I learned about a tritina poetry form on Friday from Liz Garton Scanlon’s Poetry Friday post. I tried it on this last day of May for my final #MayPoems.
Bread Fed Us
Satisfied with warm bread
Baked freshly we are fed
Nourishes and keeps us
Second manna for us
God’s Word, the daily bread
With Good News we are fed
How many folks are fed?
Blessed feast for all of us
Spread fish and loaves of bread
Bread of Life has fed us
Today I wrote an Ovillejo poem about the pandemic, as our numbers here is Bahrain are skyrocketing and strict new bans and lockdowns began this weekend.
This triolet is inspired by Buffy Silverman, who wrote one about the periodic cicadas for Poetry Friday. A triolet is an eight-line poem with ABaAabAB pattern.
Help Going Deep
In order to become complete
I must be seen deep in the Truth
Fear and sorrow attempt to greet
In order to become complete
Appearance on the mercy seat
Rendering my past snafus soothed
In order to become complete
I must be seen deep in the Truth
I have never had to carry things as heavy as Ping describes here, things which refugees throughout history and today have to bear. This poem is heartbreaking and inspires empathy, and hopefully it will inspire me to take action. Please read the rest of her words, along with a lesson plan to teach it, at Poets.org: Teach This Poem: “Things We Carry on the Sea”.
We will be carrying some things home when we leave Bahrain, but chances are good because of our privilege we will fly in a jet across the ocean with a few suitcases of our special possessions to bring home. My May Poem for today is about my present and future homes inspired by Michelle Kogan. I love the words she creates and chooses, as she did on this post (rose-tipped and gypsy-stemmed), this post (cone-wove and beak-fluff), this post (ginger-spice-edged) and this comment (flicker-orange and tee-root). And on today’s post (poppiness and banana boats and strawberry spice). Such sweet words!
Because of Michelle, I wanted to try words with hyphens and also paint my own picture for today. I drew and painted a Kingdom of Bahrain door leading to my “magical” place inspired by the guided imagery on this episode of Art Date with Miss Kate.
When drawing with Kate, I thought of our home in Joshua Tree, California, where we will hopefully move at the end of 2021. Here is my painting and related poem. (I’m not sure if mine is considered an ekphrastic poem because I didn’t really describe the painting, but it surely inspired my words.)
I decided on May 1 to write some #MayPoems, not knowing if I would do it for three days or further into the month. Well, so far I have written and posted each day in May with a different prompt, inspiration, or a response to some treasure I found while reading or observing. This Poetry Friday community has encouraged me and provided nourishment as you have read and commented on some of my May Poems. Thank you.
Here are each day’s posts in one index:
Today’s Poetry Friday roundup is hosted by Michelle Kogan at her blog. Happy birthday and thank you, Michelle!
Journeying
The inspiration for today’s poem is from a quote in the Isolation Journals Prompt #121 (from last December). Of her reason for keeping a notebook, Joan Didion writes, “Remember what it was to be me: that is always the point.”
Anger Cloud
I remember when I was so angry
I saw only darkness–
the light emptied from my eyes.
I refused to back out of an argument;
I had to win it.
Fear had deep roots in me
and it spoke with the voice of
backed-into-a-corner rage.
But then Love knocked
on my door.
It seized me softly,
cradled me solidly,
and held my fear-turned-anger
in the palm of its hand–
a little bit away from me–
so I could get a
different perspective.
Then it blew it gently
into the good wind
and gave me instead
Life.
“Breathe deeply,” Love said.
“I know. I’m here.”
Today’s inspiration came from Margaret Simon’s “This Photo Wants to Be A Poem.” Margaret shared this Instagram photo by Hope Dublin:
View this post on Instagram
Our final rest is
elsewhere, but
among the dandelions
and wanderers
you are welcome,
where lichen
makes its home
on our headstones.
Sit here with them a while.
Read your magic, but also
study their history.
Listen to their hush.
They have stories to tell.
Here are a few slivers of my life on Monday in a variety of zappai, septercets, and hay(na)ku.
Tiny Slivers Timeline
A.M.
6:10
up and doom scrolling
unusual for me these days
too early for this
6:30
enjoyed tea, which my
husband prepared, sat with him
while he ate breakfast
6:55
gave
my husband
a buzz haircut
7:10
watched
the news
too much pain
7:30
Rush to the shower
Oops! Class starts soon! Made it! It’s
7:45
8:25
Made oatmeal on stove
Added mashed banana and
Splashed with almond milk
8:40
Spy the ignored dough I thawed
this morning, I baked cookies
for Keith to deliver soon
9:27
Log in to a Zoom meeting
Shared concepts for a farewell
party for our principal
9:54
Finished the meeting
so I came to start this post
Wrote in #MayPoems
10:40
Duolingo–
used up
all my hearts
11:08
Sliced
ripe peaches
to save them
P.M.
12:03
Leftover
pasta and
peaches for lunch
1:30
Phonics
Think Tank
Report to coordinators
3:00
Nap
with hubby
and everything nice
4:03
Teach
Meet with
many MENA teachers
5:20
More
leftovers for
dinner, cook tomorrow
5:40
Painting
and drawing
for poetry inspiration
6:13
Happy call from Poland, but
Alex learns of Bahrain’s new
Ban, Covid numbers. Can’t come.
7:00
Zoom Bible study
Bent woman made whole and straight
Jesus delighted
8:55
Call
to console
a grieving friend
9:30
Time
to read
awhile before bed
9:32
“Have you seen Glitter Bomber?”
My husband asked. “Mark Roper’s
stopping porch pirates.” We binged.
10:17
Okay
That’s enough
Time for bed
I was inspired by a Slice of Life I read last week on Kathleen Neagle Sokolowsk’s blog. She wrote a poem about a special place as a model for her students. She chose to write about her grandparents’ home on Dianne Street. In addition, I had also just read a prompt post by Christie Wyman about a similar memory poem that ended with “But mostly, I remember…” so I used that, as well. It is amazing how you can be given a gift of memory through the right writing prompt. This day and idea came to the top of my list when I thought about my elementary school. I didn’t as much remember the place as the experience, but I did try to focus a bit on where the memory happened as well.
November 22, 1963
I remember walking down the hallway at Grove Avenue Elementary School on the concrete, smooth and worn. The paint was mostly removed and the surface polished by decades of saddle shoes and loafers padding through the corridors.
I remember arriving at the library with the welcoming smell of old books and happier times. Normally this was the place to sit on the carpet and hear the teacher read us a story of conjuring and castles, of dragons and dreams, of enchanted fishes and wishes granted or denied. One time I even got to sit in the teacher’s chair and turn the pages of the big LP storybook every time Tinker Bell rang her little bell on the record player. Not today though.
I remember Mrs. Leuer leading us into the library with her commanding presence, where wordlessly she told us to sit crisscross applesauce on the floor. Her black soft curls were like Elizabeth Taylor’s.
I remember the sad realization that there was no story today. We sat in front of the big, black box of a television on a stand.
I remember the tears raining down my teacher’s cheeks. She removed her glasses and wiped her eyes while she watched the news on this brisk fall day.
I remember feeling worried, with my fellow kindergarteners, as we looked on in confusion at the adults who should be in control but weren’t.
But mostly I remember learning that Caroline and John-John didn’t have a dad any more.