Slice of Life – Open Write for November

21 November 2023 TwoWritingTeachers.org

I had a wonderful time at NCTE, and I want to write more about it later. Here are a few pictures on Instagram, but my slice today are the poems I wrote for Open Write. My Sunday poem includes a strong feeling I had this week.

Saturday, 11/18/23 “Instructions on Being a Dragonfly” with Kim Johnson

Instructions on Healing with Witnesses: A Skinny Poem

Not on a journey. I’m alone.
healing
needed
fears
wounds
healing
occurring
witnesses
together
healing
I’m on a journey; not alone.

Sunday, 11/19/23 “Belonging” with Fran Haley

Kaleidoscopic Encounter

I met someone yesterday
At a conference–
We engaged in
conversation
standing in the exhibit hall.
She’s come here from a
South American country
Where she fled to the U.S.
as a refugee.
Her grandfather came there as
A refugee fleeing the Holocaust.
Her name came together,
a perfectly delightful mix of
Spanish, Arabic, and Jewish.
She is a kaleidoscope of
color and light and generosity,
And I am better for having met her.

I’ve come here from
a white-washed history,
a white-washed lineage,
and so much loss of
color and light and generosity.
I’ve come from who knows where,
Except the generic ‘Wales,’
as a child, it was all I was given
when I asked, evidence enough
that we were in the right pot,
melting into America.
I came from who knows when–
not in this century,
or the last,
maybe the one before.

We are all losers
in the myth of white supremacy.
We are not a melting pot,
We are a kaleidoscope.
We will all win, when
We all belong.

Monday, 11/20/23 “Give Me This” with Kim Johnson

On the airplane, Moon followed me home
last night. She wore a hefty grin–
face half full of bright white teeth,
gleaming, she smiled at me
as I peered out through
the darkness. Watched
her dance with
the plane’s
wing,

As
I view
her playful
moves, She reminds
me: we need the dance.
While the Sun brightens far
away, we are left here with
Moon. She transforms: new-, crescent-, half-,
full-faced, while dancing with obstacles.

Tuesday, 11/21/23 “Birdspiration” with Fran Haley

Quail families grow–
Eggs hatch, and precocial chicks
hit the ground running.
Soon, coveys are filled with teens.
How quickly we come of age!

Wednesday, 11/22/23 “Doggerel” with Fran and Kim

There once was a dog named Sonny
Whose lifelong goal was not money
All he wanted was rubs
Castle King he was dubbed
scritch-tingle-scratch of the tummy

Slice of Life and October Open Write 2023

October 24, 2023 TwoWritingTeachers.org

I spent so many years of my life overworked and overwhelmed, and now here I am in retirement and I needed more to do. I told my husband today that I wish we could spread retirement out over our careers and enjoy a little boredom, respite, and rejuvenation throughout the years. On that note, I volunteered for the Friends of the Library in our town. They needed someone to figure out how to do email blasts, so I said I could do that. I went to MailChimp (or as the FOL board president has started to call it–ChimpMonkey. I’ve started calling it that too.) It was not difficult to learn, and today I successfully added contacts and sent out different newsletters to each of the four segments of our audience. It was rewarding, and such a treat to have time to sit and work without distractions.

A few pictures of late:

I love an early moonrise.
These berries on this tree were so interesting. Using Lens, I think it is a cypress tree. Do you know?

 

This week is the Open Write at Ethical ELA is going on this week. Here are the poems I’ve written so far:

October 21, 2023
Found in Artwork with Erica Johnson

Dancing

La Grande Vitesse–
great swiftness–
is on its toes
This suspect stabile
is a dancer
Even those
who don’t dance
Can walk around it
Walk up to it
Dance with it
Never the same

——————————————————–
Found poem from this article
Images of La Grande Vitesse

October 22, 2023
If Your Shoes Could Talk with Tammi Belko

My Boots Are Talking

Hey, we’ve just gotten started–
These desert trails are great.
Hope you don’t grow again
Or we’ll end up in a thrift crate
before we’re properly worn,
just like your last sole mates

The inch I’ve lost in height
has been added to my feet–
An unfortunate birthright

October 23, 2023
The Luc Bat with Wendy Everard

Celestial
Marshmallows burnt just right
Settled round the fire light—cold backs
Warm fronts, time to relax.
Then looked up, viewed star tracks—chatter
turned to higher matters
Universal star spatter, bright moon
Soul space, Divine commune

October 24, 2023
It’s My Birthday!! All Month with Donnetta Norris

Inspired by “August Moon,” a poem by Emma Lazarus. I used this striking line: “Look! The round-cheeked moon floats high in the glowing August sky.” Her poem reminded me of this moon last August:

Take a Look!
Time for a surprise, for the
calendar has yet to turn round
and this orb, full-cheeked,
is shining again–blue moon
they call it. Super moon floats
above the mountain, lighting high
and low across the sand, just in
time for popcorn on the
porch and the glowing
cozy comfort of this August
evening, falling up into the sky

October 25, 2023
Take a Word for a Walk with Anna Roseboro

Children buried in rubble of war.
Are children only flesh and blood
literally–just children born to bleed
die survive as children no more?
Adopting hatred of elders, children waste
Justice and peace! They’re our children!

September Open Write 2023

September 16, 2023
Recuerdos de Comida y Amor /
Memories of Food and Love
with Stacey Joy

Gentle, round Abel, so
soft spoken, barely sweating
as he worked in the heat

Hermana, ¿qué pasa?
“Nada, hermano,”
as I munch a tortilla chip

fresh out of the oil
(he’s been frying pounds of
them so patiently)

now I look out my window
and see Joshua’s Perch
up on Abel’s Mountain

and I always think of you,
Hermano

September 17, 2023
There’s a Diamond in my Soup with Stacey Joy

Dear Sister,
You remember all the
food and love showered
on us by generations.
We knew we were
loved by our eating.
I’ve tried to forget many
of these rich delights,
but you make them
over
and
over
and
over
and you don’t let me forget.
You remind me how
delicious they were by bringing
them to me–tastier, I think than
Mom or Grandma made them–
macaroni and cheese,
tamales, lasagna,
chicken pot pie,
cherry cobbler,
lemon pie,
cinnamon rolls,
biscuits…
And today you brought
chicken tortilla casserole
and chile-cheese cornbread.
I try to forget,
I try to forget,
I try…oh, forget it.
Pass the cheese sauce, please.

September 18, 2023
For the Love of Words with Barb Edler

I was six years old
waiting for the mail
Maybe this will be my lucky day!
Sometimes it was, and the
mailman would pull out that
cardboard covered package
that made my heart swell.

Two beginning readers,
this time maybe it was
Hop on Pop and
Are You My Mother?
I couldn’t make out a word,
but I enjoyed the pictures.
I probably knew the letters,
and maybe I had memorized
some words from Dick and Jane
at school (Look, see, come…)
However, these books at home
were magical.

I don’t remember my mama
ever reading books with me, though.
She was busy with seven kids.
Cooking, cleaning, ironing,
knocking new doorway holes
in the wall and remodeling
with a perfectly crafted doorjamb,
as needed. That kind of stuff.

I read books with my sister, though.
When she came home from working
at the telephone company
and/or on Saturdays (I’m not really sure),
she would sit with me and my new books.
She would paint my fingernails and read.
She somehow made the symbols
not so scary,
not so impossibly gibberish.
She taught me how to read.

I often wonder how and why
my mom ever agreed to buy
those books for me.
How could she have afforded them?
Just for me.
They even came with
my name on the box.

I have always treasured the memory.
These books are still favorites.
Every time I see a copy, I smile and remember.
Sixty years ago, and the flood of love and support
come back.

Thank you, Mama.
Thank you, Chris.

September 19, 2023
How to Triumph with Barb Edler

Generations

My grandma was quiet,
fragile, and seemed to lean
on her daughter to provide
strength, muscles, and purpose.

Her daughter, my mom,
of my grandma, but not her

Mom would have loved to study
architecture, but she married instead.
Finished raising her family–five still
in the next when her husband died.

Me, of my mom, but not her

I went to college and finished
even if it took 6.5 years and
ended in a geography degree,
the first B.A. in my family

My daughter, of me, but not me

She just came down the stairs
hair slicked back in a pony donning
a stylish sweater and sweats below
grabs the coffee we brought home
then returns to her home office

She’s a marketing director because
she asked for the title and salary to
match her responsibilities–she makes
things happen, rather than watches

My daughter, of me, but not me

Gradually, the women in our family
become more powerful

September 20, 2023
Barbie You with Glenda Funk

Random Barbie Talk

K: Are you writing a poem today?

D: Yes, about Barbie.

K: Barbie?

D: Yes, Barbie. It’s Glenda’s prompt.
Remember, you sat by her at dinner
in Anaheim? And Ken, who also liked
the movie. He has a Kenough shirt.

K: Yes, sure I remember, but I still don’t
want to see the movie.

D: I never owned a Barbie. I had a Francie
and a Skipper. Skipper was
Barbie’s little sister,
and Francie was like a
young teen with small boobs.
Lori had a Barbie and a Midge,
who had a brown beehive and freckles.
Judi’s friend borrowed Lori’s Barbie and Midge
for a 4-H diorama and never returned them.
That’s one of those unforgivable offenses
of family lore for the Reeds.
My little brother had G.I. Joe. We played
together a lot, and I must say
G.I. Joe was better.

K: Is that why it took so long for
you to fall for me?

D: What?

K: Were you looking for a soldier?

D: He had boots that were easy to
put on and a backpack.

K: I had boots and a backpack.
He also had guns.

D: Oh, I forgot about the guns!
That’s gross.
I liked his wooden foot locker.

Open Write July 2023

Saturday, 15 July 2023
“The Masks We Wear” with Mo Daley

In a golden shovel poem I used this striking line from Mo’s mentor poem called “Inherited Mask.”

living life hiding behind a mask
trying not to let the plaster crack

To My Mask

Living with you has made
life duller and fabricated–
hiding my depth. Who am I
behind the bluff?
A quiet, nice, wave-calmer is my
mask (that’s you). Yet I am a story of
trying on, opening, weaving through time. I’m
not quite content with me without you, but
to be honest, you can be an excuse to
let me off the hook. I can’t be hurt if
the truth hides. But once in a while the
plaster of pretense cleaves, and I rejoice in the
crack I am making in you.

Sunday, 16 July 2023
Fibonacci Poem with Mo Daley

sweet
bird
rumpus
gathering
dissonance of praise
consonance of contrasting calls
quail, jay, thrasher, finch, oriole, dove, woodpecker, wren
dozens assemble on our porch
bird feeders times four
emptied yet
again
sweet
birds

Monday, 17 July 2023
Venn Diagram Poem with Susan Ahlbrand

Tuesday, July 18, 2023
Places We Call Home with Shelby Sexton

To be home is to be in this place
With you as we finish the race
At peace, in love, holding hope,
Holy twists of life’s kaleidoscope

Wednesday, July 19, 2023
Where Were We? with Mike Dombrowski

Don’t hand me the microphone, I thought.
You’re doing fine for both of us.
When did the mom of the bride
have to start talking at
wedding receptions?
What do I say?
I should’ve thought!
Ready?
No!

Dumb
Quiet
Finally
I spewed a few
words I don’t recall
The important thing is
our precious couple’s ready
for life together. Now, let’s eat
and laugh and play and dance and dream hope.

March 20 – Open Writing Poetry with You

March 20, 2023 TwoWritingTeachers.org

This week it is time for Ethical ELA’s Open Write. It’s always so joyful to spend time with this supportive writing community. (Lots of us are part of Slice of Life and the group that writes poetry at Open Write, like Maureen, Joanne, Kim, Glenda, Britt, Fran H., Barb, Margaret S., Molly, Heather, and me…Have I missed anyone else? Please tell me in the comments).

We meet five days a month and every day in April, when it’s called #Verselove. Below I’m posting a poem I wrote yesterday. You can join in on this week’s past prompts– Saturday, Sunday, and Monday–or join us Tuesday and Wednesday for more writing wonderfulness.

On Saturday, I wrote a whole post about the inconceivable junction between artificial intelligence and poetry. [On an aside: You may want to read the essay, published today, on Two Writing Teachers by Beth Moore, “We Need to Talk About AI Essays.” Fascinating.]

On Sunday, we wrote a Pile Poem on Canva, using a beautiful mentor poem by Amy Kay.

 

View this post on Instagram

 

A post shared by Amy Kay (@amykaypoetry)

Mocha Productivity Being with my love Making beautiful things A heart decluttered, yet full Being Grammy to my sweet Milo Recognizing the birds in our yard Having our house become our home Being able to sleep as long as I want Many ways to make a vegetarian Reuben The four subtle seasons of the Mojave desert These freshly washed, tightly-fitting flannel sheets Finding a treasure that I need in a second-hand store Sweet memories of a time when I had young children at home Eating mint chocolate chip ice cream while laughing with loved ones A masala tea soy latte from my kitchen delivered with love from Keith

And today, on Monday, we shared poetry on Flip (formerly Flipgrid.) Do come over and join the conversation. Find the link at the Ethical ELA site. (There is an invitation to give opinions about the use of AI in the poetry classroom.)

In April, we will have daily prompts. Please join us. If you are interesting, check out these Tips for Verseloving, created by our founder, Sarah Donovan.

I am participating in the March Slice of Life Challenge: A slice a day for all of March. Thank you, Two Writing Teachers!

Open Write – March 18, 2023

Today at Ethical ELA, Stef is leading us in a provocative discussion about AI use in poetry. Why tech? we are asking over the next three days. You are invited to join us at Ethical ELA Open Write and add your voice to the discussion.

After today’s activity, I am thoroughly befuddled.

Because of all the hype about AI in schools, I was glad to see Stef’s prompt this morning about using an AI tool to help with our poem. It was my first time using ChatGPT. I expected I might be able to get a good start on a poem, get a list of words to use, or some such thing. I didn’t know what to expect.  But yikes! My prompt was “Compose a triolet poem about painting a door jamb”

While it was working

The final poem followed the abaaabab pattern of rhyming and was eight lines long. It made grammatical sense, and I wouldn’t be embarrassed to “turn it in.” No editing, it looks like this:

Painting a door jamb, oh what a chore,
Brush strokes smooth, with care and precision,
Soon the wood will be shining like before,
Painting a door jamb, oh what a chore,
But the effort is worth it, that’s for sure,
To freshen up a home is a noble mission,
Painting a door jamb, oh what a chore,
Brush strokes smooth, with care and precision.

Then I second-guessed my use of the word “jamb.” Did I spell it right? Is that really the door jamb I have to paint today, or is it the door frame? We recently had the door replaced, so after my mini research, I determined that most of the frame needs to be painted. I went back to my FrIeNd? at Chat GPT with a new prompt: “Compose a triolet poem about painting a door frame”

Painting a door frame, a task at hand,
A fresh coat of color, a sight to behold,
The brush strokes glide, so smooth and grand,
Painting a door frame, a task at hand,
Transforming the space, as if it was planned,
A touch of beauty, a story untold,
Painting a door frame, a task at hand,
A fresh coat of color, a sight to behold.

Oh, my word! I thought maybe they would just replace jamb with frame. But no. It’s a whole new poem! Recently I read an eye-opening review of ChatGPT and the use in the classroom by a Slice of Life writer, Lee Ann Spillane at the Portable Teacher blog. There is a site called GPTZero that detects AI use. I added my fully-generated poem to the detector and got this message, “Your text is likely to be written entirely by a human.” OK, that was disconcerting.

Then I tried another idea Lee Ann had given. Add a prompt to ChatGPI: “How likely is it that ChatGPT wrote this poem?” and then cut and paste the poem. So I tried that and got a rather non-committal response:

It is highly likely that ChatGPT wrote this poem, as it is within the capabilities of the AI model to generate creative and original poetry. However, it is also possible that the same poem could have been generated by another language model or human author.

Hmmm…what would ChatGPT say if I asked that about a poem that I wrote all by myself? So, I tried that with the latest poem I wrote for yesterday’s Poetry Friday post:

Our Mourning Doves

This is the doublet of doves,
cooing and pursuing,
who wait for their eggs,
their purpose renewing,
and fly back to their nest
with hope and love brewing.

Oh, I’m heart-broken. Here was the response:

It is also highly likely that ChatGPT wrote this poem, as it is a simple and straightforward piece of verse that falls well within the capabilities of the AI model to generate. However, it is again possible that the same poem could have been created by another language model or human author.

Earlier I had also dared to click on the “Regenerate Response” button:

Painting a door frame, it’s quite a task,
Sandpaper and primer, to prep it right,
Brushing on paint, with steady hand, I bask,
Painting a door frame, it’s quite a task,
The finish will gleam, no need for a mask,
My efforts rewarded, with hues so bright,
Painting a door frame, it’s quite a task,
Sandpaper and primer, to prep it right.

I may be here tomorrow regenerating poems, up to my eyeballs in a poetical existential crisis.

On a positive note, I noticed the poems it created at our Open Write session were always rhyming. I tried to get it to write a poem without rhyming. I asked it to write a poem like Mary Oliver would, then to write in free verse, finally I just wrote “stop rhyming.”

OK. Thanks for that.

A Slice of Life and the January Open Write

14 February 2023 TwoWritingTeachers.org

Since April, 2020, I have been part of the poetry writing community at Ethical ELA–Open Write (five days monthly) and #Verselove (every April). That first April, while the world was in pandemic lockdown, a healing poetry community came together to write and support one another. This January, while I was traveling in Bahrain, jet-lagged and busy eating and visiting dear friends, I forgot about the five-day Open Write until the last day, when I wrote a quick “postcard” poem about Bahrain.

This week, I went back and had my own Open Write , writing one poem a day using the other prompts I missed last month. I’ve linked each prompt below, where you can hopefully find inspiration for your own writing, and maybe for your students too.

By the way, this Saturday, February 18, Open Write begins again at EthicalELA.com. Please join us. (I plan to not forget this time!)

Postcard Poetry with Barb Edler and Glenda Funk

Bahrain

You were
(still are) home.
Though I’ve left, you hold me
Again in your open arms.

 

Connecting with Strong Women Among Us with Glenda Funk

Her husband in prison
No tuition fees
Visas expired
No money for living
But for years
while they
survived,
she always said
Praise God,
God is great,
Thanks God,
Alhamdulillah.

 

Connecting with Your Inner Self with Barb Edler

I am proud of my humility
I am kinder than I sometimes act
I am confident yet uncertain
I am creative yet fruitless
I am resourceful yet unimaginative
I am savvy yet slow
I am adept yet inept
I am conflicted

 

Connecting with School Communities in the Aftermath of Shootings and Lockdowns with Glenda Funk

Visit Moms Demand Action. (It’s not just for moms.) After reading these poems by educators about shootings and lockdowns, I wrote to my Congressional representative about gun violence, and I signed up for the first time to volunteer with Moms Demand Action.

Her Voice

Every day as she got up,
Jamie G. called down the stairs
to her early-rising father.
Five years ago, on February 14, 2018,
she stopped calling,
silenced by a gunman
at Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School.
She was just a freshman.
Today she could have been
in her second year as a Florida Gator,
but she forfeited her future
because of political cowardice.
Jamie’s voice,
frozen in time,
no new memories
for her and her family to create.

How many more voices will be lost
before we take action?


Some thoughts in the poem above came from Jamie’s father, Fred Guttenberg, and a quote from Mike Barnicle on last Friday’s (2/20) Morning Joe clip.

Here is a Skinny poem about The Nature of Today’s World by high school senior Cam Prescott.

 

Connecting with Others or Things Through a Personal Letter Poem with Barb Edler

Justice

It’s difficult to believe You will win,
that You will forever be
a refuge for the hopeless.
It’s hard to trust that Your goodness
will shine like the dawn,
that Your deliverance
will break through the doom
as bright as the noonday sun.

When will that happen?
How long must the oppressed wait?
Do I still believe in You?
Will I fight for You to break through the chaos?

So many people continue to soldier on for Justice.
(I’m ashamed I don’t seek you wholeheartedly)
Others prowl and scratch hoping Justice will be obscured.
(I don’t want to be part of that group.)

So I must commit to join You,
for silence is not a neutral position.
I do believe in Justice, but, please,
help my unbelief.

September and October 2022 – OPEN WRITE

November 23 with Tammi Belko “Color Personality Poems”

I am Orange,
optimistic and friendly
Yes, let’s do it.

I am Orange,
perceptive and nurturing
What do you need?

I am Orange, and
need to practice self-care
OK, I need a break

I am Orange

November 22 with Katrina Morris “Ekphrastic Poetry”

Dark and pastel petals play
Filaments reach to the light
Your art journey grew that day
Dark and pastel petals play
Some of your future fears allayed
With Mr. Furlong’s keen foresight
Dark and pastel petals play
Filaments reach to the light

November 21 with Kim Johnson “Unphotographed”

Eyes

You were resting with four others
on the bench in the Souq at City Centre,
sitting at various levels,
one on the back of the bench
two on laps,
all looking in one direction
generations of faces,
or eyes, really–
black abayas
draping your bodies,
niqab veiling
your faces

My uncovered face passed by you all.
In my curiosity about this unfamiliar scene
I wanted to remember your striking family,
so as I passed by I filled up my eyes,
and you smiled at me with yours

 

November 20 with Kim Johnson “One-Word Poem”

How Many More Times Will Professor Kevin Nadel Wake Up to Yet Another LGBTQ+ Hate Crime?

#StopKillingUs

Screenshot_20221120_183246_Twitter.jpg
November 19 with Kim Johnson “The Monostitch: One-Line Poem”

NCTE

Old and new friends, free books, and great big ideas

October 19 with Scott McCloskey “(Bad) Advice”

How to Not Deal

Burn all your candles on both ends (at the same time, of course).
Don’t ever stop to journal, write, think, or pray.
Play loud music, while watching a scary movie on Netflix.
If anyone asks how you are–how you really are–don’t tell them.
Or, you can say, “fine” (that’s safe).
Eat the whole package of coconut caramel dreams.
Smoke a pack or two of cigarettes.
Blame others, it’s all their fault anyway.

 

October 18 with Denise Hill “American Sentences”

National Unity Day–it’s a day for standing up to bullies.
What if someone would have stood up to me when I bullied Mark Bailey?
I’ve come far since sixth grade, but tomorrow’s day reminds me of hatred.
How was I so empty and hurting that I wanted to hurt instead?
To attempt to make someone else more emptied and hurting than myself?

October 17 with Carolina López “I’ve Been Writing this Since”

I’ve been writing this since
I was too young to remember
you, with your toddler curls bobbing,
squeezing me with obvious pride.
You were finally a big sister.
And since we slept together in the same
big bed, sharing treats and secrets,
Since I took money from your giant-sized
piggy bank without asking.

I’ve been writing this since
you were a senior who thought
you were too cool for this
pesky freshman, but you told Mom
my bad news and she came to
pick me and my broken heart up
from school that day.

I’ve been writing this since
you cooked Mexican food for our
rehearsal dinner and chili and a
salad bar for our reception, and since
you wouldn’t come out for the family
photo until I got a little bridezilla, saying,
“In 30 years I won’t remember that the
chili was burned, but I’ll see that she
isn’t in the photo.” And you came and
managed to not burn the chili.

I’ve been writing this since you
were in the hospital for a hysterectomy
because of ovarian cancer
before you were able to have any
children of your own. While I had two
and you never did. Since you spoiled
my girls with expensive gifts like Gameboys,
and baked them cakes and took care of
them when I had surgery myself.

I’ve been writing this since that summer
when you told me the house next door
to yours might be for sale and we went to
the county office and wrote a letter to the
nephew of the owner who had died, since
you took care of it all those years we were
overseas, and now since I’ve come to live
here and be your neighbor.

I’ve been writing this since Saturday
when we went garage sale-ing and
filled up your truck with bargains and
treasures and since today when we
tore tiles and dry wall off the
shower walls at the Mountain house,
and I’ll be writing it still tomorrow when
you do your tile artwork and I help.

I’ll be writing this when I’m too old to remember

October 16 with Anna J. Small Roseboro “Living Between Two Worlds”

Peering down the hallway
at dozens of doors
lining both the left and right sides
so many of them bolted shut now

Once I oscillated back and forth
choosing the best possibility
regardless of affiliation
I valued nonpartisanship

Doors I used to seriously consider
are now permanently closed for me
The hallway has gotten so wide
absolutely cavernous really

I find myself on the left side
interested only in those doors
for democracy is under attack
our republic is at stake

Elections and peaceful transfer
of power are foundational
Other issues can wait
We need a blue tsunami

October 15 with Anna J. Small Roseboro “It’s All in the Mind”

The audacity of hope
Helps us cope
When all seems night
Hope holds us

Helps us cope
A smile, a shelter
Hope holds us
Safe in everlasting arms

A smile, a shelter
Unshakable and sure
Safe in everlasting arms
Wait and hope

Unshakable and sure
See the stars
Wait and hope
Sing boundless beauty

See the stars
When all seems night
Sing boundless beauty
The audacity of hope