When You Need a Break, Go to a Place of Comfort with Leilya Pitre
Welcome to Day 21 of Verselove. We are so happy you are here, however you choose to be present. If you know what to do, carry on; if you are not sure, begin by reading the inspiration and mentor poem, then scroll to the comment section to post your poem. Please respond to at least three other poets in celebration of words, phrases, ideas, and craft that speak to you. Click here for more information on the Verselove. Share a highlight from your experiences thus far here.
Leilya lives in Ponchatoula, LA, which is known as the Strawberry Capital of the World. She teaches at Southeastern Louisiana University and coordinates the English Education Program. As teacher educator, she is passionate about helping her students to become nourishing, devoted, and effective teachers in the classrooms. She is one of the co-editors of Study and Scrutiny: Research on Young Adult Literature and one of the curators of Dr. Bickmore’s YA Wednesday Weekend Picks. She loves to learn about people, cultures, and rich traditions all over the world. In her free time, she reads, writes, listens to music, visits her children and grandchildren, or travels with her husband.
Inspiration
It’s the second half of April, and most of you are tired, if not exhausted, of daily work, responsibilities, and multiple commitments. It is challenging to juggle our lives at times. We all need a break. That is why I invite you for a walk. A walk to your place of comfort.
A walk is time for reflection and relaxation. It is time to accept, forget, and forgive. It is time to recharge and restore your balance.
An inspiration for today’s poetry writing comes from many poets, among those are a few favorites: Elizabeth Bishop’s “The End of March,” Robert Frost’s “A Late Walk,” Gary Snyder’s “A walk,” and Theodore Roethke’s “A Field of Light.”
Read “A Late Walk” here: https://poets.org/poem/late-walk
Process
There are different ways to write a walk poem:
- You may write about different things that attract your attention during the walk;
- You may write about the walk that resulted in some important personal revelation;
- You may write about the walk into the past—a place or time—that brings you comfort, delight, or help face struggles;
- You may write a poem that mirrors the length, style, and shape of the actual walk.
Choose your approach based on the suggested ways or invent your own.
There is no specific pattern, count of syllables, or rhyme requirements. Freestyle!
Today’s writing aims to clear your mind of frustrations, annoyances, and anxiety. Let go of your stress by walking and visiting your place of comfort. You may take us to any place, a dear moment in your life, or walk us through your favorite food preparation.
For me, this place is my childhood home in Crimea, Ukraine.
Leilya’s Poem
Finding Peace
by Leilya Pitre
When I need a break,
I walk home—to my haven,
a place where my soul finds peace—
Mom’s soothing voice shields me
from all the pain in the world.
I close my eyes and see
an old Post Office building—
newspapers, greeting cards,
envelopes, stamps, and
faint scent of sealing wax.
An acacia tree alley outside with
delicate fragrance of white blossoms
trails up to the central square
opening to the movie theater on the right,
Court House and the department store on the left.
Seven minutes along Matrosova Street—
Daisies, roses, lilies, and zinnias in front yards—
quilted blankets of red, yellow, orange, blue,
and every color in between followed
by vibrant greenery of apricot, peach, and cherry trees.
Here is a special corner whirling
toward my favorite place—
a bench under the patulous mulberry tree,
where neighborhood kids gathered
to share stories, jokes, and songs.
A few more steps, and I breathe in home,
lavish grape vines over the tall iron-wrought arch
meet me with clusters of purple cabernet.
Mom turns her head, eyes wide, smiling:“Daddy, look who is here!”
Your Turn
Now, scroll to the comment section below to write your own poem. (This is a public space, so you may 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.
Also, in the spirit of reciprocity, please respond to at least three other poets today.
Thanks for sharing Leilya. Your poem really made me reflect on my life and my journey.
My Journey
I am not perfect
I fail at times
I am human
I often ponder about the future
Where will I end up
What’s the next move
Before acting I fall on my knees
Saying quietly JESUS take the wheel
Situations at times are beyond our control
So I seek refuge in the Lord
He is the Alpha and the Omega
When Jesus says YES…
It’s final…
Thank you, Dee! I love how you put your fate into Jesus’ hand allowing Him “to take the wheel.”
Hello Leilya! I loved your poem and I love walks. At this time in Michigan, it is a bit chilly outside and layers are needed for walks. It is still a peaceful time for the mind to rest. Here is my poem about my internal thoughts when I am on my walks.
My Walk
On my usual route,
Clarity, movement, and peace.
Me and the world.
A lifesaver for tranquility.
Greenery,
The clear blue above,
And the warmth on my skin.
Our beautiful world.
Walks with my dog.
Walks with my boyfriend.
Walks with my mom.
Walks with me.
Peace.
Margaret, I would walk with you every day! It is so peaceful with you.
Thank you, Leilya, for the inspiration. I’m a bit late to this one – but hopefully not too late.
In quiet moments
Which are few and far between
I like to walk through
The halls of my mind palace
Where on oaken shelves
Reside my friends, encased in
Leather and vellum
I run my fingers along
Their spines and sometimes
Open to a random page
To get to know them
A bit better, a bit more
So one of these days
When I sit down to write of
Their sorrows and joys
I might do justice
To the story which is theirs
But is also mine.
[If you can’t tell, this is about the ‘friends’ who live in all writers’ heads. :-D]
Hi Saba, thanks for sharing. As busy human beings we struggle to find time to write and reflect. Writing cam be a therapeutic experience.
Hi, Saba! I love your poem. What a beautiful walk with your “friends.” They are definitely my friends too ?
Thank for reminding us to get out and walk, Leilya.
My husband, who is a nature photographer, and I take frequent walks. With the coming of COVID, they came even more frequent. I wrote something to remember those walks.
April Remembers
The flower does not forget
How to blossom.
One green moment
Small and slow.
The moon remembers
To rise above the mountain.
A long, lone breath
Spinning in the silence.
April unfolds to May,
My hand opens to yours,
Your hand embraces mine.
Together we walk towards
Interminable spring.
I love the movie that your poem brings to my mind! Thanks for sharing.
Thank YOU for reminding us that the world and nature will always do what they are supposed to do, and we have to take care of us. Love your closing lines!
Leilya, thank you for your beautiful poem and the prompt today.
For me, today was a day for walks in Memphis, through the Brooks Museum in Overton Park, visiting the Burkle Estate–an underground railroad stop, and at Sun Studio, the birthplace of rock and roll.
3 Walks in Memphis
Warhol’s silver clouds
Dance across the room weightless–
I see astronauts
Stepping underground
To slaves’ hiding place reveals
Hope in hopelessness
Spirituals fuel blues
And rock n roll is birthed at
Sun studio’s rise
For someone who has never been, this is a great walk for me this morning, Dave. What a great way to recapture an experience like this – to put it into a walking poem. I can just see it now – like a poet’s Fodors Travel Guide! This also expresses quite a rich history in just a short collection of stanzas. Lots of fun s sounds in this poem as well, which feels like moving along the street. Nicely captured here.
Thank you, Dave! Memphis sounds so great for a walk now where “Spirituals fuel blues.”
Fresh air is always welcome
a walk is much needed
Sun rays traspassing the clouds
show me He is in control
Wondering where I would go next
but I trust in Him and his purpose
As long as I serve others
my heart will be full
There is most definitely a clarity in nature, isn’t there, Carolina. I love the feeling of “letting go” in this poem, and, as they say, “let God.” The start lines sound like my daily mantra after getting out of work and taking off the mask – I say I just need a walk in the fresh air. Don’t care cold, rainy, sunny – I’m going for a walk! Clever use of the word “trespassing” for the sun through the clouds, since the sun is also ‘cleansing’ and thus the forgiveness of trespasses. Beautiful imagery this morning!
Thank you for sharing. Your lines “As long as I serve others my heart will be full” is a needed reminder to find joy in benefitting those around us and remembering the “why” behind our existence.
Hi Carolina, thanks for sharing. I strongly believe that even in the midst of adversity God is in control.
Thank you, Leilya, for the inspiration and the visit to your beautiful homeland!
Dairy Queen
hot, sticky evening air
sun lingering in the sky
breaking from lassitude
smallest in the stroller
another on his bike
you and i, daughter
chatting about all and nothing
wending the familiar path
to the spot a mile away
where all chose
their favorite
ice cream indulgence,
sat on the curb
to race the drips
to the final lick
the return trek home
as the sun slid to sleep
I awwwwed out loud at the close of this, Charlene. Sounds like so many lovely summers I spent as that child heading on up to the neighborhood DQ just a few blocks away. It was a true sign of summer, wasn’t it? And those hot, sticky, evenings – oh what we would give for just a break in that heat, and it usually came as the sun went down. This was a wonderful walk down my childhood – I really hadn’t thought of that DQ in so long – and it has long since been torn down and office buildings now stand in its place. It makes me wonder how many of those little neighborhood oases – the original DQs – still stand.
What a beautiful day with your family! I love the description of “the race” and the conversation with your daughter, “chatting about all and nothing.” Thanks for sharing <3
Your poem brings back childhood memories of riding my bike to the local ice cream shop during the dog days of summer. Thanks for sharing.
Hi Diary, I love the bond between you and your children. Enjoying conversations and long walk…such a joy
Thank you, Everyone, who read and wrote poems today, who responded with kind words, support, and encouragement! I read every poem and tried to respond to everyone with a few words. If I missed someone, i will come back to scroll through all the poems tomorrow. Keep writing and enjoying what you do!
Peace to you and yours,
Leilya
Middle child of five,
what I remember is a
coupon my mother gave me
for:
A walk in the dark on a snowy night.
We never took the walk.
At 14, I was already too far gone–
Yet when you ask me about a walk,
this is what I remember.
Allison, what a poem. I love the way you come up with a thought and execute it into such a thought-provoking and poignant poem. I love the Yet in the last stanza. It makes me think it means something to you even though you were “already too far gone” to really use the coupon.
Allison,
This poem makes my heart hurt, so I can only imagine how your heart feels at this. The brevity of ideas sure makes the mind churn at all the in-between-the-lines pieces of the story.
Allison, thank you for your poem today! It makes me think about the significance of the walk that never happened, and why you still hold onto it. It seems that you treasure that coupon, and it’s something that connects you and your mother. .
On another note, as a baby in the family, I wonder how my life would differ if I were the middle child.
Allison, those three sentences are so sharp and cutting. I’m immediately taken to a memory of my own involving a dark, snowy night steeped in some regret. Your last lines make me ache. Thank yo Igor sharing.
Leilya,
I adore the colorful richness of your words. A day on a screen feels so cold, but you have brought my day back to warmth. I especially appreciated the winding shape of your words to lead us down a path along with you.
Cold rain and no jacket prevented today’s walk, but these images came to me so clearly. Was this a walk I’ve taken before? A culmination? What does it matter…I’ve walked these steps, nonetheless.
Moss explodes in a symphony
Of greens conducted by the
Gentle swaying branch of
The old White Pine to
Metronomes of
Breaking branches
And leaves crunching into
Dust upon impact.
Listen; the heron’s
Solo has begun.
She sings through
The mountains,
Wings whisking meringue-
Colored clouds,
Applause cascading
From summits
Fleck with gold.
Rhiannon, wow, those footsteps are musical! It is just lovely, and I can hear and see this walk as I read your poem. This is pretty spectacular:
Rhiannon,
The sounds in this poem are incredible. This combo of words is gorgeous:
Rhiannon, sorry, the weather wasn’t great today for you to walk. I did enjoy your imaginary walk though. I could hear the sounds of music as if I were there with you. I love, love, love the beginning: “Moss explodes in a symphony.”
Leilya, thank you for sharing your sweet poem of your special home place. The beauty of the flowers and trees helps us to see your beautiful Crimea. The bench where you gathered sounds like a special treasure spot. The last line is everything.
Thank you so much, Denise! It was and is a very special place to me. Unfortunately, Crimea in 2014 and now Ukraine–it’s like they took away my home twice.
My walking buddy
Boyle Park is our friendship cocoon.
We dig deep, walk in silence, laugh.
Despite our best efforts, we only
exist along the walking path.
And there, our friendship is lush and expansive like the wisteria
tangled in the pines and brush,
delicious yet invasive to the area.
On our circuits, one or two miles
long and just five feet wide,
we have covered more than one hundred miles side-by-side.
You are my guide and I am yours. We choose a direction to begin our walk dependent upon curiosity, banality, or destiny, and we get to talk.
“You are my guide and I am yours.” I’m up for this kind of walking partner.
Thank you for writing today, Laura! This line, “We dig deep, walk in silence, laugh,” reminded me the rhythm and melody of ‘We real Cool” by Gwendolyn Brooks. I am impressed by the amount of walk you competed with your walking buddy! I wish I could get my hubby walk with me every day.
I love the mystery of this poem – who is the walking buddy? Who do we take with us when we walk? Just ourselves? Our work? Our music? Silence? Our determination to be healthy? What guides us? “Despite our best efforts, we only / exist along the walking path” – which says the existence is an experience, perhaps not tangible, but still lived and felt. “curiosity, banality, or destiny” is a great way to take a walk – open to all of those.
Leilya,
Thank you for the inspiration with so much guidance and so many options/applications. I look forward to returning to this again and again. Your poem hit me hard thinking about how horrible things are for your beautiful Ukraine.
I’ve had a long day that ended with my adoration hour, so thus came this output. I apologize to those who may get turned off by the very strong religious content.
The Chapel
the eight steps might as well by fifty.
feet trudging past the hydrangea bushes
under the canopy,
a heavy sigh naturally belches forth
i turn the door knob
slowly.
the smell of candle wax
and wood
and the spirits of 90-year-old nuns
assault my nostrils.
dim lights and no sound
let the sense of smell amplify
a deep breath—different than the sigh—eases its way out
full of relief.
five short steps and
i turn right
instinctively reaching that right hand
into the holy water font
the longest finger dips in
and dots on the forehead
further easing tension.
the sign of the cross adding comfort.
i lower the rickety bones
banded together by tight muscles
until my knees are greeted by the wood floor
far from comfortable
yet comforting.
my head bows in humility
mixed with shame and adoration.
the kneeler calls my name.
elbows prop up my hands clasped in prayer
my chin roosting in the nook of thumbs
my nose finding its spot nestled
into the interwoven middle fingers.
my eyes feast on the monstrance,
candles flanking at attention.
my vision constantly yanked up to the crucifix.
my head constantly drooping down in
shame and burden.
i see Him.…
rib cage
crown of thorns
three nails
pierced side
torso falling forward
and lifeless head hanging down.
i feel Him.…
surrounding me
embracing me
loving me
comforting me
He is here.
He IS here.
He is HERE
in this chapel
and in my heart
clouds of anxiety and puffs of worry
float away
as i unburden
and share
and adore.
i am safe.
i am renewed.
i am recharged.
i am relaxed.
i am in awe of Him
and what He did for us
and what He does for us.
the real presence
helps me be present.
He feeds me
and fuels me
and fills me
to continue.
~Susan Ahlbrand
21 April 2022
Thank you, Susan, for your kind words of compassion about my home country. It is so-so hard for my family, friends, and all the Ukrainians right now. We will win I know; the price is too high though.
On another note, I like your poem. Your faith is sincere and strong, and it helps you feel “safe,” “renewed,” “recharged,”, and “relaxed” in this sacred place. This means a lot.
Susan, this is a beautiful poem about the traditions of your faith, and the familiarity of the chapel. I loved these lines:
Then when you look at the crucifix and are reminded of the great gifts you describe, it’s like the poem goes from the physical you in the chapel to the spiritual you and your relationship with Christ. It really is very effective and a blessing to read this evening.
The alliteration in the last stanza, and “fills me to continue” is superb.
Susan, I found myself quite taken with your verbs throughout this piece, particularly in the beginning. (“trudging,” “belch,” “assault”). It was wonderful to experience the shift in mood, emotion, and experience as your work continued. One of my favorite moments was the personification of the candles (“candles flanking at attention.”),
Leilya, thank you for the prompt. It was a good day to take a walk.
We arrived yesterday to spend a few weeks in our former Iowa town before we finalize our move to California. We took our first walk around town today–very different than where we live now.
Small Town Walking
Go from here to there in a small town
and you are likely to run into people.
We stopped at the outlet store and
bought an umbrella and a bag for my
crochet projects. We talked a long time
to the clerk we hadn’t seen in five years.
We went across the street and had coffee,
chatted with our friends, proud owners of this
new establishment. We drank chai and
espresso and ate complimentary macarons
because we were back in town.
We chatted about the brokenness in
politics and church politics.
We walked to Ace Hardware to buy
a hairdryer to replace the one I forgot.
We stopped in the entryway there, hugging a
person we knew, but what was her name?
I finally came up with it.
As we talked, I called hello to a passing mom
of a second grader I taught 35 years ago.
How’s he doing?
What’s he up to now?
Then the eye doctor came in and my husband
talked about eyes and how he was
the best eye doctor he’s ever had.
Then we walked to the grocery store and
bought a few things for dinner.
We were gone for four hours.
Grateful our minds didn’t fail us
as we remembered names,
our hearts are full of good people.
This is so heartwarming! It makes me want to try living in a small town. I’m intrigued by this part: “hugging a / person we knew, but what was her name?” What a friendly, open place – where you can hug someone whose name you can’t quite remember! Best wishes adjusting to California life. 🙂
Denise, you made my heart melt. When I read: “We drank chai and / espresso and ate complimentary macarons / because we were back in town,” it felt like I am, too, back in Baton Rouge, meeting with my friends at the cafe. The final line is so full of hope and kindness: “our hearts are full of good people.” It makes me smile. Thank you for your poem!
Denise,
Your poem resonated deeply with me. While it is not a massive city, I lived in Syracuse, NY for most of my life until moving to the small town of Saranac Lake less than two years ago. The school district where I worked for eleven years had more people than this entire town’s population. But, there is something quite wonderful about small towns that allow “our hearts [to be] full of good people.” Your words describe so many days we’ve experienced since living here, and that true sense of community unique to small town living has a warmth that is difficult to find elsewhere. That said, I wish you luck in your move. I trust you will have another free macaron waiting for you during your next visit.
Denise, I love your small town momentos! It looks like you all covered a lot of ground and reacquainted with several people. I love going back home and seeing people. Sometimes I meet old classmates in the most interesting or random places. I wish this was me: “Grateful our minds didn’t fail us
as we remembered names,
our hearts are full of good people.” I am terrible with names, but can always remember faces! I’m sure this walk was full of pleasantries and fond memories. Thank you for sharing.
The “complimentary macaroons” and entryway conversations and asking about a former student—these details make your poem feel so lived in. What could, in the surface be any other errand-run becomes an experience imbued with warmth. Thank you for sharing!
Leilya, I love your walk back to that special place with the colors and smells in a delicious swirl. My own poem emerged from a mishmash of prompts–this one about a walk and then two other mentor poems shared my Mitch Nobis at today’s NWP Connecting the Network call. Thanks for the inspiration!
Sidewalk Beach
“Hey friend”
where? I wonder as I search my surroundings
expecting the skitter of reptilian feet
retreating
Today was not-so-usual
in a far-from-familiar place
killing time with an every-single-day practice:
a walk
Sidewalk warmed under robin-blue skies
looked like spring break beaches
bodies lined up, rumps to the sun
crisping, browning
in perfect synchronization
Instead of sketchy skitters
as I come close, it looks at me
a question like a speech bubble
crowning its head
“Why are you here casting shade
on my sidewalk beach?”
I snap a portrait
and it skitters into the bushes
@kd0602
Wow, Kim, such fun here. It would be interesting to see the poems that inspired you. I like the hyphenated words. Also, phrases like: Sidewalk warmed under robin-blue skies and
a question like a speech bubble
crowning its head
https://moistpoetryjournal.com/2021/04/19/i-did-not-notice-the-birds/ and https://poets.org/poem/high-dangerous
I love all of your word strings in this poem: “far-from familiar,” “every-single-day,” “robin-blue-skies.” Very creative! I also love imagining your reptilian friend with the “speech bubble / crowning its head.” Beautiful poem of this fun moment from your walk – thanks for sharing!
Hi, Kim! Thank you for a beautiful poem.I love the sound effects and melody created by alliterations and hyphenated words. .
“bodies lined up, rumps to the sun” — I can just see it! I laughed at the “casting shade” reference. Your lizard friend is very cute, Kim.
This is a pretty rough poem about a woman who can’t go out on her walks because of a deadly fog that has taken over her town.
She used to go on walks
Sometimes as the sun rose
Other days when it set
She called it “me time.”
But now, it’s not safe for her
Her skin grows pale
Seasonal depression becomes depression
“me time” no more.
She stares out the window
Longing in her eyes
Soaking up the little sun through the windows
Dreaming of the day without the fog.
Alexis, your use of “me time” and the contrast between the past tense “called” and the finality of “no more” packs a punch. As does the shift between seasonal depression and depression. I can imagine her longing as she clings to the small amount of sun she manages to find.
Alexis, this is a powerful poem of physical fog and perhaps the metaphorical fog of depression. “longing in her eyes” for more “me time” Your poem makes me sad. Well done.
Alexis, this makes me sad too. I wish I could come by and take this woman for a walk. I realize it won’t be quite a “me time,” but maybe it will lead to it eventually. Thank you for writing this poem today!
Alexis,
I feel your sense of loss and longing in every word, especially in your usage of the past- and present-tenses, the juxtaposition of then versus now. My mind is immediately brought to Ray Bradbury’s short story, “All Summer In a Day.” I am sad for you, and I am sad for our environment.
I hoped to walk today but it didn’t happen. Instead, I reflected on two years of #quarantinewalks that kept me sane.
#quarantinewalks
March 2020
Shutdown travel
No school commute
Insanity blew in
Like a spring wind
How would I survive
Staying inside
The one who
Loved the sunshine
Like moths to flames
My mental health
Drained my peace
Plucked at my heart
I had to get out
Get up, lace up, walk!
Five days a week
After Zoom class ended
My feet became my healers
Phone charged to capture
Flowers and sidewalk chalk
By May 2020
Easter lilies blew kisses
African daisies danced
Lawn signs sang
“We’re in this together”
And I kept walking
Let the sun love
On my mood
And my melanin
Until winter woke the rain
© Stacey L. Joy, 4/21/22
(The Easter Lily photo was taken on May 28, 2020 on my walk.)
I love how the walks helped you through quarantine. I especially love the May 2020 personification. I can picture all the flowers saying, “Oh, hey! Here’s Stacey! How you doing’?” Your pictures are always beautiful, too!
Stacey – Having “walked” those flower walks with you these last two+ years, I am totally loving this poem. How perfect. I wish it were the bookend… yet I feel you’ll be walking till those dogs r barkin’! ?. I’ve so so so loved your flowers and those walk! Love, Susie
Stacey,I’m so glad you shared that gorgeous flower photo. I think many of us can relate to this walking through the pandemic. That was literally my salvation. My favorite part of your poem is imagining the change in seasons, especially in these lines:
“By May 2020
Easter lilies blew kisses
African daisies danced
Lawn signs sang
“We’re in this together””
As I walk these days I imagine my friends walking, too.
Woohoo! Stacey, so many powerful lines here. You give me the feels and reminders of those pandemic years. You have done well capturing the importance of these walks…
“My mental health
Drained my peace
Plucked at my heart”
and
“My feet became my healers”
and
“And I kept walking…Until winter woke the rain”
Yes, yes, yes. Thanks for putting this into words! I dragged my husband on walks with me all through quarantine (and still). It’s the only way I’ve kept my sanity. I love the picture & am also very drawn to your last line, “Until winter woke the rain.” Beautiful!
Stacey,
My days were very much like yours . . . my walks during the stay-at-home order were such an escape from the alien world we were navigating. I popped in my AirPods and listened to Brene Brown as I walked the exact same path every day. You capture this experience so well (except I didn’t take gorgeous pictures like you). I especially love
Stacey, a special thank you for the photo of the Easter Lily. I can relate to your quarantine walks. We did those desperately often too. We would also ride for hours just watching out of the car windows. I love the final lines of your poem:
“Let the sun love
On my mood
And my melanin
Until winter woke the rain”
This gives me hope and comfort. There will be better times. Thank you!
I imagine
walking within
a cool deep green brown surround
trees reaching for bright blue above
leaves fluttering in the breeze
dots of redbuds along the way
the scurry flutter quick movements of birds
I imagine all this
when the day frustrates
not a moment to myself
so grateful
to wander the woods
in my mind
This is the poem I wanted to write today, Maureen! I love the scurry flutter quick movements of birds and wandering in the woods.
Maureen, when I today’s prompt I immediately thought of you and your walks. Reading your poem is a window into your day. It must have been busy and frenetic for you to imagine a walk rather than take us on your walk today, I hope tomorrow finds you on those literal paths you love. Hugs.
I love that the walk can happen in your mind, even when it doesn’t happen with your feet. I’m wandering in those woods through your words.
Ah, Maureen, a walk in your imagination. Lovely that you are grateful for this time “to wander the woods / in my mind.” All the colors bring the walk to mind for your reader.
Maureen, thank you! I know the feeling. Too often, I also have days when there is simply no time for a walk or a moment to relax. I am learning to meditate before going to bed, but this too requires a few minutes. I am glad, you are able “to wander the woods” using your imagination. Hopefully, you’ll be able to go for walks as often as you want soon.
Long corridors that make
Nearly a quarter mile loop
Of doorways and lockers
With smooth tile floors
Of red, white, and blue
During the school day
The halls are filled
With hundreds of students
Wearing backpacks
And texting on their phones
The cacophony of voices
Echoes out of classrooms
And the conversations rise
And fall as I weave between
Slow movers and blockaders
This school that I walk in
Every day isn’t a place of
Stress for me, but a source
Of fuel for my soul—learning and
Loving every one of my 26 years
Even if we didn’t walk the same halls, I would be able to picture it perfectly! When I have to do anything during passing period, this image is me: “I weave between / Slow movers and blockaders”. I love the uplifting final stanza 🙂 Thank you for this message of hope!
Cara, this is quite the compliment, I think –
Your work is your passion. Love this!
Cara, I recognize a fellow teacher in you. Just like you I believe that
“Every day isn’t a place of
Stress for me, but a source
Of fuel for my soul.”
Walking the school halls and enjoying it after 26 years is a gift. Thank you for being a dedicated and caring teacher!
I want to go out
Walkin’ after midnight in
The moonlight with you
Patsy Cline would be right there with you! Hugs, Susie
Mo,
I’m with Susie, this one has a melody that just pipes up when I read it. 🙂
This sounds so lovely!
Sounds wonderful! There is something so special about the dark night sky.
Now, you are tempting me, Mo! I am reading this at 10:56 p.m. EDT, not too long till the midnight. The sky is starry and clear tonight in Louisiana. Thank you for your haiku!
Thank you, Leilya, for the invitation to go for a walk! I loved your example poem because the imagery was so delightful. I especially liked all the flowers you mentioned! I could see and smell the scene!
Night Walk
I heard that if you can’t fall asleep,
you should not count sheep
but instead imagine moving your feet.
So every night without fail,
I picture myself walking to get the mail
or plodding my favorite Willamette River trail.
I pass familiar faces, places, dogs, and trees
and I can feel a cool, sunset breeze–
familiar nature puts my brain at ease.
So, I take one step and one step more
until imagined steps become real snores…
Rachelle,
What a lovely somnambulistic ode! I haven’t tried that method, I will have to do so. Your rhyme echoes the footfalls in your mind and pulls the poem along. Lovely!
Rachelle – I am so in love with the Willamette Valley that this just made me swoon. Wonderful! Thank you! Susie
What beautiful meanderings! This sounds so much better than counting sheep.
Oooh! I love this! Walking steps instead of counting sheep…sounds so soothing.
Rachelle, you have given me an idea. I love the rhyming–perfect and effortless (it seems) and it’s fun to read aloud.
Now I know why I can’t sleep–I’ve been doing it wrong all my life. Thank you so much, Rachelle! I enjoy your poem.
SNAKESKIN
Here I am
shedding another skin,
rubbing my nose
against a tree
to tear the hold
it has on me,
letting me wriggle,
slither on
through the woods
free from the flakes and scales
of tales,
of other lives,
of days too small
to hold me inside
the womb
of yesterday,
letting
me
renew.
by Susie Morice, April 21, 2022©
Susie,
This poem makes me love snakes! I did t see that coming. I love pressing my face against tree trunks and wrapping my arms around trees, do I totally feel this “rubbing my nose.” As usual, I’ve been following the news and the Holy Shit moments and am embracing this wish:
“free from the flakes and scales
of tales,
of other lives,”
Im so sick of the nonsense from Orangey’s side and need that renewal. I’m gonna get some this weekend in southern Utah and channel this poem as I “wriggle” and “slither” in a slot canyon!
Susie–what a fresh way to view snakes and snakeskin. Your poem is a great reminder to me that it’s natural to grow and change. I love these lines, “to hold me inside / the womb / of yesterday”
Love this image of renewal–“the womb of yesterday” great words.
I love your poem, Susie! My favorite lines are:
“free from the flakes and scales
of tales,
of other lives,
of days too small”
The rhythm and flow are s smooth like the snakeskin. Thank you!
Susie, wow, the process of your poem is absolutely amazing. I’d love to shed my own skin to rise renewed. What a fantastic metaphor. I just want to wriggle after reading this. I am in awe of your brilliance. Loved “of days too small”. Brilliant! Hugs, Barb
Leilya, thank you for sharing your beautiful poem and sweet prompt. I love the end of your poem, and your mother’s happy face welcoming you home.
Memories of Mama’s Love
I walk
past green lawns wet with dew
beneath gray skies etched in blue
by the river choked with driftwood
I sigh
longing for one sun drop
to carry me back to the
sweetest memories I ever knew
I remember
daffodils, fairy treats, a whippoorwill
summer bike rides; swimming pool slides
quietly crying to stories you read;
being tucked lovingly into bed
Barb Edler
21 April 2022
Barb,
I want to go back in time and be right there with you and your mom. This is pure love!
Barb,
I feel that pull back into innocence, too. The verbs here are strong:
“I walk…
I sigh..,
I remember…”
The final lines tug at my heart and make me think of all the time that has passed, all the memories that last.
“quietly crying to stories you read;
being tucked lovingly into bed”
Gorgeous poem.
Hi, Barb! I walk, I sigh, and I remember with you. Thank you for sharing your Mama’s love with us today. I’d give a lot to spend one more hour with Mom.
Barb, this is great! You’ve crafted a real tenderness here (and I love the subtle water imagery throughout: “wet with dew,” “by the river,” “one sun drop,” “swimming pool slides,” and “quietly crying to stories you read”), Very cool! Thank you for writing and sharing this today!
Barb – There is an exquisite simplicity of love and motherhood and wishing in this poem. Truly beautiful. The words that have the lilt of rhythm… it does something that is wistful and soothing…like a baby that rubs and rubs a blankie against his face. You have a gift of image and just the right words to take you to those places, my friend. When you sit out there looking at the river tomorrow evening, I’ll be here thinking of you there. Love, Susie
Barb, thank you for taking us with you on this journey. The contrasting imagery in the first stanza “green lawns” “gray skies” “river choked” set the tone of the poem and it echoes the contrasting pang of nostalgia.
My Church
When I cross the threshold and pass through
those familiar glass doors
millions of memories flood my mind
I remember knee socks and itchy white
stocking my mom made me wear
on all those Easter Sundays
I see the adult choir then myself with the youth choir
wearing long blue robes as I nervously walked down
that long aisle that seems a mile.
My friend Ellyn smiles as we march which lessens
my nervousness
A few years later, as a Debutante at church, I gracefully
glide (we practiced for weeks) down that aisle in a
pink sherbet long dress with escort
I lovingly took that long walk again when I married
my husband and I was blissful having my father strolling
with me but did not like all the stares.
Yet I was so familiar
with that aisle and had been looking forward to
that special amble since I watched my cousin take hers
when I was twelve.
I knew my parents had taken those same
the same steps down that same aisle back in the 60s
even though their marriage did not last .
I took a somber walk with my relatives in that church
when my mom left this this life and we followed
her remains down the walkway
which was eerily comforting
Years later my daughters and I joined the Liturgical
dancers and we had the opportunity to not only walk
down the aisle but gracefully run down the corridor
to music while the congregation watched
with joy, awe and admiration
as we twirled, formed circles, spun and praised.
I continued with the dancing ladies when my daughters left to
attend college and I appreciated that people were sweet
when I waddled and stepped on on my own two feet at times
When the pandemic hit and places closed
I missed
my church my aisle my walk my special place
my memories
I’m ever so grateful to have returned there this past
Sunday on Easter to see in person the windows the doors
and remember the
Baptisms Communions hugs smiles and remember all
of the steps taken in that phenonenal place.
By Seana Hurd Wright
4/21/2022
Seana, I have such fond memories of my church home as well, and I can relate to many of these. I live about 60 miles away and rarely get to visit it, let alone my parents’ homes, where they still reside. But these lines resonated with me: “I see the adult choir then myself with the youth choir
wearing long blue robes as I nervously walked down
that long aisle that seems a mile.” I remember singing in the choir, starting out with the Pastor’s Choir and then the Youth Choir, with those itchy, hot, choir robes. I never made it to the adult choir, for I had left to go to college. My parents no longer attend that church and I haven’t been in years, even before the Pandemic. I know many “Old Saints” have passed on, but I hope to return soon to visit to see who I still remember. Thank you for sharing this!
Seana,
It warms my heart to see others who feel similarly. How true is this:
This is such a beautiful lifetime recorded here, Seana. Wow. I never thought of all the different kinds of walks down the aisle that were possible and how each of those captures a very different experience in our lifetimes. I got the image of this aisle being like the backbone of the community, so strong and sturdy – but only when the people are there. When they cannot be, as you recollect about the pandemic, it did cause a strain on those communities. And, yet, just as you record, I’ve heard from many friends and family across the nation that this first true Sunday back – when so many more felt okay congregating – that churches were packed. People want that strength of community back again, and I am hopeful, as your poem closes, that it shows our healing from this time. There will be many more steps to come!
Central Elementary
three blocks from home
To Redley’s on the corner
and their ancient lab, Pepper
turn right and head up Wadsworth
past the Bird Lady’s house
“Parakeets for Sale”
all year round
Past Huzinga’s
Toro, the Alaskan Malamute
chained to the tree
a giant dirt patch
where he ran in circles
the bark worn off the giant maple
Past the spooky house
with its broken-down porch
and cardboard covered windows
How wonderful to live there
we mused
right across from school
We’d have no walk at all
just roll out of bed
when the first bell rang
No dirty looks from
Mrs. Renquest
and able to go
home for lunch
every day
Denise, I can relate to your poem so easily. My school was eight houses away from my home. All we had to do is walk or run past eight neighbors and cross the street. Three minutes at the most. Thank you for bringing up this memory!
Denise, I was completely pulled into your old neighborhood and all you saw on your walk to school. It reminded me of so many memories of my own neighborhood from a dog that was chained up next door to a spooky house we believed a witch lived in. Your musing at the end was especially fun. I’ve always been jealous of people who could easily go home for lunch. Wonderful poem filled with a tender-sweet nostalgia!
I was pulled right into this poem, Denise and particularly liked how you kept the perspective and logic of the child who thought it would be wonderful to live in a spooky house that would spare you the dirty looks of Mrs. Renquest. You certainly made your neighborhood and your youth come alive!
Our Trail
how many times have
we walked
across the bridge
smoothies in one hand
our other hands clasped
the grass alive and cool
as the warm sun begins to sink
and the world is quiet
only the hum of cars in the distance
and the trickle of the river close
spotting ducks
birds, squirrels, even beavers
following the curves of the path
and losing track of place and time
as we trust it to guide us?
I would love to lose track of time and place now, Rachel! Thank you so much for your poem. My favorite image here is of both of you with.your “other hands clasped.”
Rachel, I love that this is one very long question. I also got to thinking while writing my poem about quantities: miles, laps, seasons, etc. Thanks for sharing!
Rachel, I love the progress of your poem, the provocative question at the end, and the physical appeal throughout. The sun sinking, humming cars in the distance, ducks and even beavers. What a wonderful place to walk. A place it would be easy to lose “track of place and time”. Marvelous poem!
Rachel, I like how your whole poem is one question. And really one that doesn’t need an answer because we can tell that it has been often. You have all the details down, the sights and sounds and feelings of being with the one you love. Beautiful.
My Walking Routes
Every day is a new beginning and a new route
for my walk, I mean.
It can be up on my hill
or down in the valley
to look at how many turtles are in the pond
compared to the winter when I don’t see any.
I can jump in my car for a walk at the beach
toes in the warm sand or cold wind in my hair.
Sometimes I end up at the zoo
and say hello to each animal as I pass
going at a faster clip
than the families that have planned an outing.
That’s because I can go daily, if I choose.
And that’s the point.
I have so many choices and they are never the same.
Even if I repeat a walk to a place from before
it is always made different
by a new flower, a crowing rooster or
someone waving as I go by.
This prompt made me be more observant that usual. I took photos of all things new as I strolled and thought I would use those scenes for my poem. But….things turn out different. Thanks for this prompt and the process.
Thank you, Susan! I can absolutely see myself doing all the prep work and then sit down and write completely “off script.” Love all the walks and possibilities of them in your poem.
Susan,
I love this–you’re completely right, every time you walk, even in the same place, you see, hear, smell new things. Beautiful!
please ignore the poem below, the formatting didn’t translate once I hit “post”
A Trip to the Library
It’s finally spring
It’s about damn time
This is a welcome excuse to step away from the work piling up.
It is an assignment after all.
The neighborhood looks better
then it did a year ago.
Something smells good.
Deep fried glory.
Take note of all the places
within walking distance.
How much time do you add
for tiny feet and legs?
Will they wine all the way?
Can we fill a whole day?
How ever did my mother do this?
The goal is in sight
“just before that light.”
I hear myself saying this every time.
Not too much further,
this is just what I needed,
here’s hoping
motivation is waiting for my return.
Rob,
I had to look twice when I saw two poems, but this is fitting, I think, because you’re writing about two journeys—your walk to the library and that of the children. The consideration of perspective is so important here. I see the wink and nod in “It is an assignment after all.” It’s a lovely, light touch but also a vital critique on our ways of being in the world. This, of course adds to the complications of perspective. And what parent hasn’t spoken some version of “almost there”?
Well, I missed this note, and I responded to your other one. I love the smell of “Deep frid glory”. YUM!
Eight fingers press, palms push
on the corner of her desk.
Chair roles with resistance
on the gnarled carpet beneath
her sandaled feet
as the cursor flirts for
one more word.
Tiled floors welcome
her weight, soft music
echoes halls with her
gait, toward the howls
of Oklahoma winds
toward the sun & shadows
newly draped with
budded branches.
She lifts the chair from the
shelter. Arms feeble from
unfamiliar use, the weight
awakens her body.
Into the sun, she unfolds–
reclining, kicking off sandals
rolling up sleeves, exposing
her torso for Sun’s caress &
Wind’s whispers of comfort.
And she rests.
Oh, Sarah! From the moment I read, “as the cursor flirts for / one more word,” I was hearing music in my ears and waiting for someone to get carried away dancing. It sounds so enticing to kick off sandals and listen to “wind’s whispers of comfort.” Thank you for writing with me today!
Sarah,
Your poem has a lovely echo to Rob’s: Finding reasons to walk away from the desk and bask in spring’s sunny rays. The personification in “the cursor flirts for
one more word” has me wishing I’d thought of that. The poem unfurls like a tulip opening its petals to welcome bees and the sun. This last verse has me longing for sunny days as I sit wrapped in a sweater:
“Into the sun, she unfolds–
reclining, kicking off sandals
rolling up sleeves, exposing
her torso for Sun’s caress &
Wind’s whispers of comfort.”
I am praying for these days to blow in on a gentle breeze.
Sarah, I love the progress of your poem, the physical appeal from the weight, sun and shadows. Unfolding under the sun sounds like heaven, and your end is perfect. “And she rests!” Oh, yes, what a way to find comfort, basking under a sun! Gorgeous poem!
I needed this prompt today. Getting out was the perfect thing. Today is a “productive” day so I decided to cross something off my list as well, seeing if walking to the library is a do-able activity when our adoptive sons move in this summer.
A Trip to the Library
damn time. This is a welcome excuse to step away from the work piling up.
about It is an assignment after all.
It’s The neighborhood looks better
spring. then it did a year ago.
finally Something smells good.
It’s Deep fried glory.
Take note of all the places
within walking distance.
How much time do you add
for tiny feet and legs?
Will they wine all the way?
Can we fill a whole day?
How ever did my mother do this?
The goal is in sight
“just before that light.”
I hear myself saying this every time.
Not too much further,
this is just what I needed,
here’s hoping
motivation is waiting for my return.
Thank you, Rob! I hear your excitement and some anxiety about your adoptive sons moving in this summer, but it is going to be okay. We don’t have to be perfect to parent a child; we just need to care enough. You got it!
Rob, what a wonderful way to avoid the work piling up. I was enthralled by the interesting arrangement of your phrases. I had to smile considering how a much needed break is actually a way to gain some much need momentum to finish a job. I also had to laugh at “How ever did my mother do this?” Delightful poem!
Rob — I’m stealing “deep fried glory”… super! Susie
Thank you for the prompt today! I really like to free- style. I used to have the mint green mongoose with the OGK mags! What a blessing to be able to write everyday! I wonder how many people go through life without receiving any blessings. Again thanks – I enjoy reading all the creativity on Ethical ELA… May your day be blessed!
Appear of the Blessed
Today he took off his sandals,
Stood barefoot with ripped jeans and dirty flannel.
Scuffed across the smoking lot,
Memories of him, they forgot,
Cracked toes sift blazing sand,
No emotion for a homeless man.
Arches meet splinter wood,
Shuffling along the best he could.
Cutting eyes hear his shuffle,
Flinging ridicule with heartless muffle.
Today, he does not bid for a penny,
Crashing waves and his moves are complimentary.
Every step barefoot splinter,
Cracked burgundy -a flaming tinder.
Searing Sun, melting sky,
Reflecting waves before they die.
Unbalanced he grabbed a nail,
Palmed another before he fell.
Ankles scuffed on forgotten hooks,
Fishermen posted with disgusted looks.
Lifting himself on the walk,
Face-stained red from child play’s chalk.
Broken glass speared in his side,
Raw feet continued to slide.
Blood rivers down covering his feet,
Cheeks turn away, and hearts retreat.
Hundreds around to assist
All different- equally resist.
Board after board, stride for stride,
No hellos, No goodbyes.
Passing little one’s snow cone,
Beautiful perfume and Stetson cologne,
Manicured poodle with a jerky bone,
I-pads, sunglasses, and a group of phones.
They all walk in opposite direction
Each consumed with introspection.
All move out of his way,
All have nothing to say.
Walking this walk all alone,
His forgiveness is unshown.
Near the end where boards are long,
Music is playing a happy, sparkly, song.
As he reaches the end of the pier,
The song and people- all disappear.
Stepping to his final rail,
He squints through a knotted veil,
Seeking seafoam replies,
Asking forgiveness for his passersby’s.
Turning back to look from his walk,
His sandals emerge-burgundy with red chalk.
He slides them off to retrace his trail,
Pleading his next walk does not fail.
His daily walk a painful must,
Back and forth – full of dust,
Years upon centuries the wood has cracked,
He walks the boards- back-to-back.
He yearns for daily repentance
For each to earn transcendence.
He always walks, regardless of clocks,
Appearing anywhere and everywhere on docks
With faithful, forgiving steps of trust.
And
All this time
His walk has been for us!
– Boxer
Boxer,
The meter and rhyme of this poem in the first stanzas prepared me to settle in and move toward the wisdom. Each image took me on the walk alongside or above — I felt like the speaker was asking us to engage as a spectator like others in the poem. I felt on one hand privilege to see and complacent. When I read it a second time, I read figuratively of all the things and people I am available to assist but resist. Powerful.
Sarah
This is a beautiful poem. I love the meter the rhyme and the message of our Savior’s walk.
Your poem is so powerful, Boxer! I agree with Sarah. Meter and rhyme work great in your poem. The final lines beautifully summarize His walk for humanity.
December 2013
Lying on the ice, he thinks to himself,
“I hope she didn’t see that.”
But she did, the door opens
“Are you okay?”
Moments earlier, he was levitating through starlight.
Although his mind told him it was a bitter winter night,
His heart insisted he was in a mystical paradise.
Before he began the short walk to his car,
The not-quite-a-boy, not-quite-a-man
Marveled at the aura of the only love
He had known in his still developing life.
For the first time in his life,
He pressed his lips against hers
And felt the passion of intimacy.
On any other night,
The fall would been painful,
The cold would pierce his skin,
The embarrassment would haunt him.
But on this night,
He was immortal.
And that short walk back to his car,
Was a walk he would always treasure.
Levitating through starlight – I love, love, love this line. What a lovely memory!
Jairus,
I love the hyphenated words here – just a literal piecing together and becoming yet so important to the moment this carried for the speaker and how this night lives in the memories.
Sarah
Jairus, thank you for sharing this beautiful memory with us today! I like how the heart takes over the brain. This is when we “let go” and see “a mystical paradise.”
Jairus, I so enjoyed how you opened this poem as it completely pulled me into your poetic narrative. The line “not-quite-a-boy, not-quite-a-man” sets the time perfectly. I adored the way you were able to show the new found love that makes life incredible and full of longing to be with that special person that makes life seem like “a mystical paradise”. Wonderful poem!
Places of comfort-I really enjoyed this prompt and reading through all of the poems for today. Forests and trees are my home- trees, pine scent, a gurgling creek, moss covered rocks,- such peace for me even in hard times.
My foot fall is greeted by the blanketed cushion of pine needles,
a rush of nature’s perfume wafts through the air.
Breathe in deeply,
exhale an echo of stress.
Sunbeams flicker between the thick and thin trunks,
warming my skin.
The corners of my mouth turn upwards
accepting nature’s kiss.
The arms of trees reach to the sky
joining in community to embrace me.
Dear friends standing strong,
reminding me that I can find the power deep within myself.
Water gurgles over rocks,
falling over edges.
Flowing melodies wash over me
carrying the debris of my day away.
The final step on the trail,
a new me stands there-
soul refreshed, mind cleared,
power found to face what awaits.
Your poem brings back nostalgic memories of my time in the boy scouts. There was always something special about waking up in the morning, surrounded by nature. It was always so pristine.
Cathy,
I think about this prompt and the ways comfort can serve us — why we seek comfort, what happens when we are without comfort. And you poem offers the way comfort sustains us for perhaps what is next. That last line “power found to face what awaits.” Indeed, how are we to be a part of what’s next when we are empty.
Sarah
Cathy, thank you for writing with me today. I like so many lines here that I’d have to cite the entire poem. Love the idea of breathing in deeply and exhaling stress. Being able to find comfort and “a new you” is so important.
Down the highway I go
Thinking about the walk into the house
The 5 bedroom home still stand
Very similar to my childhood
Most of the neighbors are still there…some just more gray and plump
The scent of fresh cut grass warms up my nose and too much of it causes a sneeze-a.choo
A foot in the door through the garage
And then into the kitchen
The smell of cooked food roar through the kitchen
And the sound of The young and the restless still yell from tv like it did when I was growing up
The sound of click clack up and down the stairs looking through the house
She didn’t realize I was coming
MOM! What you doing?
Bursts into laughter
Hugging one another
Mind at peace, soul at rest, body refreshed
Because a walk into home can never be cloned
This is beautiful! Your line “ causes a sneeze-a-acho” made me chuckle out loud. Your last line “ a walk into home can never be cloned” is so true. Since both my parents are gone and my childhood home now belongs to others, this brought a sadness because I can’t visit but then a smile for all of the warm memories of that place.
Awww thank your for reading and responding.
DesC,
Thank you so much for taking us into this place, space, moment of the exclamation and question and the sounds of laughter and embrace. And what a last line “Because a walk into home can never be cloned”.
Sarah
Thank you for reading and responding!
Oh this poem made me miss the family and home where I grew up. It was so wonderful coming back home on the weekends when I was away at college. Your last line says it all.
I appreciate you reading and responding.
Thank you, DesC! You said it all int he final lines “Hugging one another
Mind at peace, soul at rest, body refreshed
Because a walk into home can never be cloned”
Beautiful and heartwarming!
Pittsburgh Haiku
Cross yellow bridges
Hiding under skyscrapers
Tunnel with Nick Drake
Buffalo Haiku #1
Bagels and coffee
Careful of the bike lane cracks
Pitbulls sniff with glee
Saranac Lake Haiku
Library lawn dew
Pines ‘bove misty wooden bridge
Morning railroad tombs
Buffalo Haiku #2
Friendly avenue
We window watch and porch wave
I know everyone
Thank you for the prompt, Leilya! I wrote a series of Haikus in places I’ve lived and walked, in chronological order.
Alex, this is a brilliant approach to the topic. Each haiku *walks* both alone and in unison. “We window watch and porch wave” celebrates community, and the alliteration is really good. Well done!
I could totally connect with your various haikus. My daughter lives in Pittsburgh so I could envision those bridges, skyline and the tunnel we drive through by her college. I grew up in Buffalo so wondering what friendly avenue you refer to but I agree that Buffalo is a friendly place for sure. What a creative idea to write about the various cities your life had taken you to and how they were home for a time.
Alex,
I love that there is comfort across several scenes, and your haiku are gifts for us today. I want to live on Friendly avenue, and you remind me of how comforting it can be to be somewhere where ” I know everyone.”
Sarah
These are great fun. I especially like Buffalo Haiku #1 with the line of “Pitbulls sniff with glee.” Yes, those dogs we encounter on our walks are something!
Alex — I absolutely LOVE the idea of haiku-ing these wondrous places! Love it! Susie
I love multiple places and the way you used haiku for each one of them, Alex! These are brief sketches that tease my imagination.
Love your use of haikus for this prompt! They each tell their own little story and they each create strong visuals in my mind as I read them.
The clock ticks towards 6,
the golden orb ascending from the east.
With Tevas strapped to my sun-burned feet,
sand surges in with each step.
I inhale the salty scent of the sea,
ears perking to the sound of seagulls.
A restorative stroll on a summer morning,
prepares me for the day ahead.
Emma, all the /s/ sounds soothe and beckon beach walkers. Lovely images of the rising sun and soaring seagulls. I want to walk this beach, too.
Rejuvenating would be an understatement. If every morning started out like this, I’d rarely ever have a bad day. If only Oklahoma had beaches.
For someone who keeps saying they’re not good at this you definitely have a talent for painting pictures. I am a sucker for alliteration so I loved the repetitive “s” throughout the middle. I can’t wait until we have this weather again as I share your love for these evening strolls. 🙂
How relaxing. My mind instantly went to the beach and the vibrations of the water could be felt up close and personal.
I just wish I were there walking that sand with you. I can feel its heat pleasantly burning feet and smell the salty air. Thank you, Emma!
Leilya, thank you for this lovely, inspiring prompt. Your poem has a wonderful climactic moment at the end, and I enjoyed the journey, which inspired me to think about the walks I like best.
Navigational Mnemonic
some folk never amble past the fence post marking their postage stamp corner of the planet.
some folk never wend their way where forest pheromones release stress reducing aerosols, where Quaking aspen shimmy flat leaves and whisper in light breezes.
some folks never stroll through word-canopies or take their anxious amygdala past electronic outposts on uncharted paths leading to aha horizons.
some folks slog only through their known worlds, their minds shelved, dusty & undiscovered; their feet anchored & moored.
unlike some folks i pootle & promenade, traipse & toddle, stride & stretch my legs. dreaming of new ways to walk along my daily path I hunker into poetry’s navigational mnemonics.
—Glenda Funk
April 21, 2022
Glenda, I relate in multiple ways to your poem! Sometimes I feel disbelief when I learn people don’t go for walks in nature and I feel the same sentiment from students who won’t do creative writing. These things mean so much to me; it can be a struggle to share those feelings. You’ve shared them beautifully!
Glenda, thank you for “pootle.” I’ve just added it to my ambulatory lexicon. Looking this up, of course, allowed me to meander to bimble, which is another word I didn’t know. I’ve done them both often; I just didn’t have those specific words!. Lol. (I also enjoyed your ampersand usage in your last two stanzas.) Thank you for this linguistic ambling today!
Yeah…great words, you two! Hugs, Susie
Your pairing of words in the last stanza- pootle & promenade, traipse & toddle, stride & stretch- really stood out to me. Each of those words carries a certain feeling/confidence as we all try out different ones during our days.
Glenda, I now look forward to finding your poem everyday. You have such a talent for making the audience feel like we know everything about you in just a few lines. I can’t give you a reason but I love the line “where Quaking aspen shimmy flat leaves and whisper in light breezes.”
Maybe it’s the capital “q”? I love when an author makes me stop and think “why did they do that?”
Thank you for the trip!
Glenda,
What a lovely collection of words and sentiments and insights. I read your poem aloud twice and felt tickles that made me smile. The ideas, of course, are cautionary but with a gentle invitation to get moving physically but in perspective-taking, too.
So lovely, “hunker into poetry’s navigational mneumonics”!
Sarah
Glenda, that image of the shelved minds, dusty and undiscovered is a beauty! I love all the motions here – the ambling and wending, the strolling and pootling. And the sound of the navigational mnemonics is utterly soothing. This feeds my need for wanderlust!
Glenda, what an amazing adventure with words here. Love your voice and clever word play. I could definitely relate to the pootle, promenade, traipse & toddle! Your poem pings like a beautiful spring day! Delightful poem, and I’m still smiling!
Holy crap, Glenda! This is marvelous!! Geez, a real kicka$$ poem that pushes us, that yells at us to get off our keisters (no idea how to spell that) to be unmoored in this life…to seize the day! Yahooty! Totally inspirational! I LOVE this! Hugs…and I just want to take a walk with you! Love, Susie
Love the repetition at the start of each stanza, and I particularly smitten with “stroll through word-canopies” …and you know I love the alliteration clauses at the end –
so so fun!
You definitely won the word-using contest today, Glenda! I smiled as I read and reread your poem throughout the day! I did enjoy your “navigational mnemonics.” Thank you!
Lailya, your prompt reminded me of a poem I drafted with my students we were exploring ways to bring a place alive using appeals to the sense of sound. I share it today, because the poem reflects what my husband and I often heard when we went on our evening walks thinking we would be getting away from the family clatter at home, we sometimes heard more while out walking. 🙂
Sounds on an Evening Walk
Click-clack of push mowers
Low buzzing of electric ones
Clip-snip of hand-held trimmers
Swish of a broom sweeping the clippings
Purr of European sports cars,
Rattle-ti-bang of teenagers’ clunkers
Revving of motorcycle engines
Whirring of bicycle wheels on asphalt
Clackety-clatter of skateboards
Crossing the cracks in the sidewalk
Yip-yapping of small dogs
Husky snarly, breathy growling of big ones
Heavy snorting through holes in fences
Padding back and forth on hard paw-packed yards
Chains dragging along to a snap
Gasp of dogs trying to get us,
But we’re out of reach.
I love the variety of sounds in your poem, Anna! Such a strong picture of a neighborhood. You show the benefits of taking off the headphones – there’s just a lot to hear out there!
I loved that you focused on sound in your poem. It was such a different perspective to use when writing about your walk. I plan on focusing on the sound on my daily walk tomorrow.
This reminds me of a spring or summer evening walk. Thank you for allowing us to hear the sounds of the walk.
Anna — A totally wonderful auditory DEEEE-light! A walk that really revs me up! Thank you! Susie
So many sounds, and they all come to life in your poem, Anna. Thank you for such a joyful treat! Onomatopoeia and alliteration are so skillfully used to create vibrant melody and rhythm. The picture is an added bonus. I always envy couples that walk a lot together. My hubby is a bit hard to convince often.
I know we’re supposed to
put our best foot forward,
that the greatest journeys
start with a single step,
that we’re supposed to
walk the line
(we’d have to toe it first, though)
walk the straight and narrow
walk softly (and, I guess,
carry some kind of large-ish
stick or something)
Sometimes, however, we
can’t walk tall because
we’re walking on eggshells
or thin ice or cloud nine
(which also doesn’t sound
very safe to me)
and I know I want to be like
The Proclaimers and
“walk 500 miles,”
but I’m not sure
my fitbit could take it,
and, anyways, they
walked 500 more
in that song, too.
I guess I could
walk on sunshine
or the wild side
or like an Egyptian
(but that just seems
a little rude)
and I’m reminded
that “All who wander
are not lost” except
that one time when
I actually was;
carrying the gas tank
as I trudged through the
farmer’s field, thinking
I was going to take a
short cut, the mud
soaking through
my dress shoes,
I really did want to
walk a mile in
someone else’s
shoes that time.
Now, I realize it doesn’t
really mean that
but I do want to meet
you halfway on this
and I know it won’t be
a cakewalk
(whatever that is)
or a walk in the park,
but can I offer a suggestion?
Can we share an Uber
instead?
_________________________________________
Leilya, thank you for your prompt this morning and for allowing us to join you on your lovely walk home! I really enjoyed your vivid details: “quilted blankets of red, yellow, orange, blue, / and every color in between followed / by vibrant greenery of apricot, peach, and cherry trees.”
Love it, Scott. Listening to Run DMC and Aerosmith on my walkman while waiting for my Uber to arrive. Brilliant play today!
Lol, thanks Bryan! That Run DMC and Aerosmith one made the rounds for a bit in my brain before finally bowing out to the Bangles!
Thank you, Scott! I love philosophical, reflective, and realistic view of walking in your poem today. We all seem to know how the walk has to be done, but it’s not always the case. I like the final stanza of your poem and a follow up question-suggestion. i actually love riding with my husband and enjoying the scenery.
Scott, the allusions you include to metaphors by other writers add more depth or flight to this walk! Thanks for showing ways to incorporate such references in our poems.
Oh The Proclaimers song- immediately it started running through my mind. Brought a smile to my face- thanks!
Scott, you never fail to take us on a journey and today’s is one of the best. I love all these references to ways of walking. And like Bryan, Walk This Way kept playing in my head. Maybe we can just blast it from the Uber.
Oh, Scoooootttttt… this is a blast! Totally fun… You are such a wordsmith…a poet…a comedian…a goofball…and brilliant. I laughed out loud through the whole doggone thing! But you in the dress shoes traipsing with a gas container just had me rolling. LOVELOVELOVE it! Thank you! Susie
This is simply perfect, Scott. All the tie-ins of idioms and songs references really make this work. Your poems ALWAYS bring a smile to my face.
Love this, Scott! Who knew how many “walk” references there are in our social consciousness?
Leilya,
Thank you for this lovely prompt and for sharing your wonderful poem. I just read it with one of my students and we used it to inspire some poetry writing today. In the midst of all the unfathomable atrocities going on right now, I find myself returning often to childhood in my dreams and daydreams.
(I wanted to preserve the formatting, so I shared the poem below as a screenshot — hope it shows up well.)
Good morning, Wendy! I love that you used it with your students. I, too, often use prompts from #verselove to my college studnets. They always respond eagerly. You are right about the atrocities int he world today. When I was writing this poem, the war in my home country, Ukraine, against the Russian invaders had just begun, and I was almost paralyzed for the first two weeks trying even to get a grasp on what was happening. That is why I wrote about home, Mom, and Dad–the place where my heart feels safe.
In your beautiful poem, I love the formatting (unfortunately my formatting wasn’t quite saved in the web view) that shows the progression of the walk. I also like how you begin the walk from your front yard and move on to explore the world beyond your neighborhood. Thank you!
Oh, colored straws on spokes! Your writing just brought forth such a great memory for me. I remember using neon colored straws and carefully choosing what color to put on what spoke with my best friend. Then we proudly rode around the neighborhood. Thanks for triggering that happy memory.
Good morning Leilya,
Ohhhh I’m in love with your prompt and your poem. I hope to write during the school day as opposed to waiting for after work. I don’t even know if I can squeeze in a walk but even if I have to go another “walking” route, I am excited to write today.
I visualized every beautiful image in your poem and was captivated by the natural scents you chose.
The last line makes me tear up. How I miss my mom opening the door and greeting me.
Thank you, Stacey! I, too, miss my mom walking and greeting me so much. It’s been 1 years. I will always keep their smiles, their jokes, their love in my heart though. Looking forward to read your poem today!
Thanks Leilya for sharing your tender memories, and giving me the opportunity to “breathe in home”.
Down the wood paneled
manor stairs case
of the three family house
that sits
on the softly sloping lawn
with the large, gray
armchair stoop,
just steps away from my tree,
the tree I loved,
the sycamore
with the prickly seeds
who listens
when I sit on the curb
beneath her shade
and sing my homemade songs,
share my homemade poems,
and shave her prickly seeds bare.
But not today. Today I skip
along the cracked sidewalk
lined with other people’s
sycamores,
stopping sometimes to pick
the tiny blue flowers
that grow between squares
and root-lifted breaks of cement.
I skip all the way to the corner,
past the house
where the Monsignor sometimes
sits on a backwards chair,
holding a cigarette in his puffy
yellow fingers.
Past the empty lot to Joe’s candy store,
but not just candy,
magazines and newspapers
and Italian Ice
in little white paper cups,
or big canisters
for family celebrations.
But not today.
Today the crossing guard
nods me across
the wide, busy street,
to the noisy school yard
next to the blue church
with the grotto,
and I pull up
my blue knee socks
and run!
Ann, perhaps the Sycamore is tied with the Willow for my favorite tree. I’ve always loved the way Sycamores shed bark, like layered history and memory…the moment that got me in your writing today was “Italian ice in little white paper cups,” because it is a taste that captures an essence (and I love it). Thank you for skipping along the sidewalk with us on your way to school (well, maybe I skipped….you just wrote beautifully)
What a beautiful poem, Ann! I love your Sycamore tree “with the prickly seeds / who listens / when I sit on the curb / beneath her shade” and skipping all the way to the school yard. It reminds me of time when I just started teaching in secondary school. I used to never say: “i am going to work,” but instead: “I am going to school.” It felt like I was going to that school yard to learn, play, and enjoy my time with students. I “grew up” quite a bit since. Thank you for writing today!
Such lovely descriptive language in your poem, Ann. I can totally “see” your walk.
Leilya, thank you for hosting today and sharing a piece of you. These lines resonated with me: “Mom’s soothing voice shields me
from all the pain in the world.”
I am a Daddy’s girl, but I always depended on my mama to lead me through life. And even now, I hope as a mama that my children continue to go to me so that I can continue to be their place of peace (and hopefully I can find mine because they drain me so!) Also, these lines:
“I close my eyes and see
an old Post Office building—
newspapers, greeting cards,
envelopes, stamps, and
faint scent of sealing wax.”
I was always fond of the post office because I used to love the smell and seeing all the varieties of stamps and the friendly workers.
Here is my poem. I hope I find my place.
Silent Wanderer
Aimlessly,
walking along this desolate path,
where I want to be is not here,
but “there”, wherever there is.
Meandering along this avenue of life,
uncertain of where I’m going.
They say home is where the heart is,
but my heart is not in it.
I crave for the peace I once had.
My brain is in overdrive.
The silent rides on the way to work,
just me and God.
Now my two children have joined the duo,
contributing useless noise and petty arguments.
At my solace, I hear the late night banter
of my husband and his Twitchers.
He’s wearing headphones and forgets
it’s in the wee hours of the morning.
When they go their separate ways,
it’s…peculiar.
Silence at home I used to long for,
but the quiet is too loud!
I hear everything,
EVERYTHING!
My thoughts of “Why haven’t you…”
The creak of the house, saying “Fix me up!”
The random, but on time sync of the neighbor’s dog chorus.
In all of this, I strive to be there.
And when I find “there”,
my tribe may be there also.
This walk,
continuous until forever,
Forever until…
I enjoyed the part where you mentioned your husband’s Twitchers. I, like many others, have been known to get carried away playing video games with my friends, staying up all night. It’s the little things in life that you don’t normally think about until something reminds you of it. Then, all the memories flood back.
Yes Jairus! I haven’t been a sound sleeper since I had children, so I hear EVERYTHING!
Green Lakes
Green Lakes
Your favorite walking place
You start off counterclockwise
The Onondaga way of life
Woodchips on the ground
A canopy of sugar maples, beech and basswood
To protect
Hearing the crunch beneath your feet
You look at Green Lake on your left
A meromictic lake
A lake in which the layers of the water
Don’t mix
Nodding at runners, walkers and dogs
You enter Round Lake
With its tuliptree cathedral
Remnant of a plunge pool of an enormous waterfall
That once existed
These lakes are emerald green
Bright, vivid, breathing
You take out a birthday card
And bury it under a tree
Looking at the lake
Where the layers don’t mix
Jennifer, this is such a perfect picture of Green Lakes that I can see it! Our haunt when my kids were little.
Love the image of burying the birthday card at the end. To me, it reminds me of an eco-friendly birthday that I received from a friend, that grew into flowers when planted. Not sure if that’s what you intended, but that’s what I pictured. 🙂
Great poem!
Jennifer, You brought me home today with your poem. I’m always longing for the lakes of CNY, especially in summer, and it isn’t a trip home without a romp around Onondaga (goose poop and all). I’m most intrigued by the last stanza. A buried birthday card has all my curiosities piqued!
Last year was my first walk at Green Lakes State Park. It is absolutely beautiful. The color of the lake was amazing. I didn’t realize that color existed in New York.
Jennifer, you took me there!!! I was thinking, at first, you were writing about one of the lakes in Michigan and so I, went to the website to add that destination to my list of places to visit this summer! But, alas, Green Lakes is in my former home state, but a lake I knew nothing about when I lived there. Oh well, I’ve been there now, through your vivid poem.
Leilya, I’m looking forward to the day we’ll go for a walk and talk again (perhaps sooner, rather than later). So wonderful to wake up to the perfect prompt for a Thursday morning…get outside, go for a walk, and write. That thannk you for sharing your bench with the rest of us.
Walking with Ger
~b.r.crandall
As Chris says,
Violence is a strange monster.
Today, the paper
reports cameras created
a confession.
It’s not enough, though.
You and Emmanuel
likely sing this
while sipping bourbon.
The scars are what get us this far.
I’ve only had privilege
the freedom to relocate by choice,
to remain sheltered
by books and to become brave
as a result of libraries.
Still, I watch Ukraine
as if it’s a Marvel movie.
Yes, empathy must remain a superpower.
I have to believe that,
even if I’ve never had to burn cow dung
to repel flies and mosquitos.
So walking with you today, Ger,
separate memories,
varying histories,
storytelling,
from rising suns…
from seeing them set —
is an adolescent loop
of finding solace
in the game.
This morning,
I’m wondering what the Paugussett Nation
called the Long Island Sound.
The blue sky offers optimism.
The breeze is more pessimistic.
And you tell me
the Nuer sing when they’re happy,
mourn when they’re sad,
and fight when they angry.
Nothing is left inside.
But I’m outside now.
trying to remake myself
a 1,000 times over,
carving
the world
for
meaning.
I see
a sandpiper
running along
the shoreline.
It’s all I see.
Bryan, this is beautiful! Thank you for all the truth here (and the video link, too!). “Yes, empathy must remain a superpower.” I agree, 100%. And know that you’re not alone “trying to remake [yourself] / a 1,000 times over, / carving / the world / for / meaning.” That’s me, too. Thank you for articulating this so well today!
Bryan, moving poem, especially moving with the link attached. I didn’t realize it was a video at first. Every stanza a gem. Fine work.
Oh my, Bryan. I’m not sure what to love most here – the truth that “I watch Ukraine as if it’s a Marvel movie” (as much as the photos and videos hurt, I recognize it’s not happening to me – though the earth should be able to protest for the waste and environmental impact alone), the scars that have brought us here (this video/music was new to me and is a gift), the remaking of self (yes, yes, yes), or the contemplation of what the first nation peoples would have seen and named. This is a beauty (and that video is going to work its way into my classroom).
Woohoo! What a treasure! I’ll take a humanity-sized dose of empathy as a superpower so I can pour it in our drinking water. So much to love and appreciate in your writing.
?
Bryan, thank you, thank you, thank you! I do hope we will take a walk together and talk… a lot, about everything. A special thank you for attaching a video. We need compassion so much in this world. The beauty alone cannot save it anymore, unfortunately. My heart cries every time I turn on the news in Ukrainian or English; the images are horrifying for us, living thousands miles away. My favorite line is the one that you turned into a link: “The scars are what get us this far.” Most of the time, it is difficult to understand until the tragedy hits close to home.
Oh, Leilya, as I read your words, I felt my shoulders drop, my stomach unclench, my face relax…I could truly feel your comfort in this space. And your last lines…oh my. I felt such a “welcome home,” such a peace. I thought immediately of a space that has made me feel the same way.
Green Cathedral
The gravel crunches
beneath my feet;
the near-cloudless sky
soars above,
tickled by the tippy-tops
of the tall pines ahead.
On my right, a grassy hillside;
on my left, a plunging drop
to the rocks below.
I walk, safe, on the path
in between.
I enter the brief pine forest,
peekaboo sunlight now dappling
around me,
pooling in splashes
before me.
On the other side,
through the forest,
lies the cathedral.
Rustic, splintery wooden
benches rush, pell-mell
toward the old wooden cross
in the front,
its outline framed
by the postcard picture
of the neighboring mountain range.
Just below this hallowed spot,
cows graze, unaware,
in the verdant meadow.
I breathe in…
Peace envelops me.
I walked this one with you, Julie. Your vivid imagery takes me to places and reminds me my various walks. I love that you “breathe in” finding yourself at peace. Thank you for writing with me this morning!
Just reading your poem brings me peace and relaxation. The woods are my “home”. I love your line “ the sky soars above, tickled by the tippy-tops of tall pines”. Such a creative way to view that. I would love to walk this with you.
Julie, these are the lines that got me,
the near-cloudless sky
soars above,
tickled by the tippy-tops
of the tall pines ahead.
Tippy-tops remind me of the very narrow tops of many of the pine trees here in Michigan. I can imagine how it would be like stand near one of the 30 ft tall Thuji Green Giant Arborvitae we have here. Thanks for the “tickled by the tippy-tops”. Made me smile. I’ve attached a photo for those unfamiliar with this species of pine tree.
Julie, soooo gorgeous! I want to be amongst the tippy-tops too!! ?
Leilya, thank you for hosting but more importantly for sharing your words and love for your home.
________
tip
toe
down the stairs
to layer
on rain gear
to avoid
exciting the
puppy
(nobody else
wags their
tail when
they see me
these days)
tip
toe
as I walk
the puppy
in the dark
light showers
awaken us,
two deer frozen
a few houses
down, staring
contest, the largest
“dogs” the puppy
has ever seen
tip
toe
as we return
home, street
lights, orange
reflect on the road
spring birds gossip
as we try
not to step on the
earthworms
inching, or maybe
tiptoeing to find
their own
break
Good morning, Stefani! I think these walks with your puppy are the best. I love your “tip toe” repeating as though I am tiptoeing with you.I especially like the final lines hinting that whoever or whatever we are, we are “tiptoeing to find/ their own/ break.”
Thank you for writing with me today!
I love the image of the deer frozen while your puppy watches these big “dogs” really lovely.
Your repeating of tip-toe brings the quietness of the morning through in your poem. It makes it feel like you are taking care not to disturb the awakening of the day for the rest of your world around you. No startling, just a peaceful rise in the morn.
Stefani, what a beautiful start to the morning. I love this tidbit of a glimpse of what you see today (the worms were with us and the rain and the gossiping birds – alas, no puppy here, though I imagine that staring contest). Thank you for this loveliness!
Leilya – thank you for your beautiful, beautiful poem and this prompt. I felt I was walking with you, breathing the fragrance of those flowers, to the final poignant line.
Granddaddy Walks with Me
Sunday afternoon
sidewalks aren’t crowded
no rush hour traffic
clogs the street
just a few cars
wait at the intersection
can’t walk over to Rose’s
at the corner today
to buy a toy
like my Slinky
or click-clacks,
glass amber spheres
suspended on a string
to pull back and hear
that loud CLACK CLACK
or a powder-blue
sachet ball made of satin
decorated like a lion’s head
with light blue googly eyes
and a light blue feather-mane
no, Rose’s is closed today
so is the drugstore
at the end of our row
no chocolate-covered cherries
or Peppermint Patties
or those caramel creams
that you love so
no, today we walk
hand-in-hand
across the street
while cars wait
at the lights
past the fire station
round back of the
Baptist church
to the playground
you let me climb
the big sliding board
not letting go
of my hand
until I am sitting at the top
you are there
at the bottom
when the sliding stops
you push me in the swing
until my feet touch the sky
I am a bird
flying so high
until the shadow
of the steeple-cross
grows long on the grass
hand-in-hand again
I watch our feet pass
back over the pavement
crossing the street
each step measured in time
of heart-to-heart beats
—oh, how yours to mine
still talks
so long after
our Sunday walks
Fran, I was with you every step of the way, and I also had amber clackers on a string. I heard they took them off the market when they began shattering in the eyes of children – – I’m so sorry about those kids’ eyes, and I’m glad we weren’t among the injured. They were fun. I wish they would come back in gorilla glass. The walk with your grandfather, hand in hand, is sweet and tender – – that playground, the security of the hand and the presence is felt at every turn. The shadow of the steeple symbolizes the shadows of lifespan, and somewhere beyond the now, here, today, those shadows linger and soothe us as we need those comforting reassurances from the roots of our past. You are the master of drawing pictures with words, and bringing all the emotions.
Fran, those heart to heart foot beats tug at me. I am walking next to you on this walk with your granddaddy. Such a perfect mix of images and memories
Thank you for writing with me today, Fran! I loved to “watch” you on those Sunday afternoon walks with your Granddaddy. Every stop, every place comes to life in your poem. My favorite lines are:
“you push me in the swing
until my feet touch the sky
I am a bird
flying so high”
This is every child’s dream.
Fran, this is a walk that captures both the stroll and the connection between you and your granddaddy. I imagine this as a picture book, each stanza another page as the narrative unfolds. You write the most beautiful images! Today’s feel leisurely as well, the moments like those measured steps counted in heart-to-heart beats (a metronome marking time).
Fran, the click-clacks! My hands would be black and blue from them and to think now what an awful toy they were! LOL.
I adore this because I never had a relationship with my grandfathers (one died young and the other was blind and died before I could really understand who he was). I see every step and stop along your walk and wish I were there.
Sweet feelings all over me! Thank you, Fran!
Leilya, your poem is an image filled map of your youth. And that last line takes me back there to that joy of greeting your parents!
I went back in time to my weekly walks with my husband where we connected and solved our little problems.
Four O’Clock Walk
It’s a perfect day
For a four o’clock walk
I’ll meet you at home
He messaged at noon
Our four o’clock walks
We’re a welcome break
A chance to leave work
An early escape
We’d meander through neighborhoods
quiet and quaint
Up and down hills
Before rush hour buzz
The pace was brisk
We’d chat and chatter
And sometimes just listening
To our huffing and puffing
We planned and we schemed
To do lists and goals
Solved problems that lingered
And plagued us once more
We’d arrive back home
refreshed and renewed
Our four o’clock walks
Brought a welcome retreat
Christine, what a treat to look forward to a four o’clock walk to solve problems, to refresh and renew the soul. I often think about how the British stop everything and have tea, and I wish we were a country that knew something about stopping every day to pause and reflect – to have tea, to take a walk, to say a prayer, to breathe. Just the pause of your walk (such irony) is beauty etched in time.
Thank you, Christine! I love your daily walking routine.Your four o’clock walks with your husband remind me my parents. Every evening they would do the same you did:
“We planned and we schemed
To do lists and goals
Solved problems that lingered
And plagued us once more”
It’s a sweet memory to hold on to when you need a break.
I love how reflective this was. I get the sense that there is loss associated with this poem but love the focus on the good times. A great reminder that we sometimes take for granted the time we have. Thank you for sharing these beautiful words, it was great to get to join you for your walk today!
Wow Rob – good noticing, says the widow…
Christine, I feel such comfort emanating from this poem, in the togetherness, the simple pleasures, the reliability. I know you must think of your husband often throughout each day; I imagine you think of him especially at four o’clock. My father used to get home at 10:15 each night. After he died, I often woke up at 10:15.
As a lover of long walks, this resonated with me. I love that it was something special between you and your husband.
?
Good morning, Leilya, what a lovely way to begin the day! I love your old post office and all the places you go when you close your eyes and go to find peace in your soul. I have two favorites that come to mind immediately.
Comfort Walk
old photo albums
bird and butterfly garden
places of comfort
The haiku form is perfect here
Kevin
Comfort indeed. Yes, haiku fits perfectly here!
Kim, I appreciate your consistent use and modeling of the haiku. Our places of comfort can span so many spaces.
A side note, I just watched an episode of Roar last night and it involved a woman (Nicole Kidman) who ate photos to relive memories–interesting is the only word I have to describe that show as of now but your poem made me relive that 30 minutes in front of a screen that I cannot get back:)
Well…..that’s an interesting lunch, isn’t it? Hard to digest that idea, but maybe those photos are delicious in contrast to the traditional sandwich:)
Oh, those old photo albums! Sometimes I get lost in them for hours. Thank you, Kim! I am afraid I will do get lost in them again, which today seems more exciting than grading 🙂 We, too, love to go to bird and butterfly gardens when our grandkids come to visit. The haiku works great here!
Kim, there’s a soft movement in each of your choices – I envision the pages turning in the photo albums, the wings of the birds and butterflies gently folding/unfolding. A perfect landing place for comfort.
Those old albums are places of comfort for me, too, Kim. As you know, few things comfort my soul like birds do — and nobody writes haiku like you! I read and am enveloped in peace.
Leilya, thank you for offering us the chance to meander today. I was most drawn to your post office and the scent of sealing wax (unexpected and specific) and the serenity of the bench, which felt both calm and energetic.
alonely was once a word
(an adverb for alone)
the idea of being
wholly oneself
is more collectible than one
more preferable than two
more comfortable than twelve
it is a gravitational pull
a moon drawing tidal waters
a yearning and youthing
a landing from toomuchness
“a yearning and youthing”
Yes …
Kevin
Alonely is my preferred state of being! *virtual hi-5* Love the last line;
alonely, a landing from toomuchness. I love that you have these words at the beginning and end of your poem. Being wholly oneself – and knowing how to love it – is a rare gift, and one that I didn’t truly understand or embrace until I was broken enough to receive the gift as I built back life from the jagged edges. You take me to a place here – – having what is needed, appreciating the self and the simple, valuing each moment…..so beautiful, Jennifer!
Oh, I love “alonely” and the connectedness of “toomuchness”–the self-awareness that can be brought up in a walk is uncomparable. Thank you for sharing today.
Well, Jennifer, yes, yes, yes. I now have this marvelous word: Alonely; so right and specifically precise…shaping a new word into your life and understanding the way you’ve done here, sculpting it out of a true space in our lives (if we’re really lucky) is sort of like stepping into a fourth dimension or knowing that white space and silence are filled to the brim with possibility. Marvelous poem. “…being/ wholly oneself,” indeed. And the “pull” is absolutely real. Here you are at dawn already pulling me right into that “landing.” Aaah, love it! Susie
Love your definition of “alonely,” Jennifer! It is definitely”the idea of being / wholly oneself.” Often I find myself to be in this state of “a yearning and youthing / a landing from toomuchness.” Thank you for a beautiful poem.
I am captivated by “alonely” and by your whole verse, Jennifer. I love the bubbling -ble adjectives, the gravitational-tidal connection, and the wholly fabulous e.e. cummings-esque thing you do with words. Pure delight – oh, how toomuchness pulls!
Jennifer,
Well this is truly brilliant! I love the whole poem, every line! I love summer for the time I get to be “wholly oneself” and away from “toomuchness” as much as possible!
?
Love the alonely and toomuchness!
Mountains hide
as boulders here,
a haphazard trail
of broken stone
abandoned by glaciers
not even listening anymore:
these shattered
pieces, scattered,
like toys in a boy’s room
— Kevin (after hiking through some interesting woods the other day)
Kevin, I’m drawn to the idea of broken stones no longer listening. I’m left to ponder the why of that, especially in connection to the scattered toys and what that might signify.
Kevin, I like how you bring in the history of the glaciers and their forming impact on the earth we walk today. That simile of the toys scattered like mountainous terrain is a vision – – one that absolutely fits perfectly.
Kevin, I like your use of personification of the mountains and their hiding. Thank you for sharing and enjoy your next hike.
Kevin — I particularly love the line and image that it evokes so clearly: “abandoned by glaciers/not even listening anymore”… mmm-mmm good! Keep walking and keep writing, it makes my day. Thank you! Susie
Thank you, Kevin! I love your beginning where you compare mountains to boulders that are shattered and scattered like boy’s toys. For some reason, I find myself wishing I could see them now from above..
“…scattered/ like toys in a boy’s room” = beautiful.
What a fabulous prompt! Thank you for such a place of peace and reflection in today’s writing. I love that the favorite place is a bench where stories are shared. How wonderful. And, this prompt fits perfectly with my Poetry Month project.
Good morning, Linda! Thank you for your kind response. I am glad you can use it with your students.