Great prompt (as always). Your poem is so lovely, especially:
"I have been that woman, too—
that weeping stone
in the greening woods."
I shut my eyes and scrolled a few screens of photos before putting my finger on one to enlarge it. It's a picture of my six-year-old holding up a picture he drew. It's not the first picture I would have turned to and said, "there's a poem waiting there" (like I often do with other pictures). But that's what made this prompt more satisfying--it pushed me to find something to say about a very everyday picture.
----------------------------
Horse and baby horse
.
This little boy drew a horse
and a baby horse, and even without my lavish praise
because I’m so proud of his every breath
he tells me, “I’m really good at drawing horses.”
.
The joy, the confidence, the certainty.
It’s not male, not at this age. It’s truth.
It’s a little boy who hasn’t been told yet
that he built the world. It’s a little boy
who hasn’t been told yet that he’s a heartbreaker.
It’s a little boy who hasn’t been told yet
that whether he is hot or not is going to matter daily.
This gave me goosebumps! What a powerful poem, Margaret. “It’s not male, not at this age. It’s truth. It’s a little boy who hasn’t been told yet that he built the world.” This made me feel so many things as a woman, a feminist, and a mother of three boys who (in my eyes) hang the moon every single day.
Thank you so much, Lisa. I’m sitting across from two of my boys right now and my heart aches with how much I love them (though they are teenagers and would tease me mercilessly if I started gushing at them). I know their beautiful hearts and that they (and my daughters) deserve more than the world is offering them. (I’m not putting this well but I think you get it.)
You worked wonders with your everyday picture, Margaret! This is so powerful. When I got to "it's a little boy who hasn't been told yet / that he built the world," I had to stop reading & just let that sink in. I often think about how girls and boys are socialized/programmed differently, but I've been more focused on the deficiencies of girl programming than on the dangerous enhancements to boy programming. This really turned on a lightbulb for me!
Thank you, Rebekah. I was a little worried (after I posted the poem) that it looked like I was trying to excuse misogyny. I am truly tired of women being kept as second-class citizens in so many ways. I want to fight on behalf of my daughters (and myself). But I also have sons, and I see some pretty creepy expectations being placed on them really early as well.
I adore your poem, Margaret! It made me think both of how our boys have impossible and toxic expectations of manliness to live up to AND the guilt of being told that they (as boys/men) are the ones who built THIS world with its racism and sexism and myriad injustices. Like Bekah, I tend to think more about the ways in which the messaging girls receive is harmful, but your poem really challenges me to think more about the messages my boys are receiving and what support they need from me.
This is wonderful, Margaret. My son is 3, and I look at him the same way, knowing he won't always be this little and innocent. I want us both to enjoy it while we can, and I also already feel a lot of responsibility (which I'm sure he will, too) to make sure he understands his privilege.
I love this Margaret! It is wonderful how you take a simple scene of a child’s art work and create a magnificent poem of joy, wonder, tenderness and love. Of course, it is the best drawing ever! Thank you for sharing.
We got an older kitten recently, and I spend so much time gushing about the different ways she sits, sleeps, curls up, or lies in wait for her fake mouse. It's never ending adorableness.
What a delightful poem, Rebekah! And you are a delight! As a former (probably always) hippie, I hereby deem you an honorary one, by the power not vested anywhere! 😁🟣💙
When we lived in Santa Fe I was out hiking and stopped by a tree. Apparently others had stopped there too. Nestled at the base was a small ceramic Mary, head bowed to the rocks, covered in her blue ceramic veil. I wish we could attach pictures here.
You have me imagining what the text exchange of two great poetic or philosophical minds might look like. Like if Sartre and De Beauvoir had corresponded via smartphone? 😂
Recently I was looking at Derrida’s The Postcard, which uses the idea of cards getting lost in the post as an analogue for meaning. Ah, I thought, but Derrida never encountered email... 🤣
Great prompt (as always). Your poem is so lovely, especially:
"I have been that woman, too—
that weeping stone
in the greening woods."
I shut my eyes and scrolled a few screens of photos before putting my finger on one to enlarge it. It's a picture of my six-year-old holding up a picture he drew. It's not the first picture I would have turned to and said, "there's a poem waiting there" (like I often do with other pictures). But that's what made this prompt more satisfying--it pushed me to find something to say about a very everyday picture.
----------------------------
Horse and baby horse
.
This little boy drew a horse
and a baby horse, and even without my lavish praise
because I’m so proud of his every breath
he tells me, “I’m really good at drawing horses.”
.
The joy, the confidence, the certainty.
It’s not male, not at this age. It’s truth.
It’s a little boy who hasn’t been told yet
that he built the world. It’s a little boy
who hasn’t been told yet that he’s a heartbreaker.
It’s a little boy who hasn’t been told yet
that whether he is hot or not is going to matter daily.
.
He’s just a boy, a little boy, who drew a horse
and a baby horse, holding them up for me to see
so that I can send a picture to his dad, saying
"Look what Nicholas did."
This gave me goosebumps! What a powerful poem, Margaret. “It’s not male, not at this age. It’s truth. It’s a little boy who hasn’t been told yet that he built the world.” This made me feel so many things as a woman, a feminist, and a mother of three boys who (in my eyes) hang the moon every single day.
Thank you so much, Lisa. I’m sitting across from two of my boys right now and my heart aches with how much I love them (though they are teenagers and would tease me mercilessly if I started gushing at them). I know their beautiful hearts and that they (and my daughters) deserve more than the world is offering them. (I’m not putting this well but I think you get it.)
Completely! Two of my boys are teenagers too, so I have to keep most of my gushing to myself.
What a beautiful poem—“he’s just a boy, a little boy, who drew a horse.” So precious.
Thank you, LeeAnn. He is so sweet.
You worked wonders with your everyday picture, Margaret! This is so powerful. When I got to "it's a little boy who hasn't been told yet / that he built the world," I had to stop reading & just let that sink in. I often think about how girls and boys are socialized/programmed differently, but I've been more focused on the deficiencies of girl programming than on the dangerous enhancements to boy programming. This really turned on a lightbulb for me!
Thank you, Rebekah. I was a little worried (after I posted the poem) that it looked like I was trying to excuse misogyny. I am truly tired of women being kept as second-class citizens in so many ways. I want to fight on behalf of my daughters (and myself). But I also have sons, and I see some pretty creepy expectations being placed on them really early as well.
I adore your poem, Margaret! It made me think both of how our boys have impossible and toxic expectations of manliness to live up to AND the guilt of being told that they (as boys/men) are the ones who built THIS world with its racism and sexism and myriad injustices. Like Bekah, I tend to think more about the ways in which the messaging girls receive is harmful, but your poem really challenges me to think more about the messages my boys are receiving and what support they need from me.
Thank you, Lisa—that means a lot.
Oh I don't see how anyone could construe it that way! it is really thought-provoking, and also tender.
Thank you, Rebekah—I’m relieved to hear that. I’m over here over-thinking everything 😁🫠.
This is wonderful, Margaret. My son is 3, and I look at him the same way, knowing he won't always be this little and innocent. I want us both to enjoy it while we can, and I also already feel a lot of responsibility (which I'm sure he will, too) to make sure he understands his privilege.
Yes, A! I feel the same way.
What a lovely poem about what sounds like a lovely little boy.
Thank you, Karri! He is so precious.
I love this Margaret! It is wonderful how you take a simple scene of a child’s art work and create a magnificent poem of joy, wonder, tenderness and love. Of course, it is the best drawing ever! Thank you for sharing.
Thank you, Larry!
I went through my phone and found a photo of our kitten, Chester and wrote something quick and fun about the picture.
Chester
...
How do you sleep like that?
On your back,
Showing the world your chubby kitten tummy
With its cheetah dots.
Your legs with their orange stripes
Stretched out.
If you had toes, I would swear they were pointed
In the most delicious stretch!
But you are still, fast asleep
Eyes closed tightly against the daylight,
In your rainbow bed.
I love how clearly I can picture this in my mind! Chester sounds adorable!
We got an older kitten recently, and I spend so much time gushing about the different ways she sits, sleeps, curls up, or lies in wait for her fake mouse. It's never ending adorableness.
Right? It's built in entertainment!!
Sleeping kittens are the best. I love this.
This is nice, Karri! You do Chester proud!
What a blessing to read your poem and prompt today, Lisa. I did the random pick of a photo, and this is what came.
Smiles from a Distance
^
This is what happens when the walls
come tumbling down;
Barriers are dissolved,
borders crossed,
old hatreds left in the arc of history,
religious dogma stripped away
so that all that is left is love.
In the brilliant spark of heart songs,
smiles flowing
from places of common ground,
no more wars, no more assertions
of superior might or chosen ones,
only bright light resting inside one great love.
I was also struck by “old hatreds left in the arc of history” - this is such a beautiful poem,
Larry, and I loved seeing your photo in the chat!
Thank you Lisa, the world’s best prompter! 😊
I really like "old hatreds left in the arc of history."
Thank you Margaret!
Beautiful, Larry.
Thank you A.
I love the phrase “in the brilliant spark of heart songs…”. Powerful inspiring words.
Thank you Karri! That one just came from somewhere!
What a fun prompt! And I love Hail Mary -- its simplicity and viscerality (that should be a word, right?).
.
I was drawn to a pic of my son at age 10 eating miner's lettuce hands-free. I'll put it on the chat!
.
Please Wait to be Seated
.
Coming up, I wished to be
things I wasn’t:
a boy, an Indian princess,
a cheerleader, an actual 60s hippie.
But I never wished too wild;
I never asked to be a cow.
.
What would it be like to dig in
with my face?
What would it be like
to leave my assigned table
and open up for all the green
at once?
This makes me giggle even without the picture! Heading over to the chat now . . .
What a delightful poem, Rebekah! And you are a delight! As a former (probably always) hippie, I hereby deem you an honorary one, by the power not vested anywhere! 😁🟣💙
Oh thank you, Larry! Both for your kind words AND for the honorary hippie designation!
a garland of flowers coming your way--spiritually, that is!
I think I wanted to be all those same things! 😂 I love this imagery.
Love this one!
Thanks so much, friend!
The Abbey sounds like a gorgeous place to visit and a source of so much inspiration.
I like these words. It is said with passion it seems.
Thank you so much, Luis!
What Rebecca said. ❤️
That Rebecca always says things so well. Thank you!
When we lived in Santa Fe I was out hiking and stopped by a tree. Apparently others had stopped there too. Nestled at the base was a small ceramic Mary, head bowed to the rocks, covered in her blue ceramic veil. I wish we could attach pictures here.
You can share pictures in the chat - I’d love to see!
I can relate! Love that last line.
Thank you so much, Matthew!
Wonderful prompt, Lisa! And we all need a Hail Mary now and then!!!
Haha isn’t that the truth!
Looking at a photo that has sat on the bookshelf for a lot of years.
Striking poem. So much said in its short space. Love that.
Thank you so much, Thomas! I sometimes feel a bit like I'm cheating when I write a poem this short. . . and really delighted if I get away with it!
Interesting. I’ve noticed when I post up a shorter poem it sometimes gets less traction. As if art were determined by length! 🙂
You have me imagining what the text exchange of two great poetic or philosophical minds might look like. Like if Sartre and De Beauvoir had corresponded via smartphone? 😂
Recently I was looking at Derrida’s The Postcard, which uses the idea of cards getting lost in the post as an analogue for meaning. Ah, I thought, but Derrida never encountered email... 🤣
She's 20 years dead.
He is 59, & a newlywed.
She turns 70.
My colon runs my show.
The quartet of siblings.
thirty years later.
Carpe Diem.
is not a weird fish.
Chuck, somehow I’m just seeing this poem now! Life is a weird fish, but carpe diem is sound advice.