Category Archives: Poetry

fireworks

Week 4 of Poem-a-day–3 weeks late!

I had five poems left to write, and I stalled. It wasn’t just the poems. It was everything. Lately I’ve been having more trouble than I’d like to admit making time. It’s not just the scarcity of minutes of the day; It’s more than that. This voice has been creeping in, asking me what the hell I think I’m doing working for all these years–for what?! It may have something to do with the fact that my doctor put me on high blood pressure medicine. This knocked me for a loop, because I eat healthy and exercise and avoid processed foods, which means that it is probably stress, which I have to admit I’ve been living off forever. 

This sent me into one of those who do you think are/what makes you think you’re a writer phases. I was giving some advice I needed to another writer Saturday when my own advice smacked me right back–Do you hear yourself, dummy? I was reminding this other writer that we write because we have to, because we love it, because through the act of writing we discover and explore what we think and believe. We strengthen our vision, our empathy, our ability to appreciate the beauty of art and practice. So, on Mother’s Day,I sat in a reclining lawn chair on my front porch and busted out the rest of the poems for April. So, here they are. I hope you’ll write along with me in April 2024!

Keep making time, peeps. Even when you are writing through the muck of doubt and despair. You deserve this. You are enough. 

Day 22

Attunement

Discord happens

while we just get through the days.

A chorus of I-love-yous maybe can’t make up

for the times I focused on the ways you don’t, 

the days you soloed through my loneliness. 

So, I am grateful for moments of attunement,

where we take the time to listen, 

mimic, 

call and response, 

until we’re one instrument for a while. 

Day 23

Staff Picks

Sometimes I go to the bookstore and only

look at the staff picks, 

read the little cards of each.

I love best when they are handwritten, signed. 

Words: 

hope

devastating

lyric

illuminating

It will change you. 

What a peace I feel to be

in a world or people longing

to be changed by books. 

Day 24

Ode to Monday

Sometime around the time

masks started coming off,

I resolved to reframe you. 

To be going back to work and still

beating out the old refrain–”Well, it’s Monday”–

As if Mondays aren’t perfect days

for laughing, falling in love,

breaking the rules. 

Day 25

Summer (Sestina)

So, we’ve arrived, another season of sun–

the ch-ch-ch of sprinklers, time

to play, open the door, 

walk out in wonder,

flow like a river, blue-green.

It’s okay to spin your wheels.

I spent entire summers on wheels

riding the entiere stay of each day’s sun.

I remember you, eyes blue-green, 

the way you mocked time.

Did you ever wonder–

as I did–what was behind that door? 

One summer can be a door.

Fires within fires; wheels within wheels. 

Every day, chasing wonder–

fever-pitch with each returning sun–

believing there will be time. 

Whole day spent listening to one CD, feeling blue-green. 

I had this sun dress, blue-green

that I wore when I walked out the door

knowing, even then, I would not be home on time.

We had wheels!

And even after dark, the sun

glowed with our insistent wonder. 

We made sandwiches out of Wonder–

hah! Took them to the lake, blue-green, 

lounged on towels in the sun,

our hearts–wide open doors.

We would locate a feeling, spin it like a wheel, 

round and round again, frozen in time. 

Summer has its own rules regarding time. 

Hopping from wonder to wonder,

letting loose the wheels.

Heart–aimed at blue-green.

Flinging wide the doors. 

Long days spent half-naked in the sun. 

Day 26

Perspective

A blown dandelion

Tulip that lost it’s petals

One day–a big gorgeous poppy–

the next day gone.

There are many ways I could respond

to the fact of a lifespan.

I choose kisses,

cartwheels, 

favorite songs. 

Day 27

Mother’s Day

I’ve hit the phase of motherhood

where unless disaster is for certain

all I am called to do is 

cheer

from the sidelines

offer humble guidance

and pray.

Day 28

Lilacs

Lilacs brag, fragrant.

Dliecate. Plentiful. Boom! 

Bloom babies, Oh-bloom! 

Day 29

Hot Day

Sweat behind knees, 

no matter how much coffee drank–

on the verge of nap. 

Day 30

Testing Days

Standardize this, man!

Who even still thinks this is

not oppressive AF?! 

Interested in hiring me as a coach to get you boosted with your writing goals?  Find free resources and information here.

Some past posts to keep you making time: 

Adjust your pace accordingly.

It’s about the routine and how you shake up the routine

There are things you will have to give up

See it to achieve it

Washing the dishes

Write slowly

A celebration of the pause

Monday, a run through the driving rain

Zen accident

Get out of your comfort zone

poetry stairs

Poem-a-day Week 3

Had some struggles this week. No prompts were speaking to me. Not a whole lot of breathing room, let alone poem-writing room in a day. Quite a few responsibilities came to bear their full weight. It wasn’t easy, but I got it done and I’m now moving on the Week 3 looking at that light at the end of the tunnel and running for it with my arms up high and a big-ass grin on my face. It’s not too late to join me in writing a poem-a-day this April.

Here are some places you can get prompts:

Writer’s Digest

Kelli Russell Agodon

PSP

Day 15

Staff Yoga Class with Sam

I invited the entire staff

FREE yoga, I cried!

Once my student, now my peer,

you arrived ready to teach.

Though it was time,

no one arrived,

so we sat on our mats

face to face, chatting. We were both

nervous–me, because as my idea

I’d imagined it grand and well-attended.

We would both teach–you one class,

me another. Teachers would set down their ungraded papers,

flock to staff yoga. We were both nervous–

You, because this was your day to teach,

and teaching is still new to you.

There was a moment before someone finally arrived

when I saw our selves like mirrors, each reflecting back to the other.

I saw your earnest smile, the joy behind your eyes.

In that moment, nervousness fled, and I felt

quite suddenly so happy to be so vulnerable and there.

Day 16

“Suffering maims” –Victor Pelerin

About suffering they were never wrong, he wrote.

The human condition.

And yet–no mud, no lotus–

it is true.

When I consider the spectrum of suffering,

I feel deeply grateful that I’ve

endured just enough to have deep roots in the soil,

a tough outer bark,

adornments (leaves) that thrive

and shimmer in the breeze.


Day 17

Prompt: Write a haiku

Leave-cups

Raindrops collect

on the cups of leaves–reserve.

Intelligent nature.

Day 18

Prompt: Write a love poem

It’s easy to lie,

say you’ve entered a new phase–

a more settled, mature phase

no longer achingly desperate,

no longer prioritizing desire over

risk of exposure or embarassment.

It’s easy to lie here,

reading our books in silence,

say this is all I need,

this isn’t boredom

or a failure of communication–

it’s just this age, this phase–

which is sometimes true,

but not always

and it isn’t always easy

to find the language at those times–I need

a codeword. Fire!, perhaps. Or–

hand.

Day 19

Sour

A bit of an acquired taste, I suppose.

Small children tend to hate it.

Perhaps the tongue gets bored,

begins to want something shocking,

pucker-worthy.

Fierce and bright.

Something with equal parts

danger and delight.

Day 20

Maya

We call you bullet.

Fast like a bullet,

but with bounce and grace.

You’re slower these days,

not so bad for an old lady though. Old lady,

who loves

napping in sunbeams

hiding under blankets

walks that happen on time

not stepping out into the rain

silence, kisses, and carpets.

Day 21

Prompt: Write a poem using these six words: bow, lean, park, saw, tear, wound

In upward-bow, I lean,

rock like a saw,

then park on my belly.

Sometimes through a tear in my armor,

a wound escapes and breathes with me a while–

heart open–fearce–about to break,

I heal.

Interested in hiring me as a coach to get you boosted with your writing goals?  Find free resources and information here.

Some past posts to keep you making time: 

Adjust your pace accordingly.

It’s about the routine and how you shake up the routine

There are things you will have to give up

See it to achieve it

Washing the dishes

Write slowly

A celebration of the pause

Monday, a run through the driving rain

Zen accident

Get out of your comfort zone

April Poetry write a poem a day!

Poem.A.Day. Week 2, plus an update on making time

I know, I know. It’s a little crazy to be trying to write one poem a day for the entire month of April, especially when these last few months have been some of the most challenging I’ve seen in years for making time. In the past three months, I’ve had one weekend that wasn’t full of obligations on my time. I’ve got three fiction projects sweetly simmering and begging for attention. But. It’s April. It’s been more than fifteen years since I didn’t make an attempt at poem-a-day. Why?

It brings me joy. It provides a low-stakes opportunity to play with language, form, and concepts. It leads to an entire month spent doing what poetry does best: shining a light on the wonders of our lives, packaging those wonders in a short, concentrated form that can be taken in a short burst of concentration.

Here are the seven poems I wrote last week. Onward to week 3!

Day 8.

“But I was so sad that evening: I understand—as I have understood at different points in my life—that the childhood isolation of fear and loneliness would never leave me. My childhood had been a lockdown.” Elizabeth Strout, Lucy by the Sea

Sometimes for a long time, I forget,

and then I’ll freeze at the sight of her standing there,

just outside the door,

her hands tucked inside long sleeves, downcast eyes,

the me before me.

But, lately, I’ve been inviting her

to meditate with me at my imagined place

on the grass watching the still pond,

wondering at how the wind ripples the surface.

She just showed up one day,

sat down beside me, leaned in.

I put my arm around her shoulders,

whispered so glad you’re here.

Then the light broke through the clouds,

sent a shimmer across the surface.

Day 9.

“Toward the end of July, I had a massive panic attack, and as a result, many things in my life changed; huge changes were made.” Elizabeth Strout, Lucy by the Sea

Be grateful, she said,

as she coaxed us out of savasana

at the end of a practice

that brought me to the edge of possible.

Be grateful, for everything

that has brought you to this moment.

And I thought of how I’d gone to the emergency room,

my roadrunner heart in midair

not just one time, and doesn’t count

the times I decided to die alone.

I thought of how desperation brought me

to the yoga mat, where I began to heal.

Day 10.

“However, as each doll is placed inside a larger doll, over time the light of the innermost doll is forgotten. If you see the entire set of dolls put together, from the outside, you see only one doll—the outer shell. It’s easy to forget but you are so much more than just what you see, that you are the light and that light is radiance, truth, and beauty.” Tracee Stanley, Radiant Rest

A person inside

a person

inside a person—

Russian dolls—

faces to meet the faces.

Inside, a gem

that’s polished up,

ready to shine.

Day 11.

“I know how to work. Rest requires devotion and practice on my part.” Tracee Stanley, Radiant Rest

It’s difficult to unlearn

when you’ve elbow-greased it

for epochs, and entire relationships

rest on the foundation of our doing,

and it is the stuff you’ve made you’ve made

your potluck offerings of since you learned to make rice.

There is so much patterning to unwind

and so many reasons

to recline in this hammock

counting stars to fall asleep.

Day 12.

“Hoping to live days of greater happiness, I forget that days of less happiness are passing by.” –Elizabeth Bishop

I’d like to apologize

to ever Monday I ever shunned,

every day I clock watched my way through

every cloudy sky I didn’t admire.

Hello, sweet sadness.

Let’s sit a while, see if

we can understand each other.

I want to be so angry

the dishes in the cupboard clatter.

I want to let my grief stay long enough

to say all she needs to say,

stay a while in silence.

I’ve wasted too much time

already waiting for the wanderer, happiness.

Day 13.

Prompt: Write a forgive poem.

Come hither, love.

Let me place my hands

where you are holding on

to fear or doubt or hurt or anger.

Give me all the weight.

Let it go.

Yes, even the weight of

my words

my action

my inaction

my misjudgment

misidentification

my limited human imagination.

Forgive me,

I can be so small and unkind.

Day 14.

Prompt: And now for something completely different.

Bee-watching.

Olives on fingers!

Rock-skipping.

Echo making.

Dahlia viewing.

Ocean breathing.

Mmmmmmmm.

Interested in hiring me as a coach to get you boosted with your writing goals?  Find free resources and information here.

Some past posts to keep you making time: 

Adjust your pace accordingly.

It’s about the routine and how you shake up the routine

There are things you will have to give up

See it to achieve it

Washing the dishes

Write slowly

A celebration of the pause

Monday, a run through the driving rain

Zen accident

Get out of your comfort zone

poetry stairs

Poetry month is here! Who is doing the Poem-a-day challenge?

Every year for more than a decade, I’ve been doing the poem-a-day challenge in April. This year is no exception! Will you join me? Share your poems to keep me inspired along the way?

I’ll be posting here by the week, which means I’ll have to save this post in draft and get caught up from the past three days before I publish this post. Do you see that little extra motivation I stacked up for myself? Haha.

I know that a poem a day might seem like a lot, but it doesn’t have to be. I set a timer and give it my best shot. What I write is what I write. I figure if I get at least a few gems by the end of the month, it’s been worth it to me. Most importantly, it’s an opportunity to play with words in a focused, concentrated way.

In the past, I’ve often used prompts, and there are many websites that offer them. I’ll post a few below. This year, I’m trying something different. It came to me when reading Awakening Artemis a few days ago. I came across a quote that rapped so insistently on the door of my heart that I had to use it, so I did. I enjoyed that process so much that I decided to spend this month collecting quotes from what I read to use as the basis for my poems.

Here are some places you can get prompts:

Writer’s Digest

Kelli Russell Agodon

PSP

Here are my poems so far:

Day 1

Sunrise Breakfast at the Yoga Retreat

Woke vulnerable,

reliant on someone else’s schedule,

the fact that someone else

would pour hot water through coffee grounds

so that I could hold that assurance

between two quivering palms.

A plant on the path—

a circle of fronds

in the center a pool of water collected,

a pond where tiny lavender flowers

dared to bloom.

Day 2

Prayer

The clock that is a year ticks toward fifty,

and I release the intense level of care around time

we cultivate when still trying to earn worth

in the adult world.

How many years was I a mother before I felt like one?

How many years a teacher before I believed I had anything in me worth learning?

How many years before I felt like a person worthy of grace in the world?

I see now that belonging is a given

but not a guarantee.

May I keep my hands in dirt,

keep my hands on the keyboard,

keep my hands around our children who are now

trying to earn their worth in the so-called adult world.

May I cultivate grace.

May I cultivate beauty.

May I cultivate a warrior spirit–theirs and mine.

Letting the foundation be there,

in the confident stance,

the resilience and flexibility of breath.

May I be bold enough to love,

in spite of the tendency to see the blemish before the bloom.

Day 3

Sores

Similar to scars,

only temporary.

Like this cold sore

acquired from an early boyfriend,

that sometimes comes out,

never at a convenient time.

A sign of contagion,

our eyes see,

then turn away.

Day 4

“When I listen to my hunger, the wildflowers of my passion and focus can break through pavement to guide me into light.” –Vanessa Chakour, Awakening Artemis

Hunger

I went to the kitchen

with a mission from God

as I understand them,

reflected in a wildflower,

a Whitman poem.

I ate and ate,

never felt full.

I walked one thousand miles

to a pool of enchanted water

I’m still swimming in.

Day 5

“The purpose of art is washing the dust of daily life off our souls.” –Pablo Picasso

Making sense

Woke up to write again

after a pause

and it felt a bit like spring cleaning:

Slowly, carefully washing the windows,

shaking out the carpets,

chasing dust bunnies from corners,

from under the couches and chairs.

I wrote two pages

on the verge of tears

and for the rest of the day

the world made more sense.

Day 6

“By trying to avoid our death our world becomes lifeless.” Vanessa Chakour, Awakening Artemis

What It Means To Be Dying

Okay, I get it. We all do.

Live like you could die tomorrow,

because,

of course,

you could.

Or today!

And still. That’s not a call to recklessness,

but an invitation to go slow, pay attention,

move with care and intention.

There is so much life

in a still pond,

a slow drive,

a full breath.

Day 7

“Walking is how the body measures itself against the earth.” –Rebecca Solnit

I Walked out in a Rage

I walked out in a rage

at you, but also at me,

because I keep finding myself

in this same place so it must mean that some fundamental mechanism

is not attached in me,

in me, in me.

Each foot hits the ground in a rhythm

the breath begins to match,

and though it is raining,

there is a full moon and

the cool water on my face–

earth’s baptism!

I remember then how just yesterday

we slowly ate a pomegranate and agreed

that life is a series of love letters,

including the one I’ll write to you with words in air

when I return to apologize and demand.

book poems

A book of my poems? Why, yes, it is.

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE

Red Dress Press publishes first author-designed book.

Linger, Love. by Liz Shine is a collection of poems written and edited over twenty years. Placed together in this single collection, they present a sort of essay regarding the human heart, its possibilities, and its limits. The poems span childhood to adulthood, address many subjects including identity, relationships, parenting, and divorce.

You can buy the book here

Interested in hiring me as a coach to get you boosted with your writing goals?
Find free resources and information here.
Some past posts to keep you making time: 
Adjust your pace accordingly.
It’s about the routine and how you shake up the routine
There are things you will have to give up
See it to achieve it
Washing the dishes
Write slowly
A celebration of the pause
Monday, a run through the driving rain
Zen accident
Get out of your comfort zone

children

More poetry, please.

Children should read more poetry, and not just the rhyming, humorous kind in the style of Prelutsky or Silverstein, though I love those poems too. I guess what I’m saying is that children should read more for the experience of language and how it effects you without having to puzzle out a central idea, because I think it’s extremely difficult to do the work it takes to makes sense of difficult text if you haven’t already developed an appreciation for how words can pluck away at your senses in endless compositions.

The other day I gave my students the Robert Hass poem “TIme and Materials” to read and respond to. Their response in some cases was strong and surprising. “These aren’t even words!”, one student remarked about how as the poem moves on, letters start to disappear, a trick that if you’re open to the play of language strikes you as brilliant. But, if you’ve come to expect that words follow rules and our primary objective is to understand, the tricks of poets can be maddening.

I had a conversation recently where a friend remarked that she couldn’t believe how much homework there is in first grade these days. It’s true. And have you seen the nature of that homework? Is it any wonder that so often the struggle with our best students as English teachers is they are so concrete? Even when the write about poems or fiction, their default is to say “the writer explains”.

I’m probing the edges of other topics here, finding it difficult not to follow the tangents. I started with “children should read more poetry”, and I’m tempted to say what I really mean is something about the impact of over-testing or global economic terror or the information age, but no, what I really mean is just that. By the time they come to me in high school, poetry is far more strange to them than it should be.

Buy my books here.


daisiesnateliz

Interested in hiring me as a coach to get you boosted with your writing goals?
Find free resources and information here.
Some past posts to keep you making time: 
Adjust your pace accordingly.
It’s about the routine and how you shake up the routine
There are things you will have to give up
See it to achieve it
Washing the dishes
Write slowly
A celebration of the pause
Monday, a run through the driving rain
Zen accident
Get out of your comfort zone

Poem written at a meeting

I find that writing poems during meetings makes it easier to pay attention…

No time for reluctance.
Observe buds about to bloom,
new colors waiting to paint the world
from top to toe, eager
to join in the movement building as the song
of seasons reaches the toe-tapping moment
just before the dance,
the eruption of joy.

Five fruit trees line the walk from home
to the park where my dog has not yet learned
to return the frisbee that sat
on the highest shelf of the closet
all winter, while we leash-walked
in the fading light of fall, then
the moon’s coming out: winter.
1-2-3-4-5.
All of them new-bloomed, white.
When did this happen?
How did I miss it?

Now I’m tapping my toe too and the dog
is running after the frisbee he won’t bring back,
celebrating his catch, his neck straining
to hold the disc higher, higher yet
as he prances round the lawn.
The birds chatter, spurring us on.
I imagine you, love-eyes,
across the dew-wet grass.
The tapping of my foot quickens pace,
seeing you there. A vision.

There was no decision to dance, and the dog
has joined me, dropped the disc
to explore a new curiosity.
Me.

Buy my books here. 

Interested in hiring me as a coach to get you boosted with your writing goals?
Find free resources and information here.
Some past posts to keep you making time: 
Adjust your pace accordingly.
It’s about the routine and how you shake up the routine
There are things you will have to give up
See it to achieve it
Washing the dishes
Write slowly
A celebration of the pause
Monday, a run through the driving rain
Zen accident
Get out of your comfort zone

Today a poem happened.

My students were taking their final and I was reading a book recommended by a friend (Journey of the Heart by John Wellwood) when a poem happened to me.

Linger Love

Whether you and I
observe,
lying in the cool grass of evening–
your leg crossing mine–
my fingers brushing your palm,
the moon will glow.

Whether we take that switchback
trail at dawn, laughing into
the open space our bodies created
around us and between us
under the moon’s light-blanket,
the stream whose flowing sound inspires us now
will play its part in the earth’s concert.

Oh love! Linger here
even when–especially when–
I alone observe the moon,
stroll singular beside the chattering stream.

Buy my books here. 

Interested in hiring me as a coach to get you boosted with your writing goals?
Find free resources and information here.
Some past posts to keep you making time: 
Adjust your pace accordingly.
It’s about the routine and how you shake up the routine
There are things you will have to give up
See it to achieve it
Washing the dishes
Write slowly
A celebration of the pause
Monday, a run through the driving rain
Zen accident
Get out of your comfort zone

Writing poems when I should be grading papers….

In high school, I was the worst student. Couldn’t bring myself to read or do anything that I didn’t feel like doing. Some things never change. Spent an hour this morning writing this poem, when I really ought to have been grading papers.

Thanks Kristina, for the inspiration!

Pecan Pie

Seed pods in the mortar,
I think of the way the word
cardamom
tickles my lips.

Elbow-grinding with a marble pestle,
I pull three cinnamon sticks
from that spice jar we bought in Santa Fe,
and laugh at how we were then:
a short laugh, abruptly ended,
because you’re long gone and that feeling
is worse than dead: Alive, but homeless.

Crust ephemeral, flaky,
of course pecans and
corn syrup and eggs.
i
You critiqued my pecan pie with lke a pro,
and I offered unflinching advice on your barbecue,
because when it comes to cooking–we knew–
Four hands are better than two.

It’s 2 A.M.
I’m baking a fucking pie!
An oft used diversion from prurience.

Sitting on the sun-porch
in the warm midsummer air,
pie in the oven,
I’m thinking that the way we cooked
is also the way to build homes and make love:
Four hands, one heart.

Buy my books here. 

Interested in hiring me as a coach to get you boosted with your writing goals?
Find free resources and information here.
Some past posts to keep you making time: 
Adjust your pace accordingly.
It’s about the routine and how you shake up the routine
There are things you will have to give up
See it to achieve it
Washing the dishes
Write slowly
A celebration of the pause
Monday, a run through the driving rain
Zen accident
Get out of your comfort zone

Birthday Poem

Every year for the last five years, I’ve written a poem to celebrate my birthday. I just can’t think of any better way to express my gratitude for life than writing a poem. My birthday isn’t until Thursday, but Thursday’s poem happened today. It’s a pantoum. Strange, because I don’t tend toward rhyme of form. It just happened that way. A culmination of some loose threads that came together and formed this poem I think. A thought, an image, and a conversation with a friend about the difference between song and poetry.

Be born in breath

There are at least one hundred ways to be born,
not including the first–birth.
Each day begins at break of morn.
And, inevitable, death shadows this earth.

Not including the first–birth,
be born in breath, free-flowing.
Yes, inevitable, death shadows this earth.
But, shadows are born from the light of life loving.

Be born in breath, free-flowing.
Light draws the seed-sprout from its earthy grave, a peony.
But shadows are born from the light of life loving,
just as light pours your shadow, holding my shadow, before me.

Wake with dreams on your tongue. Eat fruit for breakfast.
Each day begins at break of morn.
Peel, slice, let the juice drip to your elbow. Regarding light, don’t fast.
There are at least one hundred ways to be born.

Buy my books here. 

Interested in hiring me as a coach to get you boosted with your writing goals?
Find free resources and information here.
Some past posts to keep you making time: 
Adjust your pace accordingly.
It’s about the routine and how you shake up the routine
There are things you will have to give up
See it to achieve it
Washing the dishes
Write slowly
A celebration of the pause
Monday, a run through the driving rain
Zen accident
Get out of your comfort zone