We Wordle #23


Hey Red Wolf community:

We did a cool thing. Nicole prompted us to write a collaborative poem and WE DAMN WELL DID IT!! Hooray. It’s not crap either. It confirms for me that you guys have the heart and soul of living poets.

You know, it’s like what Christopher said. Musicians get together and each play their instrument and voila, we’re making music. Or in this case, poetry. It’s more like the process of it is so cool. Know what I mean. I know you do.

In the interest of economy, I am selecting one word each from the participant poets.

Barbara: blues
Irene: birds
Viv: chestnut
Rosalyn: shining
Nicole: monsoon
Debi: fluty
Jules: peacock
Marilyn: trills
Jennifer: ping
Christopher: blends
Donald: rocks
Rick: lungs
Abby: swallow

I was reading Nicole’s blog post where she talked about being called a “poet of excess…packing my poems with image and detail, putting in everything but the proverbial kitchen sink.” Poetry is a rhapsody, a long jazz blues number. How to not let a poem contain everything? I used to be so in love with that idea. I still am. That’s why I fear haiku like the plague. Yet contained within the long poem are moments and each moment can contain everything. How, you ask? Or I ask. Because poetry is so concentrated, so attentive. That’s why it can “hold Infinity in the palm of your hand / And Eternity in an hour” (William Blake, “Auguries of Innocence”).

My friends were talking about grief this week. How grief becomes a part of us, never really leaves. How it traces our heart like veins that pump it in and out. How we come to grief in so many aspects of our lives. Every time a chapter closes, there is spiritual death. Grief. How do we hold our grief but in a moment of crying inside a toilet? How do we hold our grief but in fragments of remembering? How do we hold it but in lighting a candle or joss stick? And then there’s poetry:

How invisibly
it changes color
in this world,
the flower
of the human heart.

There is an icy undercurrent of grief in a few lines. Concealed. Pouring blues. So our color changes. So our heart changes. So we change, are changed.

A poem including wholeness in a brief glimpse.

Speaking of which I am pleased to announce that Sabra Bowers will be one of the Reds, hosting prompts for our site in the coming months, along with Barbara, Marilyn and I. I noticed that Sabra’s blog title has the tagline “Writing for Wholeness”. Is that a coincidence or what? Her blog’s titled “Later, Miss Slater”. Maybe Miss Slater is her alter ego? You can read her bio in the “About” page. Welcome on board, Sabra!

And dear Nicole who’s embarked on her MFA studies, we wish her well. I trust she will still check in on us. Nicole, my co-administrator, has been a pioneering member of our team and has always been such a terrific supporter. Tawnya, my other co-administrator, is also starting graduate school this Fall. Is this a conspiracy or what? Stick around, gals!


30 thoughts on “We Wordle #23

  1. Pingback: RWP: Elfje series : waiting for relief | Jules Longer Strands of Gems

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  4. aloha Irene and all.
    my response with the We Wordle words:

    Post Title: Morning Clatter
    Haibun Title: Morning Chaff


    and this fyi: my response is indeed very much a current snap shot of my summer. and one of the reasons i’ve been so sparingly here. fun, in that it becomes fodder for fun in this case too. aloha. rick

    • and a btw. WOW. what an awesome version of Little Red Riding Hood by Sam the Sham & The Pharaohs. Amanda Seyfried makes it completely her own. i’m going to have to listen to that more than once. . . . fun. aloha.

      • ha. yes a bit too happening at times. thank you for the welcome returning. i’m finding i’m not quite as returned as i’d hoped to be. however. . . . it’s life that way. i’ll just have to keep working on it. it’s fun that way too. aloha.

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  9. Pingback: Swallow The Blues | Puff Of Smoke Poems

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