Conferences plus Covid alliterative perhaps but assuredly not poetic
Ugh! So, there’s some context for you. I’ve been swimming in conferences, fever, unplanned absences, cancelled conferences, sub plans, election angst, rescheduled conferences, cancelled rescheduled conferences, etc. And although I can now smell, I still have a very limited range of taste. Somehow, that just seems to be the sour icing on this unpleasant cake I’ve been consuming. But, on the bright side, I’m getting better (yay!), I only have two more conferences to make up, and Linda set us a lovely challenge for the month. Thank goodness for writing friends and challenges!
For our Inklings challenge, Linda shared Joy Harjo’s poem, “Fall” and asked us to respond to it in any way we chose. For some reason (in the midst of fever perhaps?), it seemed like a good idea to print out the entire poem, cut apart the words and then use every single one, some still in phrases, to write a new poem. So, that’s what I tried to do. It was a mixed success.
Ultimately, I took that poem and removed some words and phrases away to come up with this. Every word in this poem is in Harjo’s poem (unless I’ve lost track!), but I’ve chopped out quite a few. Mostly it still feels a bit fever-dreamy to me.
In the Aftermath of Lament
With you on my mind I cry a forever blue song, another hanging perfectly in a necklace of days.
Sky is slightly overcast. A jay is there again. The divine yellow leaves now dark, damp, a jacket for the earth, might open the hallway into this day.
If I need forward, if I hear the rain, will your story keep in mine?
There’s just something about a random group of words that inspires me to connect some dots and create a poem. In other words, I’ve been playing around with Wordle poems again. They’re such a fun, low-stakes way to keep myself writing. In general, my rules are to use all the words I guess when playing Wordle, in order, within the poem. Variations on the words are okay. Here’s one I wrote with these words from a recent game: gutsy, dream, pearl, farer, carve.
On This Morning
With a hopeful, gutsy stride I step from my dreams, cradling the pearl of wisdom granted to all wayfarers who travel the currents of night: The day is open before you Carve your own way Always seek the light.
Late last month I was inspired by this photo of a friend’s sister’s newly painted porch. Isn’t it gorgeous!?
It was obviously in my mind when I started playing Wordle a few days later, so I began guessing with the word “porch”. Usually I put my Wordle word guesses in the poem in the order in which I guessed them, but this time I moved them around a little. My words were: porch, clone, cloud.
“My house is where I like to be …” Daniel Pinkwater* for Jules Myers
No clone to convention, she painted her porch a stirring orange.
Now she’ll sit amidst sunbeams, contentedly watching the clouds drift by.
This line is borrowed from Daniel Pinkwater’s book “The Big Orange Splot”, which is a huge favorite of mine. Any other fans of Mr. Plumbean out there?
This week’s Poetry Friday Roundup is hosted by Jama at her blog, Jama’s Alphabet Soup. She’s celebrating all things donut in a scrumptious post! Be sure to check it out and the other links you’ll find there.
WARNING: Spoiler alert!!! If you play Wordle and haven’t yet played today, wait to read this post. This post will reveal the word of the day!!!
I play Wordle every single day. Every so often I write poems from my guessed words. Recently, I’ve been doing this with more frequency. I enjoy having a pool of words to work with and try to combine in interesting ways.
I’m not a huge Wordle strategist. I don’t begin with the same word every time, or worry about vowels. I just wait for a word to strike my fancy. Sometimes it’s my mood, or the weather, or sometimes it’s just a random word winging it’s way into my brain. This morning I started with “tired” (Ok. I’ve definitely begun with that word more than once! Hmmmm….wonder why?) and then I decided to try something new. I would write a line or two for a poem after each guessed word, before taking my next guess. I was intrigued by the idea of not knowing where the poem was going. I’ve bolded my guessed words as they appear.
Tired hums in my veins It stains my vision bleaching out color like a sepia photo Night has advanced creating its own home deep within my bones I grope for tinder and flint anything to strike, to light my way to point to a path forward Still, I’m utterly weary I feel the weight of age in every joint.
Well, that was a bit dark! Really, I am fine. But even though it’s not the lightest of poems, I did enjoy the process. I suspect this will become a new part of my morning routine. On a side note, I’m not sure if I was disheartened or inspired by having 6 words to work with. It was not a stellar Wordle performance, for sure, but it definitely provided more fodder for a poem. Another upside to writing Wordle poems, I suppose!
Margaret posed us a doozy of an Inkling challenge this month. She shared a new poetry form, called a Pythagorean Poem, created by Shari Green. Here’s the description she shared,
“Pythagoras’ theorem is a2 + b2 = c2. One possible “triple” is 3, 4, 5. 3×3 + 4×4 = 5×5 9 + 16 = 25
Using the triple, the poetic form works like this: 1st stanza: 3 lines of 3 words each 2nd stanza: 4 lines of 4 words each 3rd stanza: 5 lines of 5 words each, and this third stanza must be composed of all the words found in stanzas one and two (in any order; variations okay). The third stanza should be a progression of sorts, a product of the first two in thought or theme or meaning.”
Easy-peasy, right? Eep!
Writing this poem felt like a construction process, and one in which I finally ended up deciding to live with the result at a certain stage, even if it didn’t quite match the vision in my mind. In the final somewhat desperate construction stages (deadline approaching!), I turned to the computer to color code words to keep track. It ended up looking like this:
Early Morning Trip to the Marsh
Alarm rings and dreams fade away scattered like floss
Mirror, later, reflects fatigue I splash water, refresh, feel the day’s energy seep into my veins
Later, like a mirror, water reflects scattered floss and I feel fatigue seep away. My veins dream. The day’s energy splashes, refreshes. Alarm fading into rings…
This polymath known through the ages was surely the wisest of sages. His hypoteneuses still guide building crews as they construct skyscrapers in stages.
But when building a poem, I must say his ideas lead from stable to sway. Though I build a strong base with each word in its place true coherence keeps slipping away.
It was recess and P, an exuberant first grader in a printed T-shirt, came barreling across the playground and threw herself against me for a hug. Her brother, C, was in my class last year, and that’s granted me premium hug-target status.
“Hi, my Positive Proton!” I said, reading her shirt’s inscription as I returned her hug. “How’s it going?”
“Good,” she said.
She stood by my side for a moment or two, joining my colleague, Haley, and I in surveying the playground.
Suddenly, P enthused, “It’s soooo exciting!”
Haley and I exchanged confused glances, and simultaneously looked around the playground trying to figure out what she was talking about.
“What’s exciting?” I finally asked.
“Is it recess?” Haley asked.
“No! C lost a tooth!” She was practically vibrating with excitement.
“Oh, that is exciting!”
“Yeah!” she replied.
We began to follow up with the essential tooth questions, “When did he lose it?” “Which one?” etc, but she interrupted us both and stated matter-of-factly, “Actually, it happened a long time ago.”
“Ooohhkay,” we responded, once again exchanging bemused glances.
Then P happily skipped off, whirling her way across the basketball court.
“And that,” stated Haley, “pretty much sums up conversations with first graders.”
Folks enjoying music from the town pavilion at Bowdoinham Days in our small town, Bowdoinham Maine
Saturday was our town’s annual celebration, known as Bowdoinham Days. The skies were blue, the sun was shining and the temperatures were perfect. We couldn’t have asked for better weather.
But as good as the weather was, the parade was definitely better. It was the best! We gathered with our neighbors along Main Street and hooted and hollered as the decorated tractors, trucks and trailer beds drove by. A band drove by on a flatbed, playing with great enthusiasm. Local politicians glad-handed the crowd, and people showed off their polished-up antique cars. The float drivers and riders threw candy, colored pencils, and one group even handed out water bottles. The Loose Ladies Book Club float was pretty awesome, with their slogan, “Even Monsters Read Books!” , and they were handing out books instead of throwing candy. Gotta Love that! But every year, my favorites are the farm-based floats,because instead of candy, they throw…. veggies! This year they stuck to red peppers, and we have several now awaiting the soup pot. Sweet! This has to be my favorite thing about Bowdoinham Days.
Can you see the pepper mid-air, and the white-shirted spectator setting up for the catch?
But then there was the library’s book sale. Maybe that was the best? There were tables piled with all sorts of gently used books, from picture books to popular fiction to cookbooks to horror. They had it all, and you couldn’t beat the “buck a book” price. If you couldn’t find what you wanted on the tables adjacent to the parade, you just headed inside the used book shop and found even more options. There was always someone delighted to fall into book talk, and helpful, love-to-talk-books volunteers! There were even decorated town tote bags for sale!
Although, come to think of it, the food was pretty awesome, too. Could that have been the best? It certainly smelled the best! There were food trucks offering all sorts of fried seafood, Filipino cuisine , coffee and donuts, and your standard cookout fare. Something for everyone! Can you say spinach and cheese empanadas? YUM!
There was so much going on! We missed the lobster crate races in the river, but I’m pretty sure they were splashing good fun. There was non-stop music, too, the art gallery was open, and there was even line dancing, but… wait! No! I know what had to be the best thing… Hands down, it had to be the zucchini races!!
Yes, you read that correctly. Zucchini races! These are a much loved Bowdoinham Days tradition. As they do each year, kids of all ages had souped up their zucchinis in a million different ways, put them on wheels and before you knew it, the town skate board park was transformed into a zucchini race track. There was even a pit crew! The enthusiastic crowds roared as the veggies cooked down the ramp. There were head to head competitions and then race offs. We watched a pretty brutal spill that sent wheels and seeds flying. Despite the veggie carnage on the course, it was all pretty awesome. Such a fun part of the day, and an inspired way to use up some extra zucchinis. How can you beat that? The best, right?
Look at all those creative contestants just waiting to race!
Finally, it was time for us to head home. As we walked back toward our house, aglow from all of the above, we talked about the highlights. Which one of these things was the absolutely best part of the day?
I’m two days in to our second week of school. Transitioning from summer mode to full-on school is always a shock to the system, and this year has been no different.
This past weekend I checked in with a friend who’d agreed to participate in a 30 mile fundraising bike ride last weekend–after not having ridden a bike in decades! (Talk about a shock to the system!)
“”Can you walk? How did it go?” I asked immediately, as she answered the phone.
Once she figured out what I was talking about, she laughed and filled me in. “It went well! There was a sag wagon that ran alongside, so if you got tired, you could get on that. I rode most of the way, but got on the sag wagon at the end, because we had reservations and needed to be on time. “
At first, I mostly ignored her accomplishment (sorry, Mels!), because I was immediately transfixed by the idea of a sag wagon. Having never participated in a bike race, this was a new term to me.
“OMG! I want a sag wagon! I think everyone needs a sag wagon in their life!” I declared.
I love this idea so much! The more I thought about it, the more I loved it. I imagine everyone’s sag wagon would look different, too. In the case of the bike race, it was a literal wagon, with room for bikes and tired or injured riders. But, couldn’t we have metaphorical ones as well? The things that provide us with a bit of respite or just a breather? I’m pretty sure that my Friday night sag wagon last week looked like most of a small Margherita pizza and a generous glass of red wine. Sometimes a sag wagon might be a conversation with a friend or time spent within the pages of a book. Or watching the birds. Or just saying “No” to a pile of work and walking away for a while.
It just struck me that we probably do already all have our own varied sag wagons, but that’s not enough. The harder part is that each of us needs to decide when to stop and hop on board. A sag wagon is not going to grab you and your bike and make that decision for you. You have to recognize that it’s in your best interest to access that wagon so you can keep moving forward and eventually finish the race, one way or the other.
“Congrats!” I said to my friend, “That’s impressive! You did it!”
“Well,” she hemmed, “I didn’t ride the whole way. I did get on the sag wagon.”
“You still did it,” I insisted.
“Yeah, you’re right,” she said. “I guess I did…Thanks!”
I’m not sure this sag wagon metaphor works on all levels, but I’m definitely going to keep thinking about it.
This month Mary Lee offered up our monthly challenge. She asked us to use the poem “Next Time” by Joyce Sutphen as an inspiration to write our own “next time” poem.
There’s something so evocative about that phrase: “next time.” It incorporates both a sense of regret and a sense of hope. It offers a chance to “re-do” and intimates that there will be a time and place for doing so. Paradoxically, it seems to hold both the possibility of agonizing over mistakes (perceived or real) and/or of anticipating redemption.
For some reason, I really struggled to wrap my head around responding to this challenge. I’ve stopped and started again and again. I’ve played with tone and topic, writing and rewriting. The phrase has lived in my head like a resounding echo: “Next time…next time…next time…” Still, despite many starts, I’ve struggled to come up with one coherent poem.
At this point, I’m already late posting, so I’m cobbling together a few strands from my fits and starts, and hoping they hold together, however draftily.
Next Time
I won’t mourn the hummingbird’s absence whilst it still lingers in my garden.
I won’t spend too long lingering in the past or the future. I’ll take the hike, dive into the sea, read the book and write the poem. I’ll focus on creating a here and now to savor.
Next time, I’ll learn earlier about perspective– how shifting your lens can change the world from frightening to exciting, bringing new views and understandings.
I’ll embrace each challenge, enjoy the process, buckle up and ride the highs and lows of the learning curve, leaning into faith, rather than fearing failure’s stain.
Next time, I’ll wear that stain like a badge of honor a proud proclamation that I didn’t settle into complacency, nestling too deeply into my comfort zone.
I’ll also know the comfort zone isn’t a bad place to linger for a while. It just shouldn’t become a permanent residence.
Next time I won’t be seduced by comfort or become paralyzed in a web of “what if’s” and worries. I’ll turn a deaf ear to the siren’s call of safety and perfection, boldly ignore the neat restraints of convention and step forward to spread my wings.
Even if I only flap wildly or fly in an ungainly manner even if I never soar… I’ll try. Next time.
This week’s Poetry Friday Roundup is hosted by Buffy Silverman at her blog. She’s offering a sneak peek into her soon-to-be-released book, Starlight Symphony. Be sure to stop by and take a look at this gorgeous book and check out some other poetry links while you’re there.
I want to be quite clear: This was no dermatological situation. I’m talking about the other type of mole– the furry, four-legged creature type.
ON MY BARE FOOT!
To be honest, I wasn’t sure exactly what it was at first. Or how we even connected. What I do know is that, unbeknownst to the other, we were both, apparently, enjoying a stroll in the garden. What happened next is uncertain except for the fact that I suddenly felt something on my foot. (Perhaps the creature noted the same thing.) I startled and looked down in time to see a ball of fur with a tail somersault away from me and across the bricks. It rapidly righted itself and scurried beneath the hostas.
I simultaneously screeched and jumped back.
OMG!!! What was that!?
After regaining my balance, I struggled to make sense of what had just happened.
Could I have bumped into it? Or did it bumble into me? And what was it!?
I replayed the moment in my mind. It definitely wasn’t a mouse…the tail was not nearly long enough.
Oh, no! …It couldn’t have beena rat! … Could it? I gulped hard.
No, I reassured myself, the tail was definitely furry, not rat-like.
So, was it a mole? Or a vole? What’s a vole anyway, and do moles or voles have furry tails? What else could it be?
Carefully, I approached the hostas and peered beneath them. I couldn’t make anything out in the shadows. With considerable trepidation, I pulled back a few of the leaves, but still saw nothing. I was relatively sure the creature remained beneath the hostas, so I decided to go get my camera and then wait and see what happened.
I crept inside and then back out, camera in hand, ready to assume my observation position. After several minutes, a leaf rustled. Then another. Something was definitely moving about beneath the hostas!
Oh, I wish I’d thought to put some shoes on!!!
Then… was that a foot? I crouched down to get a better view.
Yes! And then, between the leaves… a patch of dark fur? Maybe…
Yes! It was definitely fur and it looked like the right color. This had to be the same creature! (And really what were the odds that it wasn’t? If they were good, I didn’t even want to know.)
Bit by bit, more of it emerged from beneath the leaves, until finally it was fully visible.
Its face (nose? snout?) was long and its feet were large. It had one of those weird noses. Star-nosed? That rang a dim bell. It definitely looked like it belonged in the mole category somewhere. It was quite undisturbed by my presence on the garden path. It rustled along the edge of the bricks, periodically pausing to dig energetically between bricks or beneath a plant. Go! Go! Go! It was a digging machine! (I put another check in my mental mole classification chart.)
I followed it around for at least 10 minutes, watching it dig, trying to get a clear shot of its amazing nose. This is the best one I could manage, because I’m telling you, that thing moves like crazy! Dirt was flying and most of the time its head was buried or hidden beneath leaves.
Eventually I tired of watching the mole and went inside. As far as I know it continued its digging adventures. A little googling revealed that it was indeed a star-nosed mole. It’s semi-aquatic and has 22 appendages on its nose which are in constant motion. Whoa! It can also smell underwater and is functionally blind. So probably it bumped into me, and that also explains why it was totally unperturbed by my unsubtle spectating.
It certainly wasn’t what I was expecting when I wandered out to the garden, but I’ll take it. Another day, another miracle in the garden!
Tomorrow, though, I’ll wear shoes.
(Side note: My husband NEVER hears me when I screech/shriek/scream outside. This most recent experience confirmed for me that I’m pretty much doomed if a significant misadventure ever happens in our yard.)
SPOILER ALERT: If you haven’t played yesterday’s Wordle, do not go any further! (I’m not even sure if you can go back a day to play, but I don’t want to take any chances! That’s why I waited until Saturday to post– A Wordle-spoiler is an evil thing, indeed!)
So, you might have guessed that I’m addicted to Wordle (and Connections and Spelling Bee and all sorts of word games…) and play daily. A couple of years ago I used to use my Wordle guesses to write poems. I’ve fallen out of that habit, but yesterday the urge struck me to try it again. I solved Wordle in three guesses, and these were my three words (last chance to avoid the spoiler!!): scold, clean, leech.
Here’s the poem they inspired:
August Resistance
As summer’s last days unfold, I will not scold myself for failing to clean, to organize, to do one thing, then yet another. I refuse to allow duty to leech joy from these precious budding days.
Instead, I will honor their haphazard blossoming. I will simply be content as I am amidst the glorious chaos of my unweeded garden.
Nix the comfort zone 