Oh, I love both of these! And two poems! You over achiever, you. The oral surgery one made me wince, remembering the pain of a misdiagnosed abscess a few years ago. One of the few times in my life I have been so acutely aware of when the pain killer starts to kick in. Thanks so much for being here and participating so whole heartedly. 🤗
Thank you Tara. And your poem made my heart ache, I have elderly grandparents and lately it seems very important that they tell all their stories! Your poem is filled with love.
I went with two directions--what the line made me think of, and then trying your method with the beginning words.
.
“And the day is loud with voices speaking”
.
We always planned my oral surgeries for a Friday morning
followed by hours of sedated living, not awake
but not asleep, the pain moderated more by ice
switched every twenty minutes, the nails hammered
into the roof of my mouth easing out as the meds took hold
then hammered back in with a pound pound pound
the minute meds ended.
The room wasn’t just dark, but blue
the underneath of the ocean pushing
the ink of octopi, the scrape of coral
as I fought to rise to the surface.
.
.
Unrequited crushes crushed me
.
“And” was always how I started my poems when I was in junior high
the drama flaring from my skin like a pheromone all its own
days spent mooning about one boy for months or maybe years.
.
Is it sad to look back at that self, all the time wasted, all the tears
loudly pouring down my cheeks, in my heart, writing diary entries
with no end in sight about those feelings? Yes. I heard his
.
voice even when he wasn’t around, always looking up when I heard a boy
speaking, even when it wasn’t him. It was never him, anyway, just
the idea of him.
Oh, I love both of these! And two poems! You over achiever, you. The oral surgery one made me wince, remembering the pain of a misdiagnosed abscess a few years ago. One of the few times in my life I have been so acutely aware of when the pain killer starts to kick in. Thanks so much for being here and participating so whole heartedly. 🤗
Thank you, Tara. It’s been a rough week and it felt good to just sit down and write as fast as I could.
I love your poem 💛. I found myself thinking about it so much yesterday.
I love both of these! But especially the end of the first and the undersea feeling, I can feel the blue!
"The room wasn’t just dark, but blue
the underneath of the ocean pushing
the ink of octopi, the scrape of coral
as I fought to rise to the surface."
Thank you, Melanie! It’s so weird how I remember the room as being blue because there was nothing making it blue…
Here is a first pass. It sort of feels like the middle of a poem. I wonder what it’s about. =)
and no matter the hour
the air howls through these rooms
day and evening, this granite house
is unsettled
loud with boots in the street
with creaks on the floorboards
voices rising in the stairwell
speaking quarry language, igneous elegies
Fantastic! I love the sense of some ongoing action - the wind, the creaking. Thanks for sharing.
It took a while. I guess I had to sit with it and let it germinate in the dark. But tonight, finally, something opened up.
'And the day is loud with voices speaking'
But I cannot hear what they are saying. So much noise filling my ears.
Or I can hear what they are saying, but they are unimportant.
They are drowning the Voice.
Blizzard voices
snow voices
tree voices
wind voices
voices of the departed birds
voices of the withered crabapples
voices of the unpruned bushes
voices of the unharvested seeds
voices of the irises I didn't cut
of the roses I didn't pluck
voices of the seeds unsown
of the tools left to rust
voices of the broken shovels
voices of blisters
voices of headaches
voices of panic and fear
of hurt wrists
voices of laundry unwashed
undried
unfolded
voices of dirty floors
and dirty counters
and dirty dishes
voices of words unwritten
voices of words that should never have been said
voices of regret
voices of hope
voices of love
voices asking, demanding
voices telling, berating
voices pleading
and then the one voice I do not heed
the voice of silence
whispering peace
whispering joy
the still small voice
within and beneath and beyond
all the other voices
I love the way this becomes a kind of litany of loss. Really powerful. Thanks for sharing!
Oh! I hadn't thought of it as a litany of loss, but I like that. Thank you.
It’s lunchtime in my classroom.
Our little school has no cafeteria
So children eat, crumbs and grease,
In the same desks that
Hold all their book learning.
-
I check my notifications and
See the new prompt is out,
"And the day is loud with voices speaking"
I smile to myself because
This is so exacting of the moment.
-
Teenagers discussing how they could build
An outdoor hockey rink they could keep
For more than our coldest three weeks allows,
Debating the best lunch to bring to school,
Someone seems adamant about ham sandwiches.
-
Pulling out the Bible memory work paper,
Envisioning it shorter and more memorize-able.
Suddenly a pun war breaks out and
Conscientious objectors sit back with silent appreciation
While pun soldiers, loaded with brain ammo, aim and fire.
-
A gift, this day, loud with voices speaking.
This is great. I love the idea that the prompt and the place you were when you read it got together to help you make a poem. Magic!
Thank you Tara. And your poem made my heart ache, I have elderly grandparents and lately it seems very important that they tell all their stories! Your poem is filled with love.
Your poem Memory tears at the heart especially for anyone who has watched the progression of a dementia close at hand. Very well written.
Thank you, Darlene. I’m sorry you have the experience with dementia to make this feel familiar.
My mother and mother in law both.
“memory is a country lost in time”—that may be one of the most beautiful lines I’ve ever read. Your poem is heartbreaking and so rich.
Oh, what a lovely thing to say. Thank you, LeeAnn. 🤗
"Speaking to one who no longer knows her mother tongue
and looks at you like a visitor from another world"
How beautiful and heartbreaking.
Oh my goodness. This is so gorgeous, Tara. So beautiful and so sad.