Do you love journals and pens? Are you a particular-type-of-pencil snob? Are you drawn to notepads, Post-It Notes, notecards, and writing tablets of all shapes and sizes? If you said yes to any of these questions and you’ve ever had a secret wish to write poetry but aren’t sure how to start, I might can help.
I want to provide a link to a special book that is a completely free download herein digital form or a cost-of-printing book form here. Each chapter is filled with poems that explain the type of poetry, a prompt to get you started, instructions, and a mentor poem to show a sample by another poet for inspiration.
If you’re looking to set a goal of writing, this book can launch your new healthy habit!
Mo Daley of Illinois is our host for the third and final day of the December Open Write. She inspires us to write Kennings today. Here is a part of what she shares, but you can read her full prompt here.
November is a month of gratitude. It’s a great time to reflect on the people, places, and things that mean so much to us. The Kenning comes from Norse myths or legends. A Kenning is a poem that uses two-word phrases as metaphors to describe something. For example, you might use tree-hugger instead of environmentalist.
Think of a person, place, animal, or thing for which you are grateful. Develop a list of attributes and actions for your subject. Think of fun and creative ways to describe your topic without saying who or what it is. Your poem can have as many or as few kennings as you’d like. Think of your poem as if it were a riddle. The hardest part for me was giving the poem a title without giving away my subject.
I’m continuing to write 6-7 poems this week, so today’s poem is 6-7-6. Fitz is one of three Schnoodles we have rescued over the past decade, and he is the star of the show today. He naps in a brown velvet chair and often throws his arm up over the arm rest as if he is a person. Sometimes I think he would look best in a a tophat with a gold chain eyepiece, smoking an old-fashioned pipe. He came to us as Henry, but we renamed him Fitz, after F. Scott Fitzgerald. The name Fitz fits, but we realize that he was aptly named Henry after Thoreau himself. He’s far more of a thinker than he ever will be a party animal.
When the high school teacher called asking if I would be willing to come write poetry alongside students, I jumped at the offer. As a District Literacy Specialist mostly wrapped up in the operational world of data and school improvement, I miss the opportunities of the classroom. That’s where we make the biggest difference.
She read to me the AP Standard on taking poetry from prose and wanted to feature blackout poetry. As we chatted, I shared with her my blog post that day and gave her a copy of 90 Ways of Community, a book on poetry written by one of my writing groups. Together, we considered the various poetry forms that we could use if we modeled the process ~ blackout and found poetry were already on the list, but we added Haiku, X Marks the Spot, Acrostic, Golden Shovel, and Zip Odes as a geographic timestamp bonus of sorts. The students have already created their own personal writing, and we’ll show them how I used a blog post to extract poetry and urge them to do the same.
We’ll model the process.
We’ll feature an overview of possibilities – – a menu of choices – – and then watch their creativity flow onto their paper like they’re mining for gems that they pull out to polish and sparkle.
I’ll remind them that poetry is a process – – not a product. In fact, I’ll probably open the class with something like, “poets and artists have a mindset of creating a lot of bad poems and a lot of bad art.” They’ll wonder who the crazy lady is, but I’ll explain what I mean: perfection is not the goal. Writing is the goal. Thinking is the goal. Not every race is a marathon, not every photo wins awards, and not every book gets 5 stars – – it’s finding the pieces of what we do well and building on those parts so that the process becomes somewhat of a habit. I’ll explain to them that I think in metaphors and syllables, and I take a lot of random pictures to come back to little things I see that will work their way into poems.
Take this, for example:
These kids are a big part of my life. Here stand five of my seven grandchildren in the very spot at the top of a mountain in Sevierville where their parents were married in May 2012. Their other grandparents own that land, and at the bottom, there is a fishing pond. Let’s take a deeper look.
Blazing a trail, tackle box and all
I see two boys (yes, they’re boys – they just have lots of hair) exploring the trail that leads to the pond, tacklebox in hand, ready to to cast a line and spend time fishing. I’ll explain to them that already, my thoughts are swirling in metaphors of adventure, seeking, a quest, a tackle box of what it takes to find, a hook for the found thing to be caught, and the patience and grit to stick with it – and the treks through the mud and the weeds to get there.
Because fishing isn’t about the fish. You can go to the grocery store and get fish. You can order fish from a restaurant – or better yet, you can Door Dash fish.
No, fishing is no more about the fish than poetry and art are about perfection. It’s about the adventure and the process, and the wait for just the right inspiration.
Beckham, who never stands still and quiet, is standing still and quiet – fishing!
It’s about engaging in what it takes to do a thing, whether writing a poem or creating art or catching fish. It’s having the stick-to-it-ness to stand still and be quiet for two hours of a morning and be determined when you’d almost always otherwise be doing something else, but you learn to love a thing and know that there is something, something, something that will bite and that you’ll reel it in and be proud of it, whether it’s big or small.
River with his fish
You’ve caught something you’re proud of, and you can’t wait to share it with the world. So you pose for the photo, holding a fish mouth open the way you’ve been taught, holding the fish a little closer to the camera to make it look bigger than it actually is, and you see the great things about your fish.
And then you release it back into the world, knowing that next time you come back, you may catch that same one again – – or something different, like that turtle your sister caught.
Noli’s shoes tell the story: she’s seizing the day!
Either way, the one thing you cannot buy, like that Door Dashed fish, is the mud on your own shoes from the lived experience.
And that is what poetry is – life, experience, thinking, waiting, casting a line and seeing what comes up on the end of the hook.
So while I may say I’m going to school today, what I’m really doing is going fishing
Fran Haley of North Carolina and I are the hosts of this month’s Open Write at http://www.ethicalela.com, and we are on our third and final day of October’s prompts. Hop over to check out today’s poems later in the day to read the poems this prompt inspires.
Fran Haley is a K–12 literacy educator who coordinates elementary programs centered on a love of books and the joy of reading aloud. She helps young writers find their voices on the page in creative ways. A pastor’s wife, mom, and Franna of two spirited granddaughters, she savors the quiet rhythms of rural life near Raleigh, NC. The pre-dawn hours are Fran’s sacred writing time; you can find her there in the stillness, seated at the kitchen table with a sleeping puppy in her lap. She authors the blog Lit Bits and Pieces: Snippets of Learning and Life.
Kim Johnson is the District Literacy Specialist for her rural school district in Zebulon, Georgia. She grew up a preacher’s kid (P.K.) and is a mom and grandmother who enjoys weekend glamping with her husband and three schnoodles in State Parks. Kim enjoys writing during Open Writes each month and blogs at Common Threads: Patchwork Prose and Verse.
Inspiration
Fran: While searching for ideas, I came across this fun article, 75 Best Tea Quotes and Captions. Something here may call to your poet-heart. I also encountered a phrase I hadn’t heard before: “More tea vicar.” Now, that’s just begging to be in a poem…
Kim: A telephone conversation with my aunt about a family member’s messy breakup over foreseeable differences led her to conclude with this phrase: he wasn’t reading the tea leaves. This has stuck with me for years, and I think often about all the ways we read the world – and how we respond to it.
Process
Pour a cup of tea and write with us today! Let the pen lead you to a poem ~ perhaps it’s a play on words with -tea or tea- or -ity, or maybe it’s a memory of a cup of tea with someone you love. Maybe it’s the clinking of cups on saucers that takes you to a memory of a meal – or a place. Or perhaps it’s a phrase someone has used – More tea, Vicar or reading the tea leaves – that inspires your poem today. Come have tea with us, and steep in the joy of poetry today!
Fran and Kim’s Poems
Fran:
A Spot o’ Tea
“More tea, Vicar?” asked Mrs. Krupp, tipping her pot o’er his empty cup.
He’d barely sipped when she leaned in with glee:
“Now, dear Vicar, go on…spill the tea!”
Deacon Blythe…and Mrs. Montague?! Rumors steeped like fresh morning brew, stirred in pews of St. Tempest-by-the-Sea— ah, the unholy communion of sipping hot tea!
Kim:
-tea party
such vitriolic, hateful glares
when toxic dreams become nightmares
when tearful wake-up calls come clear
about those whom we hold so dear
who are these people in disguise
who scorn us with deceiving eyes
whose poison stench of mockery
reeks truth of trust’s reali-ty?
they’re mother, father, sibling, friend~
relationships we nurture, tend
whose revelations, suddenly,
cast doubt on rooted certain-ty
and so it goes with politics
religion and its heretics
that peace we seek, that uni-ty is really up to us, we see
I’m honored to be the host today for the second day of the October Open Write at http://www.ethicalela.com. You can read my full prompt below, but also please visit the website link above later in the day to see the poems that others have written.
I subscribe to Poetry, the periodical published by The Poetry Foundation that features modern-day poets and their poems. I enjoy the inspiration that I find here – seed starters of ideas, borrowed lines, concepts, and forms. Such was the case when I stumbled across Magic 8 Ball by Nicole Gonzalez. You can read her poem below, noting the questions she asks, with those classic 8-ball answers that pop up in a black-liquid window, sharing all the truths and secrets of universe.
Consider the 12 Magic 8 Ball answers below. Use the responses to craft a poem with questions followed by these answers. Your poem can be humorous, serious, or completely random. You may choose to use all of the responses below, some of them or you own responses, or the same response every time (like a broken Magic 8 Ball to incorporate repetition). You could even make it a fun game by writing your list of questions on one side, writing the answers on strips of paper, and then pulling the answers from a hat to make the poetry writing experience feel extra-magical today. Also, there is a Magic 8 Ball online that will generate answers (I learned this from Kevin, the first poet to respond to the prompt this morning).
Concentrate and ask again
Outlook not so good
Very doubtful
Without a doubt
Better not tell you now
My sources say no
It is decidedly so
Ask again later
Yes definitely
My reply is no
Cannot predict now
You may rely on it
Here is my poem, taken from the inspiration of Nicole Gonzalez:
Divine Truths in a Magic 8 Ball
Is this the real life?
You may rely on it.
Are we really gonna need a bigger boat?
Cannot predict now.
Can you milk a cat, Greg?
My sources say no.
Will Birkenstocks ever be sexy?
Outlook not so good.
Do you believe in magic?
Yes definitely.
Is Pig 3 out there if you only see the ones numbered 1, 2, and 4?
Very doubtful.
If it all fell to pieces tomorrow, would you still be mine?
Ask again later.
Is this love?
Concentrate and ask again.
Is she really going out with him?
Without a doubt.
Does the hand that rocks the cradle rule the world?
It is decidedly so.
Is this the dawning of the Age of Aquarius?
My reply is no.
Will you still love me tomorrow?
Better not tell you now.
I’m passing the pen to you to write your own poem. Please share it on the http://www.ethicalela.com website!
Our host today for the first day of the October Open Write at http://www.ethicalela.com is Fran Haley of North Carolina. She and I are teaming up together this month to bring the writing prompts for the three days of this month’s challenge. Fran and I both live in small towns with the same name – she in North Carolina, and I in Georgia. Here’s a little more about Fran Haley:
Fran and Jesse
Fran Haley is a K–12 literacy educator who coordinates elementary programs centered on a love of books and the joy of reading aloud. She helps young writers find their voices on the page in creative ways. A pastor’s wife, mom, and Franna of two spirited granddaughters, she savors the quiet rhythms of rural life near Raleigh, NC. The pre-dawn hours are Fran’s sacred writing time; you can find her there in the stillness, seated at the kitchen table with a sleeping puppy (a miniature longhaired dachshund named Jesse) in her lap. She authors the blog Lit Bits and Pieces: Snippets of Learning and Life.
Fran inspires us to write by reminding us of the significance of today. She says, “Today is the third Saturday in October, which happens to be National Sweetest Day, according to the National Day Calendar. Originally “Candy Day,” the recognition began in 1916 with American confectioners encouraging high standards in candy-making and the patronage of candy shops and bakeries. The observance was suspended due to sugar rationing in World War I. “Candy Day” eventually resumed; historians note that it was also meant to be altruistic, a time for buying sweets and distributing to those who could not afford them. The holiday later evolved into “Sweetest Day” and the giving of notes, cards, and gestures of love. “
She wonders what “sweet things” we can consider and shares her process here:
Write a poetic note of love to a neighbor, co-worker, friend, or family member
Write a poem based on song lyrics about candy (think “Big Rock Candy Mountain”), or any “sweet” song you love
Write a sweet memory or gesture made toward you
Fran chose the last option, in narrative free verse.
Fran’s Poem
The Gift
Late in the evening
my husband aims the remote, presses a button, banishes flickering ghosts.
All is still and silent in the lamplight.
He turns to me:
“You know I love you, don’t you?”
That timbre—
that deep, low note in his voice
—my brain translates to
Mayday! Mayday!Mayday! Prepare for impact! Even as I answer, Yesss, I am guessing: The doctors have called. It’s his heart again. Or worse. What now. What now. We’ve spent the last decade— a quarter of our marriage— skidding to sudden stops, pressing the pause button, resuming in altered states,
patched and scarred.
I can’t even summon a prayer. I brace for the crash. The shattering. But he’s just scrolling on his phone. He holds it out: “What do you think of this?” A photo of a red-gold puppy lying on a blanket. I can’t process. I’ve missed a cue —how early does dementia begin? “Precious,” I say, confused. My husband looks at me for a long moment, then: “He’s ours. I put down a deposit three days ago.” What am I hearing?
Is this real? A dream? My heart had given up hoping for a dog, in light of his battles…
yet this man, so valiant in suffering,
begins to sob
with the magnitude of his own sacrifice,
offering me new life.
And she passes the pen to us with the challenge to write our own Sweetest Day poems. Here is mine:
Our youngest grandson, Silas, the sweetest 10-month-old
Pajama Adventure to Krispy Kreme
it was just after 7 a.m.
I was still in pajamas
writing at the kitchen table
on family vacation
when my son asked
you want to take a ride?
I reminded him: I’m still in pajamas
no worries, he assured ~ come on!
the hot light came on as he pulled
into the parking lot
and a couple dozen later
we were on our way back
with hats and hot glazed doughnuts,
creme filled and sugar-laden,
to share with the others
just as the good Lord
intended
My son, Marshall, who knows how to share the best breakfast, with son River
Today’s host for the last day of September’s Open Write at http://www.ethicalela.com is my friend Barb Edler of Iowa. Barb and I have collaborated on several writing projects together over the past decade, most recently our book entitled Assessing Students with Poetry Writing Across Content Areas: Humanizing Formative Assessment, published Taylor & Francis, a division of Routledge Press, released earlier this month. We write together the first Monday of each month in a small Zoom group and share what is happening in our lives. She’s the friend who shared with me the cards I’ve been using from Natalie Goldberg’s Writing Down the Bones. You can read her full prompt here today, as she inspires us to choose any text or piece of art and write about it. She models an extended Fibonacci Sequence poem form using syllable counts 1,1,2,3,5,8 forward and reverse and I’m doing the same today with the same poem I used yesterday to inspire my writing ~ Overheard on a Salt Marsh by Harold Monro. Hop on over to the prompt link later in the day to read the poems others have written!
Today’s host at http://www.ethicalela.com’s Day 2 of the September Open Write is Allison Berryhill of Iowa. She teaches high school journalism and is a frequent host of amazing prompts in our writing group. Come read more about Allison and her full prompt here, as she inspires us to write a retelling poem.
I chose to rewrite my favorite childhood poem, Overheard on a Salt Marsh by Harold Monro, as a Shakespearean Sonnet, a fourteen-line poem written in iambic pentameter, where the rhyme scheme is ababcdcdefefgg, with ten syllables per line. Here is the original poem:
Overheard on a Saltmarsh
Nymph, nymph, what are your beads?
Green glass, goblin. Why do you stare at them?
Give them me.
No.
Give them me. Give them me.
No.
Then I will howl all night in the reeds,
Lie in the mud and howl for them.
Goblin, why do you love them so?
They are better than stars or water,
Better than voices of winds that sing,
Better than any man’s fair daughter,
Your green glass beads on a silver ring.
Hush, I stole them out of the moon.
Give me your beads, I want them.
No.
I will howl in the deep lagoon
For your green glass beads, I love them so.
Give them me. Give them.
No.
– Harold Monro (1879 – 1932)
***. ***. ***
Here is my Shakespearean Sonnet:
Nymphs Don’t Play
a goblin glumphed upon a marsh nymph fair
far through the pluff he’d glimpsed a glow of green
Today’s host of the first day of September’s Open Write at http://www.ethicalela.com is Kelsey Bigelow, who works as a mental health poet and renowned author of books, slam poetry events, and writing workshops in Iowa. You can read all about Kelsey and visit today’s prompt and poems here, as she inspires us to think about what lives on the “good side of memories.” Today’s writing is rooted in stream of consciousness writing that can live on in that form or be the start of one that takes root for another.
This month, I continue writing posts from prompts in the Writing Down the Bones Card Deck by Natalie Goldberg, shared with me by my friend Barb Edler of Iowa. I’m continuing this month so that I can experience the entire deck of prompts. Today’s inspires us to write about what kind of music we love and what is beauty for us.
Righteous
I’m officially old, I suppose,
but they don’t make music
like they used to
those voices, that harmonizing
that message in
(You’re My) Soul and Inspiration
is what the world needs
today to fix what’s broken
inside the heart
The September Open Write begins tomorrow at http://www.ethicalela.com, and I’d like to invite you to drop in and read the prompt and write a poem with us. You don’t have to post it to experience the soothing balm of poetry. No one even has to know you wrote it. It doesn’t have to be long, it doesn’t have to rhyme, it doesn’t even have to make sense to anyone else. It’s all about the habit of writing and having a daily routine of self-expression. The prompt will be posted at 5:00 a.m. Eastern Time, and there will be a process and an example. Come write with us! Kelsey Bigelow, Allison Berryhill, and Barb Edler will be our hosts for the next 3 days, inspiring us to get in touch with our inner voices.
Common Threads 