’t get heady.
Our family of just five
Always had guests for dinner.
Often older folks
Folks with no live spouse
Joined our fam’ly at our house.
Anna, I like how your Small family is actually expansive. I think the holidays are better with more people we can call family.
Anna — I love how your memories include the preparation of the meal and then the growing numbers. We also invite friends that are without families to our Thanksgiving and Christmas celebrations. No one should be alone on holidays.
Mo,
Thanks for hosting and prompting again and sharing your sweet poem capturing memories. We’re still haven’t had fall weather except for a couple of cool days. Hot and humid today, setting record highs, so I enjoyed the chance to vicarious
This sounds so cozy and delicious:
____________________________________________________
Sundays
we stir in the yeast
let the dough rise under cloth
Mom’s hands flatten dough
she laughs as it bounces back
she sings just me and my guy
we watch her deft hands
the oil shines through the thin dough
we pile on toppings
homemade Sunday pizza for
Wonderful World of Disney
this past October
the first anniversary
of our mother’s death
my brother makes her red sauce
his hands echo hers, press dough
I was smiling through those first two stanzas, imagining the dough rising and the Wonderful World of Disney. Your last stanza caught me by surprise, but is sweet on a whole other level.
Sharon, I can imagine how those Sundays are missed, especially around the first anniversary of your mother’s passing. You description of Mom’s hands and the way she works with the dough remind me so much of my own Mom, and I feel how my chest tightens and how it hurts to miss a loved one. Thank you for this beautiful Sunday tradition of the homemade pizza. Knowing that it lives on brings warmth:
“my brother makes her red sauce
his hands echo hers, press dough”
Thank you!
Sharon,
The memories of your mother making Sunday pizza were just beautiful. I could feel the love in the creation of the dough and the tradition passing on to your brother. So sorry for your loss. I hope your beautiful memories bring you peace during this holiday season.
Lovely memory of your mom preparing Sunday pizza. And Wonderful World of Disney! Remembering it makes me sad my girls missed it. And I love your brother jumping into fill your mom’s absence. Continuity.
My heart is happy – the Wonderful World of Disney and homemade pizza pie is such a touching memory. So real and vivid. And that was a perfect way to remember her a year after her death.
Beautiful poem and it is one of two or three here that have captured the loss of a loved one that carried on the tradition. The holidays become bitter sweet. I am happy that the memories of her carry on in the red sauce and pressing dough.
Giving Thanks
Ah, joys for many
reasons this holiday sea-
son: family, friends,
and Google timestamps to quell
students’ claims their work’s not late.
________________________________________________
Thank you, Mo, for another excellent prompt and wonderful poem! I loved all the vivid details of these “pumpkiny pleasures.” My offering, a tongue-in-cheek verse, refers to how this holiday always falls close to the end of a grading period: a time when students (sometime) remember to turn in missing/late work and, also (sometime), claim their work was turned in on time and, indeed, not late at all.
Ha. Late work is such a pain. I like that you’re sharing a laugh about it.
A small victory! I love the big and little things for which you are grateful, Scott.
Scott, I can understand the joy of being able to show your student when they submitted their work. I can hear your voice throughout this poem. Very relatable!
Love the way you start with traditional holiday descriptions and then zap us with the teacher insertion. And how perfect it is! They just can’t get away with that anymore. Love the use of the word “quell.”
Scott, your “Google timestamps” is the perfect line for every educator who has ever dealt with the end of semester submissions.
I love the pumpkin patch tradition you are developing with your sweet grandsons, Mo. I love that in spite of the allergies, you all still want to be there. We are just beginning to develop new traditions with our growing family in too many different geographical areas, so I went back to a childhood tradition that I always loved. Thanks for the challenge. It’s always fun to remember and capture in a poem.
Siblings and nephews
and nieces galore–busy
during holidays,
so we did a two-for-one
special every November.
We’d meet at Grandma’s,
have a Thanksgiving dinner
at lunchtime. Then ’til
nightfall nurse the leftovers,
kept cold on the screened-in porch.
To find a bed was
a challenge, but there were bags,
sofas and floor space.
Snoozed through the cold and snores, and
in the morning ‘twas Christmas!
And all through the house
Everyone busied themselves
with decorating:
cookies, the tree, and the walls.
Grandma wants us all for Yule.
Christmas dinner was
a whole new meal lovingly
prepared by Grandma,
with some help from the dozens
of family members there.
We’d sing and exchange
gifts on this Black-Friday-turned-
Christmas. That evening
and throughout the weekend folks
left. She, so content and tired.
Oh! I love how this poem hums with the energy and warmth of family life—you can feel every bustling, joyful moment. The way you honor Grandma’s love and effort makes the scene tender and full of gratitude. Reading it feels like stepping into that cozy, lively house, smelling the cookies and hearing the laughter, and then settling into the quiet contentment at the end.
Peace,
Sarah
Black Friday Christmas! I love this memory and how you ended with She, so content and tired. I get it. There is no tired like it!
What a great way to spend Black Friday, Denise. It sure sounds like you had some great traditions. I especially like the hunt for a place to sleep.
Denise, I love the way your poem invites us to enjoy these special moments with you. I can just imagine everyone sacked out along the floor and then waking up to so much fun. Grandma’s contentment is everything here, and I imagine her tiredness was appreciated. Gorgeous memories and poem!
Denise,
Those gathering memories are so much sweeter as children. I know your grandmother loved the gift of family gathered together for her. Your poem has a bittersweet tone for me as it reminds me of the choices I had to make as a child w/ divorced parents. In retrospect, I think my mom spent some lonely holidays because of my choices, and that saddens me.
What a rich snapshot you create here, Denise! It flows so naturally that one would never guess that there is even a syllable count structure being used. Generational holiday gatherings are such a blessing.
Denise, I feel the piling up of love and the layers of warmth even as people sleep wherever there is room – – yes, any old place will do when there is that much comfort to go around. I fondly remember the days of sleeping bags on the floor and cots. This sounds like my own granny’s house when everyone was there and people were everywhere and we were grateful it was December in Waycross, Georgia because they had no central heating and air. Your family gathering was a great way to be sure everyone could be there, and I feel her contented spirit and her tired aches of happiness.
What a wonderful tradition to have Thanksgiving and Christmas back-to-back, Denise! Thank you for sharing. The holiday spirit and busying come alive in your poem. I can “see” everyone doing something to change the scene. Your Grandma sounds amazing. Your poem reminded me how we would pick up all Thanksgiving decor after dinner and help my husband’s Mom to decorate for Christmas.
Denise, your poem is a reminder that it is not the calendar day that matters. Instead, it is the gathering of loved ones and the energy of sharing and making memories together. Your last line makes me smile because as a grandma, there is no greater joy than sharing and giving until you are content and exhausted. Lovely
Mo, how adorable. I can imagine all the fun you and your grands have together. These lines are pure love and reminded me of all the laughs our loved ones share with us:
I have never been a big fan of Thanksgiving traditions (mostly because of my food issues), but my my favorite cousin and I share November birthdays. Before she passed away, November was always our time to party hard and celebrate together. I wrote my tanka in honor of her. The best laughter of my lifetime occurred in her company. She had one of those laughs that made the room erupt in laughter.
Dear Donna
My dear, sweet cousin
was born on this sixteenth day
I miss her laughter
how she danced through joy and pain
Happy heavenly birthday 🕊️
©Stacey L. Joy, 11/16/25
The idea of dancing through joy and pain tells me everything I need to know about your cousin, Stacey. She sounds like a beautiful soul.
Stacey, it sounds like she made the best of every situation and kept good spirits through it all. I’m so sorry for your loss, but more – – I’m happy you knew her love and laughter.
Stacey, what a nice poem to write in honor of dear Donna. I love the photo of her too. “how she danced through joy and pain” is such a beautiful description of a fully-human treasure.
Stacey,
This is so tender and heartfelt—you can feel the love and the ache of missing her in every line. I love how you honor both her joy and her struggles, letting her spirit shine through the words. Reading it feels like being wrapped in a quiet, gentle remembrance, full of warmth and reverence.
Hugs,
Sarah
Stacey,
Thank you for sharing this beautiful poem and photo of your cousin Donna.
What a beautiful tribute:
I’m so sorry for your loss. Cousins have a special bond that goes beyond friendship. “She danced through joy and pain” says a lot about her character.
A beautiful tribute to your beloved cousin, Stacey! Love your card with a picture and a poem. She has a gorgeous smile. Sending kind thoughts your way.
Stacey, sadly November is that month for me and it’s important to remember our loved one’s birthdays even when they are no longer on Earth to celebrate these occasions with us. I love that you are able to share her beauty in your poem and Canva production. Hugs!
Stacey, thank you for sharing such a special and personal tradition with your cousin who “danced through joy and pain.” I too have a special cousin who is fighting through joy and pain right now for a chance for one more holiday. You and your special cousin are in my prayers and thoughts this month.
Stacey,
I’m so sorry for your loss. You’ve reminded us how difficult this time of year is for many. Hugs.
Mo, thank you for another soulful prompt. I love traditions. Your pilgrimage depicted so skillfully. The images come alive. The third stanza with all the “s” alliterations made my mouth water. I just wanted to bite into the apple cider donut.
I wanted to tell you about Crimean Tatars beautiful baby-naming tradition carried through generations. It usually happens on the seventh day of the baby’s arrival. This poem shares how my daughter received her name. It didn’t turn out as planned, but was the first thing that came to my mind.
Naming in the Old Tradition
The Seventh Day
Soft newborn breathing,
plans resting for Saturday—
quiet mid-week noon.
We wait to honor her name,
our families gathering soon.
The Unexpected Guest
Gravel under wheels,
a stranger at my doorway,
midday heat unsettles.
He says he is the mullah,
come three days earlier.
A Sudden Turn
Turkish coffee brews,
its rich aroma rising.
My hands slightly shake.
Tradition knocks suddenly;
I bow to what must be done.
Fetching My Father-in-Law
Running down the street,
breath thin like morning linen.
Garden soil on hands,
he listens as we hurry,
asks softly, “What name is hers?”
The Naming
Laid upon a pillow,
our baby in bright sunlight—
her eyelids trembling.
Three times he whispers her name
into her tiny warm ears.
The Announcement
He lifts her gently,
face turned toward both of us—
quiet fills the room.
“Dilyara! Dilyara!”
Her protected future starts.
Telling Her Father
Evening settles in,
my husband comes home at last.
I cradle the baby.
“Meet your daughter,” I smile,
“Dilyara Memetovna.”
Wow, your poem series is absolutely luminous—there’s such a tender, reverent rhythm to the way you move through these moments of arrival, tradition, and love. I feel like I can almost hear the whispers, smell the Turkish coffee, and feel the quiet weight of each pause. You’ve captured something so intimate and sacred here; reading it warms the chest and stays with me long after.
Oh, Leilya! This is breathtakingly beautiful. Each image is so loving and tender. I fell like I was there the whole time. What a gorgeous tradition.
Leilya,
Your tradition and your poem gave me hope for a beautiful world. Imagining if every baby could have such a special naming tradition. I adore every line, especially these:
The ending was like watching a family movie. Just gorgeous!
Wow, Leilya, I’m in a awe of this tradition. I’m so glad you wrote this. I love the titled tankas, and this line is so spectacular: “breath thin like morning linen.” When I lived in Bahrain, I had the experience of participating in a couple of naming ceremonies from folks from other parts of the world. Fascinating. I wish I could sit and talk with you about it and learn more.
Leilya,
Thank you for sharing this beautiful tradition with which I was unfamiliar. Your language and emotion and the italicized sectioning titles make for such a captivating poem. What a treasure.
A beautiful tradition that you have captured in this verse. “The Announcement” is my favorite verse. I can feel the reverence.
Leilya, wow, what an amazing series of tankas. I adore the way you arranged each one with a title to help guide the reader and the narrative. The idea of having your daughter’s name announced to protect her future is truly awesome. Love the closing poem. What a precious gift to bless the readers here today.
Leilya, your poem shares a new-to-me tradition, but the power of the tradition calls you like all others to “bow to what must be done.” This sounds like such a warm and sacred ritual warmed by kind words, a grandfather’s touch and the universal power of coffee. Thank you for sharing.
Leilya,
This is so lovely. There’s presence and patience and profound love throughout. It’s like a movie reel structurally on the page. I love it, especially learning the name and the image of a doting father lifting the baby.
Mo, that’s quite a list of traditions. I’m exhausted thinking about the necessary energy to do all the things. I enjoy seeing from a quiet nook and now want some hot cider! I appreciate the space (option) to eschew traditions.
Thanksgiving is right after NCTE, and I’m exhausted, and turkey is gross.
Thanksgiving on the Rez
I’m over turkey
and those big bird traditions.
Never liked that guy.
I get holiday blues, so
we’ll Thanksgiving on the rez.
Glenda Funk
You do you, girl! For me it’s about the people. Our family is so busy that this year we had to have Thanksgiving in November 2nd. We had a great time!
I totally love how you made Thanksgiving a verb here. I think the willingness to embrace new and different ideas is the key to happiness, no matter what time of the year or no matter the geography. You have a healthy mindset!
Morning, Glenda! I think the beauty of the Thanksgiving or any other traditions that we are able to choose what and how we want to celebrate. Some years I go all the way, and sometime we just go away for a few days. I like that freedom to choose in your poem. See you soon, friend!
I love how these lines are so candid and wry—you’ve captured that mix of humor and quiet rebellion perfectly. I can feel your relief in stepping away from the usual chaos and claiming a space that actually feels good. “Thanksgiving on the rez” lands with such warmth and honesty; it’s a little spark of joy in the middle of holiday blues.
I’m over it too, always have been! My mom always burned the big bird and occasionally it would be under-cooked. Needless to say, I can pass on the big bird. 🤣
So great! “big bird traditions” I so love the honesty in all your poems, and this one hits the spot. It’s okay to find a way to deal with the “holiday blues” and thanksgiving-ing on the rez sounds like a delicious option.
I like the changing of common traditions to fit your own personal life and happiness.
Glenda, I can understand the Thanksgiving blues, and what better way to celebrate at a reservation where true Native Americans share a wonderful buffet to enjoy. I remember seeing your photos of this tradition last year. I love your opening line! I feel the same. Give some ribs or prime rib or seafood, etc.
Glenda, I totally agree with you on the turkey part of Thanksgiving. I am also an avoider of gluey potatoes and gravy and big on the holiday blues. These days, any gatherings I have are very small, usually before or after the actual holiday, and embracing new traditions like roasted veggies! Hang in there!
a harvesting of
gauzy blouses, sleeveless shirts
my best peach peddle pushers.
baskets of summer colors
a bumper crop stored away
Linda, this is so very true and a tradition we often overlook. I pulled out those sweaters this week and the blues and blacks were a but of a downer!
What a wonderful extended metaphor, Linda. I can just picture those peach peddle pushers!
Hi, Linda! Yes, for some reason, I don’t think about seasonal storing and changing of cloths and shoes as a tradition, but I, too, do it every fall and spring. Love the metaphor of harvesting and storing!
Linda, I love the lush, tactile imagery here—you can almost feel the fabrics and see the colors spilling from the baskets. There’s such a joyful, celebratory rhythm to the way you gather and store these summer treasures. It reads like a quiet harvest of memory and beauty, and it makes me smile just imagining it.
Oh, Linda, what a perfect metaphor for harvesting the summer clothes. But then you have to store the bright colors away. That last line made me a little sad and missing summer!
This is funny to me because I keep summer clothes in the closet year round. Today the high is in the 80’s! I need to pull out sweaters for Denver this week.
Linda, a lovely way to poem a closet cleanout for the changing of the seasons. I love the verb harvesting – – the bumper crop in the laundry basket is just perfect! Like a cornucopia of clothes.
What a picture you create, Mo!
I am sorry that I didn’t comment on anyone’s poems yesterday. My day got hijacked. I will go back and read them all today.
Isn’t it special when you build a sub-culture with those you love? Often, there comes a time when others are granted access.
Christmas Eve
afternoon food prep
followed by 4 p.m. mass
pews full of Chreasters
then dinner, gifts, and board games
and “It’s a Wonderful Life”
just the six of us
and last year it was the last
our family growing
adding others to our tribe
hearts expanding to welcome
~Susan Ahlbrand
16 November 2025
Haha are Chreasters people who only go to church for Christmas and Easter? Haven’t heard of that one. Love the additions added to the tribe.
Susan, I smile the smile of satisfaction and joy at the togetherness of your new family members, hearts expanding, and the fleeting years of old. Your poem of simple times, playing games, watching a movie, mass and dinner – -the way you keep Christmas in your traditions – is really the strong seed planted for these future generations to continue to water and watch grow and bloom. I feel arms and hearts growing here, and that’s a good feeling.
Susan, your line about the Chreasters is a lovely “comic relief” to your poem filled with traditions and your conclusion that hints to expanding your family as well as your traditions.
I love when we are able to add others to our celebrations. It seems like we can always make room for more. Creasters is a new word for me, too. We call them C & E Catholics. Thanks for a delightful poem to start the day.
I love the way this poem carries both routine and sacredness, weaving the ordinary and the special into a warm, living memory. There’s such a gentle intimacy in the way you trace family rituals and the quiet expansion of your circle. Reading it feels like being invited into that cozy, glowing space where love and tradition grow together.
Susan, what “a Wonderful Life” it’s Christmas tradition! I love the second tanka with the family growing and “adding others to our tribe.” I miss large family gatherings so much. Thank you for this reminder 🙂
Susan, nice Christmas traditions! It is lovely to see your family growing. “adding others…hearts expanding to welcome” is a beautiful way to put it.
Mo, I was drawn into the pumpkin patch experience like a picture postcard with smell-a-vision. It reminded me that we still have the tradition of getting the just right photo for a Christmas card.
Perfectly Posed
Posed by the fireplace,
stair steps of cousins laughing.
Four family pods.
Sifting through each photo shot
to find the best one to share.
This simple poem takes me back to the past, to a tradition I no longer take part in, to a tradition that doesn’t really exist anymore. It existed when my dad’s side of the family all lived closer and not so much had changed yet. Thank you for the lovely reminder of ours taken on a staircase.
Margaret, those growing family pods are picture-perfect! I love seeing the family photos on cards and seeing the living of life from year to year. Sometimes when I look at our photos, I feel the pain and the loss and the anger even in the gratitude of times that once were but are no more. Because without an ex husband, there would be no children….or grandchildren…..and without the recovery of addiction for two, there would be no miracles to celebrate. Thank you for taking us to the family photo today, and I raise a toast to life, with all its twists and turns we never see coming.
Margaret, I too love those family photos and the images of love that change every year. My elusive goal is just one picture with all of my children and grands in one place! I’ll take it even if no everyone is smiling or laughing….
I love the idea of family pods. I hate getting my picture taken, but my daughter-in-law is a fanatic about getting the “right” photo. I’m glad she takes the photos, but it can sometimes be tension filled for the camera shy in my family. Your poem makes me want to try harder next time!
Margaret, thank you for this tradition reminder. Here, in the States, we were never able to get together all the kids with their families at the same time, so a few times my husband made a “collage” combining different shots from each daughter’s family. I see those beautiful Christmas family shots made by others and feel a bit envious.
Margaret, this is a great tradition! I suppose it gets harder the more stair-step cousins are added. So many variables! Sweet image of them all by the fireplace.
I miss the days of having 1000 different photos to take, now it seems people are too busy to have the time. I cherish each photo of my whole family, even if I didn’t enjoy taking them at the time.
Thanks for the prompt, Mo! Omg I want the “sweet, spicy apple cider donuts”!!!!! Yum!! Love talking about/writing about traditions!
Tradition Possibilities
Will we watch fireworks
New Year’s Eve and July 4th?
Will March be the month
we celebrate your birthday?
Will we dye eggs for Easter?
Will we trick or treat?
Will you laugh at green bean cass-
erole or will you love it?
Will Thanksgiving be spent with
family or overseas?
Will we make pastelles
or tamales for Christmas?
Will we open just
one present on Christmas Eve
or will we lime and play games?
*lime (v) – to hang out (Trinidad, Caribbean slang)
Angie, what a clever way to think of all the possibilities and have every line be a question. Your flexibility here shows that tradition can – and does – change, and embracing new ones adds to the richness of the experience. It feels light and changing, not heavy with the anchors of always in a way that if we don’t do a certain thing a certain way, we feel a sense of failure. I like your questions as a fresh, new way of embracing tradition as it fits our purpose and stage of life and family situation.
Angie, you culled so many traditions and even added a few new for me ones such as “liming” with those you love. As my own family has changed and my children grown, the holidays, all, are ever changing a you note so beautifully.
I really like the questioning format of your poem today, Angie. So many possibilities! Now we are all wondering what the future will hold for you.
Angie, such a fresh approach to the prompt! I like the questioning as it doesn’t hint on the responses. Everything is still in the open, yet you are the ones making choices. I am the one to keep all the gifts opening for Christmas Day, but my husband wants to open them all on Christmas Eve 🙂
Oh, what a great poem about new partnerships making, adopting, and revamping traditions to suit them. I like that. Thanks for sharing a new meaning of the word lime. It’s always fun to learn something new. Enjoy your warm holidays!
Mo, thank you for your poem that really gets me thinking about traditions. I am sharing a tanka about the “Biggest Little Football Game,” an annual tradition in upstate NY between Ithica College and Cortland State where the winner takes home a giant trophy, The Cortica Cup. I am not a football person and the sound of helmets clashing sends shivers down my spine, but I embraced the excitement while holding my breath, because my son was out on that field giving his all.
Freezing fingers, toes,
Swirling wind, picking up steam,
As the sun settles
Huddled under blankets, we
Embraced the Cortica Cup.
Our boy, dressed in red
Did his part to bring it home
I held my breath with
Every helmet, every down
Praying for a safe ending.
Anita, I share your nail-biting prayerful anxiety about football and the what-ifs. My favorite line: did his part to bring it home – – so much is happening here that I can feel the effort and see the trophy win. You really set the stage with the rich imagery of the sun setting and the feel of the temperature, even the wind stinging the nose is felt here. The swirling wind and the holding of breath just adds to the allure and anxiety all at once. Well done!
Wow! You’ve really created some tension in your poem, Anita. The sounds are sublime and help keep me on the edge of my seat. So well done!
Anita, fun. I too pray for a safe ending every time I watch football. (It seems a little senseless to me.) So this game was just yesterday! Thanks for the link. It was fun to look around and learn more about it.
Anita, oh my, your poem brought back some very special memories. I can remember the days when our son was part of a team that eventually won the state championship and how bitterly cold it was at one of the semi-final games. I can also relate to the lines
“I held my breath with
Every helmet, every down
Praying for a safe ending.”
Thanks for sharing such a fun memory through your poem and I’m glad you added the note so I could understand what the Cortica Cup was.
Anita, your poem brings up the concerns of all football players’ moms out there. The ending strongly depicts your worries:
“Every helmet, every down
Praying for a safe ending.”
Anita,
Every boy mom whose son has played cold-weather sports knows this tension of held breath and cold, freezing digits, but I bet most of us would love to relive some of those moments as we think about time passing.
Mo, your prompts are so inspiring this week – – thank you, friend, for taking us on your visit to the fall festival. I know this day will inspire a lot of poems that will bring us together into snapshot moments. I do love this form – – a tanka is perfect for this day and this prompt!
Traditions Tanka
first, the pumpkin bread
that started when they were kids
I tie the apron
sift the flour, mix in the eggs
add sugar, spices, pumpkin
dominoes thunder
onto great granny’s table
the one I redid
while the bread bakes, we play games
we pair with grandkids
we all walk the farm
looking for the “lellow bear”
every eye stays peeled
lellow bear is elusive
someday, we might catch a glimpse
the coffee pot stays
full of fresh brew to help us
keep up with these kids
Scrabble (turntable version)
for adults, post-kids’-bedtime
togetherness fills my soul
I take a deep breath
they were born last week
now here they are, with their own
tears of gratitude well up
Kim, if you send holiday cards, this should be the sentiment in them. So beautiful and tender. “lellow bear is specific” but I don’t need to know what it is…I already mostly know. There is such sweetness to be grateful for.
Love all the traditions included in this. Coffee, yes! Scrabble, yes!! We don’t make pumpkin bread but that description is so lovely. The thankfulness in this poem is everything 🐻
Kim, this is a lovely family tribute to your family and traditions like the hunt for “lellow bear” and a full pot of coffee to help you “keep up” with those littles. I’d happily join your family!
Such tender details in your tankas, Kim! The turntable, the mellow bear, the redone table- it’s like a mini Hallmark movie in poetry!
Kim,
I would enjoy witnessing all of this family fun! Is “lellow bear” a child’s pronunciation for “yellow bear” or am I missing something? I totally hear it as mispronouncing yellow.
I enjoy the times families spend playing games. It looks like yours made it extra special. The ending is heart-warming.
Love, love, love!
What lovely traditions come alive here, Kim. It makes me happy to read through and see the traditions continue. That last stanza fills my soul too. So much truth there. Beautiful.
I love how the present tense verbs show us so much about the past. That last stanza . . . what an emotional punch for the many of us who have aged into wondering where the time went. Your use of italics really works with “they were born last week.” Oh, the passage of time. It’s brutal but brings us to gratitude. Most of the time.
Kim, I love how you pull in sounds, tastes and smells into this poem. I can feel the joy bubbling with the dominoes and scrabble games going on as the smell of pumpkin bread warms the home. Lovely poem full of joy and familial connections.
Kim,
Your verse about baking takes me to holiday cooking traditions, some of which my son is carrying on in his family. My dad loved dominoes and played them w/ my uncles when I was little. After he lost his sight, we got braille dominoes and carried on the tradition. Thanks for returning me to those memories.
Mo, I was struck by the busyness of your pilgrimage – the buzzing, the roasting, the wandering, the erupting and melting down. Fall feels that way to me. And it continues right on through the end of the year. You caused me to think about all that is done on Thanksgiving “break.” (And I need a photo of those cow cars!)
Thanksgiving Weekend Day by Day
Table laden meal
with both savory and sweet
cancer’s caused a change –
three much smaller gatherings
with meals ordered in
Wandering the rows
in search of the perfect tree –
selections began
from my grandparent’s back woods –
now, we search my brother’s farm
A handmade angel
sits atop the tree, crooked –
wings bent and halo flopping –
ornaments nestle within
gathered from travels and time
The list remains tucked
within memories long past
tradition no more –
who has time to address cards
in such hustle and bustle
Jennifer, your poem is such a treasure that preserves the past through ornaments over time and travel and the grandparents’ back woods and the crooked angel – – while showing the change over time – – and as painful as it is, I sense that these holidays where illness is a factor, there is the tender sacredness of acknowledging that life is so fleeting, for all of us. My heart is full of compassion for you and your family as you face this season of holidays, and prayers are with you, my friend. This is absolutely beautiful, each moment its own little snapshot of life and the living of it.
I love this description that includes the faults, “wings bent and halo flopping” and “tradition not more”. Time changes our traditions. This year I will be struck with who is missing. Thanks for sharing.
So much truth in this poem. The last stanza reminds me of when my parents used to send Christmas cards, some 20+ years ago. Never happened again. I wonder if I will ever send them in the future with my family. Hugs to you and yours 🤗
Jennifer, I read your poem with tears of respect for the changing traditions that come with time, losses, illnesses, and the the challenges of our busy lives. Your poem is both an acknowledgement of what has been and the way you are holding onto pieces as you move forward.
Jennifer, your poem evokes a bitter sweetness for me. I love how you honor past traditions while acknowledging that sometimes the Inca have to change. It’s clear that you and your family know how to celebrate the important things.
Let’s see if this cow car picture will post!
That’s even more fun that I imagined.
Haha, I was wondering about the cow car too! So fun!
Ohhh, how your poem resonates with me. When my mom passed, the traditions all passed with her because her house was the hub.
I pray that you and yours find comfort in moments together, in memories, and in BEING. I want to send cards every year and never do. We can only do what we think matters most during these challenging times.
Hugs and warm thoughts for you, Jennifer. 🤗
Jennifer, I enjoyed seeing the changes made in the holiday traditions. I agree Christmas cards are hard to do anymore. Though since retirement, I have given it a college try again. Not always successful.
It’s amazing what four short stanzas can show. You take us through incredible changes, some very sad. I love the rhythm and emotion of this line . . .
Jennifer, illness does, indeed, cause “change” in the holidays. Heather and I are coming to terms with that, too, this holiday season. (I imagine we’ll be relying heavily on “memories long past” this year.) Thank you for articulating this so well!
Between rows of trees,
branches weighted with apples –
the scent of decay –
yet there’s sweetness on our tongue
as we sample the season
(family tradition of apple picking)
Kevin
That scent of decay line was the perfect turn here! I love picking any fruit with my family. Nice work!
Beautiful imagery – weighted branches
and sensory details – scent of decay, sweetness on tongue
perfection!
the juxtaposition of decay and sweetness gives this tanka heart
Kevin, you make me want to visit my favorite apple orchard today. It’s three hours away – – Mercier Orchards – – if I get dressed and put on my best apple picking boots right now…….(I could be there in 3 hours….)
Kevin, I can smell and taste this wonderful tradition.
Kevin, your line about the “scent of decay” brings your poem into the real world of real apple orchards where the apples are returning to the earth even as we taste their sweetness.
What a perfect tanka! Your pivot line is perfect, Kevin. You packed so much fall imagery into this short form.
Kevin, you have captured apple picking for me here with “branches weighted” and “the scent of decay”. It brought back memories when I lived in Michigan. Lovely tradition.
4×4 hoisting high
the topper in Chania’s square,
naked torso shows—
a skeleton of travels,
we carry pasts to future.
Photo
Thank goodness for the photo – my mind was going all kinds of ways as to what this could possibly be, so many possible imaginings from that turn in line 3! What have they done to that poor tree?
tee hee…same here. But wow, look at that tree. I love that last line, “we carry pasts to the future.”
They were adding each branch to the tree for the tree lighting event next week.
Ahhh! Such rich imagery explained. And another turn!
I imagine that things will look very different for you this year. I love the ending line, “we carry pasts to future.”
Sarah, I love that you chose a tradition of a place to share with us. I’m so intrigued, I’m going to give it a Google to read more about it. A poem starts a whole chain of wonder, and I love the photo that you shared.
Sarah, reading your words, alone, on my phone had me thinking about a statue – a naked one? a skeleton? My mind was all aflutter for sure! Then, your image appeared and I was smiling as we all carry pasts to our current and future endeavors. Thanks for getting me thinking this morning.
What a nod to your adventures! It’s such a pleasure to be able to see other cultures and traditions with innocent eyes. I love your last line.
Sarah, I saw many times how the workers “build up” the tree in the city square in different places, but without your picture I wouldn’t understand 4×4 and “the naked torso.” ))
I can’t get out of my mind “a skeleton of travels, / we carry pasts to futures.” It makes me think about how rooted we are in traditions (or in the past) that we carry them to the future because there is no one without another.
Thanks for the photo, Sarah. Indeed, that “naked torso” is getting dressed. I love the connection to your travels with “carry[ing] pasts to future.” It really shows how you bring your whole self with you on your adventures.
You always do so much with so few words. I am so glad that you included the picture, but these images stick regardless . . .