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!

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

Patriot Day Poetry

I was riding along Route 66 through Texas on vacation in June when the text came from my friend Melanie, who teaches in our Humanities pathway in our Ninth Grade Academy:

Actual text. I accidentally hit SEND too soon and had to finish in an unplanned bubble.

Those are the kinds of texts I love the most – when teachers invite me into classrooms to write alongside students. I met with Melanie when I returned, and we designed a plan. Our day was originally scheduled for yesterday, but we had to reschedule for today. We will write 9/11 Jenga block poems, and I will model a Nonet form to show how a poet might use visual shape to symbolize rebuilding and strengthening when all hope seemed lost.

A nonet is a poem with nine lines, containing each numbered line’s number of syllables on its line. It can be written in ascending or descending order – or both, and could even be read bottom to top if a poet decided to write it that way.

I got the idea for this form from Paul Hankins, who glues colorful letters of all different fonts onto different shapes of wooden blocks. He calls it Blockhead poetry when his students take the letters and arrange them into words, then put the words into poems.

I took the quicker way out and began purchasing sets of Jenga blocks and using whole words from magazines to put onto the blocks, and I’ve created sets on various themes such as Bloom! (gardening and growth words for National Poetry Month), poverty and genocide (two of our Humanities themes), and rural Georgia living, with words like pickup truck and dirt road. For today, I’ve created a set of 200 blocks to be used for 9/11 poetry. I’ve used them in all grades from Pre-K through 12, and with adults. Sometimes, we let a group of words inspire poems that take different forms. Sometimes, the words stand alone on lines as poems of their own. One time, we challenged ourselves to write Haiku with blocks alone and no added words.

I drafted a poem yesterday to show how students might select blocks as inspiration words. Here is my draft:

I spoke with Melanie yesterday. She was concerned that she hadn’t spent enough time building background knowledge on 9/11 to prepare for this writing but didn’t want to leave the task in the hands of a sub for such a sensitive topic. I think she made the right choice. I’m thinking that this may even have been a better approach – – because students will have seen the remembrance tributes yesterday and engaged in conversations with others. Perhaps in our initial disappointment that we’d had to reschedule the writing day, this blessing of time may have allowed students to gain greater awareness of the events in ways that laid a more meaningful foundation for us to begin.

I can’t wait to see what the students write, but more importantly, I can’t wait to write alongside them and watch their wheels turn as they make their block word choices. There’s something magical about writing, even in the midst of a topic of despair and pain.

That’s when the hope shines through.

Limon Buffett

I’ve been reading Ada Limon’s poetry lately, and with the death of Jimmy Buffet yesterday, I’ve been blending poetry and thought and music together in a grief vortex as I sit on my Labor Day campsite by the lake in Georgia. Limon’s poem “Anticipation” inspired my use of her format for today’s Buffet thoughts.

I Don’t Know

…. before the strawberry
Aguas Frescas,
before the dog fight
next door,
when the black dragonfly
flashed its gossamer
wings, preening 
in the sun 
teasing a mate,
I was 
humming Buffet,
lost in Margaritaville
~ ooh, Jolly Mon sing,
oooh, make Orion ring~
fins to the left,
   fins to the right,
wondering where 
I’m a gonna go
when the volcano
blows….

Hummingbird Heartstrings

it's that same feeling
I get when
my children
and grandchildren
are about to leave
for home
four hours south

they're packing bags
loading their car
stripping beds
washing towels

double-checking 
for toothbrushes
under beds for  little things 
easily left behind
like tiny dinosaurs 
wayward doll shoes
lone socks

I dread 
the tail lights
heading down 
our driveway

those I love rolling away

this morning's
stirring
is not unlike 
this feeling~
already missing family
before they leave ~
as I watch 
my hummingbirds
remnants 
of a charm
heading south
on their long journey
for winter

no wee suitcases
no teeny toothbrushes
no sippy snacks for the road

but departing nonetheless
traveling lightly

I want to hug them
tell them to be safe

tell them I'll fix their favorite
nectar next spring
even weed the lantana

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.

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.  

August Open Write with Wendy Everand

Wendy Everand is our host today for the August Open Write, and she inspires us to write odes to our favorite poets. You can read her full prompt here.

This brought to mind the first poet I ever knew. We lived next door to a retired school teacher in Reynolds, Georgia, and one day I got loose and barged into her house (no one locked their doors in that town back then)…..and the rest is history. After she died, two of her granddaughters compiled a collection of her poems, and I got a copy as a gift. I still believe that she pulled my poetry strings out and brushed them…..maybe even crocheted them.

Ode to Mabel G. Byrd (December 10, 1900-1/20/1987)

Mama Byrd’s poems
mainly quatrains
ABCB rhyme scheme
Crafting 4-line verse veins

Born in 1900, Taylor County
Little Sweet Georgia Peach
Died 1987, Taylor County
Lived her life to write and teach

I barged right in, in ‘69
(She was 69, I was 3)
I still remember visiting
Listening to poems at her knee

She went blind
But still knew color schemes
She’d crochet blankets as gifts for folks
In gilded yarns, bright blues, and creams

She still wrote, even blind
Poems were her favorite forms
And when I read her words today,
Time turns back, my heart warms

In 1987, I went for one last visit
Dad and I, next to her bedside
Told me she’d meet me at Heaven’s Gate
About a month before she died.

The very first poet I ever knew
Still speaks to me today
In rose gardens and peach blossoms
…..and in Granny Square crochet.