Challenge from Jennifer Jowett: write a favorite word poem
Finding words from
Different categories to compose your poem
Dissimulation
flights of fowl
at my feeder
busily bibbling and gobbling
at my feeder
busily bibbling and gobbling
their kerfuffled feathers
frumpy frippery
whifflers flummox
the bumfuzzled flocks
challenging
charms and chimes
flutters and shimmers
to flitter and scatter
-kim johnson
Challenge from Allison Berryhill: Write an Epistolary Poem today.
Braided Trio
Dear Moleskine Journal,
You’re a legend –
my favorite affordable luxury (don’t tell the Pilot).
You’re in MY hands, holding MY thoughts and ideas –
But before mine –
You held the depression of Hemingway- Ernest,
The renderings of VanGogh – Vincent,
And the adventures of Chatwin – Bruce –
Who first called you a Moleskine,
Packing you into his pockets for every journey.
If you can handle the depression and adventure of those explorers,
Surely you can handle my little old rural farm life and times.
Dear Pilot Varsity Fountain Pen,
You’re a classic –
My favorite affordable luxury (don’t tell the Mole).
You pick MY brain and share MY secrets –
But before mine –
You shared the side-splitting tales of Twain – Mark,
With his Conklin Self-Filling,
And the mysteries of Doyle – Conan,
With his Parker Duofold,
And the horror of Lovecraft – Howard (H.P),
With his Waterman.
Even Hemingway himself – Ernest,
Has Montegrappas designed for all the phases of his life –
The Soldier, The Traveller, The Fisherman, and The Writer.
If you can stretch into those deep-thinking wells,
Surely you can dip into my little old shallow basin.
Each of you has my heart –
And while I don’t play favorites
Or do love triangles,
I can’t choose between the two of you.
So we shall live our days as a braided trio –
My Pilot, My Moleskine, and little old me!
Challenge from Allison Berryhill: write an apology poem in the style of William
Carlos Williams’ “This is Just to Say”
this is just to say
i should have been there
more days
you battled
that monster
more days
you battled
that monster
when lewy body
played peek-a-boo:
cruel moments it
exposed the raw truth
played peek-a-boo:
cruel moments it
exposed the raw truth
unremorsefully,
it torched memories
it kidnapped joy
it robbed futures
it torched memories
it kidnapped joy
it robbed futures
Challenge from Allison Berryhill: Write a What I Want poem, using lines of enjambment and your first and middle initials preceding your last name.
Minimalist Makeover by K. H. Johnson
What I want is
to swap this house
and its frippery
for a log cabin
that sleeps 2
and not 12
except for the dogs
leave these 2
and add 10
to Boo Radley and Fitz
because more dogs and fewer people is
what I want
What I want is 1 wall hiding
1 bed and 1 bathroom
with 2 toilets, not 1
because dual thrones are important
crowning features
of log cabin castles
I want 1 sink, 1 counter,
and
0 cabinets to clutter, just 1
shelf for 2 plates, 2 cups, 2 bowls
2 forks, 2 knives, and 2 spoons,
1 pot and 1 pan
1 table, 2 chairs
1 fireplace and 2 lamps
I want 1 minimalist makeover
but please leave
ALL the books,
ALL the Moleskine journals and
ALL the blue-ink Pilot Varsity disposable fountain pens because that is
all I want.
Challenge from Allison Berryhill: Write a 20 Questions Poem
Happy Birthday to the Lady with the Alligator Purse
Could the doctor have known the footprint of the newborn he delivered on 2/15/1820 would forever change the world?
Could your mother have known that the tiny hand of her newborn daughter would be writing at 3?
How long did birthday cake last on a Quaker farm, with six siblings?
Was your famous red shawl a birthday gift?
Or was the “Vote! Said the Lady with the Alligator Purse” purse an iconic present?
Did you have to pinch yourself to fathom an annual teacher’s salary of $110 for those ten years – or did it seem a rich blessing compared to the greater injustices you saw?
Should we thank the Sons of Temperance for your fiery passion to speak?
Did they know they messed with the wrong girl when they told you to, “Sit Down, Listen, and Learn?”
Did they know the firestorm they started in you would ignite the hidden sparks of a raging force?
When you got arrested and fined $10 less than your annual teacher’s salary, did you laugh at the symbolism of those “handcuffs?”
When Congress told you NO every.single.year. from 1869-1906 but you kept asking, did you know you taught us that “failure is impossible?”
Were you there in spirit, wearing a pink hat and marching alongside us in the streets, chanting: “failure.is.impossible?”
Did you really not smile because you thought people wouldn’t take you seriously??!
Did God bring out a heavenly birthday cake 14 years after you arrived, when the 19th passed and bore your name?
Do you know we started carrying your image in our pockets in 1979 when you became the first woman to grace US currency?
Did you know that the sisterhood stands in line for hours on Election Day to cover your gravestone with their “I Voted” stickers?
Do you know how much we appreciate you, more now than ever, 200 years later?
Is there cake in heaven today, and will you save all of us a piece for when we get there?
Are you here with us in spirit today with your alligator purse, wearing a pink hat and a red shawl and eating cake, celebrating with all who proudly cast a big vote for the happiest heavenly birthday for our sister Susan?
Or did I already ask that?
-Kim Johnson
A Call of Words poem
Using words from Mary Oliver’s
The Real Prayers Are Not The Words But The Attention That Comes First
Miriam
In the sideways moments
when life seems tilted
and conscience tussled,
fists clenching the wheel
She appears-
silvery wings
against the backdrop of sky
a hawk on a wire
A calming reassurance
Challenge from Stacey Joy: craft a Call of Words poem
By reading a favorite poem or passage and selecting key words to use to construct new ideas and arrangements.
My inspiration poem:
Southern Gothic by Natasha Trethewey
I have lain down into 1970, into the bed
my parents will share for only a few more years.
Early evening, they have not yet turned from each other
In sleep, their bodies covered – parentheses
framing the separate lives they’ll wake to. Dreaming
I am again the child with too many questions –
the endless why and why and why
my mother cannot answer, her mouth closed, a gesture
toward her future: cold lips stitched shut.
The lines in my father’s face deepen
Toward an expression of grief. I have come home
From the schoolyard with the words that shadow us
In this small Southern town – peckerwood and nigger
lover, half-breed and zebra – words that take shape
outside us. We’re huddled on the tiny island of bed, quiet
in the language of blood: the house, unsteady
on its cinderblock haunches, sinking deeper
into the muck of ancestry. Oil lamps flicker
around us – our shadows, dark glyphs on the wall,
bigger and stranger than we are.
my parents will share for only a few more years.
Early evening, they have not yet turned from each other
In sleep, their bodies covered – parentheses
framing the separate lives they’ll wake to. Dreaming
I am again the child with too many questions –
the endless why and why and why
my mother cannot answer, her mouth closed, a gesture
toward her future: cold lips stitched shut.
The lines in my father’s face deepen
Toward an expression of grief. I have come home
From the schoolyard with the words that shadow us
In this small Southern town – peckerwood and nigger
lover, half-breed and zebra – words that take shape
outside us. We’re huddled on the tiny island of bed, quiet
in the language of blood: the house, unsteady
on its cinderblock haunches, sinking deeper
into the muck of ancestry. Oil lamps flicker
around us – our shadows, dark glyphs on the wall,
bigger and stranger than we are.
My Call of Words poem:
Endless Grief By Kim Johnson
From the shadows of the cruel flickers of awareness
of the disease that closed the door to a golden sunset future,
my mother wasn’t asking for answers
to the endless questions.
She became the island she lived on, her
intermittent unsteady steps
sinking into the muck
of Lewy Body Dementia,
a deepening cold toward the strangers she’d always loved,
dreaming of years long ago as today.
Four years later, why won’t my father face his grief?
He lives on in their house,
sleeping in their bed,
dreaming of catching glimpses of Miriam
In the expressions of another who cannot
see that she will never separate
his heart from Miriam – his high school sweetheart, the Love of his Life.
Challenge from Stacey Joy: write a verse letter to your younger self
Dear younger self who thinks you know it all,
Before you go any further in life,
arrange for yourself a dozen
non-family members
from different walks of life
who don’t know each other
who can give you advice and perspective
and share their stories
from neutral turf.
arrange for yourself a dozen
non-family members
from different walks of life
who don’t know each other
who can give you advice and perspective
and share their stories
from neutral turf.
LISTEN TO THEM!
Feel your own heartbeat
against the backdrop of sound counsel
and don’t fear mistakes
but see them as experience
and learn from them.
against the backdrop of sound counsel
and don’t fear mistakes
but see them as experience
and learn from them.
Read all you can.
Get involved.
Speak out.
Help others.
Oh, and you’ll need millions in lottery winnings
to pay off your student loans.
1/21/15’s Powerball numbers will be 11-12-15-28-57
And the Powerball will be 23.
to pay off your student loans.
1/21/15’s Powerball numbers will be 11-12-15-28-57
And the Powerball will be 23.
Sincerely,
Wiser self who realizes life has more questions than answers
Wiser self who realizes life has more questions than answers
Challenge from Stacey Joy: Write a Wonder Women poem, using only two words per line
Hot Women: a blend of Wonder Women and Hot Lines poetry
After reading Voices: The Final Hours of Joan of Arc by David Elliott, I found these hot lines for Joan:
Jeanne d’Arc
Maid d’Orleans
Red dress
Captive bird
Advance! Onward!
Needle threading
Hemming, mending
Spinning, churning
Cooking, cleaning
Advance! Onward!
Archangel visions
Inner voices
Determined mindset
Fearless determination
Advance! Onward!
Thwarted expectations
Refused marriage
Changed clothes
Battle armor
Advance! Onward!
Powerful voice
Wielded sword
Led resistance
French Savior
Advance! Onward!
Sacred light?
Mad girl?
Holy One?
Patron saint?
Advance! Onward!
Tower cell
Hands bound
Pyre built
Flames swallowed
Advance! Onward!
High price
Selfless sacrifice
Martyr wings
Victory!
Advance! Onward!
Common Threads 
Polished Tarnish
glittery flickers and glimmers
of 1970s festivities, memories
of Miriam’s simmering skillets,
scents of Christmas dinner deliciousness,
mothering me: metallic fillings
of bitten aluminum foil, agitating
through the roof tooth nerves!
bidding forgiveness, then
tinkly and ringly tintinnabulation
such merriment foretells
of silvery and harmonistic bells, bells, bells
shimmer disappears, silver tarnishes
constipated cumulonimbus thunderheads –
threatening vistas, tinting windows
of diminished consciousness, disturbing
my mother’s pallor as she
relinquished this world –
the glitzy glamour girl
of the 1950s,
spirit withering,
dimming, sinking in 2016, sprinting
into the swirling, twirling,
Starry, Starry Night
re-enter the shimmer
visions of her inspiration
silly mirages?
optic illusions?
mistaken apparitions?
NO. miraculocirrus Miriam –
audible, visible, omniscient,
present!
-Kim Johnson