On Poetry

Hashtag and magic box poems

/ Fran Haley / 12 Comments

April is National Poetry Month, and over at Ethical ELA, VerseLove is well underway.

My friend Kim Johnson kicked off the daily poetry writing yesterday by inviting participants to introduce themselves via hashtag poems. Kim shared the process:

Write your name vertically down the left side of a page.  You can use your first name, nickname, or full name – your choice! 

Place a hashtag in front of each letter of your name.

Jot a list of your hobbies, your passions, and any other aspects that you might use to introduce yourself to someone getting to know you.  You can scroll through photos, Facebook posts, or past poems to help you think of some ideas. 

Finally, use the letters to make a hashtag acrostic to introduce yourself to your #VerseLove family! You can #smashyourwordstogether or #space them apart. 

My hashtag poem (I used my favorite variation of my name, what my granddaughters call me):

#HeyY’all #ThisIsMe

#finchologist
#rise&write
#aweseeker
#naturereveler
#nowletmelookthatup
#anothercupofcoffeeplease

Today, Bryan Ripley Crandall hosts VerseLove with a “Magic Box” poem – the directions are somewhat extensive, but very intriguing; check them out here.

My Magic Box poem:

The Golden Rim

I discovered the jewels
right here at home
       whispering rules, awaiting accruals
like longing, lingering talismans
to put in my pockets, protection from fools

I shall not suffer them, removing my saffron socks
barefootedly heading for another world
where winter is fading
       adventure, a’waiting
already, I savor the welcoming salt

I wished, and the grail materialized
in my hand, like a poem
       capturing the wellspring of my heart
       hoping for rhythms of grace
with these words etched around the golden rim:
Write Me

Oh, this spiral shell of Time, wobbling on crustaceous legs!
It’s sweet as honey and bitter as medicine in tentative turn
luring me to press myself
between the musty pages
with my new ink, riding the roaring waves of the past
in the bubbling clean foam of Now.

Fossil nautilus.Hitchster. CC BY 2.0.

Speaking of Now…what will you write?

******

with thanks to Kim and Bryan at Ethical ELA
along with those sharing for Slice of Life Tuesday at Two Writing Teachers

Cluttered recollection

/ Fran Haley / 14 Comments

During the March Open Write over at Ethical ELA, host Rex Muston invited participants to craft “Junk Drawer Affirmations” because, writes Rex: The most urgent motivations to fix something or do something purposeful are tied to the things often gathered there.  The eventual rummaging through the drawer lends to varied levels of reminiscence…Pick your favorite junk drawer and explore it with a search that settles on something that carries deeper meaning.

I could have chosen one of several drawers, truth be told. But this one called to me. I’d already gone to rummage in it recently, and…well, it takes writing a poem to get to deeper meanings.

Cluttered Recollection

I forgot
what brought me
to the old rolltop desk

and what I was looking for
in this drawer

it isn’t the box 
of sheet protectors
left behind by my youngest
marking his time
in high school band

not the psychedelic folders
I bought to hold
copies of songs for
kids at church to practice
the neon-swirl flower-covers 
peeking out from under
the folded map of
the British Isles
this juxtaposition
conjuring a sense
of the 1960s 
and The Beatles…
can’t buy me love, oh
no no no no…

not the bag
of unsharpened pencils
I won at a staff PD session
(why haven’t I used them?)

or the phone chargers,
wires twisting and coiling
over and around
five clear marbles
I hid here last year
to keep them away
from my toddler granddaughter

or the tag she tore off
my Princess Diana
Beanie Baby bear
(ripped away,
just like
the Princess)

or the flat little Ziploc
lying so unobtrusively
in the midst of it all
like an untold secret
carried within

—don’t know why I saved it,
this tiny snakeskin
pale as sand
fragile as a minute,
an exhaled breath

I found it
in the garage last spring
just a remnant
of a shy earth snake
that was once here
then gone
leaving only this papery bit
of itself behind

I remember putting it
in this baggie

I think I meant
to show it
to the granddaughters

but I forgot
just like I forgot
what brought me
to this old rolltop desk
that I’d given to their dad
when he was still a boy.

*******

Composed for Day 29 of the Slice of Life Story Challenge with Two Writing Teachers

Awakenings

/ Fran Haley / 20 Comments

Today’s post is inspired by Kim Johnson, who’s organizing a community event for National Poetry Month. Her local arts council chose the theme of “Awakenings” and in her Slice of Life Story Challenge post of March 12th, Kim sent out a call for short poems of 4-6 lines. Featured poems will be displayed on canvases in windows around the town square throughout April.

Kim: Here’s to power of awakenings, poetry, and community! Much success to you, my friend, and all involved in this exciting event.

Now…how might I play some little variations on this theme, let’s say, with snippets of my life?

*******

awakening (plural awakenings)

noun

  1. the point of morning coffee (may require more than one cup)
  2. a soul-spark generated by infinite possibility
  3. a heart condition caused by beautiful language
  4. (plural) the celebration of poetry at a local literacy event

*******

Sisters Seeing

One winter’s night, when I was ten, I dreamed of an angel.
My little sister stood by me at the window, watching it pass.
Morning brought this revelation: she had dreamed of it, too.

*******

First Rhythms

Love of words was born in me
upon my grandmother’s lap
reading stories in rhyme
rocking chair keeping time
with the beating of her heart.

*******

Cicada Rhythms

High in the oaks against the bluest of skies
the rattling swells as its season dies.
A paradox, this buzzing call
from amid the leaves, soon to fall.
This song of my childhood, lingering still
in the last of the light, before the chill.
Full force, cicada sings—don’t you know?
—summer’s gone on the wings of a song long ago.

Yet it returns, when you rise from the ground
Awaking the child I was, with that sound.

******

Lullaby for My Granddaughter

Precious darling, while you’re sleeping
I’ll be here, safe watch a’keeping
This time is such a fleeting thing
When you awaken, love, let’s sing.

My precious Micah after I sang her to sleep

*******

Composed for Day 27 of the Slice of Life Story Challenge with Two Writing Teachers

with thanks to Denise Krebs for inspiring the Dictionary Entry poem

‘Bad things are going to happen’ poem

/ Fran Haley / 30 Comments

On the last day of the March Open Write at Ethical ELA, host Shelly Martin-Young invited participants to write a poem modeled after “Relax” by Ellen Bass. Shelley said: “Think about all of the things that are happening in your life right now, good or bad. Make a list and write your ‘relax’ poem. When my students write their Relax poems, I have them start with Ellen’s first line: Bad things are going to happen. So start there and just write. Maybe by the end of the poem, you will be able to relax, let it go, and taste the sweet fruit.”

So I took the first line, and wrote…

Carrying On

Bad things are going to happen.
Your husband will break the handle
off your favorite coffee mug
(the one with Shakespeare’s signature,
that you’ve had since your freshman year
of college). Your young son will lose
the basketball pendant that belonged
to his grandfather in the 1930s. 
It will never be found. Your car dashboard
will burst into flames midway through
a long trip in the mountains and you will discover 
there’s not enough Dr. Pepper 
in that bottle you’re holding 
to douse them. People will disappoint you
and confuse you with their chameleon loyalties
—“fickle,” your mother will tell you, 
while you are still a child.
And the time will come when you no longer
have a relationship with your mother.
You’ll learn, to your astonishment, that your
father is the family glue and everything will
fall apart when he dies. The baby finches
in the nest on your front door wreath
—so perfect, so wondrous—will also die
without warning. You’ll find all five
with their yellow beaks frozen open to the sky,
their tiny bodies quivering with maggots.
Your husband will be diagnosed with
the beginning of ocular melanoma.
He will sacrifice his left eye in order to stay alive. 
Then, one Sunday afternoon,
he’ll go into cardiac arrest
while driving home from the gym.
He’ll be resuscitated. He’ll endure two surgeries.
When he’s over all that, it will be time for 
his spinal fusion. He will depend on you
more and more…you’ll break your left foot twice
and still keep pace with the days as they unfold…
for the days become years 
and the years will bring you 
two little granddaughters.
This, this will be the richest time
of your entire existence,
as rich as the red on the breast of 
the reddest male finch you’ve ever seen,
singing so beautifully there on your porch
that your heart will be filled to bursting with the sound
of life, carrying on.  

*******

Composed for Day 25 of the Slice of Life Story Challenge with Two Writing Teachers

Dream-double

/ Fran Haley / 22 Comments

Have you ever seen yourself in a dream?

I have. Long ago.

I remembered it last Saturday during Ethical ELA’s Open Write when the host, James Coats, invited participants to write a poem that’s “ultimately a reflective piece – a moment to examine who we were, who we are, and who we might want to be.” He called this “Looking Back to Look Forward.”

Something in this language sparked the memory…as vivid as if it happened yesterday…

Me Seeing Me in a Dream

When I was nine
I dreamed
that I was watching myself
sitting at a desk
in the classroom

I could see myself
so clearly

writing something
on paper

then looking up
in contemplation

I knew there was some
urgent message
I needed to tell myself

but I couldn’t get
my attention

I couldn’t get me
to look my way

The me in my dream
sat completely unaware
that I stood before me,
invisible,
unable to break through
some forbidding
force field

I stood before me
as if I were
my own ghost

Five decades later
I remember this dream
and the despair
of being unable to
communicate with me

and I wonder:

What could that message
of such urgency even be
from child-me
to child-me?

Other than
dear me
pay attention
please save yourself
so much trouble

in life

keep learning
keep dreaming
keep writing

these will
navigate you through
all the unseen things
ahead

including
you.

“Reflection“. toddwendy .CC BY 2.0.

*******

Composed for Day 23 of the Slice of Life Story Challenge with Two Writing Teachers

Grim tale

/ Fran Haley / 15 Comments

Over at Ethical ELA for the Monday Open Write, host Wendy Everard challenged participants with this thing called the double dactyl.

It’s deadly. Don’t even think of trying it.

Ok, not really deadly. You just kind of wish for grim death.

Ok, not really…but…it’s danged hard to write this “simple” poetry (or is it just me?).

Wendy shared the process:

  • The first line must be nonsense, often higgledy-piggledy or jiggery-pokery. 
  • The second line must be someone’s name. (Again, it has to be a double dactyl, so not every six-syllable name works. Matthew McConaughey does; Kareem Abdul-Jabbar doesn’t.)
  • The last line of the first stanza must rhyme with the last line of the second.
  • One of the six-syllable lines must be one word. This can be anywhere in the poem, but Hecht [one of the form’s creators] preferred it as the sixth line.

Ummmmmmmmmm….

So, here’s an example by John Hollander, another of the form’s creators:

Higgledy piggledy,
Benjamin Harrison,
Twenty-third president
Was, and, as such,

Served between Clevelands and
Save for this trivial
Idiosyncrasy,
Didn’t do much.

…and here are more good examples.

—All right. I gave it a shot. No one can call me a coward. I used one of my favorite Harry Potter characters: Professor Snape.

I know what you’re thinking: This post is getting grimmer by the line.

Yeah, well, so does my poem; even with ongoing revisions I still can’t get the dactyls right.

But I am letting my double-trouble terri-dactyl fly (get it? get it?).

Stand back!—[stretching arms, cracking fingers]—

A Spell of Redemption

Grim-diddy-grim-grib-roo
Snape the Professor, there
Greasy hair, face a-glare,
Stares holes in you.

Adaptability?
Impossibility.
Snape can never forget
The love he knew.

‘Tis misfortune indeed
For you, The-Boy-Who-Lived,
Always reminding him,
Turning the screw.

Wizard-child, unwitting
He’ll give his life for you
All due to your mother…
Snape’s love, still true.

—welp. I tried to do it, and him, at least a little justice.

P.S. I know the double dactyl is supposed to be humorous…like I said, I was feeling grim.

“younger sev snape“. Snape’s True Love. CC BY 2.0.

*******

Composed for Day 20 of the Slice of Life Story Challenge with Two Writing Teachers

—and allow me to celebrate a milestone: This is my 1000th post on Lit Bits and Pieces.

Huh?

/ Fran Haley / 16 Comments

For Sunday’s Open Write at Ethical ELA, host Katrina Morrison invited participants to craft poems about their mondegreens.

What, pray tell, is a mondegreen?

In short: mishearing and misinterpreting song lyrics or lines of poetry read aloud. Katrina gave several of her own examples from the Eagles’ song “Hotel California.”

Our pattern-seeking brains are forever trying to make sense of things… I’m sure each of you out there has some hilarious lyric “mishearings” (hint: these make for fun writing, fellow Slicers-of-Life).

While there have been many mondegreen moments in my life, one of my favorites comes from my son when he was little.

My poem tells the story…

Why Would the Lord Look at THOSE?

Music is his thing.
Even as a little kid
he counted the beats,

making untallied
tally marks on his whiteboard.
At five, he joined me

at choir practice,
singing the hymns and medleys
with greatest gusto

and remarkable
musicality for one
so young and solemn.

Around Eastertime
he looked perplexed.
He finally asked:

“What does it mean, Mom?
This part: He looked beyond my
fault and saw my knees?“

When I stopped laughing
enough to breathe, tears streaming,
I told him, “That’s NEED.”

“Skinned knees“. QT1p. CC BY 2.0.

One does have to admit little knees are precious…

*******

Composed for Day 19 of the Slice of Life Story Challenge with Two Writing Teachers

Interpretation of Grandmothering by AI

/ Fran Haley / 26 Comments

Over at Ethical ELA last month, host Amber Harrison invited Open Write participants to compose a poem inspired by Walt Whitman’s “Song of Myself”:

I celebrate myself, and sing myself,
And what I assume you shall assume,
For every atom belonging to me as good as belongs to you.

The idea being to fill in these blanks:

I celebrate____.

And what I _______you _____.
For every ___________ me as good
_______ you.

My poem:

Grandmothering

I celebrate the immutable now.

And what I pour of myself, you drink—a transubstantiation of sorts,
blood-memory in the making.

For every day, in passing, decreases me as good
as it increases you.

As anyone in a writing community knows, giving and receiving comments is the stuff we feed on to keep going. One of my fellow Open Write participants (“tellio”) offered this astonishing reponse to my poem:

Here is an explication of your poem by the AI Perplexity. It is, in a way a backfilling in of the lines. I wonder what Uncle Walty would make of it.

“Grandmothering” is a poem that delves into the profound connection between generations, particularly the relationship between a grandmother and her grandchild. The poem celebrates the present moment, emphasizing its unchanging nature, hence the phrase “the immutable now.” The act of sharing and passing on experiences, wisdom, and love is likened to a sacred transformation, described as a “transubstantiation of sorts,” evoking the religious concept of the Eucharist, where bread and wine are transformed into the body and blood of Christ.

The line “And what I pour of myself, you drink” vividly captures the idea of the grandmother imparting her essence to her grandchild, who receives it eagerly and completely. This exchange is described as a “blood-memory in the making,” suggesting that the bond between them is not only emotional and intellectual but also deeply rooted in their shared heritage and lineage.

The final two lines, “For every day, in passing, decreases me as good as it increases you,” encapsulate the bittersweet reality of this intergenerational relationship. As the grandmother imparts her knowledge and love to her grandchild, she recognizes that her own time and energy are finite. Each day that passes diminishes her own vitality and presence, yet simultaneously enriches and empowers the younger generation. In essence, “Grandmothering” beautifully captures the timeless cycle of giving and receiving between generations, acknowledging both the sacrifices and the joys inherent in this process. It speaks to the enduring significance of familial connections and the profound impact of legacy and heritage on our lives.

Oh, Perplexity. You have me weeping over the way you’ve pulled all that’s behind the poem and in my heart out into the open. How profoundly you understand the depths of my soul.

And you aren’t even human.

Or alive.

I celebrate the immutable now

*******

Composed for Day 18 of the Slice of Life Story Challenge with Two Writing Teachers

Life’s a cupcake

/ Fran Haley / 25 Comments

Some time ago, I had my nails polished in a pale color delightfully named “Life’s a Cupcake.”

I’ve been hanging onto that, in case I ever decided to write something out of it.

—Why not today?

If Life’s a cupcake
then use real sugar.

If Life’s a cupcake
then add your own flavor.

If Life’s a cupcake
then try not to burn it.

If Life’s a cupcake
then savor the filling.

If Life’s a cupcake
then frost it thick with love.

If Life’s a cupcake
then offer it to others.

If Life’s a cupcake
then eat every crumb.

My sweet Scout, summer before last

*******
Composed for Day 15 of the Slice of Life Story Challenge with Two Writing Teachers

–oh, if you’re curious about the nail color, check it out: Life’s a Cupcake polish.
Note the brand name, “Creative Play”—how fitting!

Poetry possum

/ Fran Haley / 13 Comments

Once upon a time (last fall), we had a family event at my school featuring Poetry Fox.

Forgive if this disturbs the enchanting image in your brain: He’s a guy in a well-worn fox costume who cranks out poems on the spot, using an old-timey typewriter.

Just give him a word, and clickety-clickety-click, slam! —he types your own personal poem on a piece of paper suitable for framing.

You will want to frame it, because Poetry Fox is amazing.

My new assistant principal stood by, watching in sheer wonderment. “I didn’t know what to expect,” he admitted. “But this…this is magic.”

Indeed. Kid faces and parent faces glowed. In a word…awe.

Afterward, my AP joked: “Hey, if we ever want to do this again and Poetry Fox isn’t available, maybe I could scrounge up a costume…not a fox, of course…some lesser creature…”

The thing was born in my head, right that very instant: “You could be Poetry Possum!”

Today, Ladies and Gentlemen, Girls and Boys, One and All… I am proud to announce the debut of a character who certainly needs to live in stories (and poems) of his own:

I give you… (drumroll)…Poetry Possum and his very first work!

There once was a fuzzy gray creature
It is ME! A poetry teacher!
With just a little travail
I’ll bet my prehensile tail
Wordcraft will become your best feature!

*******

Composed for Day 11 of the Slice of Life Story Challenge with Two Writing Teachers

If you want to read more about Poetry Fox, you can do so here.