I adore this poem! Its so simple and such a brilliant observation. Bet of luck in your research and writing the next couple of weeks.
My poems usually are on the short side especially if I am writing about something that is in nature, or an observation around me. If I am telling a story, which I tend to do a lot more lately, they tend to be longer. I don't know if it is because I just have more to say or if those are less poetry and more just my thoughts that are abridged from a longer writing form. It's something I have been struggling with - whether my "poetry" is actually poetry. All that said, I am not doing anything new tonight because I just this morning wrote and posted on the last prompt and I'm all out of creativity for today!
Hi, Karri! I haven't been in the comments thread much since I'm still out of town, but I remembered this comment and wanted to circle back and reply because it's something I've also struggled with. How can I know if my poems are actually poetry? I never took a poetry class in college or majored in English or did any of those things that might have taught me the rules about what constitutes a poem and what doesn't. So I'm no expert. But I am a human with a heart and a love of words, and I know when something speaks to me, when words wake me out of language and into experience. And I know when words feel like music, when the way they roll of the tongue feels like something you might hum or sway along to. And I don't think any of that requires adherence to rules. My personal belief and experience is that poetry arises from the willingness to live deeply into experience and into one's own heart, coupled with the desire (and a bit of discipline) to honor that experience as best as you can with words. What makes poetry different from prose? Maybe this isn't a universally perfect answer, but thinking about the poems I love to read and the poems I try to write, the answer might be that they try to evoke an emotion or experience using a comparative minimum of words. The poems you have shared here ABSOLUTELY do that for me, and it would never in a million years occur to me to call them anything other than poems. But even if that weren't the case and you posted a poem that didn't evoke an experience or feeling for me, that wouldn't make it not a poem. When YOU read your poem, can you feel an experience or emotion roll back in? Do the words feel in some way like music to you? If so, it sounds to me like a poem. Even if this is just the INTENTION and it isn't entirely successful, then I'd say it's a poem . . . and maybe a poem worth revising and improving upon. You are a poet, dear. Thank you for sharing yourself and your art here!
Thank you so much for your kind words. I struggle so much with perception of myself and embody the old adage perfection is the enemy of progress. I feel like if I am not doing it “right” I shouldn’t do it at all. Thank you for the encouragement. ❤️
I had a hard time getting out of bed this morning and 100 Poems was the perfect way to gradually open my eyes to the day. Perhaps because I was groggy still, I decided to write a short(ish) poem about shorts.
So much to love here..."legs pricking pink-numb" - such a delicious mouthful, a sandwich of sensation and color that really perfectly describes that feeling of thighs exposed to cold. I also loved the way you listed the places and occasions where shorts were worn (ending with prom was such a great segue to "this quirky thing." And, like others have said, I love how you pan out to the collective "what if we" as you dive beneath the surface.
This is so nice, Rebekah! Like A. I cherish how you connect the love evident for your sister to wear only shorts, and your love for her quirkiness, to the colective intolerance and inability to understand or accept our differences that we impose as nations, cultures, societies, religions, schools, governments and more. This is sweet work!
I love how you connected this lighthearted example of your relationship with your sister with the wide lens of global conflict, and how simple it really is to choose to love someone through difference instead of harming them over it. "What if our differences did not launch fists and bombs" really got me.
Thank you Lisa for the invitation to go different! I once wrote short poems, perhaps when life seemed more clear. I enjoyed finding these two come to the surface inspired by your prompt, one rememembering a winter coast decades ago, the other a present moment one.
Larry, it seems you have not lost your ability to write short poems...beautiful, moving poems at that. The first one conveys such a vivid sense of pain (abandonment!) through the harsh elemental backdrop (there is that within/without thing again!). The second one starts off with such a wistful vibe, then sticks a landing in play and hope. Amazing that you managed that in so few lines!!
What a treat -- two lovely poems from you! The first one is so visceral: chilly and salty and achy. The second is quite relatable for me, the promise of some lovely generative thing kept around for me to someday learn how to use (thinking of my grandfather's banjo uke, my drawing supplies). Even when these things sit idle, for me they represent hope & creativity & future enrichment. I love the flute inviting you to dive in right now!
Thank you for sharing, Rebekah! This helps me frame my lack of discipline and getting to it in a different, more hopeful light. Thank you for shifting. I expect we should vision toward a native flute, banjo uke duet one day!
These are beautiful, Larry. The language of the first has such wonderful imagery, and I love the story within the second, an invitation to try something new.
Thank you A. The first is something that occured when I was 19, the leaving of a first love. The second is me lamenting my not having learned to play this beautiful flute!
A, this is powerful and heartbreaking and galvanizing all at once. I can relate with the nervous laugh and half-joking scold -- that's been my response in encounters like these more times than I care to admit, because the women-should I identify most with is "not be a bitch." I felt your evolution so deeply here, from "neatly varnished" and "smothering" to raw and fully in your power. I love love love "I am, and it does" -- it's like a battle cry for me and an invitation to keep being brave.
Thank you, Rebekah. I had a small part of this tucked away, waiting until I felt ready to expand on it, and I was surprised when I got started today how easy it was to continue adding to it.
I really really like this A. I can't wait to share it with my daughter; she is 24 and is my compass when it comes to understanding much more about women's issues than I even am aware of. I can't help but think of her (and my) current defense of Taylor Swift with the NFL/football games and all of the hate and vitriol that is being aimed at her. I just want to tell all those little trolls that are constantly complaining about her what you said "you don't have to like it, it's not for you!"
A., you are really amazing. What a powerful poem, a neccessary witness to affirmation and celebration of your and our own unique gifts and specialness. I can feel the power in your words, the hurt, anger and sadness, and the power you gain as you find your footing and center. I wince everytime I hear an unkind or defamatory remark coming from the mouths of men, powerful or not, and the degradation of anyone who is not a white, cisgendered heterosexual and/or does not meet their arbitrary and artificial images of what woman or feminine or female are. Thank you for bringing me more deeply into a place of understanding and hope.
This is a beautiful expression of righteous anger (the good kind). I love the way it rises up, gaining strength and sturdiness as it unfolds. I love your list at the beginning. I love these lines, which felt like they came straight from the marrow: "every comment a commentary on
me, and my body, and your voice in my head became the voice of every man who would ever
look at me the way you saw those women." It seems like a very important poem to have set free. Thanks so much for doing that here.
Thank you, Keith. I wrote down a line of this months ago but it didn't feel like it was ready to be finished, and today it felt like it was time. I'm grateful to you, and to everyone else here, for creating an environment that feels safe for me, and for poems like this.
I'm grateful for this safe and nurturing space, too. And it's so true that some deep space inside knows when a poem has finished gestating and is ready to be birthed. <3
Oh, this is gorgeous, Keith! I so needed this today as rain starts its weeklong assault on our snowpack and I feel my mood teetering. So lovely, "the earth of self" and the beautiful waltz rhythm. I read it out loud the second time through and clapped along.
Oooph, I'm so sorry to hear of the assaulting (and erasing) your snow pack! It's too early! Knowing that my poem helped a little is cutting through some of the gloom here, where it is currently "snaining."
I love this poem-song, Keith. It is beautifully lyrical. I love the connectio to earth and the way your dances conincide and contrast. Really splendid work!
I love the rhythm of this - it does feel like a dance - and the ending. "Stay with me // spring comes faster // than you believe" could be its own poem.
This is such a fun prompt! I too, am fond of words more than space and enjoyed pushing back on myself a little. Your short poem is beautiful and buoyant, a lovely testament to slowing down so nature can let you in on her secrets.
It's funny, because I most often tend toward shorter poems and wonder at others for being able to write longer poems that don't feel like a slog. Lisa, I love how you created such striking imagery in so few lines, and I love that you challenged yourself, but I hope you know that your poems never feel like too much (and this goes for everyone else here as well).
Lisa, I love this amazing poem, and your prompt, to go against our normal inclination in our writing. I like the way you blend the magic and beauty of birds in flight. These words of ending are simply beautiful:
"like a lightbulb in
the gathering dark—
a beacon just for me."
May your time in Oregon be fruitful and blessed, and thank you for all of the time you share and give to us. You open the door to soul and heart space, and you make a difference in the world and my life.
The brevity of feels invigorating, refreshing. And I'm struck by how the brevity in no way detracts from the poetry or impact of the imagery. It's an exquisite image, the aerial dance and the luminosity it produces (including inside you). Thanks for your art and for the challenge of coloring outside the lines of comfort! Hope your research and writing is going well (and that you're seeing lots of actual aerial dance performances)!
I adore this poem! Its so simple and such a brilliant observation. Bet of luck in your research and writing the next couple of weeks.
My poems usually are on the short side especially if I am writing about something that is in nature, or an observation around me. If I am telling a story, which I tend to do a lot more lately, they tend to be longer. I don't know if it is because I just have more to say or if those are less poetry and more just my thoughts that are abridged from a longer writing form. It's something I have been struggling with - whether my "poetry" is actually poetry. All that said, I am not doing anything new tonight because I just this morning wrote and posted on the last prompt and I'm all out of creativity for today!
Hi, Karri! I haven't been in the comments thread much since I'm still out of town, but I remembered this comment and wanted to circle back and reply because it's something I've also struggled with. How can I know if my poems are actually poetry? I never took a poetry class in college or majored in English or did any of those things that might have taught me the rules about what constitutes a poem and what doesn't. So I'm no expert. But I am a human with a heart and a love of words, and I know when something speaks to me, when words wake me out of language and into experience. And I know when words feel like music, when the way they roll of the tongue feels like something you might hum or sway along to. And I don't think any of that requires adherence to rules. My personal belief and experience is that poetry arises from the willingness to live deeply into experience and into one's own heart, coupled with the desire (and a bit of discipline) to honor that experience as best as you can with words. What makes poetry different from prose? Maybe this isn't a universally perfect answer, but thinking about the poems I love to read and the poems I try to write, the answer might be that they try to evoke an emotion or experience using a comparative minimum of words. The poems you have shared here ABSOLUTELY do that for me, and it would never in a million years occur to me to call them anything other than poems. But even if that weren't the case and you posted a poem that didn't evoke an experience or feeling for me, that wouldn't make it not a poem. When YOU read your poem, can you feel an experience or emotion roll back in? Do the words feel in some way like music to you? If so, it sounds to me like a poem. Even if this is just the INTENTION and it isn't entirely successful, then I'd say it's a poem . . . and maybe a poem worth revising and improving upon. You are a poet, dear. Thank you for sharing yourself and your art here!
Thank you so much for your kind words. I struggle so much with perception of myself and embody the old adage perfection is the enemy of progress. I feel like if I am not doing it “right” I shouldn’t do it at all. Thank you for the encouragement. ❤️
I wouldn't say I'm an expert, but I have definitely noticed clear poetic devices in your poetry, if that helps.
Karri, your poems are nice and sure are poetry to me!
I had a hard time getting out of bed this morning and 100 Poems was the perfect way to gradually open my eyes to the day. Perhaps because I was groggy still, I decided to write a short(ish) poem about shorts.
In high school my sister wore shorts
only, legs pricking pink-numb
through the gray city-winter. Shorts
on the subway, shorts
on the street, shorts
in the snow, shorts
to prom. This quirky thing,
and others, made me love her
even more.
What if our differences did not
launch fists and bombs? What if
our differences fed mouths,
held hands, opened hearts?
I think of Sami in shorts.
So much to love here..."legs pricking pink-numb" - such a delicious mouthful, a sandwich of sensation and color that really perfectly describes that feeling of thighs exposed to cold. I also loved the way you listed the places and occasions where shorts were worn (ending with prom was such a great segue to "this quirky thing." And, like others have said, I love how you pan out to the collective "what if we" as you dive beneath the surface.
This is so nice, Rebekah! Like A. I cherish how you connect the love evident for your sister to wear only shorts, and your love for her quirkiness, to the colective intolerance and inability to understand or accept our differences that we impose as nations, cultures, societies, religions, schools, governments and more. This is sweet work!
I love how you connected this lighthearted example of your relationship with your sister with the wide lens of global conflict, and how simple it really is to choose to love someone through difference instead of harming them over it. "What if our differences did not launch fists and bombs" really got me.
what if, indeed.
Nice.
Thank you Lisa for the invitation to go different! I once wrote short poems, perhaps when life seemed more clear. I enjoyed finding these two come to the surface inspired by your prompt, one rememembering a winter coast decades ago, the other a present moment one.
The wind in your heart
was as piercing and sharp as that
of this eastern coast in winter.
Wild waters and blowing sand,
cutting my skin, tearing my serenity.
The emptiness of your tears and the sting
of the coldness in your eyes,
masking over the only word that mattered:
“Goodbye.”
***************************************
Beautiful wooden native flute
lies quietly on the table.
A precious gift from years ago,
I swore I would play it soon,
the calm, soulful notes and tones
serenading our simple home.
Gazing at the sleek wood and tender
artistry of the instrument,
raven talisman proudly beckoning.
I would still love to learn your song.
A gentle voice whispers, “why not now?”
Ahhhh those are both quite wonderful. The first is so haunting and I could feel the wind. And I would love to hear the music of that native flute!
Karri--so would I--it is a beautiful handmade instrument that has a delightful sound--I just need to learn a song to play!
Larry, it seems you have not lost your ability to write short poems...beautiful, moving poems at that. The first one conveys such a vivid sense of pain (abandonment!) through the harsh elemental backdrop (there is that within/without thing again!). The second one starts off with such a wistful vibe, then sticks a landing in play and hope. Amazing that you managed that in so few lines!!
Thank you Keith. You have such keen insights and perceptiveness. I really appreciate your reading and sharing such thoughful comments.
What a treat -- two lovely poems from you! The first one is so visceral: chilly and salty and achy. The second is quite relatable for me, the promise of some lovely generative thing kept around for me to someday learn how to use (thinking of my grandfather's banjo uke, my drawing supplies). Even when these things sit idle, for me they represent hope & creativity & future enrichment. I love the flute inviting you to dive in right now!
Thank you for sharing, Rebekah! This helps me frame my lack of discipline and getting to it in a different, more hopeful light. Thank you for shifting. I expect we should vision toward a native flute, banjo uke duet one day!
These are beautiful, Larry. The language of the first has such wonderful imagery, and I love the story within the second, an invitation to try something new.
Thank you A. The first is something that occured when I was 19, the leaving of a first love. The second is me lamenting my not having learned to play this beautiful flute!
It's not too late! A lesson for us all.
Another crass comment about
another woman's appearance,
another woman's personality,
another woman's existence:
too masculine
too much makeup
too fat
too thin
too chatty
too bitchy
too prudish
too slutty
"She'd be prettier if..."
And the worst is, of course,
the ones who aren't trying
to meet your impossible,
arbitrary standards of
Good Womanhood.
God forbid they
live for themselves
instead of your approval,
which they would probably
never be able to meet, anyway.
I used to reply with
nervous laughs, and a
half-joking "you're awful."
Then it was eye rolls,
before trying a small
"I think she looks nice,"
or "she seems to like it,"
until finally I was brave
enough to fight back;
"you don't have to like it,
it's not for you."
They couldn't hear you,
of course,
but I could.
Over and over,
every woman
you talked about
became some
version of me,
every comment a
commentary on
me, and my body,
and your voice
in my head
became the voice
of every man
who would ever
look at me
the way you saw
those women.
If you actually liked women,
then the way you talked
about them should
have made me
like myself.
Instead,
I had to learn that
on my own,
peeling back
every layer of insult,
chipping away at
abuses you would
have sworn you
never meant for me,
which had piled on
anyway, leaving me
neatly varnished
and smothering
with quiet rage.
You'll have to
forgive me if I
now seem a bit raw,
if every small comment
now seems to strike a nerve --
I am, and it does,
and I won't harden myself
against it anymore.
A, this is powerful and heartbreaking and galvanizing all at once. I can relate with the nervous laugh and half-joking scold -- that's been my response in encounters like these more times than I care to admit, because the women-should I identify most with is "not be a bitch." I felt your evolution so deeply here, from "neatly varnished" and "smothering" to raw and fully in your power. I love love love "I am, and it does" -- it's like a battle cry for me and an invitation to keep being brave.
Thank you, Rebekah. I had a small part of this tucked away, waiting until I felt ready to expand on it, and I was surprised when I got started today how easy it was to continue adding to it.
I really really like this A. I can't wait to share it with my daughter; she is 24 and is my compass when it comes to understanding much more about women's issues than I even am aware of. I can't help but think of her (and my) current defense of Taylor Swift with the NFL/football games and all of the hate and vitriol that is being aimed at her. I just want to tell all those little trolls that are constantly complaining about her what you said "you don't have to like it, it's not for you!"
Yes!
A., you are really amazing. What a powerful poem, a neccessary witness to affirmation and celebration of your and our own unique gifts and specialness. I can feel the power in your words, the hurt, anger and sadness, and the power you gain as you find your footing and center. I wince everytime I hear an unkind or defamatory remark coming from the mouths of men, powerful or not, and the degradation of anyone who is not a white, cisgendered heterosexual and/or does not meet their arbitrary and artificial images of what woman or feminine or female are. Thank you for bringing me more deeply into a place of understanding and hope.
Thank you for always witnessing, and encouraging, and choosing love, Larry.
A., thank you for your heartfelt spirit.
This is a beautiful expression of righteous anger (the good kind). I love the way it rises up, gaining strength and sturdiness as it unfolds. I love your list at the beginning. I love these lines, which felt like they came straight from the marrow: "every comment a commentary on
me, and my body, and your voice in my head became the voice of every man who would ever
look at me the way you saw those women." It seems like a very important poem to have set free. Thanks so much for doing that here.
Thank you, Keith. I wrote down a line of this months ago but it didn't feel like it was ready to be finished, and today it felt like it was time. I'm grateful to you, and to everyone else here, for creating an environment that feels safe for me, and for poems like this.
I'm grateful for this safe and nurturing space, too. And it's so true that some deep space inside knows when a poem has finished gestating and is ready to be birthed. <3
As I watched the rain turn to snow outside and sate quietly sensing my internal weather, I came up with this:
Freeze, thaw, freeze
the ground of earth
the earth of self
I dance within
she dances without
a winter waltz
one-two-three
stay with me
spring comes faster
than you believe
Oh, this is gorgeous, Keith! I so needed this today as rain starts its weeklong assault on our snowpack and I feel my mood teetering. So lovely, "the earth of self" and the beautiful waltz rhythm. I read it out loud the second time through and clapped along.
Oooph, I'm so sorry to hear of the assaulting (and erasing) your snow pack! It's too early! Knowing that my poem helped a little is cutting through some of the gloom here, where it is currently "snaining."
So lovely and lyrical! We are getting a hint of spring here the next few days and I am going to try and take advantage!
Thanks, Karri - and enjoy your spring preview :)
I love this poem-song, Keith. It is beautifully lyrical. I love the connectio to earth and the way your dances conincide and contrast. Really splendid work!
Thanks, Larry - I've been thinking a lot today about the coincidence of external weather and elements with those of my inner landscape!
Keep on pondering, Keith! We are the beneficiaries!
I love the rhythm of this - it does feel like a dance - and the ending. "Stay with me // spring comes faster // than you believe" could be its own poem.
Thanks, A - so glad you felt the rhythm and the dance!
This is such a fun prompt! I too, am fond of words more than space and enjoyed pushing back on myself a little. Your short poem is beautiful and buoyant, a lovely testament to slowing down so nature can let you in on her secrets.
It's funny, because I most often tend toward shorter poems and wonder at others for being able to write longer poems that don't feel like a slog. Lisa, I love how you created such striking imagery in so few lines, and I love that you challenged yourself, but I hope you know that your poems never feel like too much (and this goes for everyone else here as well).
Lisa, I love this amazing poem, and your prompt, to go against our normal inclination in our writing. I like the way you blend the magic and beauty of birds in flight. These words of ending are simply beautiful:
"like a lightbulb in
the gathering dark—
a beacon just for me."
May your time in Oregon be fruitful and blessed, and thank you for all of the time you share and give to us. You open the door to soul and heart space, and you make a difference in the world and my life.
The brevity of feels invigorating, refreshing. And I'm struck by how the brevity in no way detracts from the poetry or impact of the imagery. It's an exquisite image, the aerial dance and the luminosity it produces (including inside you). Thanks for your art and for the challenge of coloring outside the lines of comfort! Hope your research and writing is going well (and that you're seeing lots of actual aerial dance performances)!