#day2of28 #poetryproject #time
2-2-22
#day2of28 #poetryproject #time
Sacrifice
Day 1 of 28 days of poetry for the month of February. The theme this month is TIME. Today, I used the model poem’s final words on each line as the opening lines of my poem.
April 2nd: A Bop Poem “No One Knows”
No One Knows
No hot water anywhere in the school
And the soap we don’t bring ourselves
A diluted, suds-less, skin-drying potion
No red “stand here” circles or blue taped lines
To give little humans six feet of safe distancing
No way to believe in this “Safe Return to Schools”
No one knows what no one knows.
Families informed that their children will be safe
Teachers advised to get fully vaccinated
and work 15 extra hours to prepare for a safe return
Union agreed to place desks six feet apart
But desks were placed THREE feet apart in rooms packed for summer
Desk shields back-ordered for staff only
My school has no plan for before or after school care
And one grab-n-go meal will be a child’s only meal for six hours
No one knows what no one knows.
It’s not about learning loss when so many are gaining
It’s not about social skills if the silenced are now seen and heard
It’s not about students not receiving what they need
It’s about wanting to return to buildings
It’s about teaching and learning in storage spaces
It’s never been about valuing knowledge.
No one knows what no one knows.
It’s National Poetry Month!
Prompt for April 1st: Rosamond S. King writes poetry using a form called “Shadow Poem.” This form asks you to write a shadow poem of a previously written poem. Today, I offered this prompt to my writers’ community. I suggested they write about shadows or try writing a new poem from one they’ve already written.
My poem below was originally written as an acrostic “ABUSEDWOMAN.” I divorced the form and found a shadow poem within that gives the original poem a deeper meaning.
In the Shadow of Abuse
After the Blood
dried Unseen by the world
She hid herself in pretty boxes
and colorful Envelopes
to give her dark Destruction
a secret Way Out.
Out from the Mirrors in her eyes
showing silent Agony
broken into Neat piles
of suffering.
Transitions
Today’s Prompt was a picture of a sculpture in the snowy woods. I focused on the slow process of death.
Transitions
She begins transitioning
From life to death
The process creeps
Like a slow morphine drip
Sentences shorten
To phrases
Phrases to mumbles
Mumbles to silence
Movement loses fluidity
Like a toddler’s first steps
No muscles pulling and pushing
Only bruised flaccid flesh
Until lying in a bed is all
Her dying body can do
In silence and waiting
For her soul to rise, free.
Hands I Miss
Today’s Prompt: What thoughts do you have about hands?
Hands I Miss
Zoom’s hand-raise feature
No substitute for dirty pink palms
For the bobbing up and down
In the middle of my lesson
Zoom’s hand-raise feature
Some use it sparingly, like salt
Others keep it up constantly
Like my pressure after lunch
Zoom’s hand-raise feature
No substitute for sweaty smudgy skin
Or the open hand in the camera
Or a sweet voice saying, “Ooo, ooo!!”
To the Beat of Unity
Prompt: Write a poem about bodies dancing. I watched a clip of Gregory Hines from White Knights to inspire my poem. I used the form “abacadaba” also known as the Magic 9 poem.
To the Beat of Unity
Grooving to the same song inside
Arms and legs sync tight and smooth
One clap, one tap, glide
One sound, two bodies in love
Come, world let music be your guide
Reflecting each other in unison
Stomp out hate, the pulse of your pride
Let spirit rhythms heal and soothe
America, rise up, let’s dance outside
February’s Poetry Challenge!
For the month of February, I participated in a challenge to write a poem each day related to the theme of Bodies. I am grateful to Laura Shovan for creating the space to write with other poets, be inspired by each other, and to be encouraged to write every day! For the sake of time, I will post my poems and a simple description of that day’s prompt.
Memories of Mondays
Memories of Mondays
On Monday’s Chili Night
We’d drive down the hill
From our house to Nana’s
For a delectable family dinner
And bellies brimming with love
Five long miles later
Her old wooden door ajar for air and us
Enough to let the spices pique
We knew
It was a two-bowl night
A two-tortillas-and-cheese-on-top night
Some added Tabasco and black pepper
Nana’s Chili, always just right to me
Scooting up close to the table
My chin parked on the doily mat
All that good stuff
Nana’s family spread
Her “good bowls and plates”
Rolled up napkins because she’s fancy
Punch bowl ladle we couldn’t touch
Because our hands were wreckless
Mommie and Nana side by side
My sister and I eye to eye
Stepdad and cousin head the table
We’d eat
And laugh and talk
Joke about what Nana forgot to make this time
The cornbread or the salad
We would serve up round two
We’d eat again
And laugh and talk
I’d watch and remember
And make Chili Beans on a Monday night
Thirty years later
All The Things Left Behind
All The Things Left Behind
We saw their mail
Piling on the table by the door
Like if it didn’t
Make it into the living room
It wouldn’t have life
We knew he couldn’t manage
Living in empty rooms
Where memories floated
On dust particles caught
On sun rays
That never touched his skin again
We waited for that day
Like waiting for the elevator light to blink
And doors opening
To pour people
All over us
Because the piles spoke
Behind gluey seals
On certified warnings
That people were coming
To lock the doors forever
They gave him two days
To pack 40 years
Without enough boxes
Or back strength
We called our crews
Our village of warriors
Who moved fast
With fury and frustration
Until every car and truck
Filled to capacity
They made sure we didn’t leave anything
Important behind
Like my mother’s jewelry and coins
Her letters from our father
Her photo albums of us, them
Her artwork, statues, and ashtrays
Crystal punch bowls and the abacus
From our father’s many faraway trips
But what about the cement handprint
And our initials in the backyard tree
And the hopscotch painting out back
And holiday boxes in the garage
And the smell of the Christmas tree
Or the burning embers
In the fireplace
What about the splashing sounds
From summers in the pool
Music playing in earbuds
While sunbathing and daydreaming
And all the poems I wrote
In notebooks
In the backs of binders
That hid from hands and hearts
Other than mine
All left behind.
© Stacey L. Joy