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Poetry Prompt: What Grows From Bright Darkness

By Callie Feyen 14 Comments

Ann Arbor, along with the greater Detroit area, is under a winter weather advisory as I write this post. The forecast doesn’t look too treacherous — maybe an inch of snow — but from the room where I write the world outside tells a different story. A strong wind pushes bare tree branches against my house. It seems to press at the window, and the window squeaks in response. The wind somersaults, and I imagine it’s delighted in its wild rumpus.

I love the juxtaposition of dark, fierce, snowy and crystal-cold January with the shiny, exuberant, inspiring, new adventures and hopes people declare when the year is new. This opposition is how I think change should feel. The week prior to this one my family and I were in Raleigh, North Carolina, and it was 70 degrees and sunny. I refuse to complain about days like that, but it seems to me that beginnings ought to be dark and cold. I think they need the teasing, playful wind and the stark beauty of bare tree branches that have the strength to wait for what will grow.

I’ve been listening to Gregory Alan Isakov’s “3 a.m.” song during these new, dark days. It’s a sad, wandering song, but that’s why I like it. I think in order to begin there must be a letting go, and that can make for some sad, confusing times. Most dreams and hopes don’t have a direct route; they tend to send us meandering and exploring.

“Give me darkness when I’m dreaming,” Isakov sings, and I think that sums up how I want my beginning to feel like.

The wind has stopped, and I no longer see my reflection in the window but a light gray morning. Plump snowflakes fall. I hope more than an inch of snow comes down today. I hope this part of the word is layered in bright darkness, so we sit with that strong opposite and see what can grow from there.

Try It

This week take note of the sounds, smells, sights, tastes, and touches of January. Consider your hopes and dreams for the new year. See if you can put those hopes and dreams in a poem together with the bright darkness of January.

Featured Poem

Thanks to everyone who participated in last week’s poetry prompt. Here’s one from Will Willingham that we enjoyed.

But the fall of a peanut butter sandwich—
open face down!—softness striking cold
plank with a muffled thwack
that belies the deafening chorus
of kindergarten souls suspended
in time asked again to relive
the grief of comfort spread
upon comfort absorbed
into substrate for all time,
anything but quiet.

Photo by Maja Dumat, Creative Commons, via Flickr. Post by Callie Feyen.

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Callie Feyen
Callie Feyen
Callie Feyen likes Converse tennis shoes and colorful high heels, reading the poetry of Gerard Manley Hopkins, and the Twilight series. Her favorite outfit has always been a well-worn pair of jeans and a white T-shirt, but she wants hoop skirts with loads of tulle to come back into style. Her favorite line from literature comes from Sharon Creech’s Absolutely Normal Chaos: “I don’t know who I am yet. I’m still waiting to find out.” Feyen has served as the At-Risk Literacy Specialist in the Ypsilanti Public Schools and is the author of Twirl: my life with stories, writing & clothes and The Teacher Diaries: Romeo and Juliet.
Callie Feyen
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Filed Under: A Book of Beginnings, article, Blog, Poems, poetry, poetry prompt, poetry teaching resources, Poets, writer's group resources, writing prompts

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About Callie Feyen

Callie Feyen likes Converse tennis shoes and colorful high heels, reading the poetry of Gerard Manley Hopkins, and the Twilight series. Her favorite outfit has always been a well-worn pair of jeans and a white T-shirt, but she wants hoop skirts with loads of tulle to come back into style. Her favorite line from literature comes from Sharon Creech’s Absolutely Normal Chaos: “I don’t know who I am yet. I’m still waiting to find out.” Feyen has served as the At-Risk Literacy Specialist in the Ypsilanti Public Schools and is the author of Twirl: my life with stories, writing & clothes and The Teacher Diaries: Romeo and Juliet.

Comments

  1. Richard Maxson says

    January 14, 2020 at 9:41 am

    And Yet

    the burned hollow trunk
    is filled with sky

    grass catching wind
    to make a voice

    how pine needles hold
    ice like a secret

    revealed by sunlight
    in drops of water

    that rise
    like a silent prayer

    to a cloud singular and small
    refusing to fall

    Reply
    • Sandra Heska King says

      January 14, 2020 at 11:02 am

      I keep reading through this. I can see it, smell it, hear it, feel it. Printing it out.

      Reply
    • Donna Falcone says

      January 16, 2020 at 9:38 am

      Wow Richard… that line about voice is palpable to me.

      Reply
    • Richard Maxson says

      January 19, 2020 at 1:07 pm

      Thanks Sandra and Donna

      Reply
  2. Sandra Heska King says

    January 14, 2020 at 10:54 am

    Hard Prune

    Several weeks ago
    I took my unsullied loppers
    and mutilated our unwieldy hibiscus.
    Chopped it five feet to one,
    its trunk to two dry nubs.
    I didn’t know if it would live or die.
    Apparently you’re not supposed
    to do this in the winter.
    But this is the land of
    perpetual summer.
    Today I noted bursts of green.
    Perhaps it will bloom pink again.
    Perhaps there is still hope.

    Reply
    • Richard Maxson says

      January 15, 2020 at 11:53 pm

      “Hard Prune” indeed! Your poem brings to our attention that life persists, and it does so beyond our understanding. I hope your hibiscus are beautiful this coming year.

      .

      Reply
      • Sandra Heska King says

        January 16, 2020 at 1:57 pm

        Me, too. I was afraid to cut it, but it had become so gangly. I can maybe hope it will come back more full and fruitful? Or flowerful? We could all use a little bit of hard pruning sometimes. 🙂

        Reply
    • Donna Falcone says

      January 16, 2020 at 9:41 am

      I’m relating to the ambiguity of seasons here…. while we do get chillier than you, our winter is never like our old winters…. and so, those bursts of green…. helping you trust your now…. helping solidify the various shades of rules in the garden…. that’s what I see. That’s what I relate to.

      Reply
      • Sandra Heska King says

        January 16, 2020 at 2:00 pm

        Our winters are definitely not like our old ones, either. No matter the season, though, there’s always some green hope.

        Reply
  3. Donna Falcone says

    January 14, 2020 at 4:29 pm

    I love the image of the wind being delighted in its wild rumpus! Suddenly, there is Max, King of All Wild Things! And it is good. 🙂

    Winter’s nights
    arrive too soon,
    but her chill
    plays hide and seek
    between tall pines that
    never change their wardrobe
    with the seasons.

    She calls out
    “Ollie Oxen Free
    You’ll have to hold still
    If you want to catch me.”

    Reply
    • Sandra Heska King says

      January 16, 2020 at 2:04 pm

      “tall pines that never change their wardrobe”

      I love that line.

      I’m glad we don’t have to deal with winter wardrobes any more. I don’t miss dealing with boot and scarf and hat and glove clutter.

      Reply
      • Donna Falcone says

        January 16, 2020 at 2:08 pm

        Me neither!

        Reply
      • Richard Maxson says

        January 19, 2020 at 1:06 pm

        I also like the “tall pines that never change their wardrobe” line. Here in Texas I’ve been able to grow broccoli, Brussels sprouts and spinach, which is still going strong in January.

        In northern winters I did not like slush, especially when it got dirty. I kinda liked snow except when you had to act normal as if it wasn’t there…getting to work on time…walking to school (which not many do these days) we did it uphill both ways , of course…:)

        Reply
        • Donna Falcone says

          January 19, 2020 at 3:49 pm

          Ha ha! My uncle used to say that!

          Reply

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