Writing poetry from art ignites creativity and helps you become a better writer. Join Maureen Doallas in this Image-ine exercise based on “Jumprope, Pink Room, ” a painting by Lisa Hess Hesselgrave.
__________________
Learning to Jump Rope
A whale will not sing for your rescue.
A porpoise will not swim by your side.
You are where you don’t belong.
You must not be alone.
Your wrists will begin to ache
at a quarter to three,
your mouth be dry as the sawdust
that fills the guts of your Babydoll.
You must know you are not
in hot water,
though at eight your mother
will draw your bath and rub aloe
into your pinked skin and promise
to put away that jumprope
for another day.
Kids can be so mean.
__________________
Write a poem of your own based on Lisa’s image “Jumprope, Pink Room, ” or choose a line from Maureen’s poem as a starting place. Post on your blog and link to us (we love that), or just drop your poems here in the comment box.
This is the third in a series of Image-ine Poetry posts based on Lisa Hess Hesselgrave‘s paintings.
Related:
See the first Image-ine Poetry post in this series.
See the second Image-ine Poetry post in this series.
See the third Image-ine Poetry post in this series.
See the fourth Image-ine Poetry post in this series.
Explore other Image-ine Poetry exercises.
Painting: “Jumprope, Pink Room” (oil on canvas) by Lisa Hess Hesselgrave. Used with permission. Poem by Maureen Doallas, author of Neruda’s Memoirs: Poems.
__________________
Looking for more poetry teaching resources?
Browse our full collection of poetry teaching tools, from writing books and prompts to literary field trips and poetry infographics.
- Persecuted Poets: Hearing the Voices Beyond Our Borders - November 30, 2016
- Writing with Matisse in Mind - October 26, 2016
- Healing with Poetry: Interview with Fred Foote (Part 3) - September 10, 2015
Elizabeth W. Marshall says
Maureen, this quiets me and causes me to remember. But breathlessness leaves me with few words. Hauntingly beautiful.
Maureen Doallas says
Thank you for your kind words, Elizabeth.
Lisa’s artworks offer up some many narrative possibilities. They are a rich vein to mine.
Richard Maxson says
Very beautiful, Maureen. The contrast of the beginning and the ending is subtle and foreboding.
Maureen Doallas says
Thank you, Richard.
Donna says
Haunting… yes, Elizabeth that’s a perfect word. Haunting image to begin with, joined by more images painted by the poem. Really beautiful, Maureen.
Maureen Doallas says
Thank you for the generous words, Donna.
Elizabeth W. Marshall says
Trappings
There was a time when words
Were stuck
No direct route from heart to pen
All the words were already
Spoken for
Trapped inside
You can hold a monopoly on words
If you wield enough power
Over your young
But one day the finger moves away from the
Hole
In the dam
Breaks free
And you are heard
Your wild and wooly screams
From your room
The colors of
Newly released from the womb
Awash in new birth
Like the wail of a seconds old
Slippery wet one
Welcome to the world
We are listening
You are heard
Speak now, your peace
For Pete’s sake
Child, we are listening
To you now
Freed from your trappings of
Fragile
Wealth
The party has begun
Happy Birthday to you
You may come out of your
Room
But please
Use your inside voice with us.
Richard Maxson says
Elizabeth, I love your poems and style. The passage of time in this one works wonderfully. You capture that childhood dilemma of knowing when or if to speak. Your perceptions remind me so much of Sharon Olds.
Donna says
What a journey this is!
These words struck me and stayed with me, all the way to the inside voice…
“All the words were already
Spoken for”
Maureen Doallas says
Your poem makes an unexpected turn at “The colors….” Nice setup to the remainder of the poem. I like “Your wild and wooly screams” (quite a contrast in imagery created by using wooly and screams together) and your use of “For Pete’s sake” and “Use your inside voice with us” (how many parents I can remember saying that!), which also contrasts nicely with your poem’s noisy beginnings.
Elizabeth W. Marshall says
Maureen thank you for taking the time to give feedback and impressions. Grateful.
Richard, wow what a generous comparison. Surely unmerited. I researched the poet a little. Wow again. I believe she may be an atheist. I am a Christian. I hope my faith will shine through more one day in my poems.
Donna, It is so very helpful to hear what resonates. What phrases give pause. I am exceedingly appreciative for the comments from the three of you.
xo,
ewm
Richard Maxson says
Child
A child is a mystery,
like the light of stars—
the dream
we try to capture, even as it seems
to pass like the quickening scent
of Spring blows by.
Strange flower budding in the dark,
sweet and bitter tear,
learning to hide, stem of wishes
waiting to come true.
We cannot save you
from this gravity,
from such wonder, laced with pain—child,
fire of promise, burning in the rain.
Richard Maxson says
I meant to remove the comma after tear.
Maureen Doallas says
Lovely, Richard. I especially like “Strange flower budding in the dark/sweet and bitter tear / learning to hide”.
Donna says
“We cannot save you
from this gravity”
Richard, these words popped out at me – they are so powerful.
Elizabeth W. Marshall says
Richard this poem is filled with beauty. I love where you took the prompt. Such dichotomy drawn between the hopefulness and disappointments, fragility and strength. The imagery here: tears, rain, fire, light, dark, sweet, gravity….so much earthy goodness. Thank you. I so enjoy your poetry too.
Marcy Terwilliger says
Maureen, you are my dark horse, beauty yet you come on strong like one that needs to still be tamed. Elizabeth, you are soft, your words could hold a child and keep it safe. Richard, wisdom & understanding with a touch of softness sprinkled on the top. I love this mix of poet’s and your words. When I saw the piece of Art, this coming from an art student, designer, painter and poetry want-a-be, I was thrilled with the color “Pink.” So I wrote “Pink” 1/13 The simple wonders of pink, how they take our breath away…A soft baby pink blanket, cool pink sheets on the clothes line on a sunny day…a pot of Gerber Daisies or a rosebud about to open, a linen dress in light pink with shoes to match…Flower girls throwing pink petals on green grass…Your favorite shade of pink lipstick that still leaves smudges on men’s white collars…that cancer pen you wear each October…Easter eggs in pink with bunny ears too…That pink rose sky at the end of the day…a little kittens tongue…the pink balloon you gave now sailing to the moon…little girls room dressed up in high gloss pink, along with a net tutu that sparkles with her dancing shoes…The simple wonders of the color pink, I think I covered most don’t you think?
Maureen Doallas says
Marcy, thank you.
And all that pink is its own inspiration. This remix of some of your own words is for you:
Pink Beauty
for Marcy
Pink is cool, my favorite
shade of Gerber daisies
edging sheets of grass
soft as a baby’s blanket.
On a sunny day, I dress
in linen and high gloss,
pink to match the pink
to take men’s breath away.
Mother worries I’m a rose
bud too young to open.
She doesn’t know I leave
pink smudges on poets’
white collars. I don’t explain
I go sailing to the moon
every time I toy with pink
wonders. With the right touch
I can net a night of dancing
in a pair of sparkly shoes,
or stay in my room and let
the color pink rise to my
cheeks. I mark a dark day
with a pink pen, dream
of throwing eggs into a pot
to have Easter in October.
A painter want-to-be, once
thinking to come on strong,
dressed up in pink bunny ears
but then whined like a kitten
when I deflated his balloon.
I wasn’t thrilled to see it
tangled in the clothes
line. Besides, it wasn’t pink.
Marcy Terwilliger says
Oh Maureen, you captured the “Pink” and made it so beautiful. Can you see the smile on my face?
Maureen Doallas says
So pleased you like it, Marcy.
annell says
Maureen Doallas in this Image-ine exercise based on “Jumprope, Pink Room,” a painting by Lisa Hess Hesselgrave.
Jumprope was Made for Jumpin’
Pink the color of my heart
The inside of my mouth
The color of my love
The two of us
Alone on that dusty
Southern
Summer afternoon
Grew tired of the
Dollhouse in pink
Read the news
Put down our dolls
We coiled a rope
In the form of a snake
We tied a knot
We bundled games
We burned the ends
Could do anything
We liked
We learned the chant
We learned to jump
Maureen Doallas says
Annell,
Nice alliteration and cadence. I like that image of the rope coiled like the snake (I can imagine your poem arranged like a coil), ready to strike. I especially like your play on meaning; there’s more going on in this poem than a first read might reveal.
Alexandra Caselle says
Here is my response to Maureen’s poem using one of her lines.
I really like this concept of writing poetry about art.
Alexandra
http://rheteffects.wordpress.com/2014/06/04/when-art-poets-have-a-conversation-poetry/
L. L. Barkat says
What a great idea, Alexandra. Thanks for sharing 🙂
Violet Nesdoly says
Hi Maureen,
I took your FB challenge this morning. My poem, inspired by a couple of lines from yours, is here: http://wp.me/pC77F-wB