This is VerseLove. We write poems together every day during April. Glad you are here.
Our Host
Margaret Simon lives on the Bayou Teche in New Iberia, Louisiana. Margaret has been an elementary school teacher for 38 years, most recently retired and teaching periodically as a teaching artist in the schools. Her first book of children’s poetry was published in 2018 by UL Press, Bayou Song: Creative Explorations of the South Louisiana Landscape. In April 2025, she released Were You There: A Biography of Emma Wakefield Paillet; Margaret wrote poems in Emma’s voice as she worked through trials and tribulations of Reconstruction and a Jim Crow South to become the first African American woman in the state of Louisiana to receive a medical degree. Her latest book is a baby board book What’s That Sound? Birds of the Bayou. Margaret’s poems have appeared in anthologies including The Poetry of US by National Geographic and Rhyme & Rhythm: Poems for Student Athletes. Margaret writes a blog regularly athttp://reflectionsontheteche.com.
Inspiration
When I was writing What’s That Sound? Birds of the Bayou, I knew that onomatopoeia was an essential element to include. I love to teach kids how to spell onomatopoeia without spell check. Chunk it in thirds and say it with rhythm: “ONO-MAT-OPO-EIA” It’s also a really fun word to say out loud.
In my baby board book, I included some familiar sounds, such as the barred owl sound of “Who-cooks-for-you?” I also invented some of the onomatopoeia, such as the sound of the wood duck, “Ooo-eek-ooo-eek”.
Process
Choose an animal you would like to write about. Find a sample of the sound it makes. For bird sounds, I use the Cornell Lab website, https://www.allaboutbirds.org/news/how-to-learn-bird-songs-and-calls/
Write a poem that uses onomatopoeia in a creative way. Have fun with it!
Margaret’s Poem
This is a portion of a work in progress for a picture book about the prairie.
Prairie is a Place
Prairie is a place of symphonic sound.
In the spring, when warm air returns,
Prairie comes alive with warbler song,
Carolina wrens, and chickadees…
Oo-ee-oo-ee-oo-ee!
Summer heat raises red coral bean and blazing star,
hides rat snakes and green tree frogs.
Night time’s loud with muddy pond calls…
Rr-beck-rr-beck!
Margaret Simon, draft
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.
Verselove Day 22: What’s That Sound? Onomatopoeia
For My Favorite H.
By Tracei Willis
Written for April 22nd on April 28th.
Ma’am, he whispers, I love the birds.
They love you, I say in return, they’re singing you a song.
I love their song, Ma’am, as he leans his head on my belly.
I love the bees, and the flowers, too, and the bees love the flowers!
And the flowers love the bees, I add.
Soft, whispered, after school words,
leaning against the car, watching the grass grow.
“Thank you, Bees!
Thank you, Flowers!
Thank you, Birds!
Thank you, Trees!”
Sweet gratitude for nature, from a preschooler
who called his classmates “Butthead Fart Faces!!”
and made a symphony of fart noises:
“PFFT” “FRAAAP” “POOT” “BLAT” “THPPTPHTPHPHHPH” “BRAAAP” “BRAAAACK” “FRRRT” “BLAAARP”
until his teacher called his mama
who picked him up
and brought him
to his Ma’am…
Dare I ask him,
“H? What sound does a fart make?”
Thanks for this fun prompt, Margaret!
Little birdie, tough to spy
I hear your early morning cry
You call your name, so very vain
Accompany my waking pain
I must to work and so must you
Grass glistens with the morning dew
Little Phoebe, fly and play
While I must rise and seize the day.
Wendy,
Of all the birds I have come to recognize over the last 5 or 6 years, it’s little Black Phoebe! I am still afraid, however, I see her everywhere and even recognize her sounds.
Your rhymes are perfect for her! 💙
❤️ Stacey, she stays hidden in the trees and I never manage to catch a glimpse of her!
Sitting in the Pasture
Sitting in the pasture
You hear all sorts of things
sitting in the pasture
You find all sorts of animals
The cows are minding their business
Mooooooo
The chickens are clucking around
cluck, cluck, cluck
The ducks are waddling
Quack, Quack, waddle, waddle
The pigs are eating
Oink, Onik
Then you hear the rooster
The rooster is extremely annoying
Cock a doodle dooooooo
Soccer sounds and poetic practice
Sitting on the sidelines on sunny, windy Wednesday,
Concentrating, sensing sounds, the chatter on the field,
Words become unrecognizable; instead the rise and swell
Of chatter like roosting birds or a flock of seagulls
Competing for a catch, onthawing onthawing onthawing
Crossit crossah crosssah!!!
The rhythmic twap twap twap of a confident dribble,
the shhhhwit shhhwittt of the ball gliding across
the blades of grass bending and springing back into place,
the resonant THOOONG of a ball well struck like a bass drum
hitting on the 1 and the 3-jazz really–and I close my eyes
and the sound only intensifies, twap twap THOOOG, whoosh!
The ball in the air, I can see in my mind’s eye now as the play
gets closer, almost like choreography, twap twap THOONG and
an intense sizzle now ssssssshsshSHSHSH TAPLONK!!!
I just got hit in the face! Damn, where are my glasses?!?!?
Oh this is gold!! I’m sorry if your close eyed search for onomatopoeias actually caused you to be hit in the face with the ball! But it sure made for a good poem 🙂 I love “onthawing onthawing onthawing / Crossit crossah crossah!!!” Like roosting birds. Thanks for writing & sharing this!
Poetic license, lol. I was actually at soccer practice. I had the good sense to keep my eyes open, though.
Hahaha! Oh, this is so funny! I was just so impressed with the music you were making out of the seagulls and the skills of the soccer players. You with your eyes closed and playing jazz in your mind. The onomatopoeia, just right. And then the shocker at the ends, just made me laugh aloud. Well played. Hope this was an exaggeration or fiction!
There are so many more sounds in soccer practice than one realizes – that “concentration, sensing sounds” is deeply intentional! Your last line is both hilarious and alarming – an unexpected twist that I hope didn’t really happen (!!)
Dave,
Love the way you rolled with this prompt!!
OUCH ON THE ENDING!! Arrrgggh
Each evening, as dusk creeps
across the walls,
so too do the mo’o.
They are women carrying water
as they appear from behind painted
scenes of Kalihiwai
and Lae Nani.
They slip
and slither, silent padded toes
and pink fleshy tongues.
They are cream and curling,
and we hear them ccclllick cccchhhlick
to lovers and to flies.
Evening crawls
across the walls
and the gecko
says come here…
I llove you…
And we catch our breath in their throats
cccccllliichkt
What wonderful evening sounds, Jon. Each line is a treat to read.
Jon, this sounds amazing, and I really like how your last six lines capture how seductive and enticing the sound is of the gecko’s call.
Thank you for this lovely poem. It’s making me think about Hawaii!
This is lovely to read. “They are cream and curling” is beautiful.
So compelling, Jon! I’ve read your poem a few of times for the quiet, alluring flow of it – the-crawling-of-evening feeling – and on each reading, I am awed again by “we catch our breath in their throats.” A pure gem of a line, set in gold by the little haunting sound.
Running in the woods just before sunset,
Enjoying the bluebells and trout lilies,
There are lots of sounds.
The river rambles by: splurr–splee-splurr
An owl flies overhead: < >
If I hadn’t happened to look up, I never would have known it was there.
How do they fly so silently?
Rattle rattle THUNK KNOCK
Rattle rattle THUNK KNOCK
Not a woodpecker exactly . . .
Is it INSIDE the tree trunk?
Wait . . . what’s THAT sound?
Trillllll-eek–trillll-eek–trilllllll-eek
I asked my friend where the sound was coming from.
It had to be right by my head. Right?
She pointed to the ground, so I assumed maybe some kind of mama bird,
Distracting me from her nest.
“No, Sheila, that sound is a FROG!”
Sheila. I had so much fun reading your poem. I didn’t want it to stop. The questions along your observations mirror your natural curiosity–a great touch. I love “Trillllll-eek–trillll-eek–trilllllll-eek” sound and ending with a frog 🥰
I love the question is it inside the trunk?! Also the rhyme in that section is lovely
Sheila, the sounds that you recreate are pretty amazing, but it’s the whole package of imagery in this and the scene that you create that’s so immersive. I especially love the way that you describe the silence of the owl flying overhead. That stanza is so vivid and real, framed by your rhetorical question–how DO they do that???
Perfect poem for today. I can imagine that you might have paid closer attention this evening because of this prompt. Isn’t that another gift? I love the sounds you have created from what the animals were saying.
The Chickens Are Out!
Buzz-buzz goes the phone
Help-help calls the man
Here I come! says his mom
Rev-rev goes her car
Screech-eech squeak the brakes
Bam-thump into park
Bawk-bawk! from the barn
Over there! cries the man
Scritch-scruff through the hay
As they search for the hen
Woot-woot! There she is!
Fluffle-fluffle flap her wings
Oomph-argh yelps the man
Pretty chicken squirts away
Thumpty-thump pound the hearts
Of the man, mom, and fowl
Shreikty-whooshity-bumpity-whump
We’ve got her! Whoosh–Back to the coop!
Fist bump.
Allison, this is begging to be in a picture book! I love it.
Oh the sounds in this poem are joyful. I almost wrote about chickens too. The sound track of growing up on Kaua’i
Oh my! This is such a fun ride! I love that pace, action and sound words. The fist bump at the end is priceless! Loved fluffle fluffle flap. The whole narrative should be illustrated.
Allison, this is so much fun! I love the two syllable sound constructions, and then how you switch up the assonance with “oomph-argh” which made me chuckle!
Allison, so much fun! Is this something that has happened to you and yours before? Love the “thumpty-thump pound the hearts” You can sense the excitement in the air of the whole poem. Love the fist bump at the end.
Thanks for a fun prompt today, Margaret. I loved the title of your poem–the alliteration and the set-up for the sounds we were about to experience. Prairie is a lovely place to this Iowa girl. I enjoyed grounding myself in thinking about the sounds outside on this Earth Day. I was inspired to try something a little more sing-songy and light today–based on a real sighting after walking the dog tonight!
visitor
tap tap tap
the woodpecker’s back
in a rhythm familiar
and fresh
swish swish swish
he dove his way in
utility pole instead of
a tree
look look look
“over here?” “no, here”
circling, to neighbors, eyes peeled to
the clouds
flap flap flap
when will he come back?
a novel, Tuesday, delight in
the spring
Brenna, friend, I’m enjoying connecting with you in this space this month! I love seeing you on your walk (beautiful Earth Day) as you savor the sensory details of nature. Because you pushed your experience into structured quatrains and deliberate patterns, I felt your intentionality of each word, each phrase.
Was it a pileated woodpecker? Those are the best! It’s amazing to me how something so striking can somehow hide itself even when we’re looking for it. I hope he comes back soon!
Brenna, I really like how your poem calls us to be present in the moment. I think that is the nature of the prompt, as we look to notice sound. I was completely captivated in the flight of the woodpecker–I actually looked back and forth, I think, as I read the 3rd stanza!
This is so beautifully crafted, Brenna! Sing-songy and light indeed – there is such a rhythm to it. The onomatopoeias at the start of each quatrain are great, and then the 2 syllable 4th lines. (Is this a set form you are drawing from or your own invention??) I love “eyes peeled to the clouds.” It’s always so neat to come upon something unexpected on a walk! Thanks for taking us on yours.
Brenna. I love that you found this poem on your walk tonight! And even more so that you found and noticed the novel woodpecker on your walk.
Margaret–I need your book! I’m heading off after I post to place that order! And I think I might actually be able to spell onomatopoeia without googling it now. With NWP’s Write Where We Are Challenge, my brain headed to my place: the beach. Thanks for your inspiration!
Here’s my blog if anyone wants some photo inspiration too! https://thinkingthroughmylens.com/2026/04/22/my-place-npm26-22/
Funky fishy salty smells
feel like my favorite pair of jeans,
an old friend, familiar and cozy and comforting.
Whistles and squawks harmonize,
sea songs narrating bird stories
from water to shore.
Pop, pop, crunch
kelp floats explode under my feet.
When I hear the rumble-whoosh
whisper of waves lapping the shore,
I know I am home.
@kd0602
Oh . . . the pop, pop, crunch of the kelp floats. That’s exactly what they sound like! I can feel them under my feet as I read the lines.
Kim, oooowww this poem makes me miss living near water! I really like the simile in the first stanza and the line “sea songs narrating bird stories.” I can almost fel the salt on my face reading this!
Beautiful! Great job with the onomatopoeias, and I like your alliteration too! “Funky fish salty smells,” “whisper of waves.” That last stanza really sounds like the beach. Makes me want to go – it’s been too long!
Country Boy Covenant
Chipmunk chip, chip, chipping,
Drake duck, dip, dip,
dipping,
and
I’m kicked back, sip, sip,
sipping.
Tom bird, Thun, Thun, THUNDERING,
ducklings stum, stum,
stumbling,
I’m laid back, won, won,
wondering.
Bout,
Songbird songs, rights and wrongs, and the awareness of alone.
while,
hummingbirds hum,
along,
bees buzz an undertone,
as I rest in my thistled throne,
coyotes howl, howl, howling,
Bobcat prowl, prowl,
prowling,
I’m just smile, smile,
smiling.
woodpecker, peck, peck
pecking,
quail hens, heck, heck,
heckling,
guess I’ll stay here,
I reck, reck, reckon.
Just,
keep on rest, rest, resting,
from the world’s mess, mess, messing,
and
listening to all my bless, blessed blessings.
Oh my word. This was a JOY to read! I loved the sip-sipping and won-won-wondering —the thistled throne and the smiling/reckoning/resting that rocked the theme of appreciating PAUSING right through to the bless, blessed blessing! Smashing!
Love the musicality of today’s prompted poem. I want this set to a guitar with chords we can sing along to….Nice.
Yes! This begs to be sung!
Love, love love this! The rhythms…the animals and you. Keep on rest, rest, resting.
What a peaceful poem. I loved reading it. The little interlude of thinking: “the awareness of alone” sandwiched by the glorious sounds of the scene is really reach. My favorite sound element was “bees buzz an undertone,/ as I rest in my thistled throne.” Thanks for sharing this!
Hi Clayton, I love the alliteration here! What a wonderful poem! that you have shared with us.
Margaret — Thank you for this fun prompt and your beautiful poem. I can hear the sounds of your prairie and it is symphonic!
Surprise!
SSSSSSS,
A whisper as the snake slithers
through soft soil.
A sudden stirring,
startling children,
who shriek —
scatter or stare,
with terror and delight,
hovering on the edge
daring to touch …
SSSSSS, the snake says again,
slipping to shadow.
Tammi,
Oo! I’m sending an Emily Dickinson “narrow fellow in the grass” vibe.” Love all the /s/ sounds evoking fear!
Beautiful job! capturing the snake sounds and surprises. I love the last stanza!
Tammi, I love how you captured this brief encounter. The children in the scene who “shriek–/scatter or stare” and the contrast of the last line “slipping to shadow” is such a great moment. SSSSSSS grabs us twice here. Perfect.
Ooooh! All those SSSSSS! “A sudden stirring startling children who shriek–scatter or stare…” Perfect.
I love how the repetition of “s” sounds echoes the snake’s hissing. I also love the idea of the children running away . . . but not too far . . .
Oooh, this is wonderful! I appreciate how you craft the scene through your poem and the snake slipping into the shadows at the end is perfect. Fun poem!
Hi Tammi, I enjoy the onomoipea you used here for the snake! I also saw the imagery with the terror of the children.
What a lovely photo, Margaret! I really had fun with this prompt and still can’t say onomatopoeia.
Morning
whirr, whirr, whirr
my refrigerator calls me
creak, creak creak
moans my chair as I swivel around
clomp, clomp, clomp
as my feet hit the ground
and head to the kitchen to get my tea
crackle, crackle, crackle
the cereal bag rattles
as it opens and spills into my bowl
crunch, crunch, crunch
go my teeth as I chew
with a gulp and a swallow
sniffle, sniffle, sniffle
runs my nose
toot, toot, toot
I blow more than once
Whew
sounds to begin my day.
Susan,
Your morning sounds, sound like mine. Except the “creak, creak, creak” are my knees when I walk down the steps! Lol!
Susan,
Snaps for this poem full of morning noise familiar to all. Clever, clever, clever.
Susan, I love the sounds you chose for this poem, especially in the cereal stanza. “crackle” and “rattle” are such great partners in those lines. I love how the subject is in the background of the poem; it’s a very observant slice of a morning. It makes me curious about my own morning sounds!
I love the way the quiet of morning lends itself to noticing sounds–the whirs, the creaks, and crackles. I hope the sniffles are not a cold!
Margaret,
I love this prompt. It’s a fun one for the end of the month. The title of your poem evokes Willa Cather and Nebraska for me. I chose a bird unique to the West, one that can only survive in this specific habitat. I earned an education today.
Sage-Grouse Song on the Sagebrush Sea
In seven Wild West states
the great sage-grouse sings
pop-plop inflation-deflation sack
sounds through the Sagebrush Sea
These chicken-like birds
coo coo-oo as wings release.
They snack on sagebrush
in the Sagebrush Sea
A swish-swish, shush-shush of
rough neck-pouch feathered Upland
faces let us see the ecological fate
of the Sagebrush Sea
Spiky fan-tailed males
dance, strut, & sing on the leke
to attract females who respond
kak-kak-kak, their bird call on.
Their mating ritual ends with a
snort or huff releasing air in
an onomatopoetic ladies choice
chorus through the Sagebrush Sea.
Glenda Funk
April 22, 2026
Oh, this is so lovely, Glenda. Love the sagebrush sea because it sings with a lush emotion. Love the mating part, too! You know me:) There’s always something provocative about the wild and I can just see the birds strutting and cackling! The k.a.k sound is fun! Beautiful Canva too. I knew nothing about the sage-grouse. Now I do thanks to you!
Glenda,
I love the rhythm of your poem and the way it sings like your bird. Really lovely! I have never hear of the Sage-Grouse before but I can hear and see them through your vivid words.
Now you have me wanting to add a trip to the Wild West just to see these sagebrush grouses and their spiky fan tailed selves doing their dance. This is just pure fun. I love when poetry teaches me new things as you have done today.
Glenda,
Always learning new bits of information from your poems. Loving all the sounds and action in your poem!
Glenda, I am, like a bad student went to look up sage-grouse birds without noticing you already have a Canva image. They look important and pompous with their “spiky fan-tails.” You made me learn a thing or two today, too )). I imaging them sing “kak-kak-kak,” during the mating season – must be fun to watch their rituals. You leave me wondering about “an onomatopoetic ladies choice chorus.”
The Sagebrush Sea! Maybe this should be a companion picture book with Margaret’s prairie picture book. I love all the onomatopoeia that the sage grouse creates in your poem. I can hear those feathers in the third stanza.
Thank you for hosting today, Margaret, and for inviting us to play with sound.
Love the inviting colors and sounds of your poem.
————————————————————————
Bird Calls
thank you to
helpful birds
who teach us your names
“Phoebe, Phoebe”
with a bop bop
of your tail
“Chick-a-dee-dee-dee”
folding warning calls
of predators within your name’s end
I appreciate the clarity
and don’t mind your playful narcissism
I’m not so sure
about the translation
of the white-eyed vireo’s
“quick, pick up the beer check”
is that why you vireos are always hiding?
waiting for us to pick up the tab?
——————————————————————————
My poem plus links to some interesting articles about Bruce, a kea, who’s developed some unique strategies to cope with his missing upper beak and became the dominant bird in his circus, which is the name of a group of keas, at my blog Pedaling Poet.
Don’t forget the Jay! Your poem made me think I should have written about what birds say in other languages- maybe I still will. Thanks for the article link, too. Your last stanza made me chuckle.
Sharon,
Wow! This —“Chick-a-dee-dee-dee”/folding warning calls/of predators within your name’s end” — is so cool! Birds really are amazing.
I’ll never hear white-eyed vireos the same way again. I’ll always be watching for a bar fight to break out now. I can just see them.
Margaret, thank you for hosting us today. I’m so proud of your book and Love this prompt. You know how I feel about birds so I won’t say anything out about that.🤣🤣
I decided to share something I learned about sound recently, but it doesn’t have anything to do with onomatopoeia.
Shhhhh!!!!!
Word: misophonia (noun)
The intense dislike of certain sounds
such as chewing, breathing, or tapping
It’s not like nails on a chalkboard
That’s more normal and common
It’s not even like snoring, imagine that
Misophonia is serious and comes with a diagnosis
I have not been seen by a doctor
Google says I have it, I checked my symptoms
Mouth-breathers, clicking pens
Send me into a quiet rage
Rattling wrappers and licking fingers
Uproot disgust in my soul
Don’t you take the blame
It’s just a malfunction in my brain
©Stacey L. Joy, 4/22/26
LOL, maybe you are just approaching retirement, Stacey! I’m not going to ask if you heard RFK breathing in a hot mic- EEEWWW! I’m glad Google was so good at diagnosing you.
Some in my family have the same symptoms of being very sensitive to sounds that I can filter out. I enjoy reading this poem and the assurance that my daughter is not the only one with an intense dislike of certain sounds. Hard if you are in a classroom.
Wow, Stacey, I am completely pulled in by your poem. I appreciate all the difficult sounds and how you manage to make this poem sing even with its serious undertone. I feel that quiet rage!
Stacey,
I enjoy the way you juxtapose the serious aspect of the disorder “Misophonia is serious and comes with a diagnosis” with a bit of humor “Google says I have it, I checked my symptoms.”
I had never heard the term before, but I’m pretty sure you’ve just described my husband.
Stacey,
Is misophonia why I can’t stand hearing the sound of certain someone’s: RFK jr, DJT, his wife, Melanoma? I’m feeling inspired by your poem but very sorry you suffer from this very real problem. Love “Don’t you take the blame
It’s just a malfunction in my brain.”
Stacey, my Dad had it (we could not eat apples in his presence) and my youngest daughter got it too – – she gets set off just hearing someone breathe. I love this line: Google says I have it, I checked my symptoms – – and I am laughing because Dr. Google really does make some accurate diagnoses (diagnosisis?). I’m sorry you have this – – it’s annoying as all heck, I am sure, just having been an offender for most of my life in the presence of family.
Thank you for hosting today, Margaret. I appreciate your prompt and have had fun trying to think of the sounds I hear through words. Your lovely day not only uses amazing onomatopoeia words, but also alliteration. Loved the line “Night time’s loud with muddy pond calls”. I wanted to title this Everything’s Peaceful until the Shit Hits the Fan, but I thought I should revise that. Thanks again for hosting!
Mornings in Sandusky
morning’s soft whisper
is sunlight shifting through the blinds—
a kitten’s meow
swish swoosh tickle
morning yawns with birdsong
teacher teacher teacher—
a child’s cry
coo cuddle me coo
morning peace never lasts
when the train blasts past—
a deafening riot
clangbasharoochooclankingchochooroar
Barb Edler
22 April 2026
Loving
& “teacher teacher teacher” — (I can hear it)
Barb, love the way you’ve captured multiple sounds from the morning! The ending! Perfection. 💜
Barb,
Love the last enjambed line: “clangbasharoochooclankingchochooroar”
Naughty me would go w/ the first title. Excellent alliteration and onomatopoeia. “sunlight shifting…swish swoosh.” I’m here for personification of day, too.
Barb, I will teach onomatopoeia with your poem tomorrow morning. I have a topic for my advanced grammar course–other stylistic variations–it will go straight there. Love “swish swoosh tickle” and birdsong “teacher teacher teacher”–this is in my ears right now. the train blast is so convincing! Amazing word play here!
Barb, I’m all for the uncensored title, just letting it fly – – but I like this one too. I’m feeling the peace for sure before the roar of the train – and that train can be such a metaphor for life happening all around.
Barb,
What a fun way to capture the morning!
All the sounds and rhythms coming to life. This is making me smile.
“coo cuddle me coo” What a beautiful line. This poem is a brilliant example of tone. You are so tender with the morning–which then makes the final line all the more harsh! Wonderful!
Barb, your first title made me laugh! I like your second title because the train is unsuspected. Your onomatopoeia is fabulous throughout. “coo cuddle me coo” and the “swish swoosh tickle” of the cat. Fun poem! That last line is a mouthful to try, and is funny by itself. It reminds me of the last page of Hop On Pop seehemewepatpuppop…
Barb, your words for bird sounds are so well-chosen, falling just right on the ear and on the heart. I so recall the trains of the city where I grew up…trains ARE deafening, not to mention their shaking the whole earth, it seemed. A shattering of the peace, indeed.
I had to bang this one out quickly. Priorities, priorities!
Plop!
That’s me into the recliner.
Thunk!
Footrest goes up.
Tuh-tuh-tuh-tuh, biiiiing.
Hulu on.
“The following is intended for mature audiences.
Viewer discretion advised.”
Bye, y’all.
A new episode of The Testaments dropped today.
I’m about to fall into a show myself after a long day. Thanks for writing!
Cheri, I can see and hear everything. Very fun poem! I’m still laughing.
Cheri, this is a fun poem that takes the reader into your hurried state. I feel the draw of a new show that we all know as the reward for a day of work and a full agenda. Hope it’s a good one.
I’m just loving that you and I can high five over the recliner, thunk, and plop these days (How many years now since our LWP days? Phew). I need a show….The Testaments, huh?
Sequel to The Handmaid’s Tale. And, yes, to recliners. XXI and legally writing feels like so long ago.
Cheri,
This is hilarious! Love “Tuh-tuh-tuh-tuh, biiiiing.” I feel seen!
Hi Cheri, this is very relatable! I appreciate the imagery you used here.
Happy Anniversary
By Mo Daley 4/22/26
Hey! Yoo-hoo!
Why do you
Still go va-va-voom
When I walk in a room?
Happy anniversary! So cute! What a sweet love story you have. Love the rhyming.
Aw, so cute! I love that someone still goes va-va-voom for you!
Cute as pie! Happy Anniversary!
Well, that sounds like a great compliment, Mo. Love this and the title is everything here. Very fun sound words! Love it!
THIS is quite the anniversary gift as well as a great acknowledgement of excitement in each other. Happy Anniversary.
Precious. Short. Sweet. So much voice. LOVE EVERYTHING ABOUT THIS.
Mo,
TMI! I have an imagination! Hooray for years of “va-va-voom.”
Happy Anniversary, Mo! Let it be many more years of “va-va-voom”! Rhyming makes it playfully adorable.
Lucky you! How wonderful to have someone who says that. A funny thing to bring happiness to an anniversary.
Mo, so sweet! Happy Anniversary. va-va-voom 🙂
Nice Margaret! A nice, light, tranquil prompt for today. Not that everyone has to take it that way. Here’s a shot. It’s sad that we only have a week left of #verselove really. I hope you all have a wonderful, enriching day today.
The robin jeep jeeps at the leaves sauntering along the ground
the finch inch inch inches at the wind
the heebee birds declare heebe hebee heebee
as all the baseball birds: the oriole, cardinal, blue jay, stay silent
stealthy and secretive
planning and ambush on the squirrels
Luke, It’s always hard when VerseLove ends, especially after we’ve spent so much time together. How fun is the category of baseball birds and their ambush (my dog would want to join in!). You’ve given the birds their own sounds, causing me to listen more carefully as I read each line. And those heebee birds remind me of the game Annie, Annie Over (more baseball nods).
I liked: baseball birds and ambush!
“Jeep jeep!” And “Inch inch” with finch are such great sounds! I had to laugh at “baseball birds.”
Luke, so glad to have been writing with you this month! It did go fast! Your bird sounds with the clear and ringing vowel sounds are delightful. I feel like I can hear them. Like others, I love the baseball birds–it made me smile, thinking about them planning ambushes.
Luke, this is a great poem but your line about the “baseball birds” makes me smile in recognition of the connections to those words. Thinking of those birds waiting to attack “stealthily” on the innocent squirrels is a great way to end.
Oh, Luke, I know. Ten more days, and we will be sharing our heartfelt poems and stories of bonding. You’ve become such a consistent, caring, and generous part of this community.
Your today’s poem is a gem. I can’t stop repeating
“the finch inch inch inches at the wind
the heebee birds declare heebe hebee heebee”
So cool!
ode to sky, upon seeing a friend
I need to sit, renew
coo-ahh, coo, coo, coo
sweet dove’s soft low cry
beckoning towards sky
my heart filled with woe
the sky holds me close
lingering in deep blue
I raise my hands to you
the gal we knew is gone
Alzheimer’s racing on
she’s not Medicare age
her precious life erased
azure or stormy gray
the sky lifts me away
wild wind’s whirrrr whisss
feels like nature’s kiss
——
Margaret, what a delight to create stories for little ones. A board book on bird sounds is wonderful. Onomatopoeia always makes me think of young children – they have such good ears for the world’s sounds. My writing today surprised me…I don’t often write in rhyme, and it feels out-of-sync with its topic. Ah, well. Thank you for the challenge!
Maureen, I can feel how much this moment soothes when so much has been taken away. You pull us towards the sky with you with the dove’s cry through to the wild wind. I’m so sorry someone you knew is lost to Alzheimer’s so young. I’m glad you had a moment of care.
That dove sound is a mourning coo that led you to express your sorrow. Alzheimer’s is such a slow loss. I experienced it with my mother. I want to remember her as she was before, but those memories are slow to return. Thanks for writing today.
Maureen, your Mourning Dove sound and topic of great sadness mix with the rhyming in a really wonderful way giving respect and love for the friend you had who is slipping away from the “long good-bye” It almost seemed like you were trying to respect and embrace all the good memories amidst the current mournful cry of her memory erased. I wish you and your friend peace and for you, I pray the memories can sustain you.
Maureen, this is a beautiful ode to the sky, and that third stanza shows the importance of it even more. “Nature’s kiss” here to revive and restore and attempt to make sense of the senseless. “her precious life erased” so, so sad.
I love evening chores. At least twice a week, maybe more, you’ll hear me grumble and say, “I hate _________” fill in the blank: goats (most often), dogs, cats, ducks, chickens, roosters, etc. But really, I love choring.
The Call of the Wild
The evening wears on,
Times runs thin,
And twilight rules the moment.
As the sun disappears
And evening stretches to night
I see them silhouetted
in the treetops.
Then I hear the Huh-hooooo huh-hooooooo!
As one calls to the other.
Then there is a Hooo-hoooo
Of a response.
And I know they both are there.
I rejoice about it,
Then I take a pause
And think
“Where are the kittens?”
“Where’s Maddie?”
I say to them-
“Pick on critters that aren’t pets!”
And I call out “huh-hoo huh-hoo!”
They call back and assure me
They’ll pursue an easy meal
No matter its status.
I remind them that Maddie
Is now Kevlar protected.
No raptor will easily carry her off.
No amount of huh-hoooing
will make her vulnerable this time.
Their calls are thrilling
And always just a little chilling.
-Carrie Horn
4-22-26
Such a strong sense of place and knowing and intimacy and belonging in this poem. It is a world that I can visit for the lines of this poem and feel like a guest at the party alongside the Kevlar-protected Maddie.
Sarah
Thank you for taking me into your chores with you. I chuckled at “I call out “huh-hoo huh-hoo!”, and imagine your sweet rapport with the animals you tend.
Yeah, I speak chicken and goat too! lol.
Wonderful! I love your conversation with the owls…warning them not to pick on your pets.
Carrie, how much dread there must be around worrying after pets with an owl close by. Your description of late day is beautiful with time running thin. The call/response between you and the owls serves to reassure the reader too. Something needed in this thrilling/chilling moment.
The twilight setting is a peace-filled place. Thanks for taking us with you.
Carrie, I did have to “google” Kevlar protection and was thrilled there is now a way to protect small cats from the ravages of predator birds. This is a strong poem that takes me into your chores, your worries and your peace that all is ok.
I didn’t say in my poem, but Maddie is my Shitzu! She’s been picked up by an owl twice in the five years we’ve lived out here. How crazy is that?!
Carrie, what a poem. I’m taken by sweet Kevlar-protected Maddie unafraid of the raptors. What a personal intimate look into your choring world. Loved reading this.
Maddie is crazy! She barks and barks at them! And she’s been picked up twice! So someone anonymously sent us a Raptor-protector vest on Amazon.
Are these owls or something even bigger? I have hawks that screech and I worry about my kitty. I like that you rejoice in their calling from the treetops.
I talk to the owls and I have seen them. We do have hawks that take chickens. But my Shit-zu has been picked up twice by an owl in the five years that we’ve lived out here. It’s always at night. So that rules out hawks or eagles. The eagles are starting to move closer and closer to our home. I saw one flying a half mile from my tree line. The first time Maddie got picked up, was at the back of her body, and we found three distinct puncture wounds. Her entire underside turned purple the next day. The vet said she was probably dropped from some height. The second time was up by her head and neck. I thought she was dead that time. So scary for this dog-mom.
I think it’s just so cool that you talk to your owls plotting in conversation and remind them to pick on critters that aren’t pets. And good you protected Maddie. I know she is happy to feel safer.
She’s a little crazy. She isn’t scared of the owls and barks and barks, which is probably why she gets picked up by them.
Carrie, love your literary reference and the unfolding of the poem to reveal the owls. I recall staying near my puppy, Jess, as I housebroke him out in the yard, keenly aware of our hawk population. Yay for Maddie’s body armor-! Your back-and-forth calling with the owl is indeed “thrilling” and your ending rhyme with” chilling” is perfect – and true!
Rest
i’m not yet comfortable with the word, its soft rest that sounds like less, like shh, like be still, as if the rest of us ever are, as if the rest of the world doesn’t insist, dong, dong, count it, no, now, bangbangbang at the door, oye abre, keys lost, voice thick, rrrrrRRRrrrr under the floor, building, breaking, becoming, bau bau, amore mio, vieni qui, come stai, called across the dark like something between hunger and love, kyrie eleison, ave maria, sì sì signora, the rise and fall through the wall, allāhu akbar, ahhhh, called again, again, oom-pa, cha-cha, dale pues, the bass walking through bone, ma-ma, maman, tap tap down the corridor of morning, beep-beep, fweeeet, reparación reparación looping, dum-dum-dum bodies gathering, the air alive, what’s the word for this kind of rest, not sleep but the rest of them, the rest of us, breathing through walls, through doors, through me, the one who cannot quiet it, the one who names it instead, not shh, not less but more, more, more, until rest is only this, no edge between my breath and the rest of the world.
Sarah: I love this notion of rest as being fully attuned to, alive to the rest of the world. As “one who cannot quiet,” I so appreciate this poem’s logging, its listening. I love it as a prose poem, the bulk and busy-ness making the end, the rest, land.
Marvelous play with onomatopoeia, with words just tumbling out one after another. I agree that rest sounds commanding (perhaps a childhood stern voice remembered?). There is such musicality in your poetry – this wild crescendo with
and the repetition of “rest” is like a percussive drumbeat that seems to keep true rest at an elusive distance.
I marvel at what you have done here with words and sounds and the idea of rest, not less, but more…”no edge between my breath” (as I repeat all those sounds) and “the rest of the world” (listening makes it connect). Thanks!
Sarah, this was a distinct pleasure to read. The runs and the slows of it, the languages, the meanings building one to the next, the rest, the rest, the rest. I loved the tempo change with “what’s the word for this kind of rest” As I was reading, I wanted to try to write like this too, and I hoped maybe you would lead us someday in creating this kind of poem.
Ha, this was a mess of brainstorming and translating sounds that originally had lots of line breaks, but it just wasn’t working, so I went with rambling prose. So fun to create this with Margaret’s prompt.
Sarah, oh my, you’ve done it again. What an amazing poem. I love the sound words and the mix of language. I adore “something between hunger and love”. The closing line is magical with tension and sound and need. Stunning poem!
Sarah, you have captured the multi-meaning word in its glory and mixed in multi-languages and the multi-sounds that seep through the walls of life. This is a busy-happy-slice of life in a format that works perfectly.
Sarah, you offer us such a rich piece of your poetic pondering today. I love your idea that rest doesn’t equal silence, it is a part of the world’s rhythm, wherever that world might be at the moment: ““not shh, not less but more, more, more” These lines lead me to think how you/speaker connects with the world. It’s not separation or isolation, it is belonging that is rich and full of experiences. Your use of Spanish, French, Italian, Arabic, and maybe Greek (?) creates such a colorful, live tapestry of your experiences throughout the world in these settings there truly there is “no edge between my breath and the rest of the world.” So beautiful!
Sarah, I hear the stream of thoughts, the never-ending mind reel that happens when I put my head on the pillow some nights and my own brain will not stop talking so I can sleep….and this is exactly what it sounds like, those blurts of thought blended with fragments and sounds like listening through a wall. A perfect description, even blending in some of the languages you have surely heard during your time of sabbatiment.
My students are writing etheree poems today. So, I wrote an etheree with a lot of onomatopoeia.
Rainstorm Symphony
Drip-
drop, plop
spring showers
tap on my roof.
Lightning keeps rhythm
and thunder claps on cue.
Water gurgles, puddles splash,
whooshing winds rattle through wind chimes.
Music crescendos over the trees
then fades to stillness—perfect masterpiece.
I love your concert of rain showers. The crescendos over the trees honestly sound like a pleasant place to be.
Melissa,
Oh, what a lovely ode to rainstorms, Melissa. And that the rain has a witness in you, or an audience more precisely, to appreciate this composition is even better.
Sarah
This musical etheree is lovely. I’m smitten with “Water gurgles, puddles splash,” – seems so happy!
What a lovely performance you have described – definitely a “perfect masterpiece.” I love how the thunder “claps on cue.”
Excellent title captures images!
We have had so little rain that I find myself longing for the sound of a storm, perfect masterpiece.
Melissa, this is lovely. The sound of rain as music is delightful, as I live in the desert and don’t experience it too often. Nice job with so many onomatopoeia words– “water gurgles, puddles spash”
Melissa, this is a wonderful model for your students. “Music crescendos over the trees,” is an image I carry away from this.
Melissa,
This has poetry picture book vibes. Love “Music crescendos over the trees
then fades to stillness—perfect masterpiece.”
Melissa, what a wonderful etheree! I love all the ending /p/ sounds: drip, drop, plop, tap, clap. And when I think the rainstorm sounds will quiet, you add “water gurgles, puddles splash,” and “winds rattle.” Such a great sound imagery – “perfect masterpiece.” Thank you!
Tigers roaring roving,
“Stay away, this is mine.”
Tigers growling hunger,
“Where is that deer?”
Tigers purring, as cats do, belly up
“Aaah my forest home!”
Cayetana, I like how you draw us back to the inner ‘cat’ of the tiger with the purring and belly up. Thank you for sharing today.
This is fun in the personification of the tigars and the way you give voice to its home, making clear who belongs here and who should watch out. Poor deers.
Sarah
I must admit, I rarely imagine “Tigers purring, as cats do, belly up” – I’ve boxed them into roars and growls. This is fun!
I love how your poem gets into the head of the tiger. I also love the sounds of alliteration in “roaring, roving”.
Cayetana, love the tiger’s comments. You have made him lovable here, even as he’s hunting! I can just imagine the big cat purring with belly up.
Cayetana, i would not mess with that tiger even though you have him celebrating, belly up at the end! It’s a great image!
Cayetana, the voices of the large cats here in their jungle brings a nice bit of personification to them, and we see their circle of life – – and feel their need to survive.
Thank you, Margaret, for bringing up onomatopoeia. Love how you break the word down to master the spelling, that is how we teach pronunciation and spelling in foreign languages–breaking down into familiar manageable chunks or syllables. your Prairie symphony is mesmerizing. Just love the sounds you made up: “Carolina wrens, and chickadees… /
Oo-ee-oo-ee-oo-ee!”
Your prompt returned me to my 11 years living in the village in Crimea after I got married and taught in village school. Each household had a mini-farm: vegetable and fruit gardens, a cow or two, a few sheep, a dozen of hens and/or ducks. We all began morning similarly–early morning, to be precise. So, if you need something to read to your little one tonight, here it goes 🙂
Morning in the Village
Cock-a-doodle-doo! Cock-a-doodle-doo!
I open my eyes: “Good morning to you, too!”
Taah-taah-taah! The hens rush to me,
Flap-flap, peck-peck. “It’s breakfast see?”
Baa, baa, baa! The sheep in the grass,
Nudge-nudge, munch-munch, watching me pass.
Moo! Moo—Me too! The cow sways in her stall,
Swish-swish, clink-clink! Milk fills the pail tall.
Morning in the village is busy and sweet,
You hear the sounds in each step and each beat.
Leilya, I love the sounds and the rhymes. Your specific descriptions brought me right to that village in Crimea.
Leilya, thank you for sharing this memory with us this way. Your use of rhyme with the onomatopoeia creates an effective farm-audible experience for the reader.
Thank you for bringing us home with you, Leilya, and for reminding us of this place in the world that needs global support. You do the work of a poet here in the centering of living beings in the day to day tasks of being together in village. The last word “beat” echoes as a heart beat of a place and of a people and of a country. Hugs.
I admire your use of onomatopoeia to begin each stanza – it makes me smile. This poem could be a children’s book!
The rhythm and rhyme create the morning routines of the village – so much fun!
Leilya, I feel very much in rhythm with your mornings in Crimea, hearing and choring alongside you, but also in the rhymes you add. There are so many times I think of having a mini-farm, to be able to be more self-sufficient. You remind me why in your words today. This is so appealing.
Leilya, you wrote a little baby board book in this poem. Love the sounds you included and the visit to a morning in the village (busy and sweat.)
Leilya, how playful and lovely this sounds. I will read this to my little one tonight! I love the thought of mornings like this. I bet those 11 years are a special memory.
Leilya, wow, this is an incredibly fun poem, and I love the lyrical flow. I’d love to see this captured with illustrations. Your closing lines add just the right touch of poignancy. Gorgeous, well-crafted poem!
Leilya,
This would make Old McDonald feel at home, but I have a feeling it’s about Ukraine. Love “Morning in the village is busy and sweet,
You hear the sounds in each step and each beat.” Simply lovely.
Leilya, I’m right there with you in Crimea at the village school, loving the homestead small-town feel of growing fresh foods and sharing, walking places, and living so much closer to the land than we do these days. How lovely! I can see it in my mind’s eye, and I know this is a sweet memory you hold dear.
Leilya,
A whimsical and rhythmic poem to awaken all the senses. The entire scene makes me feel like I am right there. The specificity and attention to details makes the poem come to life.
I went to the zoo yesterday & got to witness the cutest orangutan duo. When the baby was born, it’s mother was unable to nurse her – so the zookeepers took over, handrearing the baby for a few months. Since then, another orangutan at the zoo has taken over as the baby’s surrogate mother. They are so sweet. (I’ll include a picture!)
Surrogate
Acara climbs from rope to branch and back
while ten month old Weila grips her fur
you are safe with me, she says,
hooo-ooo-ooo.
When Acara stops to rest, Weila’s fingers
pull on her foster mom’s hand
play with me, she says
Eeee! meee-eee!
Here’s the picture 🙂
I … you had me at “orangutan duo” : ) The you-ooo and me-eee anchors each stanza in such joy. Those long long vowels sounds paired with the intimate physical connection really sent me this morning. Thank you!
That picture is precious, and the poem captures the sweet relationship. I love how you interpret their sounds into dialogue for your reader.
Rachel, what a joyful poem. This made me smile. Thank you for including the sweet picture.
Rachel, so sweet! The picture of these cute duo is adorable. I love it:
“you are safe with me, she says,
hooo-ooo-ooo. “
Isn’t this what any baby–animal or human–needs to know?
Rachel, thank you for taking us on your visit to the zoo and to be alongside you as you attend to the details of this scene of mothering and intimacy.
Sarah
Love your observations here – especially,
Thank you for the precious photo, too!
Nice ditty from your zoo visit! Such a sweet story and photo of the foster mom!
Oh, what a sweet photo with your lovely story of Acara adopting Weila. Love the sounds they made. Isn’t that great how poems come out of our everyday experiences.
I love this, Rachel, your poem — their calls to each other! — and the picture, lovely! Thanks for crafting and sharing these!
Margaret, thank you for your prompt today! This morning, I’ve been watching and listening to birdsong videos with my granddaughter in hopes of getting it right. Your poem is not only filled with sound, but also with spring and summer color!
Lone Pine
A lone pine stands sentinel
over our backyard,
towering above the young arborvitae
who cluster, childlike, beside him,
watching his long limbs create
shadow puppets
on the sloping rock wall.
Years ago, two smaller pines
stood alongside,
branches overlapping,
arms slung over shoulders,
grown so close
they hummed the same tune
when night breezes blew.
swish whoosh whoosh swish
Then, without warning,
high winds felled his brothers.
Left as sole survivor,
his roots tangled with theirs.
Today, a mourning dove remembers
and calls from his branches.
coo wooh coo coo.
A cardinal, bright as a heart,
sings from his limbs.
churr churr burrdeee burrdeee churr churr.
A yellow finch bursts forth from his crown,
morning glorious.
puh-cheep-cheep-cheep
The lone pine,
standing strong despite his sorrow,
still holds song after song after song.
Lori, your narrative personification in your verse is so lovely. The second-to-last line about “his sorrow,” took me back to the Giving Tree. Thank you for sharing today.
I enjoyed reading your poem. Beautiful imagery! I especially loved how the lone pine “created shadow puppets” and the two pines “hummed the same tune when night breezes blew.”
So many beautiful lines here to show the body of these birds, their corporeal being with the “sings from his limbs” and the “bursts forth from his crowns.” The gendering of the birds and the tree sentinel is so humanizing, too. Love how you circle back to the opening line in the final images.
Sarah
Ah, the lone pine that still holds all of these wonderful songs. This poem would make a nice picture book about that tree.
Lori, what a gorgeous poem of the strong lone pine. You have made us love him. And I love that he “still holds song after song after song” Lovely addition of the bird sounds.
The personification of trees, the remembrance by the dove and the grief of the lone survivor tree are all powerful here, Lori. You added the onomatopoeia and added the nature sounds as if we were right out there standing in the open to see these trees and the beautiful sounds that surround them.
Lori, thank you for telling the story of a lone pine so beautifully. Your poem gave me a legend vibe with a plot, progression, look into the past. You’ve narrated the tree with rich imagery and personification featuring “a sole survivor” who stands “strong despite his sorrow / still holds song after song after song.” Love it!
Margaret, what a fun prompt, and a good Earth Day topic to consider the animals. Congratulations on your new onomatopoeia (I just spelled that with your helps!) board book! Your prairie poem is lovely. Thanks for giving us a preview of your future picture book. My grandson and I have been exploring the honey badger this morning.
Honey Badger
So, Milo, what’s your favorite animal?
I love the honey skunk!
What? Honey skunk? What sound do they make?
Rahr – rahr!
(I wanted to know more. We looked up “honey skunk,”
and saw “Honey Badger vs. Skunk”
as an item in the search. We explored.)
Oh, maybe we got two animals mixed up.
Yeah, maybe.
There is much to learn about honey badger:
It has a mesmerizing
repertoire of sounds:
a wind-up alarm clock
khirrya – khirrya – khirrya,
quiet gargling
arrrrr arrrrrr arrrrrr,
hoarse gentle barks
arf arf arf,
soft mellow growls
rahr – rahr.
It also has a foul smell
to ward off enemies.
And honey badger
is a defensive powerhouse,
fierce and fearless.
With respect, I want picture books with pull-the-string sounds for adults, not just grandparents : ) You create a varied playlist of sounds here — the alarm clock, the quiet gargling, the mellow growls, the gentle barks. I feel each of them on a different part of my own throat, trying to imagine you & your grandchild making them with each other. What a lovely piece of edutainment you’ve created here!
This is so much fun! I love how you begin with a conversation with your grandson and then teach us all so much about the honey badger. You and Milo gave voice to his favorite animal today!
Denise, I think you too have a board book in this starter poem. Who knew about the honey badger sounds before this?
I am loving these Milo poems and feel an anthology coming on from you, maybe a picturebook co-written with Milo. “hoarse gentle barks” and “soft mellow growls”– love all of these lines.
Sarah
Like you with Milo, I love nothing more than conversations of curiosity with my grandchildren. I love all of the sounds you discovered of the honey badger. Thanks for sharing this special time.
Denise, what a wonderful poem to show your experience with your grandson, Milo. I am immediately intrigued by the “Honey Badger vs. Skunk”. I’m guessing you might have skipped past any video. Love the way you show the learning and incorporate the sounds of the animals and how your poem also shares knowledge about the honey badger. I’m so glad you’re able to spend time with your grandson and sharing your experiences with him here. I feel the warm love between a grandmother and her grandson here.
Denise,
My first thought was to write about a hyena, but they are mean! Can’t say a honey badger gives me a warm feeling. It’s more like a chill down my spine. I think you’ve crested a new form w/ your Milo conversations in poetry. I do love the sound of “khirrya – khirrya – khirrya,”
Denise, I’m sure that foul smell of the honey badger is such a plus when it comes to little boys who love all the natural….defenses. What fun times to share with your grandson! And your sound effects are just spot on. Honey badgers don’t play! They are fearsome.
Denise,
There is so much fun in this poem and the entire exchange with your grandson. I love that you are sharing the narration with sound effects— poetic, playful, perfection!
Denise, I can see you with Milo exploring and learning together. It is so great when grandparents spend time doing something interesting and engaging with their grandkids. You make me miss mine so much (sigh). The sounds you produces are fun, various, and require some pronunciation skills, and, I am sure, Milo is the best sound imitator 🙂
Denise, this wonderful conversation with your grandson has taught me much about honey badgers! The last lines leave me admiring the creature (the smell, not so much, ha, but the “fierce and fearless” nature). Love these moments of learning and the safe togetherness of the moments – the sounds bring it all to life so well.
Margaret, thanks for the nudge to try something new this morning. It was fun to play with the creation of sound.
a cloudy morning and rain
gentle drops from the eaves sound like
finger tips against the membrane upon the drum
reverberate against the hanging Turk’s Cap leaves,
plop upon the matted leaves covering the ground
beyond my view a lone bird sings out with a
chirp chirp chirp and a you who you who
morning feels slower with heavy hanging moisture
the plane hidden by a sheet of grey
only its engine sound crosses above
the shush of car wheels pass
interspersed with chirp chirp, chirp chirp
is this what it takes to produce the glory of green?
makes it worth the time to sit a little longer
pen a few more words and listen to the drops from the eaves
as they fall
and the still unseen bird chip chirping just heard a response
do-do-do-do chirp chirp chirp
I’m sitting next to you in this scene with all its imagery and hearing the sounds of rain and birds. Makes me sigh a long breath on this Earth Day.
It’s raining where I am, too. Your poem is a beautiful and peaceful image of a rainy day. I especially liked the line: “gentle drops from the eaves sound like finger tips against the membrane upon the drum.” And, “morning feels slower with heavy hanging moisture.”
Jamie, I love the meta feel of this. We are right there with you as you write and listen to the sounds of the rain. “is this what it takes to produce the glory of green?” Yes, makes it worth the time.
Jamie, your first lies took me in and felt cozy and warm watching the rain from my window:
“gentle drops from the eaves sound like
finger tips against the membrane upon the drum”
I want to stay in that moment without rushing anywhere, but absorbing the sounds of the rain, passing cars, and birds “chip chirping.”
Margaret, thank you for this fun prompt. I coupled it with writing with my 7th-graders today about nature in honor of Earth Day.
Nature’s Call to Explore
Take me to the ocean
to hear the swish and splash of the waves
where seagulls swoop and call
cow-cow-cow as they move through their days
Take me to the forest
where leaves crackle and crunch neath my feet
trees forming canopies
where I can find respite from the heat.
Take me to the mountain
where the red-tailed hawk calls kee-eeeee-arr
where fearless eagles fly
from peak to peak over elk and bear
Take me to the river
where the water ripples without end
babble, gurgle, murmur,
as it gently rolls around the bend.
Take me to the canyon
where rock formations forge down deep
where rattlesnakes slither
and coyotes and foxes find sleep.
Take me to the valley
to its lush lowlands between the hills
arid or acuqatic
when day is done the wildlife stills.
Bring me out to nature
from chirps and tweets to honks of the geese
it is here in nature
where I am able to find my peace
I absolutely love this poem. The scenery the imagery and all the things. This captures where I want to be. the rhythm and rhyme scheme match with nature. The more we see the unevenness of nature, the more we see how smooth our natural world is.
thanks
A really beautiful poem. Reading it makes me feel calm. Alliteration and onomatopoeia both play a part in making it sound so pleasing. Yes, take me into nature!
Rita, once again you have crafted a beautiful poem. I love how each stanza honors a place of nature and peace. Take me with you.
Your call to explore nature and your beautiful words took me right along with you.
Rita, thank you for taking us to so many beautiful locations through your poem. What a celebration of the natural world!
What a call to beauty and healing in nature. That “Take me to…” is spectacular and expansive. So many beautiful word choices within each habitat.
Rita, your poem immediately reminded me of our trip to New Orleans yesterday (for a workshop). On the way to the university, we passed the lake, and the seagulls were circling around. This is what I see when I read: “where seagulls swoop and call / cow-cow-cow as they move through their days.”
I like how you want to visit all places nature–the ocean, the forest, the mountain, the river, the canyon, the valley–to see, to hear, “to find peace.” Beautiful!
Good morning, poets!
Thank y’all so much for your deep interactions with so many powerful texts yesterday. I’m so grateful to be a part of this thoughtful, kind, questioning community of teaching poets.
I just finished catching up on commenting, so please flip back to yesterday for my late comments. Delta free wifi for the win. Ha.
Take care,
Sharon
safe travels!
Such a fun prompt!
A long time ago, my Army family lived in Panama. Lots of sounds there, but one of the most amazing to hear- howler monkeys!
Loudest Monkey in the Americas
Howler monkeys’ most well-known trait
A grunting, growling voice that reverberates
That drawn-out roar is how they communicate
O-O-Ohh O-O-O-O O-O-Ohh
So high, high up in the rainforest canopy
Howlers hang by their tails in branches of trees
Eating fruit, nuts, flowers and tender green leaves
G-r-r-a-a-w. G-r-r-a-a—w
Howler monkeys are not aggressive, they are chill and shy
Moving slowly in the trees, they come down only if it’s dry
Howlers sound fierce because their bark can be heard for miles
B-a-r-k B-a-r-k. B-a-r-k
Howlers travel in troops but they can be hard to spot
Mornings and evenings they are heard in the treetops
Their thunderous bellows and whoops a warning- Don’t come here! Stop!!
O-O-Ohh O-O-O-O O-O-Ohh
Draft, Diane Anderson, 2026
If you want to hear the howler: https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=DyfJehCIKQM
OMG I listened. That is a scary sound!!!
Diane,
I love how you prepare us with your title and full stanza and then give the last line of each stanza to the howler monkeys.
Thanks for bringing their sounds to us. Love the use of dashes to draw out the sound.
Onomatopoeia and rhyme! I love this monkey poem. I’ve only heard these in zoos. They are loud. I love all the facts you included.
Diane, great poem. I learned so much about howler monkeys today. Thanks for including the link. They may not be aggressive, but their howls would definitely scare me!
Diane, that must have been quite an interesting Army placement! your poem, like Margaret’s poem, would also be a fabulous children’s book!
Diane, thank you for sharing with us your first-hand experiences of listening to howler monkeys! I’ve never heard anything quite as exotic.
Oh, it was fun to learn so much about the howler monkey. The video was fun too. I didn’t know they were “chill and shy” “not aggressive” Fun rhyming stanzas.
Diane, what a sound to have heard! I have never heard a howler monkey, but it sounds like they are elusive except for their voices. Thanks for the sound link – – I will go and listen.
Margaret—thank you for the onomatopoeia spelling tip!
Calling
We weren’t sure which was harder to believe:
that the priest, 80-something, pulled out his phone
to show us an app to call the birds—or that
the birds came, cardinals in their red coats and
orange beaks, heeding the cheer-cheer-cheer
emanating from the priest’s outstretched hand.
A modern St. Francis…
Oh Kate,
This is so tender and dear.
A bird watching priest! So appropriate he called a cardinal. Ha!
This grownup Catholic school boy delighted in your playful calling slice of life here. Love the long e sounds of that penultimate line: beaks, heeding, cheer. And the image of an veteran priest who can command the elements with an outstreched hand? It tracks : )
PS Can’t remember which comedian it was who said it, but we’re using the wrong word. Bird watching is mostly bird listening [insert grin, shrug]
Kate, your poem is tender and real about the surprise interests and passions of the people around us! We never know the extent of someone’s grief or of their gifts unless we really spend time and ask all the right questions!
I love the double meaning of “cardinals in their red coats”. What a fun scene.
Thank you for the prompt, Margaret, and for the lovely draft! I’m afraid I didn’t do a nature focus or even an indoor animal focus (my cats are sitting on the corner of my desk, judging me for not focusing on them). The writing just went other places this morning. But, I did try to focus on sounds!
Ghost Sounds
Not booooooo.
Not wooooooo.
Not the hollow thud thud thud
of something tip-tap-toppling where it shouldn’t.
These ghosts don’t knock.
They don’t rattle chains
or whisper-drag their names across the dark.
They hum.
Low—
a steady mmmm beneath your breathing,
like wires holding current
you forgot were there.
They tick.
Soft—
a tick…tick…tick behind your thoughts,
time keeping count
of what you didn’t say,
what you said wrong,
what you can’t unsay.
They hiss.
Not loud—
just a slow sssss
through the cracks of memory,
like something leaking
you thought you sealed.
They rustle.
Paper-thin—
shhhk, shhhk—
old conversations turning over,
names brushing past you
without stopping.
They echo.
Not back from walls—
but inward,
a thrum-thrum-thrum
in the ribs,
where grief keeps knocking
without using its hands.
They linger
in the soft sigh you didn’t mean to let go,
in the click of a thought returning
when you were sure you’d closed the door.
No footsteps.
No shadows.
Just the quiet whirr
of remembering,
the long drone of guilt,
the almost-silence of grief and guilt
settling in—
again.
Wow. You’ve really captured the haunting of grief and guilt, the torment of perseveration: grief “knocking” “in the ribs,” “something leaking / you thought you sealed,” “a thought returning / where you were sure you closed the door.” I think what got me most was “what you said wrong / that you can’t unsay.” There’s nothing quite like those sleepless nights when we replay the evening’s conversations!
Melanie,
I had to remind myself to breathe while reading your poem.
The replaying of our thoughts can be so hard, especially when we’re grieving.
I like how physical you make these troubling replays.
It’s always fascinating where a prompt may lead in this platform. You took me into this feeling so deeply with sounds sigh, click, whirr, drone. Beautifully crafted.
Man alive, you have really captured the essence of ghosts here. I love a good ghost story – – and that last stanza really does play out in all the final shoulda coulda wouldas of those pre-ghosts.
Ok, so I have questions.
“Who put the bomp in the
bomp bah bomp bah bomp?”
And “who put the ram in the
rama lama ding dong?”
That’s what I’d like to know.
And who, exactly, let the
dogs out?
And why do people fall
in love? and
who, even, wrote the book
of love?
And I realize that all of these
questions are secondary to
the big question, the one that
scientist are even now working
on (using, I hear, experiments
involving listening to R.E.M.’s
“Everybody Hurts” on repeat
for hours on end)
to find out, once and for all,
what it really sounds like
when the doves cry.
____________________________________________________
Thank you, Margaret, for your prompt and mentor poem today! I love hearing the sounds of the prairie “[i]n the spring” and “[s]ummer”!
What a clever poem, Scott! It both made me laugh and made my heart ache. I wasn’t expecting that reference to “When Doves Cry,” and it really got me. That was my song!
Scott,
Now I’m going to have to listen to
Thanks for these meandering questions and musical answers.
such a great example of allusion in a poem with lots of fun and humor and maybe some dry satire in there somewhere?
We were recently talking about ear worms in choir practice and someone asked, “What’s an earworm?” Here you have placed a few straight into my ears. Thanks, no thanks.
Ta da! Another Scott poem. Love this. So teachable. So fun. Brilliantly witty and full of clever word play!
Margaret, I awoke to your prompt and knew where to go…to childhood and my grandmother’s zest for language and humor (some of it more outrageous than others, but the influence tremendous on my life. I used to give extra-credit to 9th graders if their parents could correctly spell onomatopoeia during parent/student conferences. Love the chickadee, but can do w/o the morning foreplay of sparrows outside my window needing just five more minutes of sleep. Thank you for sparking this memory.
When We Were Pollywogs
b.r. crandall
raised
on a lake
with horny
frogs
I’m in the mood.
I’m in the mood.
I’m in the mood.
lying
under her
giant brimmed
hats with
purple & pink
laces.
Not tonight!
Not tonight!
Not tonight!
listening.
wondering.
hearing
the night’s
naughtiness
within a
red cabin.
Bosoms!
Bosoms!
Bosoms!
croaking up
with the
poetic way
she knew
her world.
Shut up, Kids.
Shut up, Kids.
Shut up, Kids
until we did…
falling asleep
into dreams.
I love the rhythm of this poem! I particularly appreciate how you wove the sounds into the rhythm and made them so integral to the story you were telling.
I love how the repetition creates a rhythm as well as tells a story of your grandmother’s humor (and love).
Bosoms! Ha! Such amazing onomatopoeia. I have the best memories of sleeping with the windows open in my grandparents’ house in Waycross, Georgia – – it’s the place of the Okefenokee Swamp (I was born there, I speak parseltongue for real), and of course trains. And that’s what I remember at night – – the chug-chug-chug, but in the daytime it was As the World Turns, and that was the nap time cue because I weren’t ‘llowed to see bosoms bosoms bosoms and kissing on tv. I love your sounds!
Bryan,
I love this childhood memory, the rawness of those frog croaks juxtaposed w/ mom yelling at kids and the “not tonight” until “hearing the night’s nastiness.” I love that this community has evolved into the occasional naughty poem paradigm.
Bryan,
This entire poem is making me smile. I love the word play, the memories, the sound bytes
Oh my, this is just the type of poem I needed to read tonight. Love all the italicized words and their sequence! Very fun poem!
Like everyone else, I love the rhythms you’ve so artfully crafted here, Bryan! All of those participles — “lying,” “listening,” “wondering,” “hearing,” “croaking,” and “falling” — give an energy as I fall down the length of your poem. And, of course, you have a whole stanza of “Bosoms!” which made me smile, lol!
Bryan – I am sure I’d have loved your grandmother. The frog chorus and beats in the background of the hats and “naughtiness” set off the “poetic way she knew her world” with just the right amount of mischief alongside the admiration. It’s funny, but also beautiful. Truly.
Thanks so much, Margaret, for your bravery here — sharing a draft. I … I wonder if that might be a wave of the future for me out here one of these days. We have Carolina wrens here on my campus, and you captured them beautifully. I’m not ready for that shift to summer heat, no matter how accurately you bring it to the page : )
I started writing a thing about a cardinal in my neighborhood, which felt really familiar. Then I remembered “I already wrote this”, or something like it, before, so today is a callback to October 2023. As always, I publish what I write here. Today’s offering isn’t quite onomatopoeiac, but it is about sound that blesses Merlin App users like me each day.
Suburban tanka
Wires & coils surround
the neighborhood cardinal.
He sings, untroubled,
a blessing–color & song–
drowning out the leaf blowers.
Joel,
A beautiful ode to the morning both with your poem and photo. It is a glorious invitation to precise attention and sings in gratitude. What a lovely way to savor the morning.
Haha, Joel—I wrote about the Merlin app, too!
I love the way you juxtapose the “wires and coils” with the “untroubled bird”—really helps the song to rise above, ring through the “leaf blowers” and everything else.
Joel,
Those dang leafblowers are the bane of birders. Thank goodness for the cardinals who cut through.
The sky in your photo is beautiful. I’m a little obsessed these days with Tolstoy’s description of the infinite, lofty skies Andrei notices at a turning point. A beautiful sky will always be Andrei’s infinite sky for me.
It’s not easy to drown out leaf blowers, so congrats to the cardinal!
I wish the cardinal could drown out leaf blowers in real life. My sister sent me a video of a cardinal singing like crazy in her backyard, loudly calling to the morning. Truly a blessing!
My favorite word: untroubled. Oh, to have the voice to sing a song that drowns out the noise AND be untroubled. Must be true what they say about cardinals: angels in disguise.
I love that the wild cardinal chooses to live among the wires and coils bringing his “blessing–color & song” Aren’t we all blessed?
Margaret, I love this! We are prairie dwellers, and we love to go out for a walkabout and just listen, out under the sky. You really captured these moments.
Daisy Mae
The ritual begins…
the perfect stoneware mug,
discovered by my eagle-eyed husband
in a tiny Ren Faire stand
filled with the just-right ratio
of dark roast
and light vanilla creamer,
swirled just so.
Cozying up on the couch,
legs tucked underneath
with a red and black plaid blanket
atop.
The stage is set.
My morning companion has been
waiting, not so patiently,
for her cue to play
her part in this routine.
She slithers onto my lap
and immediately, her little
motor revs up.
hrrrhrrrhrrr
soft paws kneading, eyes
closed in bliss,
making her daily
morning biscuits
to go with my coffee.
Julie!Oh, something’s especially vivid in “just-right ratio / of dark roast / and light vanilla creamer,” where care is not abstract but measured, tasted, repeated. It sets up a world where attention matters in small, precise ways.
Sarah
I appreciate your morning companion’s not quite patience and how her motor revs up. The combo of coffee and biscuits there–love it! The ritual you describe in the opening part of the poem, the just right mug, the just right blend of coffee/creamer, the intentionality of it all is so lovely.
Your poem makes me miss my cat, Luddah. I love that she is “waiting, not so patiently,” – true cat form. Followed by her “motor revs up. hrrrhrrrhrrr” and “soft paws kneading.” I’m always perplexed by those who don’t enjoy the kneading paws. Thanks for the reminder and bringing us to your couch.
Her morning biscuits to go with your coffee! I can imagine her sweetness and hear her soft purring. A love song for Daisy Mae. (I also love her name!)
Julie, first: a walkabout just to listen is heaven’s way of letting us tune in to all the glory, and I need a good dose of the peace. And your eagle-eyed husband spying you a mug is just love in the best way. But……the love of a sweet pup is the best. She loves her morning routine, and I think that is her little slice of heaven, right there with you. The biscuits are just a bonus.
Margaret, thank you for hosting and I cannot wait to see the end product of your Prairie book!
teen-omatopoeia
gulp-gulp-chug-buuurp as this creature sips through one of fifty water bottles
bruhhhh in the wild at a request of a chore that has been on their list for a decade
moooooooohhhhmmm sound of pleading in search of something left by the adolescent
uuughhhhh the natural sound of an eye roll after a dad joke
ick-uhh-nooo produced in the offering of vegetables or fruit
shhhhhhhhhhhh in reaction to…too many things, irrational, blossoming
these hum-animals
Stefani, I’m really loving how “gulp-gulp-chug-buuurp” opens the poem like a field recording of lived sound, almost documentary in its attention to everyday noise.
Sarah
Stefani, this is so fun. You could create a glossary of teen sounds. And I wonder what the response to an accumulation of such distress sounds might be. Can’t tell if my fav is bruhhhh or moooooooohhhhmmm. Thanks for the smile this morning.
Ha, I thought about more after this quick draft. Yes, we could make a full glossary. 🙂
I love this! So true. “These hum animals.” I was never a teacher who wanted to teach above 6th grade. They not only make weird noises, but they also smell.
my favorite is mooooooohhhhhhmmm…..Oh, I can hear that one ringing in my ear. And the one offbeat kid who wanted to be so different from the others she calls me mahhhh. Perfect sound effects.
YES! My students — “these hum-animals” — make such strange noises, too, lol! This is pitch perfect, Stefani!
Margaret, as always, your poems bring nature to life and life to nature in my opinion. I have long been intrigued by the early morning sounds on my walks. This morning, iI was a dark and dreary morning, but I snuck outside for a bit of springtime and coffee on the porch anyway. I was mesmerized by the questions posed by my Great Horned Owl as if he knew this was Earth Day!
Whoo, whoo?
Is protecting these magnificent old trees I love?
Is watching the chemicals landscapers spread to make lawns artificially green?
Whoo, whoo?
Really needs those massive SUVs and greedy pick-ups to get to work?
Really must water their lawns and flowers when it is going to rain?
Whoo, whoo?
Ran left that porch light on all night long wasting precious electricity?
Ran their car for 5 minutes to warm their seat before driving off to work?
Whoo, whoo?
Was riding that beauty of an electric bike to school yesterday?
Was looking for hardy drought and deer resistant plantings?
Whoo, whoo?
Remembers the potential of wind power to save our planet?
Remembers the value of mass transit, electric vehicles, composting?
Whoo, whoo?
Is thinking about the future of our planet on this Earth Day?
Anita, I really appreciate how “Whoo, whoo?” becomes both question and witness, repeating like a pulse through the poem, carrying the owl’s presence as something steady but insistent.
Sarah
Anita,
I love the sound bytes of the owl as it is both a calling and witness. The wisdom in your poem manifests with questions, reminders, and inivtations to do right by our planet. What a perfect ode for Earth Day! Thank you.
This is a perfect poem for Earth Day? We do have a lot to answer for!
Anita, I love your Earth Day tribute. I also love how your use of repetition as you respond to each Whoo, whoo? creates a sound of its own. Thank you for pointing out the options to destructive choices. It’s important we focus on solutions.
The repetition of “Whoo Whoo?” I pray we humans wise-up to the beauty that may disappear.
Whoo, whoo? Repetition was effective as a chorus to each of your couplets. We need to keep these questions at the forefront even when it’s not Earth Day. Thanks for writing!
What a wonderful series of questions to ask on this Earth Day. Who, indeed? Thank you for reminding us.
Oh what a beautiful way to structure a poem of questions…..from the wise old owl…..with his call, and more than that, even: his call to action. To save the earth. You have masterminded this poem on Earth Day.
Margaret,
What a wonderful way to be greeted with your invitation to think about poetry this morning. I enjoyed your resources and poetry that allowed me to play and wonder. Your poem is so alive and layered with rhythm and imagery. Thank you.
The trills, the whistles, the rattles
The insistent zees zees
The conk-la -rees The con-la-rees
The sweet songs of sweet
Cheerily cheer cheer
Can you guess who’s who?
Try listening try listening
To the trills, the whistles, the rattles
You might discover an american robin
The song of sparrow or the yellow warbler
Don’t mistaken the chipping sparrow
For the belted kingfisher than we’d have
A whole lotta loud rattles rattles
Don’t want a whole lotta
clanking clanking clanking
I just hit snoooooooze.
I love the rhythm in your poem, Darshna..it made me want to slap my knee as I read it. And the last line… *chef’s kiss. Perfection.
Darshna, i was with you and the birds when you rattled me back to our time crunching reality with one more wonderful depictions of that ” a who lotta loud rattles,” we all love to hate but need to survive! Lovely
Darshna,
I really enjoy how “The trills, the whistles, the rattles” opens with such musical joy, as if the morning itself is already in motion before anything is named. The repetition in “Try listening try listening” feels like both instruction and invitation, gently pulling us closer to attention. It’s not just about identifying birds, but about learning how to hear differently. And you really can hear them in a special way, I am in awe.
Sarah
Heading to the internet now to hear a belted kingfisher. I’ve seen them often, especially with my naturalist work in Kentucky, but I can’t say I know their call. Your fist stanza is loaded with sounds and I love it.
Your ending line was a funny surprise! Playing guess who with bird sounds is a fun game to do with littles.
What a fun poem, Darshna. I am impressed with all the sounds you incorporated and the extended metaphor! Very entertaining!
Love that ending, Darshna. Such fun word play throughout. It made the birds come alive with all the movement and sounds.
Darshna, I love that you can hit snooze – – on the real birds, maybe not so much, but on a clanking clanking clanking alarm absolutely, and I would hit it too, over and over and over again. Those chipping sparrows are all over the place out here – – we have the butter butt warblers too. Those are fun with their trills. Love your poem with repetition.
Darshna,
I do enjoy all the bird sounds and breeds throughout your poem and love the tone shift to the idea that too early in the a.m. these sounds can be annoying. I love surprise endings!
Darshna, your first stanza is pure delight, and I greatly enjoyed “hearing” all the sounds that flowed with rhythm and musicality. I have to look up the belted kingfisher–learning some birds names today (not my strongest). About to hit “snoooooooze” for the day, but I am glad I will carry these sounds in my head.
Margaret, thank you for hosting us today with this fun prompt with sound effects. I have loved seeing your signing events and so happy for your new board book! My mind went to a humorous moment Sunday morning when we finally had all our birds back after all but a few trees were cut down last year to harvest the pine farm.
Sunday Surprise
Sunday morning we had more birds
than we’d had since cutting down
all our trees for the pine harvest
last year and they’d all come at once
the usual crowd~ chickadee,
woodpecker, titmouse, bluebird
but one took us by surprise~ a
Baltimore Oriole
right here in little old Pike County, Georgia
a cheeb-a-dub, a cheeb-a-dub, a cheeb-a-dee?
sharing the same tree like we’re the
Hampton Inn of traveling birds
Merlin said so, so we checked and rechecked
and crept out to see
discovering all the birds were
not only in the
same tree but the same branch
a symphony of song
all from the same set of bird lungs
cheeseburger, cheeseburger, please?
A lone Mockingbird – ugh!
with all her invisible friends
Kim, you had me for a minute listening to the Oriole. Don’t you love the Merlin app? I love “cheeseburger, cheeseburger, please?” How funny! And that end “all her invisible friends.” At my book release party, there was an inquisitive child who asked “Why does the mockingbird copy the sounds of other birds?” I made up an answer.
I love “the usual crowd”…it makes me think of a group of old retired farmers who gather at the coffee shop every morning for their “council meeting.” I can just see this “usual crowd” of birds gathering to swap stories–with one newcomer. Such fun!
Kim,
What a scene you’ve painted with forest birds and sounfs. It is really a symphony of birdsong with touches of life and laughter. Love it!
Kim, I remember that poem you wrote about cutting down the trees, such grief there. Was it a year ago?
In this poem, I love how “Sunday morning we had more birds / than we’d had since cutting down / all our trees” opens with both loss and return in the same breath. It quietly holds what’s been taken and what suddenly arrives anyway.
Sarah
Well, now I’m craving a cheeseburger and I will always here that call mocking me when I can’t have one.
I’ve only seen an Oriole once. If you have a conversation with him…you can tell them CT wouldn’t mind a sighting, too.
The Hampton Inn of traveling birds. So funny!
My sister-in-law’s mom has the Hampton Inn for orioles at her bird feeder here in IN.
I especially liked “Hampton Inn of traveling birds” and “a Symphony of song” for this is exactly what I hear!
Kim, you have me smiling with love for those birds who act as if it were their job to make music for us! Your poem is magical and your line, “like we’re the Hampton Inn of traveling birds” has me thinking of those birds sitting around the common breakfast area sharing waffles, coffee and entertaining you with their song. Great image
Oh I do love your poem today. We are always thrilled when our orioles show up. We spend a lot of time feeding them grape jelly, etc. I’m so sorry you had to lose the trees. Great use of sounds here. Love the cheeb-a-dub!
What a telling of this story. I love that we had to wait until the end to discover there was really not a Baltimore Oriole and a whole chorus of birds on that one branch. Very fun poem, Kim.
Hilarious!! How do the mockingbirds DO it?? Even fooling Merlin-?! The ending lines are priceless to me. I suppose this is, in fact, how mocking birds amuse themselves – hey, how would it know the sound of the oriole???
I love “the Hampton Inn of traveling birds” – LOL! Those mockingbirds are tricksters!
Kim,
LOL! “Hampton Inn of traveling birds”. Love the image of all the birds on the same tree branch. Love the alliteration in “ Symphony of sound.”
Margaret, you are singing my birdsong! You are ever the artist, painting word-pictures so vividly that I’m there on the prairie, feeling the warmth, seeing the colors hidden in the grasses. Your musical artistry comes through as well – thank you for this symphony. It’s going to be ab amazing picture book. And thank you for today’s inspiration. I tried to think of another creature to emulate but Poetry would not have it today, and Morning had already given me this sound a few days ago. The mantra in my head of late has been Use what you have…so I try, with a prose poem (it chose itself as soon as I wrote the first line),
The Guest
Morning comes far too early at my house, but she does not intrude. She is patient. She waits in her black silver-lined gown as I step outside on the deck, my little golden-haired dachshund barreling past me and down the steps for his first grassy foray of the day. The April weather has been unseasonably warm, but Morning embraces me like a friend; her breath is cool on my cheeks. She is not the visitor. I am her guest. I am welcome here for as long as either of us can stay. She knows with her every appearing that my time is short. In this moment, enveloped in her robe, I sense expectancy. What is Morning waiting for? What does she mean for me to know? Without words, she bids me to look up. Stars glimmer above the silhouetted pines, bright, beautiful, distant, cold…hard to believe they’re huge orbs of rock and fire, that their constitution and mine are the same…are humans really made of stardust, or are the stars untold stories of human dust? The moon is a radiant slim crescent. When my boys were little, we called this phase a fingernail moon, exactly the shape of their clippings. Something in the dark woods begins crunching around—footsteps—and although I know it’s likely a deer, my mind goes on alert, for these days my own species has gone wild. Anyone could be lurking anywhere with unfathomable intentions. But perhaps it is not such a big creature, for just then comes a song, loud and bright, from the hidden places: whip-poor-WILL, whip-poor-WILL, whip-poor-WILL…I have never heard this night bird’s call so early in the year. It’s a summer song. It’s picked up and echoed from somewhere in the distance. Whip-poor-WILL, whip-poor-WILL, whip-poor-WILL. My golden boy, Jesse, now done with his earthly encounter, has returned to stand by me, his furry warmth against my ankle. We listen to the birds, calling, calling, calling, as the pines begin to rustle. It’s Morning’s silken robes; she is preparing to stand and reveal her full majesty, soon accompanied by a vast choir of birds declaring glory, glory, glory, but in this moment, in the darkness, my soul leaps at the night bird’s song, for all its bright poignance, remembering, for this brief moment, my youth.
Oh, I need to loan you our Dolly dog. She’s just over one year old, and she brings morning in with her wiggly, barky bounce! This onomatopoeia is so fun. What a beautiful description of the morning you write. Maybe someday, my Dolly dog will settle down to this very sweet morning you offer.
Fran, your pen moves and the universe opens up with such magnificence. Morning in a black silver-lined gown. And the foray, and the human species gone wild. This is the part where I caught my breath: are humans really made of stardust, or are the stars untold stories of human dust? An entire anthology could be written with this one theme…..and you can tell these untold tales! I could sit captivated, listening, all day. Absolutely magnificent!
We are soul sisters, indeed! My childhood favorite bird was the whippoorwill (Don’t you love how the sound is its name?) calling from the forest near my home. I only heard it on summer nights when staying out until the mosquitos chased me home. What a loving ode to Morning!
Fran,
This narration of poem blended with your rich details, rhythms, metaphors has me doing double-takes so early in the morning. There’s a sense of pleasure and aliveness with sheer magnificience. Beautiful.
Oh, Fran, I’m especially moved by “I am her guest,” where the relationship between self and world quietly reverses. It shifts everything that follows into a posture of humility and attention, as if simply being alive is a form of visitation.
The shifting upward into “stars glimmer above the silhouetted pines” feels like widening breath. That turn from grounded deck to cosmic scale—“huge orbs of rock and fire”—creates a beautiful tension between the intimate and the infinite.
Sarah
This contemplation, Fran, reminds me of a visit I once had on Long Island where I heard my first whippoorwill at night. My uncle hated it because it kept him up at night, but I loved it…it was so odd and noisy to me and I was thrilled to simply hear the singing. Perhaps this is the sound that made me curious of birds…preferring them over humans, actually.
Oh, such beauty here. This is filled with such richness. I read it aloud and then read it again. I loved so many lines but I particularly loved morning’s silken robes, vast chorus of birds…glory, glory, glory, I am her guest…so lovely!
Oh, Fran, to welcome and be welcomed by Morning like this!
Fran, this is the perfect format to bring your reader into your world where Morning, in her “silken robes” is awaiting and embracing that moment of your coming to her. This is perfect.
What a fascinating piece. I love the use of personification and how you show so much of your morning. I love the scene where the narrator is looking up and noticing all the stars, pines, etc. I am also in awe of “Morning’s silken robes”. Truly gorgeous piece! Creative and full of sound and striking imagery.
Oh, dear Fran, this is so lovely. It just gives me peace and makes me want to wake early tomorrow and spent the short time with Morning that we are both allowed. Love the appearance of Jesse in your poem.
Margaret, this is the perfect prompt as the birds just started their day about the time I woke up and I’m listening to them now, as I write. Looking forward to your new book about the prairie–I can see the illustrations for your beautiful words.
Bird Song
Spring is the sound of birds
their calls, cheerup–cheerily–cheerily,
(says the robin)
wake me up each morning.
An invitation to join the day,
cheer, cheer, cheer
(says the cardinal).
Their gentle entry setting the tone,
peace, peace, peace, all my little children, peace
(says the sparrow).
Nature’s alarm clock
If I could see her
I would seize her
and I would squeeze her
‘til she squirt,
(says the warbling vireo)
There’s always one.
Oh, yes! The Robin does say, “cheer, cheer, cheer.” There’s always one…that just makes me laugh. Great morning poem!
Jennifer, I got to that last line and laughed out loud. I’ve never heard that call before, despite so many warblers here, and now I’ll be listening intently for it….and think of you. Nature’s alarm clock – – I love that line, and would welcome that as my alarm clock anytime. And the invitation to join the day as a party, a chance to get out and be social. I’ll take that most days……others, I’d be just fine staying right here in my own nest. You have a way of making us think about the world as a bird. That last line, though, I’ll be grinning and showing my birdwatching friends today…..
I am noticing so many more birds in the mornings these days. I love how you identified each sound with a parenthetical. I don’t know that I’ve heard the warbling vireo. Hilarious sound!
Jennifer,
This is a perfect spring poem filled with so much rhythm and movement. Thanks for adding such rich meaning and play this morning.
Love this so much, Jennifer. What stands out immediately is the layered chorus you build: robin, cardinal, sparrow, each one carrying its own tonal philosophy. “cheerup–cheerily–cheerily” feels like joy in motion, while “peace, peace, peace” slows everything into something almost prayer-like, almost pastoral. And then that shift—“If I could see her / I would seize her / and I would squeeze her / ’til she squirt,” adorable.
Sarah
I’m hearing the sparrow…I read it out loud and thinking, yes…this is the sound!
Hahaha! Jennifer, wow, there is always one, and what a call that vireo makes. So so hilarious after all the peaceful calls and gentle words before.
There’s always one -!! Don’t you know it! Jennifer, this is a pure joy to read – the vireo (with sleepy stank eye, I imagine) makes the poem. Unexpected shift and truly fabulous.
What a symphony! Lovely, lush and fun. Tree frogs in the prairie? I didn’t know! Thanks for that nugget. Carolina wrens are so sweet. I love them. I hear spring mourning doves outside my window right now. I love their soft coo, coo, coo.
I so look forward to a work about the prairie coming to book life!
Yawn
YAAwwnn
sleepy, sweepy
little mouth opens wide
fluttery tired baby eyes
make me weary too.
Maybe we can sit down here
in this comfy rocking chair
creak forward
rock back
think about
a tiny
nap.
Linda, you not only have onomatopoeia, but you have visual effects like a shape poem going on….I can see the yawn, the mouth opening wide as the poem builds, then the tiny nap sets in. It makes me want to snuggle back in for the day and not get out for meetings and checklists and sharing out stuff. A rocking chair sounds so much better.
Linda, put this in your “poems for children” document. I love its shape and sweetness that makes me think of baby birds but never outright says it.
Linda,
I love the shape and visual imagery you’ve created with your poem. Total praise for all the tiny and symbolic details filled with total delight. The comfy rocking chair and the tiny nap are a lullaby to this poem.
Linda, This has such a soft, embodied rhythm—“YAAwwnn” doesn’t just name tiredness, it performs it right in the breath of the poem. I love how the language slows down into physical sensation: “little mouth opens wide / fluttery tired baby eyes” feels like watching fatigue arrive in real time, gently contagious, as you say—“make me weary too.”
Sarah
loving sleepy, sweepy, Linda, and rocking with you (although I need to head out and NOT take a nap)
Linda, your sweet poem sounds like it’s rocking back and forth as one reads it. So sweet.
Linda, there’s a precious enchantment in these lines – I know it well, along with the need for a tiny nap! Treasured moments. Oh how fast the little ones grow.