Tag: open write

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September Poetry Marathon – Day 2 of 5

Today for the September Open Write, our host at http://www.ethicalela is Stacey Joy of California. You can read her prompt and her poem here and see the amazing Diamante form generator that will help you write your own Diamante poem. Today’s topic is food, but as I was reflecting on last night’s dinner, I chose Riesling as my topic.

Rhine grapes
light, refreshing
flavoring, fermenting, fulfilling
German white wine perfection
dinnering, relaxing, reading
citrusy, aromatic
Riesling

Continuing with Friday’s poetry marathon that I began sharing yesterday, here are some more poems from the 24 poems in 24 hours. I had other writers contributing as well. The first one was written by my stepson, who chose the word laughter to write an acrostic. I love his creativity and his random example of laughter right at the start!

1:00 pm hour – Andrew Johnson, Acrostic Poem – a poem in which the first letters of each line spell a word vertically, often defining or explaining the acrostic topic.

LAUGHTER

Little spontaneous

Alien pajamas

Universal expression

Good times had

Human experience

Topic of discussions

Emotion of healing

Right kind of feeling

2:00 pm hour – Shadorma – Kim Johnson – a Shadorma is a poem that has six lines with this syllable pattern: 3,5,3,3,7,5

Shaving Cream 

shaving cream!

not just for shaving

but also

for cleaning

when little fingers write words

into the lather 

3:00 pm hour – Abecedarian Poem by Boxer Moon – In an abecedarian poem, each line or stanza begins with the first letter of the alphabet and continues with letters in successive order, or the poet may take creative license and use the stitch-up feature that Boxer used, stitching the ends back to the beginning.  I think he created a whole new form – a Circular Abecedarian! He not only wrote it forward, but also back up from the bottom, starting with A and working back up to Z. The man shows his genius in this Halloween poem.

Photo by Pedro Figueras on Pexels.com

All alone, Zombie of Me

Before Dawn, Your life will be.

Crackling bones, Xanthic Demon!

Demonic Songs, Why have you Chosen Me- Dreaming?

Every Breath a stone, Vicious Song!

For Here my Creature roams, Ugly rightful wrongs!

Gleaming with blood, Tomorrow I’ll retrace.

His eyes yellow with crud, So fast-paced.

Inside no love, Retreating from my space.

Just as teeth chatter, Quietly, I leave my place.

Keynotes of feelings matter, Pathogen thoughts infected.

Leave, oh please leave,—- Rejected!

My heart punctured and deceived- Neglected!

Neglected- My punctured heart grieved- dejected!

Or rejected- Leave, oh please, leave in the latter

Pathogen thoughts, Keynotes of life do not matter.

Quietly, shhhhhh! Justify my chatter…

Running, Ruining, my face! Inside without love

So fast-paced, His eyes yellow stained with crud!

Tomorrow I’ll retrace, Gleaming with blood.

Ugly vicious wrong! For my creature roams

Vicious, ugly, song. Each breath a stone

Why must we repeat this Demonic song?

Xanthic Demon, Crackling bones!

Your life is mine, Be.

Zombie of me, A me of Zombie?

– Boxer Moon

4:00 pm hour – Kim Johnson – Limerick – – a humourous rhyming verse of three long lines, then two short lines, with a rhyme scheme of aabba.

Goofy Schnoodle

A schnoodle who sleeps upside down

Is a goofily-schnoozing nap hound

He contorts in my chair

Chasing rabbit dreams there

Ollie chases those hares ‘round and ‘round!

5:00 p.m. hour – – Kim Johnson – Decima- a ten line poem with 8 syllables in each line, having rhyme scheme of abbaaccddc

Monster and Robber Spray

we used to have a can of spray

when you were but a wee youngster

to rid bad robbers and monsters

to keep those things of fear at bay

and chase those horrid scares away

together we would fill the air

of Lysol-labeled love and care

you thought it did the magic trick

better than any billystick

come near us? No monster would dare!

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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

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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.

Photo by Elina Sazonova on Pexels.com
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August Open Write with Ashlyn O’Rourke

Today at www.ethicalela.com for the final day of our August Open Write, our host Ashlyn O’Rourke of Oklahoma inspires us to write Self-Perception Concrete Poems to tell the story of a difference in who we know ourselves to be and how someone else perceives us. You can read Ashlyn’s full prompt here.

Strong

I tell the hard truth.
He asked for my opinion
then said I was wrong.

Can an opinion
be all wrong when it’s based on
long-observed patterns?

He thinks I’m too strong ~
but I don’t argue he’s wrong. 

My mother raised me.
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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.
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August Open Write: Nestlings with Gayle Sands

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
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July Open Write – Day 5 with Mike Dombrowski

My brother and me at Mom’s grave, December 2022

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.

Christ Church Cemetery plot shopping

My brother’s cell phone rang.  “Hurry.”

We sped, cried, dodging traffic ~

Would we make it in time?

Each second mattered.

Through the front door

To her room

Three last

breaths

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Open Write Day 3 with Susan Ahlbrand

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!

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July Open Write – Day 2 with Mo Daley

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

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July Open Write Day 1 with Mo Daley

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?

Road Runner