We dozed with open
windows to let the first whiffs
of fall fill us full
welcome, Great Pumpkin!
welcome all scents of pumpkin spice!
bring on the sweaters!
First Day of Fall
September 2023 Poetry Marathon Day 1 of 5
Today, Stacey Joy of California is our host for the September Open Write at http://www.ethicalela.com. She is inspiring us to write odes today. I took inspiration from her poem and from Amy Van DerWater’s Dear Socks in writing an ode to the memories of my mother through the ways she still comes to me when I am missing her.
From Saturday through Wednesday, I will post the daily writing along with several other poems that were written during the poetry marathon I began yesterday morning at 8:00 a.m.. It ends at 8:00 this morning, and will contain one poem written each hour since then either by a friend/family member or by me. (Okay, I slept the night, but I wrote ahead and behind those hours of sleep because…..my meanness might have kicked in).
I’ll begin with today’s poem, written in the 6 a.m. hour, September 16, 2023: ODE – a poem of praise, often written directly to someone or something.
Memories of Miriam ~ An Ode – a poem of praise, often directly to a person or object
Dear Mom,
you come to me
in the missing
with tingly spots that
turn warm
in the heart,
help me exhale~ my
fingers circling my temples
bringing back
all the whens
of this Bernina
your fingers guiding
mine under the
foot, stitch by stitch
learning to sew
a lime green terrycloth
bathcover, now
sewing quilts
for your great grands
on your fine
Swiss machine
of hawks,
talons clutching wires
checking that
my seatbelt
is fastened
as I drive past,
shaking your pointing finger
if I forgot,
knowing that
whatever I’m
thinking at
that moment,
you’re there
in it
of strawberry figs,
last summer wave
just picked, my own
weakening fingers twisting
tender fruits free ~
canned this very
week, Mason jars
sealed tight
with summer’s
sweetened warmth
for coming winter
of spiced Russian tea,
the Tangy orange
and lemonade mixed
with clove, sugar
cinnamon and tea ~
a medicinal brush
of your invisible fingers
through my hair
in sore throat season
of rippled milkglass
with resurrection fern
springing to life
unfurling its brown
dry fingers
into open arms
green again
September 15, 2023 – The Kickoff – 8 a.m. hour – Kim Johnson
Haiku – a poem with three lines and seventeen syllables in 5/7/5 syllabicated lines
My Stir Stick
deep in the forest
a tiny tree takes root
reaches to sunlight
growing tall, falling
with a thud, destined to be
my coffee stir stick
September 15, 2023 – 9 a.m. hour – my son Marshall Meyer – Gogyoshi (a 5-line poem on any topic, and Marshall wrote two back to back gogyoshis, connected, about a recent fishing experience….and he wrote this within a half hour of when I requested a poem, which is what a poetry marathon experience is about – – birthing poetry meaningfully in a few intentional moments throughout the day). I’m so proud of him!
The experience is like no
other. The stalk and hunt is
on, wind and direction
matter. I’m in shin deep
water and the reds can feel
all vibrations.
Concentration is at an all
time high. Cast. The feel of
the exploding strike is like
no other.
September 15, 2023 – 10 a.m. hour – Found Poem by Kim Johnson – a Found Poem is a poem that is written by finding words on an existing page of print, lifting them out to stand alone as a poem. This one is taken from The Outsiders.
A Silent Moment
dawn mist
golden
gray to pink
a silent moment:
paint,
fresh in my mind,
like
nature’s flower;
down to day…
nothing can stay
September 15, 2023 – 11 a.m. hour – Jenga Poem – Kim Johnson
I let my son’s 9:00 poem inspire a title I found on a Jenga block and wrote this poem from the word blocks in my collection. To write a Jenga poem, select blocks and arrange them into a poem of words that stand alone or words that inspire lines mixed with your own words.
Casting a Line
choose your own
hopes for the future ~
murals unveiled:
ending or new beginning?
inspiring
another chance at life
every precious “breath”
how we have chosen
race against time
September 15, 2023 – Noon hour – Kim Johnson
Skinny – a poem with 11 lines, where first and last line repeat similarly in small number of words, and the rest of the lines have one word. Lines 2, 6, and 10 use the same word.
Owl
owl swoops down
gracefully
without
a
sound
gracefully
to
forest
ground
gracefully
owl swoops down
A Strawberry Fig Visit
I picked the last of the figs yesterday, half at lunchtime when I was letting the dogs out and half after getting home from a day of work and a haircut. I was determined to make strawberry figs just like my mother always made at the end of each summer, when we’d put on aprons and each take a job of washing, chopping, and stirring in her kitchen.
Temperatures are finally out of the 90s, and the mornings are beginning their wee hour thermostat adjustment one little tap a week, it seems. When that happens, the figs that aren’t finished off by birds, butterflies, and squirrels – or picked before anything else gets them first – dry up like upside-down miniature deflated balloons hanging on the stems. I was able to reach enough remaining good figs for one last wave of canning for this season.
I found strawberries price-slashed on the clearance cart in our local grocery store and added a couple of two-pound boxes of cane sugar to my buggy.
My husband was off at a meeting, so it was only me and the strong presence of my mother in the kitchen washing, chopping, and stirring up strawberry fig memories together, steam rising and aromas swelling. And tears welling, as I think of all the things since December 29, 2015 that I want to tell her.
You have six great grandchildren now, Mom. Four boys and two girls. Aidan is an avid reader just like you, Sawyer loves science and nature, Saylor has ultra sass and is tougher than any of the boys, River loves to be barefooted in his backyard kayaking through the marsh and running with his three dogs, Beckham never likes wearing any clothes, and Magnolia Mae is only a month old and already a sweet little blossom rooted deep in southern culture, on her way to becoming another strong woman on your branch of the tree. Your three grandchildren are all on their feet, moving onward!
And my brother Ken is in love with his soul mate and she’s good for him, Dad needs you to tell him the answers (and how to let things go), and so do the rest of us. You’d love all three of our dogs that you never met. Your last words to dad – “You take care of these dogs” – assure me that you’d be proud to know that our Boo Radley, Fitz (short for F. Scott Fitzgerald), and Ollie (named for Mary Oliver) basically run the house so much that we call them our four-legged sons.
Thank you for teaching me the ways of your kitchen and giving me a love of strawberry figs that not everyone knows how to appreciate. As the autumn nears and passes and winter arrives, the warmth of toast laden with butter and slathered with strawberry figs will keep you here with me.
And I still need you, Mom.
Ethical ELA Friday Teacher Scenes
By far, the most uplifting group I have joined as an educator is Sarah Donovan’s writing group at EthicalELA. Our book discussions and writing times have been both professionally and personally enriching. The networks and friendships formed with some of the top experts in the field have challenged my thinking and opened my eyes about the importance of writing alongside students and the importance of choice in reading.
Someone in our group once said, “Teachers of writing should be writers, writing and sharing the journey with students.” We all froze at the weight of the simple power of this truth, letting it seep into our souls.
Today, I am sharing an article that I wrote for http://www.ethicalela.com as a guest blogger. You can read my article here.
Enjoy these ideas as you consider your own reading identity. And share a book blessing in the comments below!
Here’s my own book blessing: I’m reading Before the Coffee Gets Cold by Toshikazu Kawaguchi. This is the next book in Sarah’s reading group The Healing Kind, which we will be discussing on September 17th in our Zoom meeting. Come join us! Details are here. I like it because I love the idea of time travel, and of course I enjoy imagining a cup of coffee in a quiet little cafe with all the magic it brings. I think anyone who enjoyed reading The Midnight Library by Matt Haig would like to read this book.
Monthly Goal Update
At the end of each month, (or beginning), I review my yearly goals and spend some time reflecting on how I’m doing in living the life I want to live ~ a way of becoming my own accountability partner and having frequent check-ins to evaluate my progress. I’m still in the process of revising some of my goals as I encounter successes…..and setbacks. New goals have asterisks for the month of September, when I will report on them in a few weeks. For the month of August here’s my goal reflection:
| Category | Goals | My Progress |
| Literature | Read for Sarah Donovan’s Book Group Send out Postcards Blog Daily Write at least 2 chapters for writing group’s book | I participated in the August book discussion with Sarah’s reading group and am almost finished with the September book – Before the Coffee Gets Cold by Toshikazu Kawaguchi. I’ll participate in this book discussion on September 17th. I haven’t sent out any postcards this month, but I visited in person to meet my newest granddaughter. I continue to blog daily, and the daily writing and reflecting is a wonderful habit for me. I don’t feel complete without some form of daily writing, and the blog is a way of continuing the habit. My writing group is writing a series of new books, and I will spend time editing the chapters we have written. I will continue to add chapters as we receive feedback from our proposals. This is a work in progress, but I have only edited this month and not written any new chapters. I edited based on feedback from Anna Roseboro, a well-published member of our group. |
| Creativity | *Make a rag quilt for a new grandbaby *Create Shutterfly Route 66 | I have a new granddaughter, and I’ve finished the rag quilt with the Nana tag on it. I’ll include a photo at the bottom of this post. I created a video, but I didn’t accomplish this goal, so I’ll continue this one: I’ll create a canvas or two, along with a photo book using our Route 66 photos! Update: I still haven’t accomplished this goal. I need to get busy in Shutterfly. |
| Spirituality | Tune in to church Pray! Keep OLW priority | We have been tuning in to church. With Dad preaching every Sunday in October and a few Sundays ahead of that, it makes the church home hunt take a back seat until my childhood church gets a new preacher, since I have the opportunity to hear Dad. My car is still my prayer chamber for daily prayer, and there’s so much to give thanks for. I continue my conversations with the good Lord each morning and afternoon. I’m still keeping my OLW my priority: pray! |
| Reflection | Write family stories Spend time tracking goals each month | I have shared family stories through my blog this month and will continue this month to do the same. I’m tracking goals, revising, and considering some new categories as I look at my goal table. |
| Self-Improvement | *Reach top of weight range | This is a setback for me this month. I’ve hit major stress and gained weight, despite joining WW. I need to set a firm date and get the mental mindset that it takes to stay on track. I have work to do. |
| Gratitude | Devote blog days to counting blessings | Gratitude needs more time in September. I need to devote time to Sarah Ban Breathnach’s Gratitude Journal readings. I get busy and forget to truly commit time to thanking the Good Lord for all the blessings, even though I am grateful. Remembering to thank Him, while I do this in prayer, needs more emphasis in the moments of walking on the farm or driving through the beautiful countryside at sunset. |
| Experience | Embrace Slow Travel Focus on the Outdoors | I’ve taken a trip in August to see the baby and now am finishing the month in Athens on a business trip. Both fast. Not slow and lingering as I would like. September will take us camping and possibly to visit a daughter, and I hope that we can slow down on those trips. I’m still focusing on the outdoors with birdwatching adventures and camping. It’s the best time of the day to sit outside on the porch (in the shade) and just listen and watch what is going on around us. We have seen the owl several times this month. |
Another Owl Visit
They say when you find an owl feather or see an owl, its spirit is trying to communicate something to you. In the past week and a half, I’ve seen an owl twice, found one feather, and heard an owl four times. I’m speaking of one of the Great Horned Owls who lives here on the Johnson Funny Farm.
I’m wondering about the message. How does an owl message recipient know what the message is that the owl is trying to communicate? Are there owl message interpreters out there?
What does it mean to see one in a tree, then on the ground, then find a feather?
My late mother’s bird of choice for saying hello from time to time is a hawk. Generally, she’s on a wire by the road checking to see if I’m wearing my seatbelt and warning me to slow down. Sometimes she appears when something’s heavy on my mind, as if to let me know I’m thinking in the right direction.
My husband suggested that perhaps the way the owl appears has a bearing on the message. Turns out, he’s right. Overhead, they symbolize escape from a dangerous situation. In a tree, they symbolize wisdom in a situation. There is also significance according to the type of owl it is, according to the internet. A Great Horned Owl represents a deep connection with the spirit realm and brings support and peace. The internet says we have to pay attention to what happens immediately after we see the owl. If something good happens, the sighting was favorable, but if something bad happens, then more unfortunate events may unfold.
Both times I saw the owl, it was in the evening hours before sunset, followed by regularity. Normalcy. Everyday things like finishing coffee and reading on in my book. There wasn’t anything necessarily good or bad that followed the sightings – just carrying on. Hearing an owl often means some unfortunate mishap may happen to someone in the family, according to another web page. I have heard these owls for the past 3 years, so I don’t believe that their hooting is out of the ordinary – – it just means I happen to live in the middle of a pine forest, where I share their space and overhear their conversations.
Greeks believed that hearing an owl’s hooting was a good omen and symbol of wealth and fortune, reminding us to look deep within ourselves to identify anything negative that hinders our progress. Many cultures believe that owls appear in times of upcoming unfortunate events such as pandemics, plagues on the land, and impending natural disasters. Native Americans believe they are prophets of unfortunate events. I think of a movie I once saw where the maid hears the owl in the morning and by noon, someone in the household has gone to be with the Lord.
There is one other possibility, though, perhaps a stronger one. The internet assures me that aside from the lone appearance of an owl, the continued sightings of owls in any form – books, images, real life sightings – mean that owls are your spirit animal, and they are guiding you through a new life chapter, assuring you that everything is going to be okay. Their continued presence means that you aren’t alone, and that someone is watching over you.
I’m stepping out into this day with the assurance that my spirit animal is watching, leading me, guiding my steps. I wouldn’t put it past my mother to up the ante on the hawk and send an owl to get my attention in a way I’d give a hawk a passing glance and keep going.
My eyes are open, and I will continue to watch for these owls and see what message they are bringing my way.
Hummingbird Heartstrings
it's that same feeling I get when my children and grandchildren are about to leave for home four hours south they're packing bags loading their car stripping beds washing towels double-checking for toothbrushes under beds for little things easily left behind like tiny dinosaurs wayward doll shoes lone socks I dread the tail lights heading down our driveway those I love rolling away this morning's stirring is not unlike this feeling~ already missing family before they leave ~ as I watch my hummingbirds remnants of a charm heading south on their long journey for winter no wee suitcases no teeny toothbrushes no sippy snacks for the road but departing nonetheless traveling lightly I want to hug them tell them to be safe tell them I'll fix their favorite nectar next spring even weed the lantana
August Open Write with Scott McCloskey
Today our host for August’s Open Write, Scott McCloskey of Michigan, encouraged us to write poems from the perspective of someone or something in any painting or its artist. You can read his full prompt here. I chose the Woodstock Festival. Since the photos are copyrighted, I can’t share the actual photo I chose, but it’s available at this link: https://artsandculture.google.com/story/AwUBOlaLnlGyLA
Once you get there, scroll down. It’s about the 14th picture in the collection. There is a woman playing a flute and a man playing a drum. There is a yellowish lab-type dog in the background, mixed in with all the people milling about. My poem is from the perspective of the drum player, clearly lost in the music and, if thinking anything, thinking to his own beat.
Ain't Nobody Ain't nobody gonna steal my joy, Ain't nobody gonna steal my song, Ain't nobody gonna steal my beat, Ain't nobody gonna steal my drum, Ain't nobody gonna steal my groove, Ain't nobody gonna steal my love, Ain't nobody gonna steal my peace, Ain't nobody gonna steal my shirt, Ain't nobody gonna steal my dog, Ain't nobody gonna steal nothin' of mine 'Cause I'm a sharin' man, Yeah, I'm a sharin', man.
August Open Write with Wendy Everand
Wendy Everand is our host today for the August Open Write, and she inspires us to write odes to our favorite poets. You can read her full prompt here.
This brought to mind the first poet I ever knew. We lived next door to a retired school teacher in Reynolds, Georgia, and one day I got loose and barged into her house (no one locked their doors in that town back then)…..and the rest is history. After she died, two of her granddaughters compiled a collection of her poems, and I got a copy as a gift. I still believe that she pulled my poetry strings out and brushed them…..maybe even crocheted them.
Ode to Mabel G. Byrd (December 10, 1900-1/20/1987)
Mama Byrd’s poems
mainly quatrains
ABCB rhyme scheme
Crafting 4-line verse veins
Born in 1900, Taylor County
Little Sweet Georgia Peach
Died 1987, Taylor County
Lived her life to write and teach
I barged right in, in ‘69
(She was 69, I was 3)
I still remember visiting
Listening to poems at her knee
She went blind
But still knew color schemes
She’d crochet blankets as gifts for folks
In gilded yarns, bright blues, and creams
She still wrote, even blind
Poems were her favorite forms
And when I read her words today,
Time turns back, my heart warms
In 1987, I went for one last visit
Dad and I, next to her bedside
Told me she’d meet me at Heaven’s Gate
About a month before she died.
The very first poet I ever knew
Still speaks to me today
In rose gardens and peach blossoms
…..and in Granny Square crochet.
Sunday Morning on the Johnson Funny Farm
Aside from the usual blasts of neighbors’ target practice gunfire and tannerite explosions just to light up the Pike County Discussion Page at 8:00 on any given Sunday morning, the planes from the local airport flying low and the jets flying high along the flight path above the farm from the Atlanta Airport, and the roosters excited to see the sunrise after the long, dark night, the sweet notes of birdsong from the branches of the Loblolly pines brings peace and serenity.
One of our deer families has learned how to enter and exit the old goat pen, where they feast on breakfast and enjoy a little more security and thus a more relaxed dining experience than they normally have, especially with their little ones.
The white-breasted nuthatches laugh like evil circus clowns with their white-painted faces as they climb up and down the suet trees and keep watch while they eat.
And the hummingbirds engage in full-body air jousting squabbles over the sweet nectar at every feeder.
What I love most about my birdwatching time, despite all the best reasons I’d sometimes love a noise ordinance in our county, is that all deadlines and demands are on hold while I sip my morning coffee, never knowing what I’ll see or hear next.
This is wildlife as I’ve come to know it.
Common Threads 