Thank you Joy!!! Your writing class from before has inspired me so, and this was a beautiful refresher. Here's one from recently that has your elements! Here it is:
The Reassurance of A Mosquito
I tell them to stick together.
To watch out for each other
To listen to the eldest.
They nod, glance at the window,
the door,
the sun,
then back at me.
Who knows if they will listen?
From the window I watch them leave.
Swinging ponytailed. Lithe Limbed. One scarlet sequined hijab.
All they have to do: run up the hill, one stop sign, then two. A left. Then freedom. The park.
It’s just an hour.
Still my shoulders scrunch up an inch.
What do they know about the world and its dangers?
What could they possibly know?
I take comfort in the fact that the three girls are together. Did you know only female mosquitoes bite?
I think Tiny Tenders are the best thing I've learned from you. Not because of how they improve my writing (even though they do), but because of how they've changed the way I look at the world. 💓
I get comments from people a lot about how I look at the world, the things I'm noticing that they aren't. Poetry can be contagious when we name the tiny tenders <3
Your "Instructions for Traveling West" collection is inspirational and life-changing, and I'm so glad to have found you on Substack. I viewed the master class and came up with:
he glowed
from the outside as the morning sun breeched the snow-topped mountains
he glowed
from the inside as he turned full-face away from stealing cereal
he glowed
both outside and in- falling face first onto the cushions he had pushed from the sofa
This was just EXCELLENT! Truly excellent! So many inspirations to take away from this. Just the other day I wrote a poem that began with, "I heard a divorce lawyer say..." So I giggled to myself. I will definitely incorporate these elements into my poetry. Thank you!
I loved these exercises - thank you for sharing them Joy!! I was rolling up my yoga mat after class yesterday and saw some purple stains on the bottom of my mat from fallen mullberries. These tiny purple stains transported me. A tiny tender that reminded me of my old backyard 2000 miles away last summer before the tree was cut down. I was still thinking about those tender little stains as I was falling asleep so I sat up in bed and wrote this down:
Sinking into sleep I puzzle at why
the dried mulberry blood splotches
on the bottom of my yoga mat remind me
of mud under my childhood fingernails-
both remnants of nature's whimsy?
As my eyelashes gently brush the threshold
between consciousness and release
my limbs tingle with memories of childhood
mudpies under grandma's mulberry tree
Stretching my legs long in cotton sheets
only to find my dry wintered heels catching
in the soft white abyss
Is this the adult equivalent of drawing
with cheap rose art crayons
that scritch and scratch as they stretch
across the papery white abyss of childhood?
The jarring little pricks
are like identical hiccups of electricity
slicing through tree rings
of hardened growth
Somewhere inside this tired supine woman
is there still a little artist with scratchy pictures spilling out
Thank you for this, Joy. This is the first poem I've written in years, and that is something. I'm on Week 2 of The Artist's Way and giving myself permission to make "bad" art since, to me, that's better than not making anything at all.
Thank you for this wonderful and generous offering, Joy.
I've only just played around with the first lesson and from it came this:
My son walked in and froze.
There's literally a cricket on your bed.
Did you know, I said,
crickets bring luck.
I went to get a jar.
I liked luck sitting on my bed
But maybe it preferred outside-
the place my daughter says
smells like home.
This was so fun, thank you! Here’s my lil ditty.
Angels peel oranges
on the new quartz.
Espresso brews,
the open fridge ding ding dings
toast burns
a hundred fresh crumbs gather on
the half-gone tile.
While I sweat and spin,
those angels giggle and blaze-
Hallelujahing their perpetual song…
Mom, mom, mom!
I love this
https://open.substack.com/pub/reemfaruqi/p/reassurance-of-a-mosquito?utm_source=share&utm_medium=android&r=jd3ii
Thank you Joy!!! Your writing class from before has inspired me so, and this was a beautiful refresher. Here's one from recently that has your elements! Here it is:
The Reassurance of A Mosquito
I tell them to stick together.
To watch out for each other
To listen to the eldest.
They nod, glance at the window,
the door,
the sun,
then back at me.
Who knows if they will listen?
From the window I watch them leave.
Swinging ponytailed. Lithe Limbed. One scarlet sequined hijab.
All they have to do: run up the hill, one stop sign, then two. A left. Then freedom. The park.
It’s just an hour.
Still my shoulders scrunch up an inch.
What do they know about the world and its dangers?
What could they possibly know?
I take comfort in the fact that the three girls are together. Did you know only female mosquitoes bite?
This was an excellent lesson, thank you so much! This is what I came away with:
My chocolate pointer rubs her face with her paws everyday
I lay there thinking about the sweetness of death
Grief gurgling and sputtering inside me
Her soft face and fat paws create static
Reminding me of electricity
Pinging around in my brain
Waiting for a new pathway
She grunts with satisfaction
Like humans do when they get a good itch
Or when strong hands rub my shoulders
Did you know that in a human’s life, you could have half a dozen dogs
All that love oozing out of you
Falling apart like a crumbling building
But in a dog’s life, they usually only get one human if they’re lucky
Once I heard that dogs know how long you’ve been gone by how much of your smell is left in the air
Telling time through scent
Their wet snouts wiggling in the air
Waiting for us to come back and open up the day for them
Wagging their whole bodies, like a deep inhale after being held underwater for too long
I think Tiny Tenders are the best thing I've learned from you. Not because of how they improve my writing (even though they do), but because of how they've changed the way I look at the world. 💓
I get comments from people a lot about how I look at the world, the things I'm noticing that they aren't. Poetry can be contagious when we name the tiny tenders <3
Even the quiet space between us
carries a low hum, a hidden spring.
My mind followed the paths of your thoughts,
while your desire was simply to be close.
The glass door closed, the gate now locked.
Inside, light painted you with gold.
Your sorrow resonated clearly,
Echoing louder as I walked away.
This love of mine, a wasp on hot concrete.
Sentenced to a husk and marked for the sun,
its wings beating against the ghost
of one more merciful breeze.
Joy what an absolute gift. Thank you so much for sharing your wisdom with us. I can’t wait to dive in fully 💛
Your "Instructions for Traveling West" collection is inspirational and life-changing, and I'm so glad to have found you on Substack. I viewed the master class and came up with:
he glowed
from the outside as the morning sun breeched the snow-topped mountains
he glowed
from the inside as he turned full-face away from stealing cereal
he glowed
both outside and in- falling face first onto the cushions he had pushed from the sofa
shrieking with joy
This was just EXCELLENT! Truly excellent! So many inspirations to take away from this. Just the other day I wrote a poem that began with, "I heard a divorce lawyer say..." So I giggled to myself. I will definitely incorporate these elements into my poetry. Thank you!
Thank you. Can't wait to dive in. ❤️
Excited to hear what you think. xxxx
Wow, wow, wow. Thank you, Joy.
I cannot wait to jump in. ✨
I loved these exercises - thank you for sharing them Joy!! I was rolling up my yoga mat after class yesterday and saw some purple stains on the bottom of my mat from fallen mullberries. These tiny purple stains transported me. A tiny tender that reminded me of my old backyard 2000 miles away last summer before the tree was cut down. I was still thinking about those tender little stains as I was falling asleep so I sat up in bed and wrote this down:
Sinking into sleep I puzzle at why
the dried mulberry blood splotches
on the bottom of my yoga mat remind me
of mud under my childhood fingernails-
both remnants of nature's whimsy?
As my eyelashes gently brush the threshold
between consciousness and release
my limbs tingle with memories of childhood
mudpies under grandma's mulberry tree
Stretching my legs long in cotton sheets
only to find my dry wintered heels catching
in the soft white abyss
Is this the adult equivalent of drawing
with cheap rose art crayons
that scritch and scratch as they stretch
across the papery white abyss of childhood?
The jarring little pricks
are like identical hiccups of electricity
slicing through tree rings
of hardened growth
Somewhere inside this tired supine woman
is there still a little artist with scratchy pictures spilling out
of her uncalloused hands?
Loved the master class, Joy!
Here's my little practice poem.
Green sleeves wipe her cheeks.
“You've done this too”? She whispers
Hopeful I have some answers.
Grief like morning tongue
Swollen in my mouth
Waiting to be scraped clean.
Heartache, his children's toys
clasped warmly in cold hands.
Widow to widow I lie.
Soul-wrenching!
Thank you for this, Joy. This is the first poem I've written in years, and that is something. I'm on Week 2 of The Artist's Way and giving myself permission to make "bad" art since, to me, that's better than not making anything at all.
Antlers
Yesterday I saw a buck in the
middle of our country road
stock still
as if made of sandstone
They’re more elusive than does
someone told me recently—
their tangle of antlers an easy target for
eager trappers
A heavy crown they won’t shed until
hunting season’s over
Come spring, they’ll fall to the forest floor
with a gentle thud
new growth already budding at the temples
like the wild ramps underfoot
I wonder if he’ll feel lighter after
I wonder what I might shed to feel lighter, too
What an amazing masterclass - thanks Joy! Here's my poem:
Vapour
My daughter's face is close to mine.
Laughter, laced with just-awake silliness
hangs in the air,
like a thousand little rainbow prisms.
"Let's keep laughing" she says,
but what she means is
why can't you let the weights you carry
fall off more often.
For now we find
joy in the belonging,
here in the hazy winter morning.
Like vapour in the cold winter air,
we stay bunched together,
to be seen.
Known.
Until the proximity is too much,
and we slowly dissipate
into the sky.