oh I had quite the chuckle at that one!!! But then I too went back for a deeper read (thanks A!) and it is sobering how such dire messages are cloaked in whimsy.
Dope rhymes indeed! I love the idea of God spitting those out at critical junctures -- and it has me trying to think of some, too. If God is into 80s hip hop, then “it takes two of everything alive / it takes two, because you can’t fit five...”
For my inner dog, clever word play is a "squirrel!" that sometimes distracts me from bigger themes, both in reading and writing. A's comment was a nudge to go back for a few deeper reads. I can feel the heavier side now, our own flood underway and all the stubborn/delusional splashing around the signs -- and the entire poem being a funny-not-funny sign of how you feel about this. So good.
I can relate to having an inner dog who sees word play as squirrels and goes off on a chase! Thanks so much for taking the time to revisit the poem after the inner dog got its fill of frolicking. I appreciate it, and I also appreciate how someone else's perspective nudges us to explore things from a slightly different vantage point, like A's did for you. Really beautiful. <3
This is splednid. Keith. I can see the playfulness wrapped around more serious and deeper meanings, and prophetic calls for us to be more mindful and engaged. I think of songs with an upbeat and danceable rhthym around lyrics that are poignant, piercing and powerful. I have always admired that capacity to create meaning using contrast You do this very well, in this poem and others. I love the reference to the flood in the Bible, and what if God had a sign? Can you imagine? At the end of the flood, God did bring the rainbow, what a gift to leave us with! Thank you for always probing deeper and inviting us to join you!
Taking a break from working, this poem came to me. We live in New Hampshire, and every four eyars we are treated to a revolving roster of presidential "hopefuls" traipsing through our cafes, streets, campuses, churches, synagogues and temples, our concerts and sporting events. The New Hampshrie primary has just concluded, and tehy move on whilemany of the signs ar eleft behind. The former President does not do retail politics like we are accustomed to, so now we add rallies at arenas and concert halls and sporting venues that disrupt lives in more ways than one might imagine.
These signs that proliferate for a few months seem like graffiti to me, though perhaps not nearly as illumninating. Hence, this poem came to be.
I confess that I hadn't considered what it's like to be on the ground in New Hampshire right now, though your state has appeared often enough in recent headlines. The line "they arrive again like locusts" makes it all feel so visceral - which of course it is if you live there. The comparison of those political signs to graffiti is so apt, and so many of the lines in your poem grabbed me by the gut. "Football stadium ethos and soccer style rampage" could describe so much of the political landscape nowadays. I love the idea of hope waiting beneath the snow and of the rain that will come to reveal its shining face . . . and i hope (there's that word again) that's exactly what happens!
Thank you Lisa, for reading and reflecting with great insight as always. A. and your comments help me see my own poem in ways I had not thought of or imagined. You are a really great teacher!
Wise words and I love "Beneath the glistening snow, hope waits for its time...." and "whose great do you mean?" I ask that all the time.
My husband ask me not to put any political signs in our yard for fear of retaliation or even just vandalism . Same with bumper stickers. I worked a wee bit on the gubernatorial campaign of our Democratic (African American) candidate last cycle and the awful things people said. But I digress.
I haven't been able to write the last few days but i have something brewing in my head related to a horrible sign some of our neighbors had out a few years ago. I wasn't going to "go there" in my head but I think now I must.
Thank you Karri for your note. I understand your husband's hesitancy and concern. The rhetoric and discourse now seems so toxic and there is a meannness and bullying to it that is very real and scary. And too often, politicians mistake "loud" for leadership and hyperbole for wisdom. I look forward to reading what comes up and has been brewing!
When they (signs) started showing up in my pastor's yard, that's about the time we started to start thinking about looking for another place to worship.
"Nitpicking weeds that you were sure you had vanquished." I don't know how you meant that, Larry, but I translated this as "the incredible disbelief that we might have another 4 years with him." Perhaps that's not at all what you meant, but if you did, it was a beautiful way of saying something I feel rising in the collective air here. This was a beautiful poem...and I also really felt the lines about football stadium ethos and soccer style rampage. The mob mentality vibe is real and it is pervasive. Thank you for the gentle landing at the end.
Thank you for your reflections, Keith. That is a perceptive sense of that weed line. I was not thinking specifically of that possibility, but it is ever in my mind. Perhaps it rose to the surface beyond my conscious knowing. Thank you for reading so thoughtfully.
"One pronounces 'Truth' / as if somehow we all get / what that means" -- so good, Larry! What a circus NH must be this time of year -- and in a larger sense, what a circus our whole country is on the four-year cycle. Your poem captures both the local and larger feeling so well.
Larry, you really capture how unnecessary and shallow and artificial campaigning feels. I've never been in a city that major candidates travel through, yet still the streets are littered in signs that say very little of substance - much like many of the people they represent. I love the imagery of rain beginning to fall at the end, as if to wash all of it away.
Thank you A. Your noting that you've never been in a city where candidates visit points out the madness of a system that has them doing political calculus going to certain places and states because of how it brings points to their tallies and helps them win a nomination or election. Much of the nation never sees the candidates. When I lived in Virginia and Vermont, we saw markedly less of them, and I have always wondered why certain places, Iowa, New Hampshire, South Carolina, should have so much power in speaking for the nation. Ah, we'll keep living and resiting and doing what Brickne Cockburn, a favorite singer.songwriter of mine, sings "got to kick at the darkness until it bleeds daylight."
Backing up Lisa...if poetry wants to be shared, please share away! Abbey Road wall contribution is a pretty remarkable piece of personal history, and it deserves poetic acknowledgement!
This is nice Chuck. I like biblical and Led Zeppelin references and uses of texts and characters to illuminate aspects of the divine, the mystery and the everyday.
I was really excited about this prompt, because I had a poetic feeling the other day driving past my local Do It Best hardware store and reading their sign. Consider this my 1-star review, haha.
Duct Tape Sally, what a fun and quirky gem of a poem! I love the repeated capitalization of TRASH CANS and DUCT TAPE, images like “soles no longer flapping,” and of course the deliciously unexpected line “like they’re thinking of eating you”
This had me laughing out loud repeatedly, Rebekah. The quiet strange couple evokes so many images involving captivity accomplished with the help of duct tape and trash cans! Your detour into your own love of duct tape was delightful (and took the edge off the darker side of duct tape). You painted such a vivid portrait of this strange and sad little shop, I felt like I was there.
Rebekah, you have such a creative spirit! I love mthis poem, and the fun and a little scary way you take us on a ride through duct tape, trash cans, a small town hardware store and the uneasiness of the ambience and feeling inside. I love the ending and the shiver of the owners eating customers and really like the alternative use if trash cans and duct tape. What a jolting surprise. 😮 thank you for taking us off the main road!
This one is so fun, Rebekah! If I read this as a review, I would laugh and adjust my shopping plans accordingly. I love the parentheses around the vaguely appealing solar-powered generator, because same. 🤣
There are certain places I too refuse to shop because of the atmosphere inside and how they dealt with mandates and such back in 2020. But in this case, it really sounds like you aren't missing much! (and on the duct tape note, my daughter participated in Destination Imagination for years and they had a Duct Tape Ball that celebrated the magical stuff!)
I love the image of the rainbow and ROY G BIV on the back of your house! The final line in your poem really grabs me - "I don't want to teach my children to be too precious about things that only temporarily belong to them, nor careless with things that don't." Wow, that contains so much and rings so true.
Something about the line "I suppose you can't quite call it graffiti if it was left with permission..." took me to a darker place simply because it made me think of times we give people permission to write upon our histories and then it leaves a permanent mark that sometimes will show through no matter how we try to cover it.
I like this insight Karri. I also think of the ways that the powers erase and revise the histories of others, because the truth is too painful for them to bear.
Being "too precious about things that only temporarily belong to them" - this so poignantly encapsulates the impact that colonialism and capitalism have had in constructing the concept of property ownership as we know it. It's one of those things that is real and not. People hold real deeds that stand in a court of law, but the truth is we're all just borrowers here. Of time and of property. I love that you have written such a beautiful poem about your equally beautiful intention to teach your children good stewardship (and thank you for teaching them this).
I love this, A! The creative space you're giving your kids, reflecting on uninvited (yet enriching) expression elsewhere in your city -- and the notion of being precious *about* something -- I love that original use of the word, as well as the lesson.
Thank you, Rebekah! When I saw the prompt, I couldn't help but think of the different types of graffiti and how some of them can be harmful but some can be, as you said, enriching.
What a wonderful poem through the personal to the collective to the personal and a testimony to your deep ethics and values. I realy love, also, the ending where you reflect on what you want to teach your children, and I know, are teaching them. This is quite beautiful, A.
I felt gripped by this poem....I could feel the claustrophobia of the bathroom stall, and the aptness of that nasty, confining space as metaphor for the interior space that one can find themself stuck in. Repeating things in the "cramped closet of your own mind" was so resonant. So many stuffy moments spent in that closet. Whew. I loved the landing, which felt like a somewhat miraculous and gentle float into the fresh air of our true nature. Also love thinking about how art takes so many varied forms, including things that are often derided and unwanted, like graffiti almost always used to be. Thanks for sharing your artful graffiti here.
Thank you, Keith! I had a moment a few days ago where I was feeling mired in self-doubt, when completely unbidden (it felt miraculous) I was suddenly filled with a sense of being held and loved, and everything felt fresh and spacious. This poem was an attempt to capture that . . . but of course, some things will always evade capturing, at least a little bit! I’m glad to hear that it resonated with you, though.
I had a bit of a visceral reaction since being in a dingy space such as a filthy bathroom is almost panic inducing for me and I will utilize and all forms of fast food cups for a port a potty if need be. ;)
But seriously in reading on, I felt a sense of peace about how when we realize that words are just words and maybe everything isn't a personal attack, we can indeed breathe more freely.
Lisa, I love that I never know what to expect from your poems based on the title/prompt. I'm always surprised in the best way. The imagery you use is so visceral - I could feel the stickiness under my feet and smell the sharpie. I love that you take us from the angst and accusation to peaceful quiet and simple presence.
Thank you so much, A! I never know what to expect either, as far as what poem will emerge (or what prompt, for that matter), and some scared child part of me is often oh so sure that I've run out of poems to write and the next one will be pure rubbish that resonates with no one. I couldn't ask for a more loving and supportive community to share with, though. It's such a gift to have you all here.
Some of the high points of my week are reading your wonderful prompts and poems. This is breathtaking poem, Lisa. One, how creative to use graffiti as a building space for a poem. Two, the poem is so evoctive and rich with imagery, dingy and delightful. Three, the wonderful flow and cadence of your poem amplifies the power of the words and lines, and helps me navigate the incky nature of some of the words. You are creative and lyrical with words, Lisa. I love these lines:
"No one, standing in this space would ever call you and expect a good time. You are ink and angst and accusation. You’re the hollow tube where there should be paper. You’re the sticky squalor that coats the floor, until— and you can’t explain it, except to say it’s a bit like that pause when your hand cramps from writing and you set down the sharpie to shake your wrist. How many endings were changed by just that gesture?"
My goodness that is rich and powerful and oh so relatable. And these words to end the poem are just perfect:
"And maybe yours feels like luck, but suddenly you see in the flickering light that words are just words. Flat lines and flat curves, on one face of a wall that you can step beyond. Space opens around you. Space opens inside you. And the clean quiet within feels like something that someone should write on a wall somewhere. Like GOD WAS HERE or I AM HERE or maybe simply HERE."
I want to find a wall for you to write this entire poem on, so that those of us in dingy bathrooms, or narrow alleys, or tumbleweed streets can stop and read, and wonder!
Thank you so much, Larry! Your comments always feel so generous . . . as if I can look through your eyes for a moment and appreciate something I hadn't seen either about my own poem or about someone else's. ❤️
I know you said there's a long back story, but this poem also speaks well for itself. This is the kind of letter I've considered writing so many times to different people, and I identify with the snark and underlying righteous anger of the message. It really is incredible the lengths some people will go to over someone who would never think twice about them.
I'm tired and a bit loopy. Without further ado, here is my offering.
Turn around,
don’t drown!
So proclaimed
the mini matrix message board
as it dripped rain
for what seemed surely
at least The 40th day.
What a glib way
to warn one off
from potentially violent death.
I thought this thought
as I watched traffic
speedily splash past the sign,
apparently undeterred.
A sign of the times.
My thoughts turned to God.
What if he’d been inclined
to command via sign
back in Noah’s times?
Skipped the tedious specificity
about gopher wood and pitch and cubits
instead spitting some dope rhymes,
at just the right times?
Don’t be daft,
Build a raft!
Then,
Stay on the ark,
Don’t disembark!
And, lastly,
Before it’s too late,
Procreate!
This entire riff being
a sign of my mind’s
umbrage with these times.
“Don’t be daft, build a raft!” 😂 This had me laughing out loud - thank you, Keith!
oh I had quite the chuckle at that one!!! But then I too went back for a deeper read (thanks A!) and it is sobering how such dire messages are cloaked in whimsy.
Dope rhymes indeed! I love the idea of God spitting those out at critical junctures -- and it has me trying to think of some, too. If God is into 80s hip hop, then “it takes two of everything alive / it takes two, because you can’t fit five...”
God channeling Rob Base & DJ EZ Rock (well, vice versa, perhaps)! I love it.
This feels both light and heavy at the same time. I laughed, but also felt that umbrage.
Thanks, A. I felt both light and heavy as I wrote it, which is so often how I feel about navigating the absurdities of life.
For my inner dog, clever word play is a "squirrel!" that sometimes distracts me from bigger themes, both in reading and writing. A's comment was a nudge to go back for a few deeper reads. I can feel the heavier side now, our own flood underway and all the stubborn/delusional splashing around the signs -- and the entire poem being a funny-not-funny sign of how you feel about this. So good.
I can relate to having an inner dog who sees word play as squirrels and goes off on a chase! Thanks so much for taking the time to revisit the poem after the inner dog got its fill of frolicking. I appreciate it, and I also appreciate how someone else's perspective nudges us to explore things from a slightly different vantage point, like A's did for you. Really beautiful. <3
This is splednid. Keith. I can see the playfulness wrapped around more serious and deeper meanings, and prophetic calls for us to be more mindful and engaged. I think of songs with an upbeat and danceable rhthym around lyrics that are poignant, piercing and powerful. I have always admired that capacity to create meaning using contrast You do this very well, in this poem and others. I love the reference to the flood in the Bible, and what if God had a sign? Can you imagine? At the end of the flood, God did bring the rainbow, what a gift to leave us with! Thank you for always probing deeper and inviting us to join you!
Thanks, Larry. And the rainbow was a most luminous sign, more meaningful than words could convey.
Yes!!!
Taking a break from working, this poem came to me. We live in New Hampshire, and every four eyars we are treated to a revolving roster of presidential "hopefuls" traipsing through our cafes, streets, campuses, churches, synagogues and temples, our concerts and sporting events. The New Hampshrie primary has just concluded, and tehy move on whilemany of the signs ar eleft behind. The former President does not do retail politics like we are accustomed to, so now we add rallies at arenas and concert halls and sporting venues that disrupt lives in more ways than one might imagine.
These signs that proliferate for a few months seem like graffiti to me, though perhaps not nearly as illumninating. Hence, this poem came to be.
Necessary? Evils
They arrive again like locusts,
unwelcome guests bursting
the bucolic bubble,
nitpicking weeds that you were sure
you had vanquished.
These political signs arriving
every four years,
blotting the landscape,
barraging our senses,
numbing our minds.
One pronounces “Truth”
as if somehow we all get
what that means.
Another adorned in patriotic fervor,
familiar tug at our childhood wonder.
One claims to make us great, again,
leaving me to ponder
whose great do you mean?
These signs and symbols
that populate our viewsheds
and block our hearts from
what we really need to see.
Football stadium ethos
and soccer style rampage,
the shallowness of their message
overshadows all we need to know.
Winners and losers
stuck in duality;
Beneath the glistening snow
hope waits for its time.
Election over, votes tallied
the rain begins to fall.
I confess that I hadn't considered what it's like to be on the ground in New Hampshire right now, though your state has appeared often enough in recent headlines. The line "they arrive again like locusts" makes it all feel so visceral - which of course it is if you live there. The comparison of those political signs to graffiti is so apt, and so many of the lines in your poem grabbed me by the gut. "Football stadium ethos and soccer style rampage" could describe so much of the political landscape nowadays. I love the idea of hope waiting beneath the snow and of the rain that will come to reveal its shining face . . . and i hope (there's that word again) that's exactly what happens!
Thank you Lisa, for reading and reflecting with great insight as always. A. and your comments help me see my own poem in ways I had not thought of or imagined. You are a really great teacher!
Wise words and I love "Beneath the glistening snow, hope waits for its time...." and "whose great do you mean?" I ask that all the time.
My husband ask me not to put any political signs in our yard for fear of retaliation or even just vandalism . Same with bumper stickers. I worked a wee bit on the gubernatorial campaign of our Democratic (African American) candidate last cycle and the awful things people said. But I digress.
I haven't been able to write the last few days but i have something brewing in my head related to a horrible sign some of our neighbors had out a few years ago. I wasn't going to "go there" in my head but I think now I must.
Thank you Karri for your note. I understand your husband's hesitancy and concern. The rhetoric and discourse now seems so toxic and there is a meannness and bullying to it that is very real and scary. And too often, politicians mistake "loud" for leadership and hyperbole for wisdom. I look forward to reading what comes up and has been brewing!
Larry, excellent. good timely stuff.
When they (signs) started showing up in my pastor's yard, that's about the time we started to start thinking about looking for another place to worship.
Thanks. Winners and lovers. Thanks.
Losers not lovers, fat thumbed it, or maybe it was God's thumb.
Chuck, I rather like winners and lovers!
Thank you Chuck! Remember that song from the sixties 'Signs" signs, signs, everywhere signs..."
Yes i sure do
.....do this....don't do that....
...
(......what gives you the right......)
Yay! You have inspired me to go search for it!
"Nitpicking weeds that you were sure you had vanquished." I don't know how you meant that, Larry, but I translated this as "the incredible disbelief that we might have another 4 years with him." Perhaps that's not at all what you meant, but if you did, it was a beautiful way of saying something I feel rising in the collective air here. This was a beautiful poem...and I also really felt the lines about football stadium ethos and soccer style rampage. The mob mentality vibe is real and it is pervasive. Thank you for the gentle landing at the end.
Thank you for your reflections, Keith. That is a perceptive sense of that weed line. I was not thinking specifically of that possibility, but it is ever in my mind. Perhaps it rose to the surface beyond my conscious knowing. Thank you for reading so thoughtfully.
"One pronounces 'Truth' / as if somehow we all get / what that means" -- so good, Larry! What a circus NH must be this time of year -- and in a larger sense, what a circus our whole country is on the four-year cycle. Your poem captures both the local and larger feeling so well.
Thank you Rebekah. The circus has moved on, south and west for the moment. Strange how quickly they leave!
Larry, you really capture how unnecessary and shallow and artificial campaigning feels. I've never been in a city that major candidates travel through, yet still the streets are littered in signs that say very little of substance - much like many of the people they represent. I love the imagery of rain beginning to fall at the end, as if to wash all of it away.
Thank you A. Your noting that you've never been in a city where candidates visit points out the madness of a system that has them doing political calculus going to certain places and states because of how it brings points to their tallies and helps them win a nomination or election. Much of the nation never sees the candidates. When I lived in Virginia and Vermont, we saw markedly less of them, and I have always wondered why certain places, Iowa, New Hampshire, South Carolina, should have so much power in speaking for the nation. Ah, we'll keep living and resiting and doing what Brickne Cockburn, a favorite singer.songwriter of mine, sings "got to kick at the darkness until it bleeds daylight."
(sorry, lisa, the overlooked one is jealous)
surrounded by thousands of nameless "I was here" claims and the "Julie - loves - Michael" odes to romance,
and the hundreds of
"imagine" & "give peace a chance"s,
a couple dozen yellow submarines, strawberry fields, sunrises,
walruses and egg men,
is at least one "picture yourself",
unless my sharpie has faded
from the abbey road wall.
(I will put myself in poem time out now)(🙂)
Please don’t put yourself in poetry time out ever! Thank you for making the Beatles sing in my head.
NIce work Chuck! You've reminded me that "all we need is love!"
Backing up Lisa...if poetry wants to be shared, please share away! Abbey Road wall contribution is a pretty remarkable piece of personal history, and it deserves poetic acknowledgement!
Whenever we’re sick and in bed,
god becomes our nurse,
nurses us back to health.
King David (tribe of judah)
Psalm 41:3
Bible (book)
Meet me, jesus, in the middle of the air.
If my wings should fail me, lord,
please meet me with another pair.
Robert (tribe of led zeppelin)
"In my time of dying" : verse 2
Physical graffiti (album)
beloved children of god.
It's an artful leveling of the playing field you've managed here, Chuck. Well played :)
This is nice Chuck. I like biblical and Led Zeppelin references and uses of texts and characters to illuminate aspects of the divine, the mystery and the everyday.
I was really excited about this prompt, because I had a poetic feeling the other day driving past my local Do It Best hardware store and reading their sign. Consider this my 1-star review, haha.
TRASH CANS
DUCT TAPE
reads their marquee, with prices of course
but I haven’t opened their clanging door
since 2020 and no sale will bring me
back there, so all I catch are the letters
and I think if I owned a failing
hardware store and were trying to signal
to my small town that I needed help
I would also advertise
TRASH CANS, DUCT TAPE
Both items supremely low-tech, readily
purchasable before payday, requiring no
instruction sheet, and suggesting one foot
out of squalor (old food swept from
living room floor, soles no longer
flapping).
Nothing against TRASH CANS and
DUCT TAPE, of course. Everyone needs
them, and duct tape is frankly magical –
life-extender for wearables, durables, even
disposables. Due to my own proclivity
my boss recently started calling me
Duct Tape Sally.
But I guess it’s what I know about
the inside: incendiary talk radio,
prepper commercials (vaguely appealing
if I’m honest; hello solar-powered
generator!), dusty crowded shelves and
thrift store vibe, the time they wouldn’t
refund my money for a fire poker that
failed on first use, mask order flouted
in those early murky days
and the owners themselves, a quiet,
strange couple. If they speak it’s about
bible study. But mostly they just smile
to themselves in a glazed way, like they’re
thinking of eating you. Which prompts
a sinister, alternative interpretation for
TRASH CANS, DUCT TAPE
that will keep me shopping at Ace.
Duct Tape Sally, what a fun and quirky gem of a poem! I love the repeated capitalization of TRASH CANS and DUCT TAPE, images like “soles no longer flapping,” and of course the deliciously unexpected line “like they’re thinking of eating you”
there is an annual contest for the best prom dress made with duct tape called "Stuck At Prom".
First prize is a 10K scholarship.
I love it!
This had me laughing out loud repeatedly, Rebekah. The quiet strange couple evokes so many images involving captivity accomplished with the help of duct tape and trash cans! Your detour into your own love of duct tape was delightful (and took the edge off the darker side of duct tape). You painted such a vivid portrait of this strange and sad little shop, I felt like I was there.
Rebekah, you have such a creative spirit! I love mthis poem, and the fun and a little scary way you take us on a ride through duct tape, trash cans, a small town hardware store and the uneasiness of the ambience and feeling inside. I love the ending and the shiver of the owners eating customers and really like the alternative use if trash cans and duct tape. What a jolting surprise. 😮 thank you for taking us off the main road!
This one is so fun, Rebekah! If I read this as a review, I would laugh and adjust my shopping plans accordingly. I love the parentheses around the vaguely appealing solar-powered generator, because same. 🤣
There are certain places I too refuse to shop because of the atmosphere inside and how they dealt with mandates and such back in 2020. But in this case, it really sounds like you aren't missing much! (and on the duct tape note, my daughter participated in Destination Imagination for years and they had a Duct Tape Ball that celebrated the magical stuff!)
Chalk lines litter
the siding at the back
of our home,
a combination of
scribbles and letters,
and a literal rainbow
with ROY G BIV
written underneath,
as requested by
my 5 year old.
I suppose you can't
quite call it graffiti if
it was left with permission,
and our home is
hardly a public space,
but I think about the
murals that bring life
to our surrounding city,
both in response to,
and discouragement of,
uninvited expression,
and all I know
is that I don't want to
teach my children to be
too precious about
things that only temporarily
belong to them,
nor careless with
things that don't.
I love the image of the rainbow and ROY G BIV on the back of your house! The final line in your poem really grabs me - "I don't want to teach my children to be too precious about things that only temporarily belong to them, nor careless with things that don't." Wow, that contains so much and rings so true.
Thank you, Lisa! I love how your prompts bring me to ideas I wouldn't otherwise have found.
Something about the line "I suppose you can't quite call it graffiti if it was left with permission..." took me to a darker place simply because it made me think of times we give people permission to write upon our histories and then it leaves a permanent mark that sometimes will show through no matter how we try to cover it.
Oh wow, seconding A’s motion for a poem born of that idea!
I like this insight Karri. I also think of the ways that the powers erase and revise the histories of others, because the truth is too painful for them to bear.
Definitely true! That could be it's own poem.
Being "too precious about things that only temporarily belong to them" - this so poignantly encapsulates the impact that colonialism and capitalism have had in constructing the concept of property ownership as we know it. It's one of those things that is real and not. People hold real deeds that stand in a court of law, but the truth is we're all just borrowers here. Of time and of property. I love that you have written such a beautiful poem about your equally beautiful intention to teach your children good stewardship (and thank you for teaching them this).
Thank you, Keith. I wish I could've learned this (and many other things) sooner, but at least they can.
I love this, A! The creative space you're giving your kids, reflecting on uninvited (yet enriching) expression elsewhere in your city -- and the notion of being precious *about* something -- I love that original use of the word, as well as the lesson.
Thank you, Rebekah! When I saw the prompt, I couldn't help but think of the different types of graffiti and how some of them can be harmful but some can be, as you said, enriching.
What a wonderful poem through the personal to the collective to the personal and a testimony to your deep ethics and values. I realy love, also, the ending where you reflect on what you want to teach your children, and I know, are teaching them. This is quite beautiful, A.
Thank you, Larry.
I felt gripped by this poem....I could feel the claustrophobia of the bathroom stall, and the aptness of that nasty, confining space as metaphor for the interior space that one can find themself stuck in. Repeating things in the "cramped closet of your own mind" was so resonant. So many stuffy moments spent in that closet. Whew. I loved the landing, which felt like a somewhat miraculous and gentle float into the fresh air of our true nature. Also love thinking about how art takes so many varied forms, including things that are often derided and unwanted, like graffiti almost always used to be. Thanks for sharing your artful graffiti here.
Thank you, Keith! I had a moment a few days ago where I was feeling mired in self-doubt, when completely unbidden (it felt miraculous) I was suddenly filled with a sense of being held and loved, and everything felt fresh and spacious. This poem was an attempt to capture that . . . but of course, some things will always evade capturing, at least a little bit! I’m glad to hear that it resonated with you, though.
I had a bit of a visceral reaction since being in a dingy space such as a filthy bathroom is almost panic inducing for me and I will utilize and all forms of fast food cups for a port a potty if need be. ;)
But seriously in reading on, I felt a sense of peace about how when we realize that words are just words and maybe everything isn't a personal attack, we can indeed breathe more freely.
Lisa, I love that I never know what to expect from your poems based on the title/prompt. I'm always surprised in the best way. The imagery you use is so visceral - I could feel the stickiness under my feet and smell the sharpie. I love that you take us from the angst and accusation to peaceful quiet and simple presence.
Thank you so much, A! I never know what to expect either, as far as what poem will emerge (or what prompt, for that matter), and some scared child part of me is often oh so sure that I've run out of poems to write and the next one will be pure rubbish that resonates with no one. I couldn't ask for a more loving and supportive community to share with, though. It's such a gift to have you all here.
Lisa, even the pure rubbish will be turned to reusable in this loving space you have opened to us!
🧡🧡🧡
Some of the high points of my week are reading your wonderful prompts and poems. This is breathtaking poem, Lisa. One, how creative to use graffiti as a building space for a poem. Two, the poem is so evoctive and rich with imagery, dingy and delightful. Three, the wonderful flow and cadence of your poem amplifies the power of the words and lines, and helps me navigate the incky nature of some of the words. You are creative and lyrical with words, Lisa. I love these lines:
"No one, standing in this space would ever call you and expect a good time. You are ink and angst and accusation. You’re the hollow tube where there should be paper. You’re the sticky squalor that coats the floor, until— and you can’t explain it, except to say it’s a bit like that pause when your hand cramps from writing and you set down the sharpie to shake your wrist. How many endings were changed by just that gesture?"
My goodness that is rich and powerful and oh so relatable. And these words to end the poem are just perfect:
"And maybe yours feels like luck, but suddenly you see in the flickering light that words are just words. Flat lines and flat curves, on one face of a wall that you can step beyond. Space opens around you. Space opens inside you. And the clean quiet within feels like something that someone should write on a wall somewhere. Like GOD WAS HERE or I AM HERE or maybe simply HERE."
I want to find a wall for you to write this entire poem on, so that those of us in dingy bathrooms, or narrow alleys, or tumbleweed streets can stop and read, and wonder!
Thank you so much, Larry! Your comments always feel so generous . . . as if I can look through your eyes for a moment and appreciate something I hadn't seen either about my own poem or about someone else's. ❤️
What a nice comment, Lisa. You have a kind and generous heart.
I know poetry shouldn't require exposition but this one has a long backstory....I will expound later if anyone is curious!
Your Concerned Neighbor
Dear Neighbor,
It’s me again.
I am honored to be the subject of the latest sign, banner really,
That you have custom printed to display in your yard for all the world to see.
If not the world, then the neighborhood of homes of which yours is the oldest and largest
Which you must imagine gives you some kind of suburban seniority amongst the rest of us.
Yes, I am honored.
After all you usually reserve this type of effort and expense for the leader of our country.
Slang phrases and abbreviations of hate printed in vinyl on canvas
In large letters to be read by passing cars.
I suppose this last offering was simply a bridge too far when I read:
ATTENTION BIDEN VOTERS
PLEASE PUT YOUR SIGN BACK
UP IN YOUR YARD SO THE
ILLEGALS KNOW WHERE TO
STOP FOR FOOD AND SHELTER
THANK YOU
So I wrote you a letter, questioning whether this and your previous pennants
Were simply fanning the flames of division and discord in our community.
A polite letter with maybe just a hint of snark when I quoted Matthew 25:40
Knowing full well that later that the words of Jesus
Are no match for those of your other lord and savior DJT.
So again, I am delighted that you took the time, money and effort
To print a sign just for me with yet another crude innuendo.
Although the symbol you used for the “ass”
Really looks like the mascot of that one party.
Careful, there, what if people mistake you for one of us?
Although anyone who knows you from your public displays of vitriol,
Would likely never make that mistake.
But here we are again,
Second verse same as the first.
I wonder what delights you have in store for us this election cycle?
Sincerely, I am as always,
Your Concerned Neighbor
Karri Temple Brackett
01/28/2024
I know you said there's a long back story, but this poem also speaks well for itself. This is the kind of letter I've considered writing so many times to different people, and I identify with the snark and underlying righteous anger of the message. It really is incredible the lengths some people will go to over someone who would never think twice about them.