The Cauldron

 

Hate is a boiling cauldron

always simmering 
over and open flame
bubbling and gurgling
revenge
violence
stewing and roiling 
evil 
torture
festering, churning
corruption
betrayal 
hexes of modern-day 
social media
witchcraft
devil’s fingers
at the 
keyboard


Stars

Today I wrote a borrowed line poem using lines from two of my favorite poets. The credits to poets are in the top photo in the order in which they appear in the poem, and the lines reconstructed are in the bottom photo, which shows how I made a whole new poem from snippets.  Try this with reluctant writers! Everyone can write poetry. 

 

#WhyIWrite!

 

Thanks to Andy Schoenborn for helping us celebrate the National Day on Writing! 

#whyiwrite!

Why I wake early: to write 

Why I write: so that caged birds can sing, so the things I carry belong 

to water my late mother’s garden, to travel with Charley, to be alone together with my thoughts, to create a more confident writer, to shed tears over a hatchet

I write to celebrate all creatures great and small, little women and little men, the soul of an octopus, wild geese and blue horses 

I write for reverent devotions, for beloved dog songs, for breaking rules of the dance and quenching the thirst of a thousand mornings upstream 

I write because it matters ~

because that is what I choose to do with my one wild and precious life 

not because there is ink in my pen

In My Grandson’s Eyes

Today, Andy Schoenborn inspires writers to listen to the words of the Chilean-American author Marjorie Agosín. In her poem “My Mother’s Eyes,” Agosín shares the hope she sees for herself in the reflections of her mother’s eyes. He inspires us to write a poem of reflection seen in the eyes of another person. I chose one of my grandsons, River (2), thinking back on our FaceTime conversation yesterday! 



 In My Grandson’s Eyes 

In my grandson’s eyes 

are rivers of life

teeming 

with the fervor of 

each moment

and an urgent need 

to share it 

unclad 

in a Garden of Eden 

along the marsh creeks

he runs 

pumpkin to pumpkin 

bringing each: 

“wittle”

“big”

proudly holding them

for me to admire

like a fisherman’s trophy

into the FaceTime screen 

eyes of cerulean sky 

with twinkle stars

gazing upward

expressive in wonder 

intense with passion 

recalling 

“da punkin patch”

with a smile 

almost as big as 

his pride

inspiring me 

to 

seek the joy 

to 

see such big magic 

in wittle simple things

Abecedoggian Mornings

 

Today our host, Cara, inspired us to write an abecedarian poem with these ideas: The abecedarian is an ancient poetic form guided by alphabetical order. Generally each line or stanza begins with the first letter of the alphabet and is followed by the successive letter, until the final letter is reached. The form was frequently used in ancient cultures for sacred compositions, such as prayers, hymns, and psalms. There are numerous examples of abecedarians in the Hebrew Bible; one of the most highly regarded is Psalm 118 (or 119 by King James numbering). It consists of twenty-two eight-line stanzas, one for each letter of the Hebrew alphabet. Chaucer’s “An ABC” is an excellent medieval example of the form. He crafted his translation of a French prayer into twenty-three eight-line stanzas that follow the alphabet (minus J, U, V, and W).

While it seems natural for them to be 26 lines–one for each letter of the alphabet, they don’t have to be. The letters can weave into however many lines work best for you and the lines can be short or long.

Abecedoggian Mornings 

A trio of 

boys 

cherished (now) 

dogs – such 

energetic members of our 

family 

get up at an early 

hour with me, never 

idle – 

jumping 

kneeling 

leaping 

moving 

nudging 

overshooting 

pawing 

quibbling 

rolling 

scrapping 

tug-of-warring

underestimating 

vaulting 

wagging 

X-ing out all writing solitude  

yapping 

zigzagging   

Truth

Anna Roseboro challenged us to write a 20/20 poem – something that wasn’t clear last year that is clear this year, in only 20 words. 

Truth 

I thought I knew the culprit.
But then the truth came clear.
Like a cockroach skittering away from
the light.

Anagram Poem

 

Anna Small Rosewood inspired my writing group to write Anagram poems using words formed from letters in our names today. I decided to take snippets of the Haikus I’ve written this week during my fall break travels and combine each day into a character’s journal (I am the “character”) as a primary source document. 

Kimberly Haynes Johnson

Salem, home, shore, Bearskin, one, sea, joy, sail, shore, air, early, on, skim, Amie’s, Ann, she, rose, line, makes 

Day 1 Rockport Walk 

early morning walk
in Rockport, Massachusetts 
streets of Bearskin Neck

waves crash on sea wall
breakfasting gulls skim the shore
sunrise fish morsels 

lobster fisherman
revving up Amie’s engine 
moored at Tuna Wharf

coastal New England
autumn splendor holds such charms
travelers revel 

Day 2 – Salem Tour

Uber to Salem
Witch Museum, history
witch hunts still exist 

Day 3 – Sea glass Search

sunrise sea glass search 
surfside, seeking shattered shards
seaside souvenirs 

Day 4 – Whales, Music

Cape Ann Whale Watching
gentle giants of the sea
Oh, look! Thar she blows! 

tribal drums, cello
hand-carved rosewood balafon 
electric guitar 

bluegrass, funk, rock-fused
traditional African 
unexpected joy

Day 5 – Freedom Trail

City View trolley
much too tired to walk the line
where it all began 

travel is fun, but
coming home is part of what
makes the adventure! 

World Music

 


World Music

tribal drums, cello

hand-carved rosewood balafon 

electric guitar 
bluegrass, funk, rock-fused
traditional West African 
unexpected joy!