I’m writing today’s poem using a Write the Story prompt to create a Tanka, which is a poem of 5 lines with syllable counts 5/7/5/7/7. I used Matthew 18;22 as inspiration for the final line of the poem.
Prompt: Mash Up Two Classic Fairy Tales into One Story
Words to be Used: fireplace, sword, grove, stoke, underbrush, mourn, seven, friendship, cardboard, giver
In the true Stafford Challenge spirit, I’m sharing a blurb of prose and then sharing a poem. That’s how William Stafford wrote as a morning practice each day, and it’s what his son Kim modeled two years ago at the kickoff of the inaugural Stafford Challenge group led by Brian Rohr. Write into the day with free thought, then channel the thinking into lines of verse. Here’s what is on my mind today: more time to write. I’ve chosen a Tanka as my poetry form for this morning, and I’ll add a link to a well-known William Stafford poem at the bottom. It gets me every time.
Mo Daley is our host for today’s Open Write at http://www.ethicalela.com. She inspires us to write tanka poems to share our traditions. This may be one you’d like to try today, so I’m including her directions below.
Mo writes, “This time of year always gets me thinking about traditions. There are many my family and I look forward to celebrating with each other. I really love hearing about other peoples’ traditions, too. Hayrides, Oktoberfest, pumpkin patches, bonfires, corn mazes, pumpkin carving, and cooking might be some of the traditions that come to mind when you think of fall. Today’s poem is a way for you to flex your poetic muscles while letting all of us learn a little bit more about you and the traditions you observe.”
Mo inspires us with these words: “Write a tanka or series of tankas telling us all about a favorite, or maybe least favorite, fall tradition. A tanka is a traditional Japanese poetic form of 31 syllables over 5 lines. The syllable count is 5/7/5/7/7. Usually there is a turn in the third line. Consider focusing on sensory images to help us feel like we are right there with you. “
You can read Mo’s poem at the Open Write today by clicking here. In my poem below, I feel the need to clarify the spelling of the yellow bear. My first grandson could not say yellow, so when my son suggested they go on a bear hunt on our farm in rural Georgia to find the highly-elusive-never-before-seen yellow bear, my grandson couldn’t stop talking about the lellow bear, and none of us have called it anything different ever since. I still have the picture of them setting out to find it, and it warms my heart to think that one simple moment, one slight of the tongue, became a family tradition that remains to this day.
Traditions Tanka
first, the pumpkin bread
that started when they were kids
I tie the apron
sift the flour, mix in the eggs
add sugar, spices, pumpkin
dominoes thunder
onto great granny’s table
the one I redid
while the bread bakes, we play games
we pair with grandkids
we all walk the farm
looking for the “lellow bear”
every eye stays peeled
lellow bear is elusive
someday, we might catch a glimpse
the coffee pot stays
full of fresh brew to help us
keep up with these kids
Scrabble (turntable version)
for adults, post-kids’-bedtime
togetherness fills my soul
I take a deep breath
they were born last week
now here they are, with their own
tears of gratitude well up
Several years ago ~ from the time of his first bear hunt to early teens The walk that started it all: the first hunt for the elusive lellow bearToday, the hunts continue
Today’s host for the final day of our September Open Write at http://www.ethicalela.com is Glenda Funk of Idaho, who inspires us to write Barbie poems. You can read Glenda’s full prompt and her poem here. I can’t wait to see all of the poems born into the world on this topic, so please hop over to the site and take a read. I chose a reverse nonet today, crafting nine lines with each numbered line’s syllable count on each in descending order as if going back in time, seeking Fountain of Youth Barbie.
Turning Back the Years Reverse Nonet
We’d line them up like kickball players
at recess, then pick one by one,
taking turns to get the best
looking Barbies. Next, we’d
choose accessories ~
whip worlds to life
narrating
stories
dreamed.
As part of this post today, I’m sharing the remaining poems from the poetry marathon last Friday, where a poem and hour was written either by someone in my family, a friend, or me. Here they are:
12 a.m. hour – Kim Johnson – Hashtag Haiku
#meanness
Fruit of the Spirit
my tree needs fertilizer
nothing much blooming…..
1 a.m. hour – Tanka – a five line poem with a syllable count of 5-7-5-7-7
Cinnamon apples
sliced, wax-sealed in Mason jars
cane sugar syrup
for Thanksgiving dessert pies
prepped-ahead ingredients!
2 a.m. hour – Naani – a poem consisting of four lines, with twenty to twenty-five syllables on any topic
Pumpkin Harvest!
Pumpkin Spice!
Pumpkin jack-o-lanterns ~
glowing face with the slice of a knife!
3 a.m. hour – Senryu – a three line unrhymed poem similar to Haiku, about nature
Midland water snake
basking in Gibbs Gardens grass
misunderstood
4 a.m. hour – Tricubes – three stanzas of three lines with 3 syllables per line
Poetry
Wings to Fly
Words to heal
Poetry
Weatherproof
Warmth for cold
Poetry
What if prompts
Why not now?
5 a.m hour – Cinquain – a poem that has two syllables in the first line, four in the second, six in the third, eight in the fourth, and two in the fifth (it was early, and I was watching my Honey Nut Cheerios dance in my plain Greek yogurt)…..
mOrning
cOffee hOp!
cheeriO’ed yOgurt prOm
O’s d-Osi-dO with pOetry
hOedOwn!
6 a.m. hour – Kim Johnson – Ode – a poem of praise, often written directly to a person or object
Memories of Miriam
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
Common Threads 