In 2012, Irene Latham conceived of the collaborative poem, a poem built day by day, written line by line by thirty different authors throughout the month of April. Irene passed the baton to Margaret Simon in 2020, and under her guiding hands, the collaborative poem continues to flourish.
It’s always such a pleasure and inspiration to watch this poem take shape through the month, moving from one author to the next. This month’s poem has taken us along a literal journey as well, with our narrator and sibling, Manu. I’ve been watching more closely as it neared my sphere. How in the world would this journey unfold? How could I, from my comfortable perch in the world, do justice to these stalwart souls and their hopeful, painful journey? As Heidi Mordhorst mentioned in her post, “This poem has STAKES!” I’m thankful for those who have guided the poem along to me and found some sanctuary for our heroes. I’ve added my two lines in bold.
Here’s the poem so far:
cradled in stars, our planet sleeps, clinging to tender dreams of peace sister moon watches from afar, singing lunar lullabies of hope.
almost dawn, I walk with others, keeping close, my little brother. hand in hand, we carry courage escaping closer to the border
My feet are lightning; My heart is thunder. Our pace draws us closer to a new land of wonder.
I bristle against rough brush— poppies ahead brighten the browns. Morning light won’t stay away— hearts jump at every sound.
I hum my own little song like ripples in a stream Humming Mami’s lullaby reminds me I have her letter
My fingers linger on well-worn creases, shielding an address, a name, a promise– Sister Moon will find always us surrounding us with beams of kindness
But last night as we rested in the dusty field, worries crept in about matters back home. I huddled close to my brother. Tears revealed the no-choice need to escape. I feel grown.
Leaving all I’ve ever known the tender, heavy, harsh of home. On to maybes, on to dreams, on to whispers we hope could be.
But I don’t want to whisper! I squeeze Manu’s hand. “¡Más cerca ahora!” Our feet pound the sand. We race, we pant, we lean on each other I open my canteen and drink gratefully
Thirst is slaked, but I know we’ll need more than water to achieve our dreams. Nights pass slowly, but days call for speed through the highs and the lows, we live with extremes
We enter a village the one from Mami’s letter, We find the steeple; food, kindly people, and shelter. “We made it, Manu! Mami would be so proud!” I choke back a sob, then stand tall for the crowd.
A slapping of sandals… I wake to the sound of ¡GOL! Manu’s playing! The fútbol rebounds. I pinch myself. Can this be true? Are we safe at last? Is our journey through?
On this Monday of our week of spring break, the clouds drew me outside early. Something about their arrangement over the smooth line of the barn roof caught my eye, so I ventured out, camera in hand. I had snapped a photo when, out of the corner of my eye, I heard a flutter, saw a whisper of movement. I glanced over to see the door to an outbuilding had come open during the night–or perhaps been left open after all our yard work yesterday.
Looking in, I saw a small bird fluttering up and down, trying to escape through the window–though the open door was just as close. I stepped inside and slowly walked over to the window. As I neared, I reached my hands to the window sill, where the bird was now huddled, to pick it up. I placed my hands about it–felt the scrabble of feet, the quick flutter of wings, the insubstantial weight of flight. It quickly stilled within my cupped hands, and I murmured reassuringly, It’s okay. Why, you’re a sweet little white throated sparrow, aren’t you? You’re such a tiny one! Let’s get you out of here now.
Keeping up my inane crooning, I stepped outside the building and slowly opened my hands. The bird, after the slightest of hesitations, flew directly to the birch tree to perch. My spirits lifted with its flight. It really was okay! A red-bellied woodpecker sang out jubilantly from a nearby tree, calling again and again. I watched my breath cloud in the chilly air, tuned in to bright day around me, to the gradual greening, the myriad bird calls. I watched the small sparrow rub its beak against the birch bark.
Then there was a sudden crash and clamor from the brush in the side yard, and I looked over to see a flurry of movement. Deer! My pleasure at seeing them wasn’t enitrely unadultered, as I’d already taken note of some decimated tulips under the apple tree. Still, I couldn’t fail to mostly delight in their presence. They stopped just over the ridge toward the neighbor’s yard, and I counted. One. Two. Three. Four. One looked steadily through the branches at me for long minutes. Then another. Then, in a sudden silent coordinated moment, they took off, loping away–all elegant limbs and tawny pelts, flashing white tail flags as they left.
I turned to walk back inside and return to my coffee. A white throated sparrow called over and over again. The clouds still dotted brilliant blue skies.
This month Mary Lee had our Inklings challenge. She invited us to write a series of haiku about poetry without using the word poetry. I wish I’d had more time to linger with this prompt, but March holds madness not only for basketball players and their fans. This was my liberal translation of the prompt :).
Turn, Turn, Turn*
a rush of syllables whispers in leaf-lush trees songs on the breeze
a quickening leaves and light, autumn-gilded the haunting cry of geese
skies clear to moonlight snow cloaks each branch all is aglow
a tree exhales— feathered buds transform blackbirds take flight
We’re in the midst of a winter/spring storm as I write this post. School was cancelled today and has already been cancelled for tomorrow. With no power at home, we hear only the crackle of the fires in the wood stoves and a far off hum from neighbors’ generators. Every so often we’re startled by a crack and crash as tree limbs break under the weight of this heavy, wet snow. We’re thankful to be safe and warm.
shattering tree limbs winter silence splinters weathering the storm
If you’d like to see what the other Inklings did with this haiku challenge, click on the links below.
The PF Roundup is hosted this week by Irene Latham at her blog, Live Your Poem. She’s got all sorts of exciting things to share! Be sure to swing by and check it out.
March 2024 SOLC–Day 31 A huge thank you to Two Writing Teachers for all that they do to create an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write, learn, share and grow. http://www.twowritingteachers.org
Yesterday my daughter, Lydia, and I took a block printing class. I signed us both up a month or so ago, because…well, why not? I thought it would be fun to stretch ourselves and try something new, and she was game. It was a date!
At 2 pm we sat down to learn about block printing. There were 10-12 of us there. The instructor gave us a brief overview and then set us free. We began with potatoes to get the feel for the tools. Everyone dove right in, and I immediately floundered.
What should I try?
I sketched a few things, but nothing resonated. Lydia had a few good designs going, very Scandinavian in temperament. The women across from me were working on shapes and leaves. Soon, they’d already cut into their potatoes and started experimenting. I envied their blithe confidence. I stared at my potato, hoping for an incoming idea. I could feel tendrils of frustration start to unfurl and grow. Remember this is for fun. It’s good to try something new! I glanced at my paper. I glanced at my watch. How much longer did this class last?
In desperation, I looked up a few things on my phone to try to spark my inspiration. I found some organic looking prints I liked. I shook off my hesitation (well, as much as possible) and decided to go for a sort of organic Queen-Anne’s lacy vibe. The blade that was available seemed too thick for what I’d envisioned, but I plugged away. Eventually I took a deep breath and set down the potato, hoping it would turn out better than I thought. Remember, it’s just a potato! You can try another one if it doesn’t work. I rolled out the ink, inked my potato and pulled over a scrap piece of paper. I pushed the potato down carefully, held it there, held my breath too, and then carefully pulled the potato up and away.
Voilà!
Oh, this was downright embarrassing. Was anyone looking? I re-inked and tried again. Not much improvement. I had to resist turning my paper over to hide it. I showed my effort to Lydia, and tried to laugh it off, but yikes! I looked at the much higher caliber work on the table around me. My thoughts turned to students who are reluctant to share their work, and I remembered again why I was doing this, and why I need to do things like this more often. The learning curve is not comfortable for me. It also didn’t help that my daughter was apparently a block cutting prodigy, producing this on her first potato effort:
The instructor, walking by, commented, “Wow! I can’t believe you were able to get so much detail out of a potato!” She just nodded (pityingly?) as she walked by my apparently Rorschach-ink-blot-inspired print. Ugh! At the next table she gushed, “Do most of you already have a creative practice? I’m so impressed by what you’re producing!” I resisted the temptation, yet again, to turn over my printed paper. “Well, I could write about this,” I muttered under my breath. Damn learning curve!
Back to the drawing board! What had I learned so far that could help me? Well, I definitely needed a finer tool, and I needed to simplify my design (and revise my high hopes that I was going to have a secret hidden block cutting talent). My next two efforts looked like this:
Ok. That wasn’t too bad. I realized that I needed to consider the shape of the potato, too. I liked how it was irregular around my regular spiral, and hadn’t even considered that element of things when cutting.
Then it was time to switch to the linoleum printing block. The instructor gave us some more instruction and tips. She rustled up some additional fine point cutting tools, so we all had access to whatever we wanted and needed. I stared at the pink block. Drew a sketch on paper. Shrugged. Drew the sketch on the block. I struggled to think about how this would actually print. It’s a sort of reverse way of thinking– You’re carving what you don’t want to show, and it’s rather mind-bendy. It was definitely a foreign way for me to think. I considered it a bit longer, trying to wrap my head around it, and finally, just shrugged (there was a lot of shrugging going on!) and started. (Next to me, my daughter prodigy was staring at her block and feeling frustrated now. “I peaked too early,” she claimed.)
I picked my tool and began cutting. I liked the feel of the block and carving away the lino was kind of fun. Soon, a pile of pink slivers littered the table before me and my chosen shape was, more or less, emerging. I grew a bit bolder, taking off more and more of the lino. Still, I was very unsure how this next experiment would turn out. I was NOT looking forward to a return to the humiliation of the first potato effort. I tried a trial print of my block, and revised my plan, cutting away a bit more. I also noticed how the ink made fascinating patterns, which added to the print. This was another whole element I hadn’t considered–ink color, thickness, etc. I reconsidered. Carved more. Printed on some scrap paper again. Removed a few more spots.
And then I was done. I got a notecard, carefully rolled out the ink, placed my lino block on it and pushed. I moved the inked block over to the card, centered it and gently laid it down. I pressed, hoping the ink was evenly applied. Once again holding my breath, I slowly lifted away the block to see what I had made.
Hey! That wasn’t bad. I actually liked it! I decided to use this print for my second card, too, and quickly learned that two prints are never precisely the same–which was actually kind of cool. Looking at my prints, I noticed some things I would change, but essentially, I felt pretty successful. Next to me, Lydia had recovered her equilibrium and had created a sweet floral carving, printing it on her notecard in a bright red.
And then, just like that, it was time to clean up.
After the class, Lydia and I left the studio, prints in hand, talking about how we’d had a lot of fun, and about how we’d had to work through our doubts and frustrations to get there.
It seems fitting that this month of writing challenge ends with a post about trying something new. Yesterday, I swiftly remembered how much I dislike the learning curve and how frustration and embarrassment can get in the way of learning. I also remembered how important it is for me to put myself out there and give it a try.
Thanks for a great month everyone! I won’t say it’s been easy, but it was definitely worth the effort.
March 2024 SOLC–Day 30 A huge thank you to Two Writing Teachers for all that they do to create an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write, learn, share and grow. http://www.twowritingteachers.org
Saturday, March 16th : Today we walked at Center Point Preserve, marveling that we could be out in the woods at this time of year. Usually the woodland shade preserves snow and ice until well into spring, making for treacherous going. Yet, there we were, easily hiking around and through puddles, muck and mud on a beautiful day in mid-March. There were plenty of other signs of the changing season, including vigorous eruptions of skunk cabbage and even a small eastern newt. Everything’s stirring! It’s both exciting and worrisome.
Thursday, March 21st: Dodged one today! There was only an inch or snow. It was enough to freshen up the scenery and prompt me to take the less scenic, safer drive to work, but not enough to interrupt a school day. With airline tickets booked to depart not long after the current last day, I’m voting (insanely and unusually!) for no more snow days.
Saturday,March 23rd: The forecasted snow has arrived, not in deep piles as we’d thought, but enough to make staying at home enjoyable. The birds are bombarding the feeders, and I could easily sit by the window watching the show all day. The goldfinches are transforming from drab olive to cheerful yellow, a sure sign that spring is on its way, despite the snow. A pileated woodpecker even came by to visit. They’re here year-round, but still a joy to hear and to see. I’m thankful this storm arrived on a Saturday!
Sunday, March 24th: Whoa! Overnight the world transformed to ice. When the wind blows it sounds like fairy bells are ringing. Everything glitters and shines. It’s stunning. Walking outside is treacherous as the snow has mixed with falling rain and ice to a concrete-density. Meandering in the yard, I have to stomp my heel in the ground to make a divot in the snow each time I step. Several times, I found myself sliding along with windmilling arms, trying to get a grip.
We lost power late last night and it looks like it may be out for days. I’m thankful for wood stoves and plenty of wood, town water, and a gas stove! Also, thankful for the timing of the storm. If it had hit during the school week, we would have been out for two days. That would have ratcheted up the tension on ending the school year and heading off on our trip! Phew!
Saturday, March 30th: The wind has finally died down after gusting crazily last night. I’m surprised we didn’t lose power again! After days of dreary skies, chill, and unrelenting rain (with the accompanying flooding of small rivers), we’re supposed to have a sunny weekend with temps in the high 40s and low 50s. Woot! Ironically, most of my plans (and very enjoyable ones they are!) involve being inside. Oh, well. I’m sure I can sneak in a walk or two.
Unfortunately, I looked at my phone this morning, and this is what I saw:
What?! March and April often have a hefty snowfall or two, but this one sounds pretty icky. I scan the article: “Maine could be in for the longest lasting weather event of the year so far…potential flooding..a lot of precipitation…heavy, plowable snow in a multi-day event…early predictions…as much as two feet in some parts of the state…no this isn’t an April Fools’ Day joke” The storm is forecast to arrive mid-week and impact two days.
Uh oh.
When we scheduled our trip, I knew I was taking a gamble, but it definitely felt like the odds were in my favor. (And flights were so much cheaper if I booked for a bit earlier!) I promised myself I would not stress about potential snow days, but I can feel a little shiver of anxiety slivering in. Eek! Fingers crossed that this storm changes course and misses us. Once again, I’m wishing away a snow day. Or two.
I am not cut out to be a gambler, and I should know by now that Maine spring is anything but predictable. It’s always a bit of a ride.
March 2024 SOLC–Day 29 A huge thank you to Two Writing Teachers for all that they do to create an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write, learn, share and grow. http://www.twowritingteachers.org Today’s post is also for Poetry Friday.
Releasing the Day
At the end of a day dense with noise, I drive home in a silent fog that drifts in shape-shifting banks and hovers over snow. Wipers swish, swish, sweep. The quiet calm of drip, drip raindrops reigns.
Thanks for the inspiration to try a nonet again, Kim Johnson! So much of my writing has been for the SOL challenge this month, and I’ve veered almost entirely away from poetry. It was a joy to wrestle with syllables again.
March 2024 SOLC–Day 28 A huge thank you to Two Writing Teachers for all that they do to create an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write, learn, share and grow. http://www.twowritingteachers.org
I’ve been enjoying some “Top 3” lists lately. I first saw this on Terje‘s post and she linked back to a few others. I believe the idea originated with WOWilkinson. He used it in his high school classroom so kids could then select items from their lists to do a “comparative analysis” about. I’m already thinking how I might tweak this in my second grade classroom. For now, though, it’s serving as a fun way to cross another slice off my list. 😉 Be advised that I’m literally plucking these off the top of my brain right now, and I’m just going with the first things that come to mind.
Comfort Foods: 1. macaroni and cheese 2. pizza–preferably with spinach, tomato and feta, but always with lots of cheese 3. soup–nothing brothy, but stewy, thick vegetable-rich soups with a big chunk of crusty bread (which could have been #4 on this list, but that would be cheating)
Books I Finished and said “WOW!”: (not at all a complete list, but the first three that come to mind) 1. Dandelion Wine by Ray Bradbury (Oh–and in another bending of the rules, his short story “All Summer in a Day” is absolutely one of these–it slayed me!) 2. Gone with the Wind (It traumatized me when I was in my early teens and read it. I still remember feeling shell shocked as I closed it after finishing it one summer day. ) 3. The Nightingale
Poets: 1. Mary Oliver 2. Wendell Berry 3. Shel Silverstein
Ways to Procrastinate: 1. Play word games on my phone* 2. Bake 3. Take pictures, download pictures, share pictures
*Word Games to play on my phone: 1. Wordle (Two of my sisters and I share our scores daily.) 2. Spelling Bee (I hate “nice”!, but I’m comfortable stopping at “Amazing”. I strive to get “Genius” every day. I may be in a bit of a “friendly” competition with my son.) 3. Connections
Breakfasts: 1. steel-cut oats with a dash of pumpkin pie spice 2. whole wheat pumpkin pancakes topped with ginger jam 3. Cheerios with granola and blueberries
Smells: 1. baking bread 2. the air outside after a solid rain 3. all the Christmas-y spices–cinnamon, ginger, nutmeg, etc.– with a whiff of molasses thrown in (maybe I just should have written: the smell of gingerbread baking…)
Ways to unwind: 1. get outside (marsh, beach, river, our yard, etc) and take pictures 2. read 3. write
Winter joys: 1. the first snowfall and how the air seems to glow 2. the geometric formation of ice on water and the frosty filagrees on windows 3. the heart of blue inside deep snow piles
Spring delights: 1. the first time I hear the peepers 2. the sudden burst of color after winter’s limited (albeit dazzling) palette 3. catnapping outside in the late afternoon spring sun, tucked in a wind-free corner on our front deck
March 2024 SOLC–Day 27 A huge thank you to Two Writing Teachers for all that they do to create an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write, learn, share and grow. http://www.twowritingteachers.org
I haven’t shaken yesterday’s grumpiness, and I had a hard time rolling out of bed yet again this morning. Yesterday’s relatively disastrous math class is still resounding in my head, along with a lot of degrading self talk and the litany of Things-to-do that pollutes March each year. Then there are a few extras thrown in this year to add to the mess and stress. Oh, and don’t forget to add in a thick layer of self disgust for whining in the first place, when really I am so, so fortunate is so, so many ways. Ugh. I really hate feeling ugly inside.
Even though writing slices has been tough lately, I still keep writing in my notebook. I guess it’s a sort of sloppy creative journal. Whatever it is, no matter how I’m feeling, writing in it is a deeply ingrained morning habit.
Here’s what I just wrote this morning: “There are only 5 more slicing days left and I should be able to pull that off. Just 5 more slices to write — but these feel more like “cross it out” rather than “craft and enjoy.” I’ve found myself thinking lately that I might not do this next year. Maybe my 10th year is my swan song. But then I would probably still have an overwhelming, stressful March, but not have a collection of writing or the sense of community… “
Not long afterward, I stopped writing and got on-line to check my e-mails. There were a bunch of comments on my grumpy slice from last night from regular readers and others. Each one was so supportive and so empathetic.
“I get it.”
“I’m in the exact same place.”
“You’re allowed.” or
“I’m just. so. tired. of everything, really. It’s not that I can’t see the good things, I’m just grumpy.”
I felt seen, heard, supported and surrounded by community. A little bit of my toxic funk evaporated as I read each one.
These comments are such a tangible affirmation of why I do participate in this challenge. Sure, I want to work on writing and challenge myself to improve my writing craft. But really, the challenge is the golden ticket, giving me entry into this amazing community of supportive people who are in it together, doing the best we can.
So, here’s to all of you, with my deepest thanks for the ongoing support and encouragement! In particular, today, I thank Margaret, Lainie, Jessica, Stephanie, Kim, and Amanda.
March 2024 SOLC–Day 26 A huge thank you to Two Writing Teachers for all that they do to create an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write, learn, share and grow. http://www.twowritingteachers.org
I’m sitting and staring at my screen, trying to figure out what to write. It’s the exact thing I did this morning when I had some time to write. And then I didn’t.
I am in a bad mood and in a bad writing place. It’s not that I don’t have anything to write about. I can think of several moments that would make a good slice. I just don’t want to. Like foot stomping don’t want to. I don’t have the energy or the urge, and I’m feeling super grumpy about it. I’ve gone from my early month jubilation to the too-close-to-quit doldrums. It’s like the early excitement of the journey has turned from “Yippee! We’re off!” to “Are we there yet?”, and the latter is definitely said in a very whiny, unattractive tone.
I tried focusing on positives this evening–the cute, skipping, rainbow-legginged girl who waved wildly at me in the grocery store parking lot, the hawk flying up to a tree as I drove by, and the cluster of deer grazing peacefully in our back yard. It didn’t help. Neither did multiple servings of Girl Scout cookies (Carmel Delites) or over-indulgence in salt-and-pepper potato chips. My husband had the wood stove going and a scented candle burning when I got home, and then he made dinner. It didn’t matter. I’m still in a funk. Not fit company for anyone.
When my children were little, and we couldn’t shift them from grumpy, despite all our best efforts, we used to say they had a bad case of the “can’t-help-its.” I guess that’s my diagnosis. I’m hoping tomorrow will be a better day, but for now I just have a deeply entrenched case of the can’t-help-its.
March 2024 SOLC–Day 25 A huge thank you to Two Writing Teachers for all that they do to create an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write, learn, share and grow. http://www.twowritingteachers.org
We went to bed Saturday night with the power out and rain and ice lashing the windows. We woke to a world transformed. The power still hadn’t returned, but now every surface had been thickly coated with a thick glaze of ice. It was treacherous and it didn’t bode well for an imminent return of power, but it was also absolutely stunning.
The pictures really don’t capture the glitter and glow of it all. It was sparkle on steroids, everything frosted and frozen, like some sort of magical fairyland. Today, my 30 year old son mentioned that he’d commented to his wife, “It looks just like Narnia!” And it did!
Nix the comfort zone 