James Coates is our host today for the 7th day of #VerseLove2024. You can read his full prompt here, along with the poems of others. Today, James inspires us to write poems about a time when everything seemed wonderful and possible, using a form such as a Tanka or Choka. He explains that a Chōka is a Japanese poem of indefinite length, consisting of alternating lines of 5 and 7 syllables, with an extra 7-syllable line at the end.
My brother’s wedding yesterday was all of this and more – everything wonderful and possible- and I can’t wait to write poems and share pictures of the bride and groom once they have shared photos and made their social media announcements first, but I will follow rules of social media etiquette by waiting my turn with permission to reveal photos of their big day. Their dancing recessional out of the church doors brought to mind our own wedding day as we made our way down the aisle after our vows. It went something like this:
Hallelujah!
on my way down the aisle, I leaned into the sound booth and grinned at my brother Let's change the music! Only the recessional.
The Hallelujah Chorus seemed far more fitting
an eleventh-hour switch-hit change at the bottom of the ninth inning might bring a grand-slam homerun
amused wedding guests chuckled three ministers laughed as we made our way into happily ever after
Today’s host of #VerseLove at http://www.ethicalela.com is Wendy Everard of New York, who inspires us to research our favorite writers’ places and our own favorites, and to write a poem inspired by that place. She wrote her poem as she walked around Emily Dickinson’s home and gardens.
I’m the last to the party, crawling up to the word buffet, invitation in hand from Leigh Anne Eck in case this is one of those exclusive shindigs where they ask for ID.
And they might. I’m dragging a leg, my shoes don’t match, my jeans have holes not bought that way, and my hair’s a bedheaded mess. I look like I belong on the set of the Thriller video, and it’s Easter Sunday. It’s way early, we’re half-packed in the camper, and we might be headed out to find a Sunrise service on the lake beach of Callaway Gardens.
But first, coffee. And second, an invitation to continue the writing journey at http://www.ethicalela.com beginning tomorrow, where we will write poetry together each day thoughout April during #VerseLove as we celebrate National Poetry Month. If you’re part of the Slice of Life group, you’ve written for 31 days. You can make it to 61 – just say YES! That’s how I became a daily writer 3 years ago this past February. I’ll be your host tomorrow as we introduce ourselves, and others in this group will be hosting a day on the journey as well. Consider this your personal invitation to the next party.
And third – the buffet of words. Here are my words and expressions, countdown style:
5. tentative consonants (shh-, spp-, smm-)- this is a word combination my eyes didn’t want to leave in Georgia Poet Laureate Chelsea Rathburn‘s poem Returning to My Childhood Library coming out in her new book, defined in her poem as “the soft sounds of someone learning to read.”
4. hush – this word comes from the tipping point poem for me, the one that catapulted a love of poetry to an absolute fixation on it, where the nymph silences the goblin wanting her green glass beads in Overheard on a Salt Marsh by Harold Monro from Volume 1 Poems and Rhymes, the Childcraft volume with the pink spine band.
3. ceaselessly– my One Little Word for 2023 and 2024 is Pray. This is how we should pray. And also, it’s part of Gatsby’s last words: So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past. F. Scott Fitzgerald, party animal as he was, is where our dog Fitz (a true transcendental – not a party dog – who came to us with the more fitting name of Henry) got his new name.
2. Tell me – because it’s how Mary Oliver started her (probably) most famous line of all time from her poem The Summer Day. There is a beckoning to know, to tell a tale, to listen as someone shares a plan. “Tell me, what is it you plan to do / with your one wild and precious life?” And it’s why our dog Ollie is named Ollie. It’s at the heart of why we rescue – so we can give our dogs a family and a hope for their one wild and precious life. Ollie eats poetry books – his favorite is anything by Ada Limon. I suspect that what led us to rescue this little dog was divine intervention – I truly believe that he is the reincarnate of one of Mary O’s own little rescues named Percy, for whom she seemed particularly partial in the Oliverist possible way.
1, Hey, Boo! – my cryingest scene in To Kill a Mockingbird, that tender moment when Boo is behind the door…..and Scout (I can’t….I can’t…..I’ll get weepy and I won’t stop)……these are the words that named our dog (abandoned by his previous family, left behind a door, rescued by us) Boo Radley. Boo, who is as white as a ghost and rivals the most damaged of little dogs, who we know without a doubt, despite all of his own random and quirky fears, would pounce on anyone who tried to hurt us if we were dressed as a ham out trick or treating.
Happy Easter, everyone! Hope to see you each day in April and on Tuesdays all year long!
Daily Writers
last day of slicing leads to first day of #VerseLove daily writers born
We celebrate our 16th wedding anniversary today. For a couple of divorcees who found each other a little later in life and had given up on ever marrying again, we realize now that when God winks on love, it’s a dream come true.
There we were, on a swing in a park, where he proposed while wearing a royal blue button-down shirt. There just happened to be a royal blue car driving by with a teenage kid cheering and fist pumping out the window as the love of my life was down on a knee asking for my hand (is there any wonder that I drive a bright blue Caribbean colored RAV4, even though my personality is more of a muted silver or pearly white?).
I think back to that day, on that swing, and count the joys.
A photo of our swing in the reading room of our home
Marriage Proposal Haiku
a swing proposal with a smashed Cracker Jack ring you'd resurrected
and still I said yes with a yes-er yes because you'd fixed the broken
If you’ve never rolled a set of Taylor Mali’s Metaphor Dice, take note: they’re one of the best ways to make poetry accessible for reluctant writers. The red dice are nouns (conceptual, most), white are adjectives, and blue are nouns that represent the direct comparison to the red dice. I rolled the dice:
Naysay Nonet
the truth is a back-handed mirror because once you say to someone to prove your argument's point that they should have called you you can't turn around and not have called them when you should have called
I was three minutes late to work one day last week because I was chasing the sunrise. If you’ve ever been on the backside of nowhere in the rural Georgia countryside between 7:45 and 8:00 just after the time springs forward, you’ve seen it: the most gorgeous glowing coral red sunrise ever, so rich and fiery it could be an over-easy orange yolk of a just-laid Buff Orpington egg, the kind still warm upon cracking into the pan, the kind that mesmerizes folks who’ve never seen a yolk so unhormonally free-ranging fresh, that didn’t come from a carton in a store.
Sometimes that egg yolk sun’ll be right in front of you, as it is when it’s waiting for me like a dog who wants to play chase, right at the end of my eastside driveway first thing in the morning on my way to work. Then, it’s like I’ve tossed it a stick. It takes off to the left when I turn south, then stays left when I head back east, only a little lefter than before. At the stop sign, it’s still left, just not as behindish, and then when I turn back to the south right before I turn back east again, I’m approaching what I know is THE MOST beautiful sunrise ribbon of roadway in the entire county and maybe all of Georgia, maybe even all of the southeastern United States or the world or the universe.
And sometimes I slow waaaaaaay down just to take it all in, if there’s nobody behind me.
Special Thanks to Two Writing Teachers for inspiring writers, especially sleepless ones.
#messages in the madness
The melatonin was working fine, just fine, I thought, but I figured either we had a rogue sound machine with broken buttons or that one of the machines was possessed. I kept hearing things, but my husband didn’t. Just like when the car starts making a sound, only not a car but a tiny little white noise machine.
So finally, finally – – he in his melatoninlessness began hearing mysterious sounds, too. I didn’t know whether to cry, be scared, or celebrate.
If your children tell you they hear funny voices at night, believe them and check the sound machine. They’re in there.
Shelley of Oklahoma is our host today for the final day of the March Open Write, encouraging us to write poems to help us relax. You can read her full prompt here. I have one of those conferences today – the kind in a town with a gas station and a stop sign and maybe a hot dog in the gas station and nothing else, and I’m driving in with coworkers from an hour and seven minutes northeast, and I’m not overnighting so I have to leave early and get home late and I know the coffee’s gonna suck because it always does when they have those plastic canisters of powdered creamer and only pink-packet off-brand sweetener.
But I’m trying to relax.
Really.
Frumpy
Relax - no one cares whether your pants match your shirt or that they're wrinkled
Relax - no one cares that the tops of your feet are white as unbaked bread
Relax - no one sees you picking at your fingers of chipped nail polish
Relax - no one knows your Odor Eaters are now expired by three months
Relax - just because you forgot to tweeze your lip doesn't mean don't go
After all: you're the driver....others are counting on you to get there
Relax - your oil got changed, your gas tank's full and your car is vacuumed out
Relax - your riders might find your car is cleaner than theirs (not driven)
Relax - wait, is that .....is that a seam coming out? It's right on the butt
Nope, don't relax. Go change pants. Nothing clean? That's what long sweaters are for.
Heck, grab a blanket and wrap up like a student .....relax for a change!
Special Thanks to Two Writing Teachers for the Slice of Life Challenge!
Katrina Morrison of Oklahoma is our host today for the second day of the March Open Write at http://www.ethicalea.com. You can read her full prompt here. She explains that misheard lyrics are called Mondegreen. I’m a fan of Coxy.Official, and when the whole bed is shaking with my laughter at night, my husband knows I’m watching Nathan Cox on Tik Tok. He’s the king of music Mondegreen, and so thanks to Katrina, I now know this misheard lyric genre has a name. Coxy’s short clips are for adults, and it’s not the words as much as his reactions that get my tickle box turned over. Now it makes me want to go find the exact lyrics for all those songs I often mis-sang growing up. I was never sure whether Clapton was saying she don’t ride, she don’t ride, she don’t ride cocaine or she’s alright, she’s alright, she’s alright cocaine, but either way you sing it, it works in the song.
My poem is about a text that became our own new phrase shortly after we married.
Special thanks to Two Writing Teachers for inspiring writers.
As I move through the challenge of writing a poem a day for a year, I’m trying different forms and experimenting. Today, my poem for The Stafford Challenge is a luc-bat, a Vietnamese poetry form that alternates six and eight syllables with internal and end rhyme scheme. I refinished my late grandmother’s table recently, and I often think about all the family members who have ever sat at this table – and all the stories told here. I wonder, sometimes, whether family members in Heaven get passes to visit and check on the living. And whether there is a kitchen full of spirits listening in, checking on us to see what we’re doing.
I hope so!
Family Gatherings
table transformation for our congregation of folks family pride evokes stories build laughs and jokes from past so those long gone will last through time ancestors living ~prime of life conjured husband and wife ~spirits pasts with presents - - its future gatherings to endure ages
Common Threads 