Andy Schoenborn is an award-winning author and high school English teacher in Michigan at Clare Public Schools. He focuses his work on progressive literacy methods including student-centered critical thinking, digital collaboration, and professional development. He is the President-Elect for the Michigan Reading Association, a two-time past-president of the Michigan Council of Teachers of English, and a Teacher Consultant for the Chippewa River Writing Project. His first book, co-authored with Dr. Troy Hicks, Creating Confident Writers was published in 2020. Follow him on Twitter @aschoenborn.
Inspiration
On Tuesdays and Thursdays my students experience fifteen minutes of open writing. Though a prompt is suggested they can write as openly as they choose. At the beginning of a semester they are hesitant and say things like “I’m not a writer;” “How long do we have to write?;” and “I’m no poet.” But, as they become more comfortable with words their perspectives shift and they ask “why do you write poems?”
I write poetry to laugh, to think, to question, and to express myself. It’s a healthy outlet and often one that traces through memories and hidden emotions. Poetry is where I find myself. In time, my students, too, find themselves in poetry — even, if on the surface, the structure doesn’t “look” like poetry.
When we watch Kyle “Guante” Tran Myhre perform his work “Why Do You Write Poems When Death is All Around Us?” we are better able to understand that poetry can be simple and powerful. All the writer has to do is be willing to listen to the words welling up inside of them.
Below you will find the first three stanzas. Here is “Why Do You Write Poems When Death Is All Around Us?” written in its entirety.
Why Do You Write Poems When Death Is All Around Us?
by Kyle “Guante” Tran Myhre
Why Do You Write Poems When Death is All Around Us? Because when I was your age, the fighters in my family who would have taught me otherwise fell asleep beneath a heavy, black shroud. Because after that, the only person who would share their food with me happened to be a poet, so I’m kind of just stuck, which is probably why most people write poems in the first place.
Why Do You Write Poems When Death is All Around Us? Because my eyesight isn’t very good. And that makes for a short-lived mercenary or militia fighter but is perfect for an artist because I can’t see the audience well enough to get nervous.
Why Do You Write Poems When Death is All Around Us? Because even if I didn’t, even if I were the greatest swordsman on this moon, all rippling muscles and whirling blades, death would still be all around us. You can’t beat death, you can only dance a little more slippery, drum a little more timelessly, hold that note beyond your breath, and hope to find a home in its echo.
Process
Find a space to listen to Guante’s poem then consider writing to your own question.
Begin with “Why do you write poems when…”, then answer the question. Continue the next stanza with “Why do you write poems when…” and continue the process until you come to an answer that satisfies you
Andy’s Poem
Why Do You Write Poems When You Could Be Doing Something Constructive?
by Andy Schoenborn
Because I enjoy the company of myself. To tune into my being with nothing but the tap of a keyboard or the scratch of a pen. To dig and scratch away at the inner workings of what has built this life.
Why do you write poems when you could be doing something constructive? Because, writing poems is constructive. Writing poetry tears down walls. Writing poetry sets the stage. Writing poetry creates a scene. Writing poetry shapes perspectives. Writing poetry builds others up. Writing poetry reveals. With poetry I tinker and build and repurpose words.
Why do you write poems when you could be doing something constructive? Because my limbs have weakened with time and, yet, my mind is sharp. When my arms are no longer strong enough to hold you I may rely upon my words to wrap you in forgiveness, warmth, and hope. One day you may look back and wonder about me and there I’ll be — all of me — written on a page, a scramble of letters, to help you better understand how deeply you were loved.
Your Turn
Now, scroll to the comment section below to write your own poem. (This is a public space, so you may choose to use only your first name or initials depending on your privacy preferences.) Not ready? That’s okay. Read the poems already posted for more inspiration. Ponder your own throughout the day. Return later. And, if the prompt does not work for you, that is fine. All writing is welcome. Just write something. Also, please be sure to respond to at least three writers. Oh, and a note about drafting: Since we are writing in short bursts, we all understand (and even welcome) the typos and partial poems that remind us we are human and that writing is always becoming. If you’d like to invite other teachers to write with us, tell them to subscribe.
I LOVE this prompt so much! Thanks, Andy.
Why do you write poems when it doesn’t make you money?
Because fuck capitalism.
Because art is worth more than what someone will pay for it.
Because it helps me make meaning of life, identity, and why we’re even here at all.
Because I like it.
Because I don’t care if you don’t understand it.
Because I should get to have some things that are just for me.
Because I wouldn’t know who I am if I didn’t
and neither would you.
Hi Chea,
I’m scrolling through past prompts looking for a line to inspire today’s poem and I came across your poem and I love it! “Because fuck capitalism” might be my favorite first line ever! And the ending 2 lines are super powerful! So glad I stumbled across your poem!
Andy thank you for this fun prompt. I enjoyed thinking about the reasons why I write poems.
Why do you write poems???
Poetry helps me process the world around me
Poetry soothes my soul
Poetry connects me to other poets
Poetry helps me process the world around me
DeAnna,
All of these are reasons I write, too. Sometimes simplicity says it all. 🙂
DeAnna, this captures it perfectly. “Poetry connects me to other poets” I love that we can do this together!
Andy, thank you for introducing me to Guante and this gut-punch of a poem. I emulated the tone and language of his poem to write my own because as I listened to him so much of what he said spoke deeply to me. “Because when I was your age, the fighters in my family who would have taught me otherwise fell asleep beneath a heavy, black shroud.” – this hit me hard because I wrote my first poem when I was 12yo after a family member passed due to non-natural causes. So here goes:
Why do you write poems when your life is such a mess?
Because only through poems can I sift through the chaos to find order.
Because only through poems can I make the mess make sense.
Why do you write poems when your life is such a mess?
Because a pen, a pencil, a keystroke is at least within my control.
Because when I string words together I feel a little of my power restored.
Why do you write poems when your life is such a mess?
Because when I put pen to paper, I breathe a little easy.
Because when I put pen to paper, my shoulders relax, my neck unstiffens.
Why do you write poems when your life is such a mess?
Because… my life is such a mess.
Saba,
I too feel like I breathe a bit easier during stressful time when I write a poem. Thank you for sharing today.
Why Do You Write Poems When You Are On Vacation
Because life is challenging every single day
With so much to accomplish and no time to waste
People demanding so much
My time, my energy, my freedom
I write to process the difficulties of this world,
The celebrations,
My worries and feelings,
The things I see:
Daffodils blooming brightly on the side of the road,
Leaves blowing gently on the breeze,
An aunt on a ventilator,
The cardinal perching on the side mirror of my car
I write because it is easier than speaking sometimes,
So that no one can tell me I’m incorrect
Or make me justify my feelings
I write to be me
Heidi,
You have so many wonderful reasons for writing poetry. Thank you for sharing today
Andy, I guess in your neck of the woods you are probably fast asleep. I hate that I can’t compose my poems before work. Sorry if I missed you today. Yay if you’re still awake. 🤗
I enjoyed the prompt and how it made me ponder soooo many options. I am not thrilled with my draft but I know it has potential if I spend more time with it. The lines of your poem that made me chuckle:
I chuckled because I think my legs are sharp but my mind is weakening by the hour!! 🤣
Why Do You Write Poems When You Could Be The Next One Killed?
Why do you write poems when you could be the next one killed?
I write poems because death is afraid of poetry, unless it’s an elegy being read aloud to stir up waves the sorrow our loved ones hoped to stifle.
Because every time I type the name of someone who was shot to death, I believe their spirit lands on my page and sends me superpoetpowers.
Because Tamir and Trayvon and Ahmaud and Alton can’t write poems, stories, or their names anymore.
Why do you write poems when you could be the next one killed?
I write poems because if I am the next one killed, my poems stored on Ethical ELA, in my Google Drive, and on the coffee-stained pages of my Button Poetry Journal will outlive me and teach the world about Joy.
Because when I’m in heaven, my spirit will land on the pages of all my poet friends to give them my superpoetpowers.
©Stacey L. Joy, April 17, 2023
*waves of sorrow (typo due to weakend brain)
Stacey, I just want to hug you right now. You are the voice of those who cannot tell there stories anymore. Your poems already teach me about Joy. Love the final line! Hugs 🤗
Stacey, This is wonderful! I love, love, love, so many of these lines: “I write poems because death is afraid of poetry,” “[to] teach the world about Joy,” “[to] land on the pages of all my poet friends to give them my superpoetpowers”! Thank you for this!
Death is afraid of poetry.
I love this line and will cherish it. <3
Stacey, wow! I just want to repeat these here:
and
And what Leilya said is so true, you are already teaching the world about Joy! And I want to hug you now too.
Stacey, thank you for this and for saying their names, reminding us of the power of poetry and giving us hope through your words.
And you, Stacey, will be on my page forever! Brilliant poem and that STRONG Stacey voice needs to be heard, to be read, to be indelible for the futures of us all. I love you, Stacey, and we will not be silent. <3 Susie
Andy, This was a great prompt! I know my student writers will love it. Thank you!
Why Didn’t You Write Today?
Because I’m lazy. Some days I’d rather
scroll through TikTok than bother even to eat lunch–
let alone heft that leaden pencil and
push it, Sisyphus, across the page
and again.
Because I’m busy. My day’s ball of yarn is
tangled with snags twisting back on
yesterday’s dropped stitches.
You mean I’m not doing enough
already?
Because I’m tired. Sometimes the mere/soft/shy slant
of bronze sliding between clouds slows my breath,
I long for nothingness
floating above wheat fields.
Because I’m trite. My paltry pantry holds only the stalest fare (Sisyphus? Sheesh.)
My hobbling brat makes
Bradstreet’s look like
the golden child.
And yet (the volta!)
No other lazy/busy/tired/trite poet holds her
pen at quite my angle. So on days
I do write
my little lines
are mine
all mine.
I just love this image, Allison- My day’s ball of yarn is
tangled with snags twisting back on
yesterday’s dropped stitches.
it makes me wonder how I’ve spent my day.
Allison, what honesty! Because I’m lazy, busy, tired, trite. And then the turning “and yet”
Yes to our writing being mine, all mine. It reminds me of Margaret’s prompt last week.
I’ve just been off reading Anne Bradstreet; I’m always learning from the allusions of the poets here.
Oh my gosh, Allison!!! The allusions are marvelous. I slapped a wide smile at Sisyphus pushing the pen, right off. And then you have more!!! Bradstreet, ha! But the voice of “mine/ all mine” had me rubbing my hands together and reading this out loud. Ha! I woke up my Rayo ( she was asleep in the crate), and now she thinks that you are her favorite poet! She wants to play with your pen! Love it! Love you! Susie
Oh my gosh, Allison!!! The allusions are marvelous. I slapped a wide smile at Sisyphus pushing the pen, right off. And then you have more!!! Bradstreet, ha! But the voice of “mine/ all mine” had me rubbing my hands together and reading this out loud. Ha! I woke up my Rayo ( she was asleep in the crate), and now she thinks that you are her favorite poet! She wants to play with your pen! Love it! Love you! Your neighbor down one state 😄
Allison, I love the conversational tone of this and the imagery of bronze sliding between clouds. Thank you for sharing.
I am with you on this 100% Allison!
I love the ending!! Precious! 💙
Andy, thank you so much for hosting and for mentor poems. I loved your poem, and this line—“When my arms are no longer strong enough to hold you I may rely upon my words to wrap you in forgiveness, warmth, and hope”—is absolutely beautiful. The prompt about poetry and its importance is timeless.
It seems my poet friends have found all possible reasons for writing poems, so mine won’t bring anything new.
I Am, Therefore I Write
When the world crashes
under my feet, I write a poem.
When my heart is strayed in a desert
of pain, I write a poem.
When I want to be close to someone,
who crossed over, I write a poem.
When I want to swim
in the words, I write a poem.
When joy overtakes
my existence, I write a poem.
When my seven-year-old granddaughter
calls for advice, I write a poem.
When I want to thank all of you,
#verselovers, I write a poem.
This is lovely, Leilya. I really like your format. It works with your short and to-the-point stanzas. The first two stanzas really spoke to me.
Leilya, I’m with you on so many of these reasons: to make sense of the world when it “crashes / under my feet” to be “close to someone, / who crossed over” to explore and play with language by “swim[ming] / in the words.” You are spot-on with these! Thank you for articulating them so well tonight!
Oh, Leilya, thank you! This is beautiful. One surprising line that makes me smile is:
Delicious! And I love #verselovers!
Leilya, I appreciate the variations of moments throughout your day/life that lead you to write poetry. Thank you too!
Ahhhhhh! In love with the whole darn poem!
Why do you write poems sitting on your porch? Because the open space before me calls for my words? And I answer with feet planted on the wall and coffee inches from my fingers.
Why do you write poems sitting on your porch? The quiet begs to be filled and doesn’t care if sounds replace the words printed on the page.
Why do you write poems sitting on your porch? The light moves across the lawn. Dark patches shift to lighter ones. How do the branches interpret the sun’s movements? And what are they trying to say to me?
Why do you write poems sitting on your porch? The subtle shifts I notice in the space I call my backyard remind me that change is always possible. And why I stepped outside today.
Jamie, I’m glad you “stepped outside today” to write this beauty. The changing light you have captured beautifully. There are so many magical phrases like “coffee inches from my fingers” and “quiet begs to be filled.”
I think anything that “remind(s) me that change is always possible.” is good and poetry inside or outside can do that. Thank you for this.
Why Do You Write Poetry
I write poetry so I can play with words, and themes, and ideas, and voice, and…
I write poetry to try new processes, and forms, and structures, and craft, and…
I write poetry, most importantly, simply because I can.
Yes, Donetta, “most impotently, simply because [you] can.” I like brevity of your poem and reasons for writing. Thank you for sharing!
Donnetta, I like the ellipses at the end of the first two lines because there are always new things to play with and new things to try, so the … really adds to the meaning of your poem! So glad you are here today.
Why Do You Write Poems When…
By Mo Daley 4/17/23
Why do you write poems when you have grades due?
Because I need just a few minutes for myself once in a while. I mean, you can’t expect me to bring home work every single night after working MORE than a full day. And guess what? I think writing actually makes me a better teacher.
Why do you write poems when you could be binging this new, cool show that everyone is talking about?
Because sometimes I have some things to say, and poeming helps clear my head. Writing makes me feel like I’ve accomplished something, even if no one reads my poem that day. For me, writing is being life, not watching life.
But seriously, no one reads poetry anymore, so why bother?
Sit down. Writing poetry is what I do for myself.
Hi, Mo, than I was thinking about the prompt earlier, I, too, wanted to note that I write because I am a teacher, and teaching writing without writing is impossible, or impossibly hypocritical. So I am right there with you. You are a better teacher because of that.
“Writing is being“ is another profound idea. If you look at the title of my poem, you’ll see we are channeling the same idea. Thank you for your words today!
Mo, wow! I love the interviewer’s questions in your poem, especially that last one and your clipped answer of “Sit down.” Awesome!
And this wonderful reason to not binge on that new show: “writing is being life, not watching life.” Brava!
Andy, Each line of your poem resonates with my own reasons for writing. This line especially: “To dig and scratch away at the inner workings of what has built this life.” I love that. Thank you.
Why do you write poems?
The siren call of papers to grade,
competing with the chores around the house,
a desperate need for quiet brain time,
and a perpetual dearth of sleep
create a constant state of emergency
in my overfull consciousness.
But when I sit down to write a poem
the noises quiet, quelling the cries
of ever present life and work demands,
allowing my mind to focus
if only for a few moments of peace
while I focus on the right word,
the most favorable line breaks,
and the cadence of a good verse.
I love the way those last two lines sound. Thanks for taking time to create this today despite demands of the month of April
Your first stanza races down each line. Words like competing, desperate, perpetual, constant push more than flow. And in the second stanza the words slow down to sit, and quiet, focus, peace. The right words have a great impact.
Cara,
I love how you captured the way writing poetry shuts out the noise of our lives. This line “a constant state of emergency” was spot on. I, too, rush from one crisis(? really?) to the next. Poetry forces me to shut off that (self-imposed?) fire hydrant! THANK you!
Cara, your poem is so relatable. In our overpacked schedules, this might be the only quiet time to focus on ourselves and the words. Like, Rachelle, I love the closing lines. Thank you!
Cara,
I am aware of your process of avoiding grading by writing a poem or cleaning your already clean house. I enjoyed how your line “noises quite, quelling the cries” that is often how I feel when I knit.
Why do you write poems?
For the same reason I read them,
Not for the carefully choreographed
Arrangement of words on the page,
But for the space,
All of that wide, open breathing space.
Katrina,
Yes! This! “But for the space, / All of that wide, open breathing space.” Just YES!
WOW. In so few words, you gave me a full wave of rethinking. Poetry gives us space in such literal and figurative measures. Thank you for opening my eys to this tonight. <3
I like that, Allison. Yes, literal and figurative space. Lovely thought.
Oh, yes, I love that space too, Katrina. I’m glad you gave it a poem today. “wide, open breathing space” Beautiful!
Andy–what a fun prompt! I knew right away that I would write about writing poetry with my young students. I love that they can’t wait to study our weekly poem–and can’t wait to write their own poems (even when their poems sometimes turn into stories that seem to never end, just like those they tell all day long!). Of course, I’m still teaching phonics and supporting students as they learn to read…but poetry, now that’s a non-negotiable!
Why Do You Write Poems When…
Why do you write poems with your students when you could be teaching phonics? Because poetry is playing tag with words, chasing them through your mouth, and your ears, and your eyes until you capture them with your pencil and wrestle them onto the page. Poetry squeals with delight and leaves us all breathless–we can’t wait to write again tomorrow.
Why do you write poems with your students when you could be teaching phonics? Because poetry lets us build words like they are made of Legos. We fit the pieces we already know and figure out which new pieces to push in. Sometimes our word buildings fall down and we pick up the pieces and try again, using what we know to help us expand and stretch. Poetry comes in all sizes so we can start small, building confidence and skills until we are ready for the 1000-brick set.
Why do you write poems with your students when you could be teaching phonics? Because writing with young poets is like planting a garden. You amend the soil, plant plenty of seeds, and make sure the watering system is functioning. Pay attention, pick out the weeds when they creep in, and be ready for fresh ideas ready to harvest. Don’t tend too closely, let their roots dig deep and spread wide. Give them space to explore and experiment. Let them loose and watch them bloom.
Together we become a community of writers. We cheer each other on, prop up those who are drooping, lean in to those who have found the sunny spot. Some days we race each other to the finish line, other days we meander uncovering new word combinations, new ideas, new understandings as we listen and learn from each other. Mostly we breathe in the energy and joy of writing and exhale poems.
Blog version (with a student poem draft): https://thinkingthroughmylens.com/2023/04/17/why-do-you-write-poems-when-npm23-day-17/
Kim, I am so glad I found your poem tonight! My heart swells to know there are teachers “out there” helping our youngest ones discover the joy of words. I LOVED this line: “Poetry is playing tag with words, chasing them through your mouth, and your ears, and your eyes until you capture them with your pencil”
Kim, wonderful! I love imagining your little ones and you doing this: “poetry is playing tag with words” and “poetry squeals with delight and leaves us all breathless”
And that ending: “Mostly we breathe in the energy and joy of writing and exhale poems.”
Your student’s poem “Shells Twinkle” is precious! “Or did you hear a seal roar in the navy blue sky?” Wonderful!
IF I DID NOT WRITE POEMS
If I did not write poems,
my head would pop,
and the spaghetti inside
would noodle out onto the floor,
and who I am
would look like gelatinous pasta
without the sauce and meatballs.
If I did not write poems
I’d borrow from the chickens
that organ — the crop, the craw —
where I’d peck and scratch and ruminate
storing what I figured might matter;
I’d need a gizzard to help me chew
the manna of memories,
the stories, the curses, the ghosts,
the jokes, the confusions,
or else, where would it all go?
If I did not write poems,
I’d have to take up bungie jumping,
to shake out all the screaming
to remind me to change my underwear
because my mind and my body
wound no longer be in synch,
and then donate my remaining parts
[because I know I would die:
I’d have that one bungie cord with a tear]
to the shark tank.
If I did not write poetry,
my cousins and kids and friends
would wonder
what’s the matter with that crazy-pants
woman who walks her dog
twenty-three hours a day,
she doesn’t seem quite right,
does she hear voices,
she’s mumbling.
There is no if.
by Susie Morice, April 17, 2023©
Susie,
As you often do, you’ve created a poem so full of wisdom and humor and ideas that just make me nod, shake my head, draw in my breath. I really love this line:
Fantastic! I love this! It is so clever!
Susie,
This is a poem I wished I could have written today, but today won and I couldn’t think this beautifully/mic droppingly well. Thank you for saying it so much better than I could have.
Oh my goodness, Susie! I am in awe of your poem and all the rich images and fun word play that makes your poem so phenomenal! I can relate to the mumbling! Laughed at the first image of your head popping and the voices calling you crazy pants. Your humor and craft is pure delight!
Susie, I smiled knowingly at “she doesn’t seem quite right, / does she hear voices, / she’s mumbling.” LOL. That’s me, too! This poem was so much fun. I loved your opening stanza: “If I did not write poems, / my head would pop, / and the spaghetti inside / would noodle out onto the floor.” So funny! Please keep “cookin’ that pasta” and mumbling to yourself and then, of course, keep sharing it with us!
Thank you, Andy, for this prompt. As my colleague and I were lamenting about more rain, I realized I had the perfect spark for me. I loved the second stanza of your poem. Poetry is constructive! This is my favorite line: “With poetry I tinker and build and repurpose words.”
Why do you write poems when all it does is rain? Because there will be a time when we wish it would rain more. When the smell of petrichor is so craved and the last bit of water is fought over, we will wish to have danced, sang, and collected drops on our tongues.
Why do you write poems when all it does is rain? Because words on the page force me to see the good even when it’s cloudy day after day after day. Droplets crash against the windows and wind howls through the barren branches as I crash the keyboard letters and ideas howl through synapses in my brain. In the end, it’s all poetry.
Rachelle,
Yes! The rain is both beloved and abhorred. You created visions of the beauty of rain in our damp state and your final line is perfect: “In the end, it’s all poetry.”
Rachelle,
Yes!! I enjoyed your playful tone about what feels like never ending rain. You’ve done a wonderful job reminding me there will be times I’ll ask for rain, even as I’m looking out at a dark clouds that look like they are thinking about raining now.
Andy, thanks for the great prompt. I can see sharing this with students and getting some impressive results.
Why do we write poetry when this is an oral communication class?
Because poetry is meant to be heard out loud. Poetry communicates so much we struggle to say out loud. We’re scared to stand and speak in front of a room like we’re scared to write and call ourselves poets.
Why do we write poetry when this is an oral communication class?
Because poetry invites us to say more about our experiences, our feelings than any other medium. You will more coherently articulate your thoughts once you’ve practiced the patience required to find the right word, the right image, the right form when communicating who you are.
Why do we write poetry when this is an oral communication class?
Because we write poetry to say what needs to be said.
Laura — It surely resonates…”what needs to be said.” YES! Do share it with students. What some of them would write would be interesting at the end of a school years when you’ve offered the opportunity to let poetry flourish. I so wish more teachers had done that for me. Susie
I feel like I can hear those students in class asking this question, and the answers are spot-on. I especially like this line: “Poetry invites us to say more about our experiences, our feelings than any other medium” Thanks for sharing!
In the first stanza I love the idea of being scared to call ourselves poets. Aren’t we all? And in the second response I love the idea of once you’ve practiced patience.
Andy,
Thanks for this great prompt and your beautiful poem.I found these lines especially moving “When my arms are no longer strong enough to hold you I may rely upon my words to wrap you in forgiveness, warmth, and hope.”
Why I write poems with my students when everyone else is obsessing about testing?
I write poems with my students because I want them to know they are more than one test on one day.
I write poems with my students because poetry can be argument an activism just like an essay, only cooler.
I write poems with my students because it permits them to be loud and visible
and sometimes students just need to write their tears
I write poems with my students because sometimes poetry is quiet
I write poems with my students because poetry has more teeth than a test and more soul.
I write poems with my students because their words will remain long after the test has come and gone.
Tammi, I’m sure your students appreciate you inviting them to write poetry—especially during testing season 🙄 All of these reasons are so good for writing poetry but the line about poetry being “argument and activism” made me go “Yes!!”
Oh, how I love the idea of writing poetry with students rather than obsessing about testing! Bravo, to you! You have so many gorgeous reasons to do so. Beginning each line with the repetion of “I write poems with my students because” makes this almost a chant, a powerful chant, a call to action.
Tammi, write their tears – oof! Such truth. And I love the idea of poetry having more teeth than a test. Every bit of this about poetry/writing over tests spells out the why. Beautifully stated!
Tammi, all of the above! This in itself was a persuasive argument as to why we should not stress about testing. The penultimate line got me: “I write poems with my students because poetry has more teeth than a test and more soul.” Thanks for sharing this today (I test with students next week)
Yes! I love this Tammi! I also wrote about writing poems with my students. And you definitely capture my sentiments. “I write poems with my students because it permits them to be loud and visible and sometimes students just need to write their tears” All the right reasons to write poems with your students.
Why I Write Poems
Why do I write poems when
I could be cleaning house,
chatting on the phone,
eating my breakfast?
Why do I write poems when
I could be outside pulling weeds,
baking delicious cookies
or petting my cat?
I write poems because
i’d rather not read the newspaper
(It makes me hurt too much to tell.)
I write poems because
it organizes my emotions,
settles my stomach,
begins my day with peace,
helps me vent my frustrations.
I write poems
to express my love
to give thanks
to avoid doing other work
to share unspoken words with you
I write poems
to give me a chance to think,
to know myself,
to show off,
to brag.
Me, too. That’s why we get along so well, Susan.
“write poems
to give me a chance to think,
to know myself,
to show off,
to brag.”
I get to brag about the persons who have helped me learn so much that my students think I’m pretty smart! What more can one ask of an opportunity to share thanks than in a poem where we must write succinctly? Take care, my sister.
Susan, I just love your poem and your sincerity! Your reasons are quite relatable, especially I enjoyed the lines:
“I write poetry because
it organizes my emotions,
settles my stomach,
begins my day with peace,
helps me vent my frustrations.”
I also love the final stanza. Thank you for sharing!
This is lovely. Those first two stanzas, when you are questioning – why write poems – almost sound like you are debating the question (and I am debating baking delicious cookies versus my own poetry, hmm?); I like how you then switch to an authoritative, clear voice, “I write poems,” with so many excellent reasons.
Susan, I feel so many of these reasons too—particularly: “because it organizes my emotions.” I never would have put “organize” and “emotions” together like you have but you are spot on—one more reason to write poetry!
Susan, thank you for sharing “unspoken words” with us. I love the honesty in your poem.
Andy, thank you for introducing me to a new poet. Guante’s mathematics stanza is just gold. In yours, I absolutely love how you added in the part about you being able to make someone feel loved through your words even after you can no longer phsycially. Beautiful.
Why do you poetry when you should be grading 103 essays?
Because I’ve become a procrastinator and I’ll gladly accept my poetry priority.
Because commenting on students’ hearts is more important than feedback on how well a student explained Bradbury’s use of figurative language in All Summer in a Day.
I’d much rather read a student’s own use of figurative language like:
“I take out my heart and let it air out
Make my strength from the doubt”
which was about basketball
and because I was amazed and because I want to read things like this as soon as possible and because I freaking love basketball and this kid.
Because multiple students keep asking me over and over if I read/heard their spoken word yet because they clearly can’t wait to know what I thought about it and because not one has asked me anything about their essays.
Because how would I know about Kyle “Guante” Tran Myhre and Hanif Abdulrraqib, and Brad Aaron Modlin and haiku sonnets and sijo form and so many other things if I hadn’t been here, in this space? How would I be able to share this with others? (Yes, Bradbury is a boss but modern, relatable poets are arguably more important. Because I don’t want this to turn into another what did I miss.
Because who wouldn’t want to read a poetry anthology in process described as four poems, each about a girl’s friends. First she compares to earth, second she compares to water, third she compares to light, the the fourth friend is herself, a flower. As beautiful as Margot’s poem was, I need to dedicate my time to student creativity like this.
Because how would I be able to express my feelings about a certain person when expressing certain feelings about anyone or anything just doesn’t come out naturally verbally for me. These type of thoughts stay in my head – writing is my means and probably always will be. That’s okay. If you want to know me, read my poetry.
Because my students gave me the worse trouble while writing their essays. Then they read some of my poetry and I magically haven’t had a behavior problem since. So who says poetry can’t perform miracles? Because they do.
Angie, what a relief! Your students realize that you understand what it means to write on demand, and you’ve done it and survived! Keep up the good work!
Angie –Yes! I totally agree, I would much rather read and comment on my student’s poetry rather than an essay on figurative language. After all synthesis in the form of creating a poem is a higher level of Bloom’s taxonomy anyways, right? So much more engaging!
Angie, you didn’t have to convince me. I am with you all the way. But this “Because I don’t want this to turn into another what did I miss” completely stole my attention. Brilliant! Thank you for always taking the students’ side!
What a wonderful poem! So many awesome reasons. There is no clearer sign of student engagement than, “asking me over and over if I read/heard their spoken word yet because they clearly can’t wait to know what I thought” – this is so great. I am SO happy for your students, that they have you!
Why Do You Write Poems When Your Mind is Battered By The World?
Why do you write poems when your mind is battered by the world?
It is an escape
into my thoughts
pushing the cacophony of life away
for a mere hour or so
allowing me to hear my inner whisper
giving it space to louden
and reacquaint myself with me.
Why do you write poems when your mind is battered by the world?
As each word is handwritten on the page
my emotions gain a place to live.
Anger, hurt, confusion,
worry and exhaustion,
turn a whirlpool over the page
accepting the thoughts I would never share aloud.
Why do you write poems when your mind is battered by the world?
It releases angst
transforming it to creativity,
opening heart and mind
to view this world beyond our humanness.
scribing what could come to be.
CM,
Indeed, our minds are battered, so we need poetry. The coldest of all the cold in your wise words are these:
“reacquaint myself with me.”
I love this idea that poetry teaches us about ourselves.
This is beautiful. You captured what I was thinking with your words, especially with the ability to “turn a whirlpool over the page” and “pushing the cacophony of life away.” Well described!
“It releases angst/transforming it to creativity” — This is so true! Emotions can certainly be a powerful muse.
I love this idea of allowing one little hour to lose oneself in poetry, and “my emotions gain a place to live.” Just wonderful!
Why I wrote poems when death was all around me
After grandpa died, I couldn’t stop writing poems.
I wrote and wrote and wrote; then woke up
in the middle of the night and wrote some more
poems about being there, hours before
he passed, the last things he said,
how frail he looked, how he was still
my grandpa about the kittens being born
in the garage while he laid dying in his
own bed because they didn’t have time
to transfer him to the bed the hospital brought.
“When I can’t go to the bathroom
by myself anymore, I’m out” he had said
and I guess he took that literally and I wrote
poems about him ripping out his
oxygen tubes how it seemed he chose
to die; he wouldn’t wait for the rest
of his kids to get there, Mike had come, Jane, Amanda
like he asked and it was time, he chose
a quiet moment when just Grandma was
there holding his hand to pass and I wondered
in my poems about what she said and if
she cried and how I wish could see
where he is now and maybe if I kept writing
poems, death would let me be and
I could cry.
Those poems you wrote must have captured the pure feelings of losing a loved one. I am glad that poetry was there as a way for you to walk through this time of a whirlwind of emotions. I couldn’t write for months after losing my mom and sister. It took a long time for me to get back to being to put words on paper.
This is so simply so tender and beautiful.
Wow what a powerful juxtaposed image here: “about the kittens being born
in the garage while he laid dying in his
own bed” and a beautifully heartfelt poem. Thank you for sharing!
Dear Rachel, My husband died about two months ago. I have been so blessed to be able to write poetry during the emotions of death. You explain so well how writing, writing, writing can hope to push death away and let one be.
Rachel — This is so heart-wrenching. I’ve been there myself. When my mother passed writing poetry was the way I dealt with my grief. I am so sorry for you loss.
I am moved to tears by this; such a beautiful testimony to the power of poetry. I was at my father’s bedside as he lay dying and when he passed…I, too, wrote poetry. It is a way to capture this liminal time, I think. This is so dear, so beautiful:
So sorry for your loss.
Rachel, like “the kittens being born in the garage,” your poetry is life-affirming.
Rachel, your poem is so moving and rich. The memories of your grandpa, told so honestly and in a long stream of thoughts and feelings is beautiful. “…and maybe if I kept writing poems, death would let me be and / I could cry.” Wow. This is so touching, and thank you for sharing it with us.
I write a haiku sonnet to…..
embrace precious hands,
memories, a newborn babe,
heal wounds, burn grief, weep
capture cardinal
wings, shadows looming beneath
snowy evergreens
unleash fears, reveal
injustices buried deep,
expose tender truths
dark whispers set loose
on a blustery spring day
Barb Edler
17 April 2023
Barb,
I love both the celebration of form and the listing of all a poem can capture. By employing the haiku sonnet, you honor the brevity and immediacy of poetry while paying homage to the way the world creates paradigms (forms) that we can mush against, as does a sonnet written with haikus, but it also gives us the freedom to reframe and reformat the world and ideas. As always, your language is ethereal and full of gorgeous images. Love the concluding couplet.
Barb, a lovely form of choice and your words are glorious indeed! burning grief and capturing shadows looming beneath snowy evergreens – and the dark whispers set loose….gorgeous, my friend, all these reasons to write a Haiku sonnet.
Barb – gorgeous haiku sonnet. I feel the newborn’s rose-petal skin (few things are as lovely) and oh, the fire of a cardinal’s wings, lifting one’s spirits on the darkest day! So many beautiful images, freedoms, and overcomings in every line.
Barb,
I love the way you’ve captured all the precious moments of life in your haiku sonnet. Beautiful!
Barb — Yes, can I just add my name to your list… each of these reasons is so very true. I love the idea of a poem that “expose[s]” especially. And “burn[ing] grief… especially because nothing seems to lessen grief except the time we spend with writing the poem that sorts through the mess that doesn’t seem to come any other way… well, not for me. And maybe not for you. The verbs are just right! Hugs, Susie
Barb, you have captured so much beauty here – love “capture cardinal/wings” divided onto two lines, that newborn baby, the tender truths, the shadows looming beneath – everything about this poem…this is what poetry does, it embraces all.
Barb, what a gorgeous haiku sonnet, filled with beautiful images like a haiku would–“capture cardinal wings,” for instance.
This line is so impactful: “heal wounds, burn grief, weep”
Why do you write poems
when you should be
revising an article?
Because my heart
is broken by critique.
And that makes for
an avoidance-ridden hour
of cleaning toilets or blowing
hot air into my keyboard
to scatter crumbs,
but is perfect for a poet
whose heart mends
in the crafting of
internal rhymes
reviving fortified ventricles
to pump poetic possibilities
into second drafts.
Oh, Sarah. My heart is with your heart today. (Please know that I am able to help with those critiques). Poetry writing is heart mending. And ventricle fortifying. I also felt and referenced the heart in my words today. (I’ve been known to avoidance clean too!)
Sarah, ahhh….I can so relate to the “avoidance-ridden hour”. Your second stanza has me hurting for you. Nuts with people who write harsh critiques. I love how you end with the power writing poetry provides so that you can move onto the second draft. Yes to “pum poetic possibilities”. Wonderful poem!
Sarah, cleaning toilets and scattering crumbs do sound preferable to article critique…..I like the way you used ventricles and pump poetic possibilities – – those images help see the motion of life in the writing.
Sarah,
I love how your crafted poem feels alive through the “fortified ventricles pumping poetic possibilities”. The poet’s heart certainly mends in the creation of poetry.
Oh, Sarah….these lines resonated with me today:
as it is the reality of so many of us living our academic life. But in your case, the poetic life, too….the pro-teacher life…the young adult literature life. Your magic is every where and I truly appreciate it.
I love poetry as work avoidance! Lol. I do think it is one of the grandest escapes and it is “reviving fortified ventricles” – my heart is all the better, graced with poetry – to write, to read, to comment on words like these. Thank you for this!
Sarah — The voices here are so real. “Should be…” alas. Writing poetry is just as you say in those last lines…”crafting” and “reviving fortified ventricles” (yowza!) and “pump[ing]”… I hope someday you have all the time in the world to write poetry and not academic articles…Oh my gosh, when I finally did my last “academic” piece, I was just elated that poetry washed over me like candy and honey…sweeeeet! Hugs, Susie
“Because my heart is broken by critique” followed by “to pump poetic possibilities into second drafts”–oh, this is perfect! Thanks for sharing your “avoidance-ridden hour.”
Sarah, poetry is a matter of the heart as your lines remind me,
“but is perfect for a poet
whose heart mends
in the crafting of
internal rhymes
reviving fortified ventricles
to pump poetic possibilities
into second drafts.”
Writing poetry is that breath of fresh air we need to do the hard things we have to do.
Thank you!
Sarah, I’ve been thinking of you and those revisions. “Because my heart / is broken by critique” but mended as you poem. I love “reviving fortified ventricles / to pump poetic possibilities / into second drafts.” All the best, and do let us know if there is anything we can do!
Andy, thank you for hosting today and sharing these examples. I’ve drafted a quick poem on a plane before take off. I’m determined to participate everyday.
Stefani,
This poem is a way of looking for what’s possible and how to make something happen when the excuse would be acceptable, too. Time and again, I marvel at what almost wasn’t. Second before you began, there might not have been a poem today, but look at what you made, and look at the joy you brought to me. Thank you. And I love that image behind your words. The analog pencil technology that couldn’t get your poem to us, but the app that could. Thank goodness!
Sarah
I’m so glad you chose to squeeze in this poem today! And now that moment of you waiting on the plane is cemented in memory. I often write on my phone too. Safe travels!!
You have me laughing, Stefani! Safe travels! Your reasons for writing a poem are all fantastic!
Stefani,
Ditto what Sarah said. And now a confession: I wrote almost all my poems on my phone, in my notes app. I love the celebration of poetry via tech, and because of your push last month, I’ve been putting lots of my poems into Canva. I’m also thinking about Canva’s limitations and possibilities as I write this month, and that has pushed my thinking, so thank you for that.
Stefani — I love how your poem captures the joy of writing poetry!
Before airplane mode!! Bravo, Stefani – this is really a joy to read. Such a tribute to Verselove, that you are determined to share with this community. We are lucky for this!
Enjoy the trip, Stefani! Thank you for writing and being an integral part of the #verselove community. Technology has become so essential, and you have a great grip on it.
Andy, this prompt reminds me of Billy Collins and his exploration in Intro to Poetry. Your final stanza and the image of wrapping poetry around another in lieu of arms speaks to what writers (and humans) do so beautifully, and what you have done so beautifully here. Thank you for getting us to think about our why’s today.
Why Do You Write Poems?
when death is all around us
words live,
letters and syllables course through our veins
and pump into the word chambers of our heart
beating the syllabary rhythm of our
ancestral songs
words flash along neural pathways
forging electric,
lighting the midnight universe of brain matter
in a concert of constellations
an alpha array shining brightest within
milky-worded ways
within our molecular waters,
words sing
from the depth of our dna
from first gasp to last
words arise
breathing poetry onto paper
Jennifer–I love this–“letters and syllables course through our veins
and pump into the word chambers of our heart”. Word chambers of our hearts–such a powerful image. I can practically feel the pulse of your poem when I read it…
Jennifer, you’ve really captured the timeless nature of storytelling. What are we–who are we–without story? I love “an alpha array shining brightest within/milky-worded ways.” I see constellations and universes, all contained within a few simple words. Beautiful!
Oooh – your second stanza just sings its song …
Kevin
Jennifer,
I think we were writing about and from and through our hearts at the same time. How amazing is that — our hearts literally beating in time to make these symbiotic poems. I love that “within our molecular waters/words sing” and the “breathing poetry onto paper.” Such wonderful images!
Sarah
words arise
breathing poetry onto paper
yes! that’s such truth, such knowing, such calling and pulling that we feel as we write. You said it beautifully here = = words sing…..lovely melodies heard here in your lines.
Jennifer,
Bravo! This poem is gold. Our bodies flatline, but words live on, the dna of our being. I love this extended metaphor. It’s brilliant.
Jennifer,
Your poem is so beautiful and lyrical. I especially love this “beating the syllabary rhythm of our ancestral songs.”
Yes! Jennifer — such fabulous images of the power of the words that brew inside. I really was taken by the 2nd to last celestial verse. And “the syllabary rhythm of our/ ancestral songs.” Wowza! You are a poet and your words sheer poetry. Mmm-mmm! Love it! Susie
You show how life-giving poetry writing is…and this sense of ‘words flashing’ in the brain, oh how I love that feeling! It is so healing, I think.
Jennifer, indeed your “words arise/ breathing poetry onto paper.” You capture the essence of poetry and mission of poets. Amazing poem!
Wow! I’m with Kevin, that second stanza…I keep going back to it, listening, seeing the light.
death is all around
why I write poems
when death is all around us –
simply
to quiet my mind
yes, I suppose, this writing of mine
is selfish
seeking solace
playing with peace
hoping
poetry
allows me
to feel
memories and promise
to soar
alongside
this moment’s wonder beauty pain
love
to hold
small moments of joyous light
I write poems
because
death is all around
Maureen,
I love the paradox in writing poetry “because death is all around,” and I’m drawn to the quiet, selfish, solace, peace, and hope of writing poetry. BTW, I thought about you and your love of nature this morning while writing my poem. Thank you for being here and for being an inspiration to me. Hugs.
Maureen–
“to soar
alongside
this moment’s wonder beauty pain
love
to hold
small moments of joyous light”
There are those moments, aren’t there? And aren’t we lucky to have them? Thank you for those words…
Yes, to the quiet mind that comes from writing a poem. I find a bit of solace in the writing.
Kevin
Maureen, there’s something about the poet seeking solace and playing with peace that grabs me. I’m reminded of how often writing brings a reprieve and escape (and if that’s selfish, that has to be ok too). It also reminds me of how similar death and writing really are.
Maureen, we are on the same page today. I love the way you bookended this poem with “death is all around”. I can relate to feeling selfish and “seeking solace/playing with peace/hoping”. Loved “to hold/small moments of joyous light”….I almost used a similar phrase in my own poem. Gorgeous poem!
Maureen,
I was just talking to a friend about the paradox of our writing space. While it may at first seem “selfish/seeking solace” it also, at once, also is self-less because we are waiting for your words and you are giving us something, which is generous and altruistic and reciprocal. You offer us “small moments of joyous light” when death is all around.
Sarah
This spoke to me – thank you, Maureen! Every word in your poem is perfect. Writing to “quiet my mind,” “play with peace,” “hold / small moments of joyous light.” I love how you repeated the start at the end – “I write poems / BECAUSE / death is all around.” Sometimes it’s so hard to handle and wrap my brain around the fragility of life. But writing sure helps.
Maureen, I love that you used the WHY as the BECAUSE. That time we feel fleeting is reason to write, to hold the small memories of joyous light and feel the memories and promise. I like the blending of wonder beauty pain – – sometimes it all blends together just like that. Even in death.
Wow! This is so true! I just responded to Rachel who wrote poems during the death of her grandpa. I have found death around more often. Is it my age? Surely the mind is quietened and solace and peace are found in the writing of poetry.
Ah, Maureen… writing poems BECAUSE death is all around…because the moments of this life are precious, in all their wonder, beauty, and pain. The seeking solace, peace, hoping…yes those are part of my own poetry-song, too. It is a celebration of life – totally why I write. I celebrate your having written this poetic reminder – is is definitely “joyous light” in itself, against the dark.
Maureen,
So beautiful, as usual. Your sweet spirit comes out in your poems. Again, the missing punctuation adds so much meaning and rhythm to your poem today.
The death reason for writing poems as bookends to your beautiful thoughts within is very effective. Selfish? Or self-care…
Why Do You Write Poetry?
I think it’s quite
obvious,
isn’t it?
I write
poetry
for
the money.
Poets make
bank, don’t they?
I have been
laboring
under this
impression that
they are rolling
in the dough,
making the
cheddar,
the bread
and the butter,
bringing
home the bacon
and making it rain
with said bacon
which, incidentally,
would make
a huge mess,
but, of course,
I’m only kidding
I don’t write poetry
for the money
or prestige
or respect
No, that’s why
I became
a teacher.
But to answer
your question
honestly,
truthfully,
with all
the sincerity
that I can
muster
let me impart
this “wisdom”
in the manner
that so often
happens
in my classroom
when I try to
share with my
students the
oftentimes
invisible
and secret
workings
of the world
Why do I write poetry?
Becau—
[SORRY FOR THE INTERRUPTION:
TEACHERS CHECK YOUR EMAILS
AND IMMEDIATELY SEND DOWN
THIS LIST OF RANDOM STUDENTS
TO THE AP OFFICE]
__________________________________________________________________
Andy, thanks for this tough one! (I think I successfully sidestepped it, lol. That cursed intercom/PA system gets us every time!) I found myself agreeing throughout your whole second stanza: “poetry tears down walls,” “creates a scene,” “shapes perspectives,” “builds others up.” Yes, yes, yes!
Hi Scott,
Your poem is hilarious. I absolutely love the tongue-fully-in-cheek nature of the entire piece. And, to end with an interruption — perfect. I don’t know about you, but I’ve written this prompt for the money too! Ha!
Well done, my friend.
Andy
lol, Scott! Loved the metaphors on making money through poetry.
This is very funny! Thank you for bringing some humor into my day with something so relatable.
“No, that’s why
I became
a teacher.”
Do we need any other reason? I have made millions off my teaching chops and my po–crap–the dogs want in again! Talk to you later, my friend!!
Poets make
bank, don’t they?
Ha.
Only when they turn to writing hip hop to beats …
Kevin
Scott, oooh! The sarcasm nails it (that’s why I became a teacher was my laugh aloud line). I can see you composing this in a snatch of time that gets interrupted by that announcement – perfect!
Oh, Scott, so much perfection here. I was laughing at the line “for the money” and then bracing myself for your answer, ready for a few stanzas of reasons only you could offer and then the pay off. Perfect all CAPS sending students to the office! Isn’t that just the timing of it all.
Sarah
I’m with some others and LMAO’d at
“No, that’s why
I became
a teacher.”
sarcasm galore and hating it/loving it 😀
Thanks for the laughs. I needed it today and this poem was full of humor. My favorite stanza is the one where you mention the many ways of bringing home the bacon.
Scott — When I got to the “that’s why/ I became/ a teacher,” I just laughed out loud. LOLOLOLOL! I want to take that sidestep! I’m here, not having written a poem yet today…not sure what to say that hasn’t been said. I love this “sidestep” a whole lot! Susie
Scott,
I’m procrastinating revising an article (read Sarah Donovan’s poem…seems she’s there, too). I’m also procrastinating by sipping bourbon, which I just spit across the room. I’m still laughing. These lines,
Only a teacher-poet, poet-teacher can understand. Brilliant response to today’s prompt.
Scott, you never stop amazing and amusing with your poems. This one made me smile from the first line. Remembering school teaching, that intercom was really driving me insane. Thank you for such a treat!
Andy,
Thanks for this great prompt and for introducing me to Kyle “Guante” Tran Myre. I’m gonna grab his book; that poem was so powerful! Your poem was filled with great imagery. I especially love the last stanza;
is such a great line. The idea of wrapping someone in words of comfort is a perfect why!
When I poem
When I poem
I force myself to
swallow the fear of the
blank page–
The cursor blinking
faker faker faker faker…
when I poem I chase the
ghosts of writing workshops
where I showed up as the
dude who wrote raps
and didn’t know what
enjambment
meant.
when I poem i’m not grading
and I should be grading
but I’d rather
poem.
cuz sharing a poem with
a student is so much better
than sharing a grade
which doesn’t mean
anything
anyway
(and they never read the comments
that take forever…)
but they will listen to the poem
that makes me sweat
when I read it
to them,
and maybe, just maybe,
it can connect with them
somehow
someway
and maybe it will
inspire them to
poem
too.
Dude, Dave!
Whoops…I just “duded” you — that means I really like your poem I guess. Lol.
If I were to choose one stanza for poem-ing that stood out it would have to be:
“when I poem I chase the
ghosts of writing workshops
where I showed up as the
dude who wrote raps
and didn’t know what
enjambment
meant.”
Aren’t we all chasing those ghosts and trying to figure out
en
jamb
ment?
Thanks for this!
Andy
“that makes me sweat
when I read it
to them,”
To me, this is at the heart of poetry – how we are giving part of ourselves ‘into’ the words, a very tender and open gift to another.
but I’d rather
poem
same
Kevin
Dave,
This “swallow the fear of the/blank page–” and then I feel like it is a miracle every day how many of us start with a blank page. This site blank every day, text boxes just waiting for poems. I am prepared every morning for it to be blank, for people to have given up on poetry. But never, over and over, you all face the blank page and make something that does exactly what you say “inspire them to.”
Sarah
I enjoyed how you turned poem into a verb. I totally relate to the cursor blinking- faker, faker, faker. Feeling that currently, since I am struggling with this prompt today. Most days I would rather poem too.
Dave, fantastic poem. I love the “when I poem” repetition. What a great phrase, too! Your end is really wonderful!
Hear, hear, Dave! Beautiful! You shared some really powerful truths about grading: “(and they never read the comments / that take forever…)”
And even better truths about what matters:
“but they will listen to the poem…when I read it to them”
I know you “inspire them to poem too.”
Wonderful!
In one of my favorite songs ” Loser” by Beck, he says ” you can’t write if you cant relate.”
This prompt reminds me of that so thank you for the inspirations today. Cypress Hill had a song “Insane in the Brain” that stated “you can’t out write me”. Just two different genres of music but with a same Freestyle method. thanks again!
Paper Plate Millionaire
I write because I can’t relate.
About my life dished out on paper plates.
Creating imagination in a bland stew,
Alligator pork chops grant rational views.
Life is dull without a rhyme,
Slap the butt of a porcupine.
Get on top of your house and scream out,
Feathered cornbread with a turkey snout.
Have a little fun because it doesn’t matter,
Life will be dished out on a silver platter.
Got to make the best of what it is,
Salted peanuts swirling in Pepsi fizz.
Sprinkler hose on a sunny day,
Curl your nose in a bunny way.
Relate to all yo relatives,
Pelicans speak to me through sedatives.
Listen to the sounds of the abstract,
Swim with kangaroos in the outback.
I can become whatever I write,
Once I was a gorilla riding a dirt bike.
Do what you got to do, to make it through,
I write rhymes on rattlesnake shoes!
Write to get it all out,
Write to tell um’ what it’s all about.
Write then write some more,
Write with dirt on the storm glass door.
Write with ya toes in the sand,
Try calligraphy with ya left hand.
I keep writing because my mind is gone,
Just finished a frog gigging- taco song.
Next, I’m working on a metropolitan rap,
It’s about two squirrels caught in a Elvis trap.
Then it’s country, back to my roots,
Bout one-eyed dog that plays a Chinese flute.
Movie script is also in my vision,
Title: Polar Bear vs. Wombat Collision.
All I got to do is let everybody know,
It’ll be great, like when elephants glow.
It’ll be cheap and nobody will care,
4 million willing, with a quarter to spare,
Ill take um’ and flip um’ in the air,
And be the first quarter paid millionaire!
I write because I am an astute millionaire that drives a Lamborghini,
Got Fish tails steamin’ in a copper pot, as I talk to my genie.
The genie granted me one wish,
So, I wished.
I was a fish
That could swish,
In a dish.
A gold dish.
-Boxer
Hey Boxer,
I grew up listening to both groups and I even proposed “Loser” as our graduating class song in 1994…let’s just say it didn’t get picked. lol
I am so jealous of your abstract word weaving – you’re a magician. I hear those internal rhymes and astute syllable flips and twists!
Thank you for your fun take!
Andy
So many great rhymes, a happy tale of poetry writing and meaning…this was hysterical to me:
May have to chant this to my granddaughters!
This is a very talented poem. I like the way you use rhythm and rhyme.
Write with ya toes in the sand,
Try calligraphy with ya left hand.
Groovin’ on these lines (and others)
Kevin
Boxer,
Love these lines especially:
And stanza after stanza you show that becoming over and over, endless possibilities if we dare to imagine and, as you and Beck say, “relate.”
Peace,
Sarah
Why Do You Write Poems When The World is Already Flooded With Words?
Because finding the right words at the right time never happens by accident. Poets threw their words into the world decades, years, minutes, seconds ago to reach me. To meet my eyes and my brain at the exact second I need them.
Why Do You Write Poems When The World is Already Flooded With Words?
Because the same words in a different order are total strangers. Opposites, compliments, attacks and comfort all use the same letters and patterns. They are amassed and assembled, welded with meaning and produced for expressions over and over. Authors run high-yield word factories that fill my days with ideas.
Why Do You Write Poems When The World is Already Flooded With Words?
Beacause I need to send bits of myself into the world. I crank out my own words to express me. Because the phrases find eyes and ears and brains and come out changed. When the flood of words crests and recedes, the landscape changes forever.
Liz,
This is a gem of a poem! “High yield word factories” is an amazing concept, but the really profound moment for me, I think, is this revelation:
That really speaks to the power of authorship and craft and the idea that words and how we use them matter.
Liz,
I love the images you’ve penned: words as a flood, words as a wave cresting and receding. Lovely. But the utility, the amazing flexibility of words you’ve honored w/ your poem, sing to my heart.
“Because the same words in a different order are total strangers. Opposites, compliments, attacks and comfort”
All of these!
Hi Liz,
So many things resonate with me — thank you for this poem!
The line that stands up to me is: “Poets threw their words into the world decades, years, minutes, seconds ago to reach me. To meet my eyes and my brain at the exact second I need them.”
Words are powerful regardless of the time it takes for them to reach the right mind, experience, mood, or person.
Love this!
Andy
Love these three reasons, especially thinking about this – “Poets threw their words into the world decades, years, minutes, seconds ago to reach me.” Beautiful!
Liz!
This: “Because the same words in a different order are total strangers.” I love this line. I read it over and over and want to hold onto the “total strangers” as the single reason we write and keep writing. And then this is echoed again in “the landscape/changes forever”!
Sarah
What a fun perspective on why you write poems. Some of my favorite lines are finding the right words . . . never happens by accident, the same words in a different order are total strangers – I know we’ve all read lines that feel that way.
Hello Andy, As allowed in the group, I took the prompt and went my own way. I wrote a poem about writing right. Enjoy!
Why Learn to Write Right
I was a showoff, and when I learned to write
That is why I wrote. My printing was neat
And my cursive was legible.
The teacher often called on me to write on the board
Doing that never ever made me bored.
Then I learned that writing is more than the shapes of letters
Writing also shows if I understand what I read
Writing then became what I wrote, not just what it looked like.
Later I learned it is more than what I wrote, but how I wrote it.
Were the words chosen the best to express what was on my mind?
Would better choices show what I meant while still being kind?
On through the years, writing funded my college tuition.
My jobs as a secretary and the research writing for courses,
Letters written for others may have helped avoid divorces.
Learning to write right became crucial to teaching.
Students tend to copy what they see.
When I became a writing project fellow,
I learned how that could be.
So now I write to keep up with the crew.
I learn about others and get a fresh view.
So now I invite you to keep writing, too.
You’ll be surprised what you learn that is new about you.
Anna, what a sweet writing about writing. I hadn’t thought about it for a long time, but I remember the transition from thinking writing was a physical activity of forming letters neatly to composing stories and letters. Then you spoke of the transition to the “how” of writing, which is interesting and thought-provoking for how much more one can get out of writing when this is considered. I’m so curious about this line, and it made me happy to think you may have done this:
I often “wrote” letters for other people who either didn’t know how to write neatly, how to use a typewriter, or how to write a compelling letter. In a way, I may be “showing off” about the divorces, but really, in one job I had in college, I worked for the son-in-law of my boss, who had hired this young man to help improve the business. The letters I wrote for the “company” did this help during “trying times” and may have helped keep the marriage going. (You know you hear stuff going on in the next office.)
In fact, I’d left the company to get a job closer to college, and the company sought me out, hired me back, and adjusted my work hours and salary so that I wouldn’t have to drop out of college while working half days for them.
So, may I not be exaggerating after all.
Loved this, Anna! Especially, “I learn about others and get a fresh view.” – that’s what this month of writing together does for me.
Later I learned it is more than what I wrote, but how I wrote it.
This is one of those important discoveries that often takes time to figure out, and usually, it’s not at school. It’s in life.
Kevin
Anna,
Thank you for welcoming us to witness your writing journey and the many ways you’ve become and continue to become a writer. Perfect closing line “You’ll be surprised what you learn that is new about you.” And that is really the revelation of continuing to engage.
Sarah
Why Do You write Poems When Ralph Yarl Was Shot Yesterday Just For Ringing The Wrong Doorbell?
Because Ralph is in critical condition and the world needs to know him. Ralph is in high school, a musician who plays the bass clarinet, loved, beloved older brother. Gentle band member. He’s 16, so a fairly newly-licensed driver, but an auto accident didn’t get him in trouble yesterday. He forgot his phone when he was sent to pick up his two young brothers from their friend’s house. Without the address, he accidentally went to the wrong house and rang the doorbell. A “scared” white man with a gun shot him in the head. (Why would a white man with a gun fear an unarmed teenager?) While Ralph was down, the white man went out and shot him again.
Why Do You write Poems When Ralph Yarl Was Shot Yesterday Just For Ringing The Wrong Doorbell?
Because the person who shot Ralph walked out of the police station and went home, not charged with a crime. (Did I say that Ralph is in the hospital in critical condition?) Clay County Prosecutor Zachary Thompson (prosecutor@claycopa.com) and law enforcement in Kansas City, Missouri, we’re talking to you: You need to hold your folks accountable for hatecrime hatred and attempted murder—because what else could have been the possible purpose for that second shot?
Why Do You write Poems When Ralph Yarl Was Shot Yesterday Just For Ringing The Wrong Doorbell?
Because I am white, and my adult children and their partners are white, and my grandson is white. What kind of world is it where they all of them as a group, or one at a time, could have rung that wrong doorbell in Kansas City and not be shot? But a young Black man from his own town, just a few blocks from home, can’t? I write poems because I need to remember that my white privilege needs dismantling, disrobing, demolishing, destroying. I write poems because I can’t stand by and allow our nation to pretend that racism is in our past.
——————————————————
Andy, thank you for this prompt. Your poem, especially the last stanza, is motivating me to write more poetry for those I love. This is love: “all of me — written on a page, a scramble of letters, to help you better understand how deeply you were loved.” Thank you.
Oh, Denise…this makes me so angry, and sad, and helpless-feeling…I’m so glad that you wrote this poem, but I hate that the circumstance exists that made you feel compelled to write it. Your words “my white privilege needs dismantling, disrobing, demolishing, destroying”–so powerful and so true.
I hadn’t seen this on the news yet. I don’t even know what to say. Terrible. I’m glad I learned about it from your poem first. The form you chose feels just right – the repetition of the question & lots of room to explain & expound on it all.
Denise,
Send this to the Kansas City Star. It needs an audience in Missouri, my home state that has become the most dysfunctional, gun-obsessed hellscape imaginable. Ralph Yari deserves justice. This whole incident is mindboggling and heartbreaking. I have almost no respect for law enforcement when I hear stories like Ralph’s. Those final lines are a siren call to all of us:
“I need to remember that my white privilege needs dismantling, disrobing, demolishing, destroying. I write poems because I can’t stand by and allow our nation to pretend that racism is in our past.”
I’m right beside you in acknowledging we must end this scourge of gun violence and racist hate.
Good news. Ralph was dismissed from the hospital an hour ago, and I whittled this down to 200 words and submitted it to the Kansas City Star. Thank you, Glenda, for that good idea.
Great idea … I hope they publish it.
Kevin
Denise, yes! I’m so happy to read this.
I concur with Glenda. This is powerful and the situation is tragic. I woke up to this news this morning and it was the first thing my kids talked to me about when I saw them later in the day. This format is perfect for what you present and impactful in its delivery.
Wow, amazing Denise. I learned about this story from Shaun King who I follow on Facebook. Glad you submitted it. I think he would be a good avenue for the poem to be heard also. I hope there is justice.
Denise,
Yet again, we are faced with a senseless shooting of an unarmed Black teenager. Your poem reads as a call to action and I appreciate that you have included the email address for the County prosecutor. He needs to hear from people.
Thank you for putting this out here for others to read. Yes…the work to break down racism is not done yet.
Denise, this is such a horrid, tragic story, that I just caught word moments ago. Your poem is so powerful. The story itself is just crushing, and I can hear your anger. “What kind of world is it where they all of them as a group, or one at a time, could have rung that wrong doorbell in Kansas City and not be shot?” What kind of world, indeed? It is a world run amok with pernicious fear.
Denise, your poem is magnificent. Your poem moved me to tears. I did not know this happened, but now I will never forget it. Yes, we write to dismantle and destroy because this hatred and racism has to stop. I hope you post this everywhere possible. Thank you for showing this crime through your strong, incredibly loving voice!
Denise, you bring truth and needed voice today. You are on fire! The repetition of the question is particularly effective, and the questions stare the reader straight in the eye with known (mostly) answers. I can’t even imagine the pain of Ralph’s family and how they feel, and I’m sorry that we live in a world where a teenage boy gets shot ringing the wrong doorbell – any doorbell. That a teenage boy gets shot, period. Thank you for bringing awareness and giving us an update on Ralph.
Thanks for this morning prompt ~ though every day I tell myself I am going to write something positive, every day, my mind goes somewhere else. Today’s prompt gave me a lot to think about and I loved both the mentor poem and poem you wrote. The last lines “I’ll be — all of me — written on a page, a scramble of letters, to help you better understand how deeply you were loved.” gave me chills. For today’s poem I’ve borrowed some lines from Dave and Bryan which stuck in my head.
Why Do I Write Poems when…
Why do I write poems when the planet
is on fire,
when the churches and the schools,
the synagogues and superstores,
the shopping malls and theaters
make children crouch in corners
or walk in a kiddie conga line
through air
thick with the smell of rotten eggs and rust,
loud with the sound of weeping, so much weeping.
Why do I write poems when there’s hatred
in the heartlands,
and fear in the bellies of the prophets
and the poets
who noticed how a shooting star zipped
across the moon
or tasted an apple of sawdust and regret.
Life is a relay.
We hold tight our torch against the darkness,
or let it fall amid the brush and watch the burn.
So much to love here–but this is my favorite: “tasted an apple of sawdust and regret.” Hope we can keep the relay going…
Oh, Ann, this is so compelling. I think it is the poem I wished I could have written today. Oh, my goodness!
Ann,
Reading your intro note I thought about all the harm toxic positivity does in our world. Regardless of subject, a poem is an act of faith and hope. What could be more desirable? Your poem is filled w/ olfactory and auditory stimuli that leads to the hope in your final lines:
“We hold tight our torch against the darkness,”
That’s an amazing, necessary reason for writing poetry.
Ann,
I’m humbled that you borrowed that line. This is such an urgent poem and it really captures the essence of why we need to keep writing poems in these times–to hold a torch in the darkness.
“make children crouch in corners
or walk in a kiddie conga line”
How my heart breaks that this is our ‘solution’ to gun violence. Our poor children, this sad world. Reading your poem, just after reading Denise’s – ouch. Yes. We must write, and “hold tight our torch against the darkness,” So much to think about in your sad and beautiful poem. Thank you!
As Audre Lorde says, “poetry is not a luxury.” It’s a necessity, so I’m approaching the prompt today by asking, “How can I, in a poem, honor poetry as something we all need?”
Maybe a Poem
Maybe a poem—
phonemes &
filaments
floating
from
poet
to
person;
Maybe a poem—
intertwined-lines
sorted &
stacked
like
shelved
commodities;
Maybe a poem—
noticing
nature,
celebrating
sentience,
this
notetalk
from
me to you—
Maybe a poem—
if you
pause
to read—
will be
the thing
your
heart
needs
this
poem-birthed
moment.
Maybe a poem—
my
worded
heart in
ink
I
pause to
pour
from
my
mindspout—
will be
the thing
I
need
this
blue
marble
morn.
April 17, 2023
Damn, Glenda–how am I supposed to choose the best part when there are so many best parts??!! I fell in love with your poem at “phoneme& /filaments /floating/from /poet /to/
person” and just kept reading and admiring. Then you finish off with “blue marble morn”–wow.
Glenda, yes, an echo of Gayle’s comment! The magic of your word choice just goes on and on throughout this sweet thin poem. Yes, indeed, “Maybe a poem” will do the trick; they are not luxuries, but necessities. It was difficult to decide what to say was my favorite, but these words just make me want to hug you and thank you for your beautiful poetry, your “worded heart”:
Simply true, the best we can do, I think – to write, to wince alongside others.
Maybe a poem—
phonemes &
filaments
floating
from
poet
to
person
Yes, I felt myself floating down as I read the words here, and the formatting of short lines, pulling the reader down in a slow arc of discover, was perfect.
Kevin
Glenda, I love what you’ve done with words here: poem-birthed moment, worded heart, blue marble morn. These words celebrate the poet and poetry as only you can do. Beautiful!
Ahhh, Glenda, there is so much of this poem that strikes me. The “heart” and “ink” of it all shows how important sharing poetry and connecting is. I absolutely loved your skinny poem and especially the lines:
Maybe a poem—
if you
pause
to read—
will be
the thing
your
heart
needs
Then your end:
I
need
this
blue
marble
morn.
Yes, the art of the craft can keep our hearts beating and our minds imagining all kinds of possibilities. Amazing poem!
This is a wonderful line “my
worded
heart in
ink”. That so honestly describes writing poetry for me.
Glenda, I love the pouring of the mind on a blue marble morn – –
my
worded
heart in
ink
I
pause to
pour
from
my
mindspout—
this spout of words flows like the imagery of coffee, the aromatic awakening of a new day.
Glenda – this poem is what I need in this moment! These fine pourings of your ink-worded heart…there’s such grace in every line. Beautiful blue marble morn grace. You do your honoree, Poetry, so proud.
Andy,
Thank you so much for this great prompt today!
As far as your poem . . . I have always appreciated how you “tune into [your] being” and “tinker and build and repurpose with words.” And that last stanza is just so powerful.
Why Do You Write Poems?
Why do you write poems when
you have so much to do?
I’m not much of a do-er. I’d rather
gobble up words and produce poems
than clean the house,
go to a party,
do a workout.
Why do you write poems when
you have three books that you
are in the middle of?
Other’s words and ideas sometimes
aren’t what I need.
Why do you write poems when
doing so sometimes unearths some
really difficult stuff?
Poetry is the perfect salve
for those trauma blisters and
unresolved scars
Why do you write poems when
you are the only audience?
My poetry is usually FOR me,
but #verselove has given me
the best audience with meaningful
feedback and commiseration. And,
I think my output will be an incredible
gift to our kids.
Why do you write poems when
those closest to you don’t even
know about the experiences you
process through verse?
I have found that writing is great
therapy.
Before and after appointments
with the human therapist,
I write to prepare,
to process, and
to debrief.
The depth and emotion and
simplicity and complexity
of poetry help so much.
Why do you write poems?
To survive.
~Susan Ahlbrand
17 April 2023
Susan, wow. I love the dialogue you have with yourself here, and the two different fonts to set them apart. So many good reasons. I love the first Q&A. That is so true! I would rather sit here in April then do any other of the many to-do things I have on my lists. My favorite though, is the question about the difficult subject that become unearthed:
So true!
Susan,
You have chosen a fantastic format for your poem w/ the question-answer interview. My favorite is toward the beginning:
“I’d rather
gobble up words and produce poems
than clean the house,”
Seriously! My husband does most of the housework these days, and he knows I’m in intensive writing mode during March and April. The house can wait. Also, brilliant use of italics throughout.
Susan, I am so with you – on each and every one of these reasons! Why do I write poems – well, why not?
Susan, I’m cheering this nod to an amazing writing community right alongside you – – and also cheering the great therapy of writing. The gift to your children, too, is heartwarming and seals the time capsule of future, so that future generations know you.
Well, hello, Andy! Great to receive your invitation this morning & to channel Margaret Edson (proudly) with her wit. We’re not proud. Death, Donne, and me. Thank you for sharing Kyle “Guante” Tran Myhre’s poem, too. First time I’ve experienced his work (and loved it). I like your call & response, too, especially,
I just returned from bloodwork across from St. James church and, “The sisters were going at it.” Oh, brother. where are thou?. That’s all I needed. The poem began writing itself in my head as a woman, who smelled of marijuana, drew red from my skinny veins. I’m not even going to mention her bathroom humor with one of her colleagues. Health care has become the DMV. I digress.
They’re Slippery, Aren’t They?
~b.r.crandall
Poems, why bother?
It’s not like they witness
nuns in a habit of wrestling
over rosary beads
on the way
to the
phlebotomist.
Why mess with poetry
and dance greasy under
a disco ball of
self-indulgence.
It’s more fun to be
a Jedi-Frog
who hops across
lily pads with light
(& dark)
sabers.
’ve never written a poem.
Who needs such ego?
There’s more hubris in
paddling a green kayak
under fluttering monarchs
as the blue fish
leap from sound waves
toward the bald
eagles.
You want me to salsa with death?
Put on white tights and ballet
with his blade and scythes
as if I’m an Edgar Allen Poe poem?
That would be a total waste of time,
when I could be tap-dancing with tulips
& tip-toe through roses
in Scoobie Doo Underoos
during a
thunderstorm.
Why so I write this poem?
I don’t.
The poem
writes
me.
I am 100% responsible for the typos above. It’s hard to type and give blood at the same time. Errata. “I’ve” in line 17. “Do,” instead of ‘so’ in line 36….not that anyone is counting on that.
Haha! Thanks, Bryan, that phlebotomist stanza makes me think you maybe did see nuns wrestling over rosary beads today. I love the juxtaposition of the white tights and an Edgar Alan Poe poem with
So many smiles from your poem today, and I love the ending. I’m taking that with me today: “The poem writes me.” Wow.
That last stanza! “the poem writes me” is such a fabulous phrase.
And the imagery here:
makes me think of you captured in a Poe poem. Yikes!
Love imagining you giving blood as you write these wonderful words here. That ending is so perfect –
Bryan–you could have stopped at “The poem began writing itself in my head as a woman, who smelled of marijuana, drew red from my skinny veins.” and that would have been sufficient for me for the day. Following it up with:
“That would be a total waste of time,
when I could be tap-dancing with tulips
& tip-toe through roses
in Scoobie Doo Underoos
during a
thunderstorm”
was icing on the cake! Glad this poem wrote you today.
… when I could be tap-dancing with tulips
& tip-toe through roses
in Scoobie Doo Underoos
during a
thunderstorm.
visual alert!
🙂
Kevin
This. This is what I’m talking about. You do it every time, just capture the moment I was never even expecting. Scooby Doo Underoos is just fun to say, and I won’t stop repeating it in my head. Now it’s on autopilot. You do what Billy Collins says about bringing in a spider. Something unexpected, surprising, delightful, whimsical, uniquely you.
“The poem writes me” and the reference to hubris definitely gives me pause. Thanks for making me shift my thinking.
The nuns wrestling over the rosary beads is flat funny.
And I share your lament about the clientele in health care . . . the workers!
Thanks, Andy for the inspiration and invitation to write. I wrote my poem a long time ago as part of a poetry novel – yet to be finished.
A Gift
When we are alone,
Aunt Connie hands me a present
Wrapped in brilliant blue.
I rip it open to reveal
A brand-new journal.
It’s suede, the color of new earth,
It smells of earth too, comforting,
Tied together with strong leather strings
And small brass beads.
I look up at my aunt to thank her,
She puts one arm around my shoulder,
Holds me close and whispers,
“Just keep writing –
Just keep writing,” she says.
But she does not say it
Like my teachers would,
Not just keep writing because I have to,
It’s an assignment– It will be graded.
Punctuation counts, spelling counts,
Not jut keep writing – like it’s good for me,
Like it’s medicine or spinach –
But just keep writing because it’s part of me,
Like breathing in air and exhaling,
Because it keeps me alive,
Because it connects me to the world,
Because it keeps me sane
It is my life – I need to live it,
My feelings count, memories count.
“Just keep writing –
Just keep writing,” she says.
Advice of love …
Kevin
This is lovely. I’ve lots of favorite lines— your description of the journal, but also Aunt Connie’s voice telling you to keep writing, “because it like breathing in air.” because it connects you to the world…because your feelings, your memories count…just lovely,
Joanne, what a gift Aunt Connie is to your character.
I love the different kinds of writing a teacher would mean, as opposed to what Aunt Connie means:
Lovely, lovely, lovely – “But just keep writing because it’s part of me,”
“Not just keep writing – like it’s good for me,
Like it’s medicine or spinach –
But just keep writing because it’s part of me,
Like breathing in air and exhaling,”
What a gift Aunt Connie handed you. Beautiful!
I write poems
because of the unquenchable desire
To think my way deeper and higher
I write poems
because I have memories to preserve
when sometimes life throws my a curve
I write poems
because I love the art
I try to diligently do my part
I write poems
because I consider myself a poet
though I don’t always feel it or know it
I write poems
because when putting my poem to paper
I feel a little safer
I write poems
because I take a chance, go out on a limb
even if my best shot is all rim
I write poems
because when I receive feedback
I know I’m not under attack
I write poems
because writing poetry fills a need
and I’m able to plant a seed, indeed!
I write poems
because without poetry I’d be lost
and all my dreams would be tossed
I write poems
because I care to write
and I try to make my corner of the world alright
Great rhythm and rhyme I enjoyed the repetitive beat of the poem. I like how you used athletics to relate to situations in life. shooting hoops and throwing curve balls 🙂
Jennifer,
A plethora of poem writing reasons live in your poem, but the umbrella lines capturing all are these:
“the unquenchable desire
To think my way deeper and higher”
Years ago I read Elaine Showalter’s argument for beginning w/ poetry in literature classes. She argues if a student can understand poetry, they can understand all other writing. I like that, but I also like the way writing poetry challenges my thinking and writing.
I love how you structured each stanza with that clear strong opening “I write poems.” I especially love,
Andy,
Great prompt! Kyle’s poem was fire. Loved this sentiment from yours:
“When my arms are no longer strong enough to hold you I may rely upon my words to wrap you in forgiveness, warmth, and hope.”
and
“One day you may look back and wonder about me and there I’ll be — all of me — written on a page, a scramble of letters, to help you better understand how deeply you were loved. “
…made me think of my kids and brought tears to my eyes. Poetry truly is an act of love, on many levels.”
Here’s my attempt at a slam poem — very rough draft, as it’s during my school day, and I’m not sure I love it:
Why do you write poetry when poetry is a dying art?
When poetry is a dying art?
Poetry is dying
Dying is an art
Poetry is art.
Why do you write poetry when poetry is a dying art?
Poetry is dying.
Is poetry dying?
Not as long as I can enter a bookstore, breathe in its fragrance, and peruse the stacks.
Not as long as hip-hop, as rock and roll, as country songs still exist, with poets breathing out their love.
Not as long as I can walk by the lake and take its language into my soul, turn birdsong into rhyme, lawnmowers into meter, the lapping of lake waves into lines.
Why do you write poetry when dying is an art?
Dying is an art. Do I want to move into that void, go into that great goodnight, filled with gall? Regretting every road not taken? Nursing every grudge and licking scabs off every wound for the pleasure of watching them regrow?
Do I want to re-tire, every day, when I don’t have the rush of kids around me anymore, Selene telling me about her Domino’s Pizza weekend with her grandmother, Hannah, overwhelmed with work, head on desk, me talking her through one last Civic Literacy essay?
(Announcements: Have a great day)
(Daniel mutters: Good luck with that; it’s a fucking Monday.)
Dying is an art.
I want an Act II, life-filled, not re-tired each day. Poetry makes me believe that will happen.
Poetry is art. It’s the hope that fills a classroom, it’s the heartbeat of a walk in nature, it’s the communion with other believers, it’s the thrill of an acceptance letter, it’s the sour tang of rejection, it’s bravery, it’s freedom, it’s the act of creation and affirmation that I’m alive, that I feel and bleed, it’s it’s the flying in the face of those who say:
Why do you write poetry?
Wendy, I’m sure I love it! I’m absolutely sure I love it. I love everything about it, the rambling, Daniel’s muttering from his place on a Monday, and most of all this:
Not as long as I can walk by the lake and take its language into my soul, turn birdsong into rhyme, lawnmowers into meter, the lapping of lake waves into lines.
The lapping of lake waves
lake waves
I love it all, Wendy! You are ON IT today, friend!
So much to love here! That opening wordplay is genius –
and the multitude of reasons for loving to write…how you meander through your teaching day, students, announcements, so very, very fun and real-time…and then, “it’s bravery, it’s freedom, it’s the act of creation and affirmation” – love this so much.
Wendy–first of all, I love your Daniel’s mutterance (I think I made up a word!) in response to the announcement. Been there, done that! Then, I love (among so many parts) this phrase:” I want an Act II, life-filled, not re-tired each day. Poetry makes me believe that will happen.” I want an Act II, as well. I hope we can all find ours… Poetry is, indeed, an art.
Wendy, I’d love to hear this performed! I like how you set it up into the three different parts that all provide important meaning. I especially love these lines: “I want an Act II, life-filled, not re-tired each day. Poetry makes me believe that will happen.” Yes, there is so much life in it!
Whoa, Wendy! It’s amazing! The rolling rhythm of questioning, the beats, the reflections/observations – dying is an art, poetry is art, and THIS is evidence it is not dying. I am seeing and hearing it performed onstage even as I read it – electrifying. Brava!!
Andy — Your “whys” are just stunning in their poignancy. I will mull over my own whys today…there are so many. But yours….ooo, it really touches my heart to think of that kind of love…that opens a door in a loved one’s heart when you are not there in body. Mmm. Thank you for sharing such a rich prompt and your own beautiful response. Susie
Andy, I love your honesty in thinking ahead to the time when others think of us and we aren’t here for them to know us, and they can read all that we have written to still know who we are, who we were, how we loved them. That is gold in the hands of your children’s children’s children’s children to be able to know that they were loved even from this moment in time.
Thank you for hosting us today! I love the prose-ish poem style and the topic.
Why Do You Write Poems When The World Is Asleep, (Even the Sun Has Not Risen), And There is Death All Around?
because over on the kitchen counter, a Jericho Flower has come back to life in my late mother’s pristine white milk glass, taking water into its dry, brittle brown fingers, slowly unfurling for the world and me to see that even in death, there is faith and hope and love – and life. Leave it to my daughter to send me a Resurrection Plant for Easter – it’s the most perfect Easter gift EVER, Mom, wait ‘til you see! – and when the plastic envelope with four baby tumbleweeds arrived in my mailbox, I wondered – WTH?? (yes, even wondered it so close to Easter and all), so I Googled and discovered it was a Resurrection plant ~
Thank you, dear, I can’t wait to plant it! A perfect Easter gift indeed! ~ to which she promptly replied: Mom. You don’t plant it. You put it in a bowl of water and sit back and before your very eyes it will come to life. No dirt….. ~
and so I packed these dead quadruplets in the camper thinking with the purple martin house assembly and this tumbleweed show, our picnic table by the lake would hold more fun than an amusement park. I just had no idea how spectacular, how moving, how positively enchanting it would be to watch. I poured water on one in a clear plastic tub. Sat back in my camp chair, feet on the picnic table bench, Cherry Coke Zero in one hand, dry salted peanuts in the shells in the other, waiting. This thing sprang to life, from a mail order twig to a beautiful green floof of a plant on the shores of Lake Juliette, and now graces my kitchen. And I felt the nudge from Mom to put it in her milk glass bowl, the one I used to use for bananas that was an hour ago sitting empty with no life and now holds the promise of her presence even in death, holds my daughter’s amazing tumbleweed thinking, holds my heart in my kitchen, bridging on the black granite speckled Ubatuba three generations of women who know a thing or two about what it means to regenerate, to unfurl brown, brittle fingers into green again.
Because stories need to be told. That’s why I write poems when the world is asleep, the sun is not yet up, and there is death all around.
(I’ll post the pictures of the plant on my blog shortly at http://www.kimhaynesjohnson.com for anyone who wants to see the unfurling).
Kim!
I absolutely love your description in this prose-ish poem. And, oh! The unfurling of the Jericho Plant is wonderful! These last three lines are as simple as they are profound — just like the Resurrection plant:
“This thing sprang to life, from a mail order twig to a beautiful green floof of a plant on the shores of Lake Juliette, and now graces my kitchen. And I felt the nudge from Mom to put it in her milk glass bowl, the one I used to use for bananas that was an hour ago sitting empty with no life and now holds the promise of her presence even in death, holds my daughter’s amazing tumbleweed thinking, holds my heart in my kitchen, bridging on the black granite speckled Ubatuba three generations of women who know a thing or two about what it means to regenerate, to unfurl brown, brittle fingers into green again.”
Brilliant connection between the plant, your daughter, yourself, and “three generations of women who know a thing or two about what it means to regenerate.”
Good morning, Kim! This is divine. How I love your poetry this morning. I am just barely awake; will write poetry later in the day. I tumbled upon yours, seeing your entry just after I finished reading Andy’s wonderful inspiration, and now you have inspired me for this precious day. I have never seen a resurrection plant – you know I’m always about plants! Your words invite me into your daily life, ‘meet’ your daughter, envision your camp site. Just beautiful. This is why we write, I think, this embracing of others! To think, “three generations of women who know a thing or two about what it means to regenerate, to unfurl brown, brittle fingers into green again” – what a gift y’all are!
Kim, you are a gem! And your daughter’s gift and your mom’s milk glass bowl tied into your poetry is another reason you write poems. Absolutely: “ three generations of women who know a thing or two about what it means to regenerate, to unfurl brown, brittle fingers into green again.” So beautiful!
Kim,
I love the way poetry becomes story and story transcends narrative. Love thinking about poetry as resurrecting everything.
“from a mail order twig to a beautiful green floof of a plant” is a gorgeous image.
BKim–I was swept along in your story, in your rush of words. The phrase that stopped me for a moment, though, was “holds my daughter’s amazing tumbleweed thinking, holds my heart in my kitchen”. Amazing tumbleweed thinking…I want some of that. Thank you for the voyage.
Because stories need to be told
Yes. They do. And in all the ways we can, even in poems.
Kevin
Kim…no words for how much I love this love-and-life story of three women who know a thing or two about what it means to regenerate…
Stories DO need to be told, for they don’t ever really end. I could see that Resurrection plant returning before my eyes…and dry salted peanuts, you should not be surprised to know, are just about my favorite snack.
“And I felt the nudge from Mom to put it in her milk glass bowl, the one I used to use for bananas that was an hour ago sitting empty with no life and now holds the promise of her presence even in death, holds my daughter’s amazing tumbleweed thinking, holds my heart in my kitchen…” your mother’s love still holds you all, and you hold us all in awe with your words. I love every single one.
Kim, I am often wondering what time you are up and writing as it seems very early, and so when your title speaks to that I was particularly interested in knowing. The part about death being all around adds to the setting. I love the way you unfurl the Jericho flower story. I can see everything happening in your poem. Love your honesty and clarity in tis piece as well as your ending lines “because stories need to be told”…yes! Gorgeous poem!
Kim,
Yet another gem. So rich, so full, so wise.
Andy, this is truly lovely. I love this prompt, and I love your poem. My favorite line is “writing poems is constructive.” We are truly creating and constructing something real and special each time we put pen to paper (or fingers to keyboard). Thank you for this.
Why do I write poems when my to-do list keeps getting longer?
Let’s face it–
AprilMay is the craziest
month of the school year–
why do I add one more
daily thing to my list?
Because poetry
transcends the list.
Because there is truly no
feeling in the world like the
satisfaction of somehow,
out of the ether,
pulling words together
in a way that expresses
something I didn’t even know
I was feeling.
Because it’s magical
alchemy. Kind of like
Lay’s potato chips–
I can’t write just one.
I see and hear and feel
poetry everywhere.
Because of the look in
your eyes when I share
a poem I wrote
about you.
Hi Julie,
These lines are EVERYTHING!
“Because there is truly no / feeling in the world like the / satisfaction of somehow, / out of the ether, / pulling words together / in a way that expresses / something I didn’t even know / I was feeling.”
Thank you for sharing the power of a mere accumulation of words.
Because it’s magical
alchemy
’nuff said
Kevin
Julie,
“poetry
transcends the list.” Amen to that. And I’m smiling at the metaphor: poetry is Lay’s potato chips. It’s true. I eat the whole bag. Limon are my favorites.
Oh, the analogy to potato chips is so unexpected and perfect, Julie! Can’t write just one! One does begin to see and hear poems everywhere…because they are.
Julie,
As busy as AprilMay is, I love every day of # verselove. Writing and reading poems and comments brings me so much . . . joy!
I love these lines:
Julie, yes! “pulling words together / in a way that expresses / something I didn’t even know / I was feeling” and that last stanza love there is wonderful. I’m so glad you choose to write during this busy month!
Andy—thank you so much for this prompt. I am unable to choose which specific part of your poem I loved most— I keep picking this one or that one. But this—“One day you may look back and wonder about me and there I’ll be — all of me — written on a page, a scramble of letters, to help you better understand how deeply you were loved.”—is absolutely beautiful. Thank you again, Andy, for reminding us why we write poetry.
Why Do I Write Poems?
I write poems because
words bubble up inside of me
and they will just flyintotheair
if I don’t write them down
somewhere.
I write poems because
some things are too hard
or too precious to share
if I don’t write poems.
I write poems because
my grandfather taught me “Hiawatha”
when I was three
and my grandmother and I
made up stories to tell each other
when we lay in bed at night
and those moments and those words
and their magic are my roots.
I write poems because
the world is filled with things
that need saying,
and poetry honors their existence.
I write poems because
words dance
and they need
a poem to dance in.
I write poems because I must.
Gayle Sands
04/17/23
Hi Gayle,
Poetry is truly a gift from one person to another and this stanza captures that idea beautifully:
“…because
my grandfather taught me “Hiawatha”
when I was three
and my grandmother and I
made up stories to tell each other
when we lay in bed at night
and those moments and those words
and their magic are my roots.”
Your words and readings will also become the “magic” of another loved ones “roots.” I have no doubt.
Thank you.
Gayle, wow. I love the reasons here for your writing poems, the magic of grandparents who love literacy, and my favorite:
I love that idea of words dancing and a poem is a place to “dance in” — Gorgeous, and you model it here so well with magic like “flyintotheair” and “too hard or too precious”
Gayle, I love that idea that the words will just fly into the air if you don’t write them down, that words need a place to dance ~ a poem! What a lovely way to honor your grandparents and their influence in shaping your young life with words that have stood the test of time and been woven into the fabric of who you are today.
Gayle,
Love all these ideas.
“some things are too hard
or too precious to share”
and
”the world is filled with things
that need saying,”
and cheers to grandpa for teaching you “Hiawatha.”
This is so very beautiful, Gayle. I’m particularly partial to those fabulous images of loving grandfather and grandmother, both instilling such a love of words. I also love how the letters here snuggle: “flyintotheair” – so fun and precious!
Gayle, I love this for many reasons, but at the top of the list is that your grandparents sparked the love of poetry so early – “their magic are my roots,” too!
Gayle,
I have special appreciation for these lines . . .
I feel the same way . . . I have to record these thoughts, these feelings, somewhere.
Andy, thank you for the wellspring of inspiration today. Kyle “Guante” Tran Myhre’s verse is a glorious punch in the gut; powerful and rich. I find myself nodding at the truths in your own verse, especially these: “Writing poetry tears down walls. Writing poetry sets the stage. Writing poetry creates a scene. Writing poetry shapes perspectives. Writing poetry builds others up. Writing poetry reveals”… it does all of this, yes. Your final stanza hits home, indeed. For me, writing poetry IS perspective – a life lens.
Why Do You Write Poems When There’s So Much Work to Be Done?
Why do you write poems when there’s so much work to be done? Because I need to breathe. I need to rest in the space that is me. I need to rest in the grace that is me, that is in me, to draw deep for the giving, forgiving.
Why do you write poems when there’s so much work to be done? Because my job is my livelihood, not my life. The flow of my own words replenishes energy extracted. Poems are preservation. The house and the dust aren’t going anywhere but the new idea with glimmering wings is fleeting. It is fragile. It wants to live. Poems are presents. Images have meaning and when they come, it is always with offerings. Why would I not accept them? Are they not mine? Poems are a pulling. The writing transcends time, place, life itself.
Why do you write poems when there’s so much work to be done? Because someday my heart will stop beating but the rhythms of my life, the ones that mattered, will beat on, on, on.
Hi Fran,
You’ve created a series of ‘Because” that I admire:
“Because I need to breathe.”
“Because my job is my livelihood, not my life.”
“Because someday my heart will stop beating but the rhythms of my life, the ones that mattered, will beat on, on, on.”
As these lines grow in length, they also seemingly grow in importance. Thank you for these words!
Andy
Fran, the feeling of leaving a lasting legacy through words and thoughts, through the preservation of who you are is strongly felt here, especially in these lines:
Poems are preservation. The house and the dust aren’t going anywhere but the new idea with glimmering wings is fleeting.
The need to breathe, the need to solidify and materialize ideas into words, words into ink on the page, the page into the journals and messages for future generations to learn of their past, of you, of the love you have for them. Your words transcending time, place, and life itself, they are gifts. You share extraordinary beauty in your why today, and against the backdrop of so much to be done, we see priority – – that time and choice are the ways to make poetry work, that seeing writing as a way of life, and your job separate from who you are ~ those are the revelations of honest truth and a woman who knows what matters.
Fran,
I can think of no better reasons to write poetry than these:
“need to breathe. I need to rest”
This is the nurturing poetry gifts us. Lovely ideas throughout.
Fraan–right there–that–“Poems are a pulling” Exactly.
So much wisdom in these lines – especially, for me,”The flow of my own words replenishes energy extracted. Poems are preservation.”
Just beautiful!
Poems
became the ash
of what was left in us
when the world fell apart
Spent
decades inside this screen
and paper, my dusty fingers
trying to ink together memory,
once nearly lost, forever; a heart
knows
only what no longer works
when parts and pieces collapse,
but poets look to plumb the hurt,
for that is the place where a kindled line
of wonder and healing might start
Kevin
“Trying to ink together a memory/once nearly lost, forever” – that is like the summative of my poetry-writing life, Kevin. And this: in addition to a “kindled” line in the hurt, where “wonder and healing might start” – oh, how I cling to that, too. The whole poem is stunning, in your always profoundly succinct way.
Thank you, Fran. I’m still tinkering with the last stanza, which feels off to me.
Kevin
I so know that feeling as well!
Kevin—you begin at the end—“ the ash of what was left in us”—and bring us back to the beginning—“the place where a kindled line of wonder and healing”. So perfectly said. So very true.
Thanks for noticing that, Gayle
Kevin — As I read Andy’s poem, I envisioned exactly what you have written this morning. I kept thinking of it as the ash…that fragment that is left behind after all the rest is blown in the winds …the heart…And thinking of the poets as “plumb[ing] the hurt”…gorgeous words that speak so clearly to the poet in us. You have an incredible gift…just stunning. I hope you are sending your early morning poems to publishers…I would read your collection… again and again. Thank you. Susie
Thank you, Susie
Hi Kevin,
The idea that ash is left when the world falls apart is strong and a rekindling of fire, like a phoenix rising, is rising just on the precipice of the final lines. Wonderful!
When I read the four line of the third stanza my mind lifted this idea: “but poets look to plumb the hurt, / to plumb the heart, / for that is the place where a rekindled line / of wonder and healing might start”
Thank you,
Andy
Thanks, Andy.
Kevin, “poets look to plumb the hurt” is such a boulder of a line here – not a mere tiny pebble, but a great big slab of a chunk of rock, an epiphany of imagery and truth, re-opening the lines and flowing fresh salve, comforting balm on all the places that need soothing. I could read this one line all day, and yet every line speaks volumes to the why of your poetry that is always so uniquely you.
Kevin,
Yes, we turn to poetry, to art, “when parts and pieces collapse.” Love this idea.