This morning, I watched a dove waddle a tightrope. The line swayed as she jerked her neck, picked at nits. It’s unkind to say, but she seemed unremarkable— duck-footed and mousy brown but somehow still suspended above me, living life on a higher plane. When she lifted off, she squealed delight like a child flown free of a chain-link swing. The air roared ovation.
A., this is truly wonderful, creative and inspired. Your poetry is so rhythmic and clear, precise and poignant, it strikes my heart no matter the form, length or style. You don’t need permission to write, but you do have my deep appreciation for everything you offer! 🩵
This is sweet, Margaret. I agree with our colleague poets, the ending is a marvelous twist, line that last sharp turn on the roller coaster you just weren’t expecting.
Thank you so much! It's always really interesting to see which lines pop most for people. I'm thinking now I want to keep the lines that follow these ones a little sparer.
One of the things I'm giving myself permission NOT to do in these last days of summer is overly tend my garden. It's a nice change of pace. I'm not *actually* ready for snow as the poem might imply, but I know it's coming...
I love this Rebekah! I am sharing with my friends who are also Northern New England gardeners! You can the seasons shifting here, and for us the tomatoes 🍅 just have not ripened normally! Thank you for this splendid permission poem for perfect and imperfect gardeners!
What a beautiful elevation of the mundane this poem is, and the dull brown dove a phoenix in disguise. Your prompt got me to thinking about how permission and power have co-evolved.
This is so punchy and thought provoking! I’ve never thought about the relationship between permission and power, but it seems so apt to describe them as co-evolved. It makes me think too how very much the powers that be do not want anyone else to recognize their own power for self-permission. And what an amazing power that is - to recognize our own ability to grant ourselves permission.
Thanks, friend. As I thought about the permission-power connection, it also occurred to me that even our need for self-permission is just internalized coercion, a result of conditioning by the powers-that-be.
This is splendid, Keith! I line the pace and cadence you create with the rhyming and flow. Line so many of your fine poems, I can hear this one being done e so nicely as a spoken word piece. You are a gift and a blessing!
Found some words today:
Permission to
start
pause
stop
cry
laugh
rage
try
fail
pivot
eat
sleep
grow
until you are satisfied
until you can breathe again
until you can't
Now I am roaring ovation! This is is beautiful, A. I think it's the permission we all need.
A., this is truly wonderful, creative and inspired. Your poetry is so rhythmic and clear, precise and poignant, it strikes my heart no matter the form, length or style. You don’t need permission to write, but you do have my deep appreciation for everything you offer! 🩵
Those last three lines are such a gorgeous conclusion.
Your words were evocative for this reader, A. Thank you for sharing them with us <3
Oh I love this A! That last line, oof!
Permission slips
.
They went home in our mailboxes, in our folders
Tucked into our desks, handed to our languid hands
And they meant something good, always.
Going to see “The Phantom of the Opera.”
Going to see “Les Misérables.” Going whale watching
But not seeing whales, only dolphins leaping
In a synchronized arc, but you didn’t see them either
Because you were in the cabin, sea-sick.
Permission to go to Africa, permission to go to France
Permission to say no and say yes and say maybe.
The slips become invisible after a while.
They are made of air, of the breath that expends
From hurried lungs and cracked lips.
Those last three lines - such a gorgeous turn!
Thank you, Lisa! As usual, you work magic with these prompts. I admire it so much!
Oh, this ending. So beautiful, Margaret!
Thank you, A! Sometimes I don’t see the ending to a poem coming until it arrives and my hands go still. I love that feeling.
Yes! Exactly!
This is sweet, Margaret. I agree with our colleague poets, the ending is a marvelous twist, line that last sharp turn on the roller coaster you just weren’t expecting.
Thank you, Larry! You guys got the poem practically as soon as I typed it; I’m excited to see what else comes up during revision.
Where I live
Are many doves
But there are also
Some Cooper’s hawks
So I no longer
Have a backyard feeder
Who grants this permission
What rules exist
That require permission
To break
What often happens
As I break these rules
Without permission
Poor doves!
'The air
roared
ovation' .
Lovely
Thank you so much! It's always really interesting to see which lines pop most for people. I'm thinking now I want to keep the lines that follow these ones a little sparer.
One of the things I'm giving myself permission NOT to do in these last days of summer is overly tend my garden. It's a nice change of pace. I'm not *actually* ready for snow as the poem might imply, but I know it's coming...
.
At this point it’s okay.
You can let the tomatoes
slouch into each other
like the end of the party.
.
You can stop tending bar,
let the raspberries crash on the floor
let the peas expire in their drinks.
.
The cucumbers are telling you to
walk on, their gnarled hands
shielding snifters filled half a dozen times,
now theirs to finish – let them.
.
So you poured too late
for the fall greens, who are
just now getting tuned up.
Rest easy, and throw open the door.
.
Let in the snow:
let it smart every face,
let it soften the inevitability
of tomorrow.
I love the images of raspberries crashed on the floor and peas expiring in their drinks! This is such fun!
"let it soften the inevitability of tomorrow" !!! Yes!
I love this Rebekah! I am sharing with my friends who are also Northern New England gardeners! You can the seasons shifting here, and for us the tomatoes 🍅 just have not ripened normally! Thank you for this splendid permission poem for perfect and imperfect gardeners!
What a beautiful elevation of the mundane this poem is, and the dull brown dove a phoenix in disguise. Your prompt got me to thinking about how permission and power have co-evolved.
***
In the absence of coercion,
whether within or without,
whether a whisper or shout,
there really is no need
for permission.
There is no contrivance of condition,
no prerequisite compliance or submission.
No scar tissue of indecision.
Nothing
but the clear, bright recognition
of our innate,
organic,
authentic
volition.
This is so punchy and thought provoking! I’ve never thought about the relationship between permission and power, but it seems so apt to describe them as co-evolved. It makes me think too how very much the powers that be do not want anyone else to recognize their own power for self-permission. And what an amazing power that is - to recognize our own ability to grant ourselves permission.
Thanks, friend. As I thought about the permission-power connection, it also occurred to me that even our need for self-permission is just internalized coercion, a result of conditioning by the powers-that-be.
You have such a clever way with words, Keith. I love this.
Thanks so much, A. :))
This is splendid, Keith! I line the pace and cadence you create with the rhyming and flow. Line so many of your fine poems, I can hear this one being done e so nicely as a spoken word piece. You are a gift and a blessing!
Thank you, Larry - appreciate your kind feedback :))
Very good, tiny yet filled with sparkly moments, yummo.
“Yummo” is the best compliment! 😂
Beautiful. Each stanza has its own very striking element.
Thank you, Margaret!
Echoing that "the air/ roared/ ovation" is stunning.
The Air/roared/ovation!" What a beauty! A standing ovation from New Hampshiure to Kentucky this morning!
Awww thank you so much, Larry! I think I can hear the clapping.
Finally some words emerged--not sure really what they may mean, but I'll share them here.
Permission granted
^
Generations of stoic suffering,
eons of wandering wayfarers
lost in a dark forest of denial,
Guilt,
repression and
shame.
Passing down through the centuries
all the ills the disordered destruction could bring.
The little children of each new revolution
barely stood a chance,
Except for the times we looked up,
and saw rainbows breaking out of sinister clouds,
or received kindness when least expected,
or felt the radical power of love,
wading through all the muck to find us, finally,
standing on the edge.
As twilight comes to this life,
revelation and revolution erupt
Into cosmic joy.
Permission granted to
Love
Laugh
Leap
Cry
Dance
Wander
Be imperfect
Grieve
stumble
Rest
Restore…
Emerging from these thick layers of shame
I realize at last,
I do not need permission at all.
"I realize at last, I do not need permission at all." Beautiful.
Thank you A!