Gayle Sands is our host today for the second day of the August Open Write at www.ethicalela.com. She brings us a challenge to write a nestling poem in the essence of Irene Latham. You can read her full prompt here.
I’m reading Ada Limon’s collection of books, and I chose Forgiveness from The Hurting Kind as my base poem. If I were adding to a list of the things I would hold close forever, it’s Limon's poem. Here is mine, taken from hers:
Silent Water
dumb hearts
hurting each other
shadowy places
scars
bound to the blades
bound to outrun
Today’s host for the last day of the July Open Write is Mike Dombrowski of Michigan. You can read his full prompt here, along with the poems and responses of others. Today, Mike inspires us to write a poem about a time we experienced anxiety, and to include how we overcame it if possible. I chose to write about my mother’s last breath.
Our host at http://www.ethicalela.com for the third day of the July Open Write is Susan Ahlbrand of Indiana, who inspires us to write Venn Diagram poetry today. You can read her full prompt and the poems others have written here, and even try one of your own if you wish.
This is one form that I have never written before today, and honestly I’m not sure I’m coordinated enough to try again. My brain felt like Spaghetti Junction in Atlanta, where all the intersections dance and spin and twirl around and then peel off in different directions like little spinoff tornadoes.
The idea is to play with two completely different concepts or ideas and find the intersecting similarity in the middle section of the diagram, reading vertically.
I could only take a photo of my mess and post it. Other writers in my group are using Canva and making backgrounds beautiful and doing all the creative colors and designs, but I’m over here with an ink pen and an unlined piece of brown paper just trying not to be seen or heard…….
But in the spirit of having some good days of writing and some not-so-good days of writing, here is a day in the life of a writer who at least tries something new and different.
I’m putting back on my work hat after a truly wonderful summer. Today is my first day back on contract, as my district awaits the appointment of a new Superintendent.
And so these hats, as constant as they are, keep life in balance!
Our host for the second day of the July Open Write today is Mo Daley of Illinois, who inspires us to write Fibonacci Sequence Poems. You can read Mo’s prompt and the poems of others here. A Fib is written in six lines:
1 syllable
1 syllable
2 syllables
3 syllables
5 syllables
8 syllables
I love the short forms! I was out way past my bedtime cheering on my favorite baseball team at Truist Park in Atlanta, and then sitting in the horn-blowing traffic where people were actually playing recognizable songs on their car horns when no one was able to even creep out of the parking deck for a lonnnnnggg time. I say all of this to say that this true fib is especially dedicated to my Illinois writing buddy, Mo Daley. Cheers!
Take Me Out to the Ballgame
balls
strikes
homeruns
major leagues~
our Atlanta Braves
……..lost to the Chicago White Sox!
Even though the Braves didn’t win, there was one particular winning moment for me.
It wasn’t the hot dog, even though a hot dog at a ballpark is a grand-slam homerun all by itself, with a cold beer and a bag of Cracker Jack.
It wasn’t walking around the park looking at all the great things to see, either, from the jerseys for sale overhead moving along on a clothes belt similar to a dry cleaner’s, or the Braves Hall of Fame or the tribute to Hank Aaron with the waterfall.
Sometimes, it’s the fans who hit the home runs………Once in a Blue Moon Cheers!Braves Hall of Fame Tribute Wall
All of that was amazing, too, along with the friend who gave us the free tickets to enjoy a night of major league baseball. We saw a few home runs, but none greater than the one hit by a fan – not a player.
What grabbed my heart was the boy with the white jersey in the picture below. He was, perhaps, about 14 years old. At the inning changes, he grabbed the hand of the little fellow in front of him with the blue baseball cap on (a younger brother or cousin, maybe?) who were sitting behind us, and they ran down to try to catch a ball; the players throw a few up into the stands to all the open gloves waiting to catch a real game ball for a minute or so as one team takes the field and the other retreats to their dugout. The older one tried and tried and tried to catch a ball for the younger one. By the seventh inning with no ball, I’d already been praying for three or four of those inning changes – Lord, please let this boy catch a baseball for this little guy.
They returned empty-handed every. single. time, including the time the ball glanced the glove of the young teenager and landed in the hands of someone else.
That was YOUR BALL, one lady encouraged the teenager, when he came back up and sat down after losing one that had been so close.
This became my ballgame. Not the game on the field between the Braves and the White Sox. Here with these two young boys and the quest for a treasured baseball was the game to be won.
And then, as I was watching the game during an inning, my husband nudged me.
Look to your left, he urged.
I turned and watched. A young fan seated in the front rows and his mother brought a game ball up to the top of the section. They passed it right down the row to the young boy who had been so hoping to get a game ball. Then, as they headed back down to their seats, they turned around halfway down the section and waved up, smiling.
In the eyes of one who doesn’t cry often (and almost can’t, officially, with a recent diagnosis of dry eye and a practically unaffordable prescription to go along with it), I felt the welcome tears of gratitude welling as I witnessed this exchange.
That, readers, is American baseball.
Whether your team wins or loses the game, the spirit of winning is most alive and well in the goodness of those who will sacrifice a game ball to sear into the heart of a youngster an unforgettable moment he will carry with him for the rest of his life.
Grand Slam, lady and son! I don’t know who you are, but you won the game for everyone who, like us, had been watching and hoping and praying, cheering for this sideline ballgame.
Atlanta Braves: 5
Chicago White Sox: 6
Baseball fans in Section 116: Faith in Humanity Restored
Mo Daley is our host at ethicalela.com today for the first day of our July Open Write. Two things came to mind when I read her poem, in addition to all the memories of previous generations’ masks: the poem A Bag of Tools by R. L. Sharpe (a favorite since high school), and a birdwatching excursion in Palo Duro Canyon State Park in Texas over the summer, as I sat behind a bird blind counting birds. I chose a Golden Shovel poem using one line of Sharpe’s poem today.
Blinders
behind the bird blind, watching unaware, counting each
species, observing, admiring, appreciating, pondering: is
this what would happen if people were given
the same fanfare over the wonder of our beauty? a
way to admire all our brilliant feathers, to regain childhood’s shapeless
notions of race, share the same branch, and remove the mask?
Angie Braaten is our host at http://www.ethicalela.com today for the final day of this month’s Open Write. She encourages us to write a poem about what we would like to be when we grow up. You can read her full prompt here.
Secret Badge
when I grow up I want to be a traveling food critic a descriptive writer of all things edible…. ….(or not)….. all expenses paid to go out into the world and live it up like a spy on a secret mission with an official foodie badge that I keep covered until the end of the meal…. ….(or forever)…… unless I want immediate preferential seating or my glass runs dry or I get bad service then I whip it out like some veiled threat of a viral review that might shut the place down ….(or something)……
oh and a hotel critic too I want to be one who jumps on beds to test the comfort rolls around in the sheets and fills the bathtub to overflowing with expensive bubble bath with little flecks of real gold dust and eats all the snacks that cost twelve dollars each for free in those presidential suites with corner windows on the top floor one who shows my badge at checkout
and I want an airplane badge, too so I can cut the line at security and go in my own private room where the rest of everyone all tired-legged and eyeing my complimentary plate of sugared grapes and chocolates whispers who is she?? but I play it cool never revealing my name like no one can know who I am a secret traveling critic as I take my seat in first class throw my feet up on the plush footrest whip out my review computer and write away into the clouds ….(or just dream about it all)….
then go home to the country and press wildflowers and read poetry and bask in full-face dog kisses with whole-body tail wags because I’m back where I belong …..(without a badge)…….
Today’s host for the Open Write at http://www.ethicalela.com is Angie Braaten, who inspires us to write On Turning….poems, modeling verse about a particular age after Billy Collins’ On Turning Ten, and then to take it a step further by trying to connect form choice to the foused age. I chose a nonet since I chose to write about turning nine. You can read her full prompt here.
Dr. Leilya Pitre of Ponchatoula, Louisiana is our host for today’s Open Write. She brings us a short form, the sevenling, which you can read about here.
Foxgloves at Gibbs Gardens in Ball Ground, Georgia
Foxglove Funeral for a Grandson
Foxglove bells chime joy, bring smiles on Mother’s Day in Georgia, painting gardens in blush colors: the female womb blooms
Foxglove bells toll grief, stir longing on Mother’s Day in Kentucky: a petal flips, a cradle rocks in heaven ~ the female soul cries
empty arms mourning a baby not born
Foxglove in Kentucky, symbolizing a baby in heaven
Jennifer Jowett of Michigan hosts today’s Open Write at http://www.ethicalela.com and offers us a compelling prompt about the future of our world today. Her prompt is one we dance along the periphery of in so many of our countryside drive discussions, wondering about the future of our county, heartsick over each new development, each new killing of droves of trees that were once home to birds, deer, foxes, squirrels, bees, chipmunks, raccoons, opossums…..it breaks my heart for the wildlife and for the future of our grandchildren.
Just some of my writing friends, NCTE, Anaheim, CA November 2023
Today’s host at the Open Write is Jessica from Arkansas, who inspires us to write about our friends using borrowed lines from friendship songs. You can read her full prompt here.
I can’t think of a better way to kick off any month than celebrating friendship. Jessica’s invitation to search songs was just what my heart needed this morning, and for me, no one touches my heart like The Divine Miss M. Here’s to all of my friends who are writers – all of you, using a line or two from Wind Beneath My Wings
A Haiku for YOU
you, fellow writer, are the wind beneath my wings cheers to friends with pens!
did I ever tell (forgive me if I haven’t) you, you’re my hero?
Common Threads 