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no apologies: this is my busy

Busy, not a lie. How am I doing it? How am I getting through these days and weeks? I am keeping myself busy.

poem by brittin oakman

I am teaching my indoor rowing classes. Those feel wonderful. Every class is progress toward my goal of 5 million lifetime meters before I turn 50 next month. I am on track to reach that goal in class next Thursday morning. I have a kinship with my fellow rowers. I feel at home in the gym. I admit that sometimes when the folks there ask "how are you today?", I say I am fine when I am not fine. But it feels very fine to be there, to be in that community. So that part is true. I am busy taking care of my body and spirit.

I make these posts every day. I made a commitment to myself when I launched this website last June 7, the first anniversary of Rader's death, that I would post one thing every day. I understand the world will not come to an end if I fail to do so. But so far, I have. I think about what would help me, or what would help you, or what made-up "holiday" it might be, and I post something. I feel a sense of accomplishment. I am busy putting good things out into the world.

I take care of my plants. Before Rader died, I had three or maybe four houseplants I paid minimal attention to. Now I have dozens I dote over, many of which we received in condolence. We've converted our formal living room (it never functioned as that anyway) into a conservatory, a solarium. My real sun-loving plants have moved out to the deck for the summer. And I'm even growing plants in the ground, since one of my rowers gave me a bag of elephant ear bulbs. Nurturing the plants gives me a place to expend some of my maternal energies. I am busy tending to these vibrant little green lives. They thrive, I thrive.

I am making real progress with the foundation scholarship fund. Our first scholarships will soon be awarded for use this fall. At least a couple of kids like Rader will be able to spend another year at Montessori school instead of in public school. Not all kids find success in the traditional public school environment. Not all families can afford to do something different. I am busy making a difference for creative kids like Rader.

I write every day. I take 10,000 Fitbit steps every day. I do housework. Most days I bake bread. I spend time with friends and family. I read. I'm still a mom. I'm a wife. I'm a daughter and a sister. I am busy.

These days are hard. Grief is not linear, and there is no way out, but I am busy moving through.

Thursday 05.23.19
Posted by Susan Ward
 

stop

It’s time for our fifth (and final) Two for Tuesday prompt of the month! Pick one prompt or use both…your choice! 1. Write a stop poem. 2. Write a don’t stop poem.

Today is the final day of the 2019 April PAD Challenge, but come back tomorrow for the first Wednesday Poetry Prompt of May and stay for Poetic Form Fridays, the next WD Poetic Form Challenge, and so much more! — Robert Lee Brewer, Poetic Asides blog, Writer’s Digest

Stop

Remembering you hurts because
there are no more
new memories

All our times with you are
”remember when …”

And so every one of the
reminiscences,
however light or funny,
casts a shadow

But I can’t stop
(how could I stop remembering you)
because you also
fill me with joy

I still want to feel
all the feelings
open myself up to
their full intensity
even the pain,
loneliness,
devastation

Because it means you lived

tags: aprpad, poetry, stop, don't stop, remembering, feelings, life, grieving process, grief journey, grief
Tuesday 04.30.19
Posted by Susan Ward
 

home again

We are almost there! Get through today, and tomorrow’s the final poem(s) of April!

For today’s prompt, take the phrase “(blank) Again,” replace the blank with a word or phrase, make the new phrase the title of your poem, and then write your poem. Possible titles include: “Here We Go Again,” “On the Road Again,” “Stumped on What to Write Again,” and “Doing the Wrong Thing Again.” — Robert Lee Brewer, Writer’s Digest

Home again

I suppose they call it
”feeling at home”
because that’s the place
you’re supposed to feel that way.

Oh, I do:
safe, comfortable, free.
Almost everywhere I go,
I look forward to coming home again.

I know some people think —
even you, perhaps —
they could not live anymore
in a home in which a loved one died.

To me this home
is not filled with the day of his death
but the year after year after year of life
he lived.

In vain I wish
the comforts of home
had been enough
to make him stay.

They are for me.

tags: aprpad, poetry, home, life, death, comfort
Monday 04.29.19
Posted by Susan Ward
 

the freedom of hope

For today’s prompt, write a remix poem. That is, remix one of your poems from earlier in the month. There are many ways to do this. Turn a free verse poem into a traditional form (using lines from the original poem). Or use erasure to cut down a long poem into a short one. Or expand a short poem into a longer version. Get creative with it. — Robert Lee Brewer, Writer’s Digest

I reread all the poems I’ve written so far this month, hoping one of them would stand out as ready for a remix. Last Tuesday, I wrote one about freedom, and called it “the hope of freedom.”

Yesterday on my social media, I posted links to YouTube videos of recitations of two great poems about hope, because in addition to being National Poetry Month, it’s the National Month of Hope. So my idea is to switch up the title, and write about “the freedom of hope.” Maybe not a genuine remix of the poem, but at least it I remixed the title. I’ll include my original freedom poem at the end.

Hope

Freedom to believe
how things are is not
how they always must be

Is a new dawn,
a new day
alive with possibility

Change could be
for the good
for the better
for the best

Hope survived the worst;
I can face the rest.


Free/not free

Is it possible to be free?
Free of other people’s expectations?
Free from your own judgment of your perceived shortcomings?
Free to do what fills you and avoid what wears you down?

So many self-imposed chains
locked tight.
Easier to submit
than to figure out how
to break loose.
So hard even to see the bonds;
harder still to escape them.

Can you believe enough in freedom
to reach for it?

tags: aprpad, poetry, freedom, hope
Sunday 04.28.19
Posted by Susan Ward
 

on the lake side of the street

For today’s prompt, pick a direction, make that the title of your poem, and then, write your poem. There are so many directions: north, south, up, down, left, right, over, under, etc. But there are also more specific directions like “Across the Way,” “Through the Woods,” and “Beyond the Clearing.” Or give directions like “Clean Your Room,” “Tie Your Shoes,” or “Get Over Here.” — Robert Lee Brewer, Writer’s Digest

On the lake side 

On the lake side of the street
is a little cottage 
where 13 years so far
of our family history have played out 
Following 30 years of another family’s,
and another
Going back to 1948
A retreat, a refuge, for each in turn

You can park your car on the other side
You can go down through to the stone patio
and sit and watch the water
You can imagine whose feet have
walked the hardwood floors
— who laid them board by board
sweat and dirt
building out a vision —
who else has watched the quiet lake

What dreams they dreamed
as it flowed, 
both tide and time

Whose heart has broken 
— and ached 
and begun to heal
to beat again, even vibrantly,
though it would never be the same —
in the span of those seven decades

Of life
on the lake side

tags: aprpad, poetry, lake, loss, heartbreak, healing, retreat, refuge
Saturday 04.27.19
Posted by Susan Ward
 

in which my grief walks a labyrinth

For today’s prompt, write an evening poem. A poem about or during the night. Or take evening a completely different direction and think of evening the score or making things more even (or fair or whatever). — Robert Lee Brewer, Writer’s Digest


Even

As the sun shone bright
I walked a labyrinth
even and slow
Projecting the journey of my bereavement 
on my peregrination,
Here and there the path turning back upon itself
until at last I found its end
But, unicursal, it impelled me
to retrace my way
from that sacred space back into the world. 

It set something loose within me
so at eventide
the tears and lamentations flowed
an outpouring of grief
uncommon, unexpected
And demonstrated to me
the journey may, yes, be slow —
but cannot be described as “even”. 

Was my outburst
a setback?
Or a breakthrough? 

tags: aprpad, poetry, evening, even, labyrinth, grief, setbacks, breakthroughs
Friday 04.26.19
Posted by Susan Ward
 

in exile

For today’s prompt, write an exile poem. Exile is a noun, a verb, and an American rock band from Richmond, Kentucky. A person, animal, or object can be exiled. But people and animals also exile others — or even exile themselves. — Robert Lee Brewer, Writer’s Digest

Exile

I am exiled from communities I once belonged to
My loss erased all commonalities

I have different needs
My senses report anomalous data
I don’t see what others see
I can’t feel what they feel

I stand alone as tides ebb and flow around me

Nowhere feels like home

I speak a strange language now
I have abandoned my old customs
What was familiar is foreign

I seek asylum.

tags: poetry, aprpad, exile, asylum, solitude, grief
Thursday 04.25.19
Posted by Susan Ward
 

no pomp, but circumstance

For today’s prompt, take the phrase “Complete (blank),” replace the blank with a word or phrase, make the new phrase the title of your poem, and then write your poem. Possible titles include: “Complete Best Day I Ever Had,” “Complete Guide to Writing Poems,” “Completely Wrong Way,” and “Completed Set.” — Robert Lee Brewer, Writer’s Digest

Completely incomplete

It’s five or six weeks
until high school graduation,
Class of 2019.

I can’t help but think about —
even dwell on —
what Rader is supposed to be doing right now.

Senior project would be complete.
College applications, complete.
Cap and gown order. Graduation announcements. Summer plans.

First week of June
is the last time we will know
with any confidence
what Rader would have been doing,
if he were still here.

Five or six weeks.
Soon.
Complete.


tags: aprpad, poetry, high school, graduation, Class of 2019, future, grief
Wednesday 04.24.19
Posted by Susan Ward
 

the hope of freedom

Time for our fourth (but not final) Two for Tuesday of the month! Pick one prompt or use both … your choice! Write a free poem. Write a not free poem. Remember: These are just matches meant to spark your creativity; you are free to poem wherever you wish. — Robert Lee Brewer, Writer’s Digest

Free. Not free. All I keep thinking, as I consider freedom, is:

Free/not free

Is it possible to be free?
Free of other people’s expectations?
Free from your own judgment of your perceived shortcomings?
Free to do what fills you and avoid what wears you down?

So many self-imposed chains
locked tight.
Easier to submit
than to figure out how
to break loose.
So hard even to see the bonds;
harder still to escape them.

Can you believe enough in freedom
to reach for it?

tags: aprpad, poetry, free, not free, freedom
Tuesday 04.23.19
Posted by Susan Ward
 

correspondence

For today’s prompt, write a correspondence poem. Maybe write a poem that would fit on a postcard or in a letter. Or write a poem about correspondence school. Or jump into newer forms of correspondence like e-mail or text messaging. Of course, not all correspondence is connected to communicating; sometimes one thing corresponds to another by being similar. — Robert Lee Brewer, Writer’s Digest

Dear —

Who is in charge of answering letters in the afterlife?

To whom it may concern,

First of all, do you exist, some sort of otherworldly administrative assistant? And if you do, does that mean there is a place, as I am able to conceive of the concept of a place, where the essence of a person goes when that person dies?

There was a life, an energy, a soul, a being that was Rader. Did whatever that essence was, did HE, go to something that could be thought of as ‘where’? And if so, what’s it like? The life forces of other people who have died, are they there as well? Other people we might have known? Were there people waiting for him, to help him settle in?

Is there ever any communication back and forth? I know some people here say they receive signs from their loved ones who have gone on. Are those for real? And can you only receive them if you believe in them first? Perhaps that’s my problem. But he’s the one in the supernatural, so maybe he can see and understand me, even though I’m too earthbound to see him.

Please tell him I think I understand, in a way, why he left. And I’m trying to do a lot of good, to the best of my ability, while I’m still here. And I hope against hope against hope that the people who say with such confidence that we’ll see each other again are somehow right about it. That will be the best surprise of my life, or I suppose I mean, my death. Thank you for your time and assistance.

Sincerely,
Susan Ward (Rader’s mom)

tags: aprpad, poetry, correspondence, letter, afterlife
Monday 04.22.19
Posted by Susan Ward
 

the eggs were filled with easter magic

We’re three weeks in today; let’s keep the poeming going. For today’s prompt, write a sketch poem. My initial thought is to write a poem that’s like a sketch of a moment or an object. But you can play around with sketchy people or situations. Or just sketch something else together. — Robert Lee Brewer, Writer’s Digest

Easter egg hunt

Plastic-Easter-Eggs-100-Count-225-Unfilled-Bulk.jpg

We liked to hide Easter eggs
for you two to hunt

We would match the color of each plastic egg
to the flowers in grandmother’s garden
We were masters of camouflage

We’d count the eggs beforehand, dozens of them,
so we would know if you had found them all.
Some years, you didn’t,
and we couldn’t remember where,
until they’d turn up later, by days or weeks.

We didn’t even fill them with candy —
(there was more than enough candy in your baskets).
Sometimes after the finding,
we’d hide them again.
The joy was in the hunt.

tags: aprpad, poetry, Easter eggs, Easter egg hunt, Easter basket, plastic eggs, grandmother's garden, spring flowers
Sunday 04.21.19
Posted by Susan Ward
 

perspective

For today’s prompt, write a dark poem. Cave poems, poems at night, and no electricity poems — these are all appropriate for today’s prompt. Of course, dark has several other connotations as well. An underdog is often known as a dark horse, a villain may have a dark heart, and Batman is known as the Dark Knight. Heck, when I was little, I thought Darth Vader was Dark Vader. — Robert Lee Brewer, Writer’s Digest

Perspective

I get that it feels crushing
when your kid has worked
so hard
to see them passed over for awards
and recognition at the end of high school

But the award I wish
I were seeing presented
would be one that says
”Lived Through It”

[I don’t generally let my dark nature out into the light of day; so much so that I feel the need to write some kind of disclaimer here. What I’ve written above is an accurate reflection of thoughts and feelings I have had. But I don’t believe that a hierarchy of tragedies is helpful. The hardest thing that has ever happened to you is still the hardest thing that has ever happened to you, however it might compare to someone else’s hardest thing. I understand the disappointment of the parents whose kid didn’t get awarded enough of a scholarship to such-and-such U, or didn’t even get accepted. It’s hard to see the future not play out for your child the way you imagined. Not having a future is also hard.]

tags: aprpad, poetry, high school, awards, survival, perspective
Saturday 04.20.19
Posted by Susan Ward
 

license

For today’s prompt, write a license poem. There are many different licenses available to people. Fishing license, driver’s license, license plate, license to kill, and marriage license. Poem doesn’t have to be about the license, but it could mention a license, happen at a licensing office, or well, use your poetic license. — Robert Lee Brewer, Writer’s Digest

I’m taking poetic license today and writing from Rader’s point of view. This one may be disturbing; suicidal thoughts described.

License

It’s been fifteen years and
three hundred fifty-nine days.

Five thousand eight hundred thirty-eight days.
Day follows day follows day,
always the same.

How can I bear another day?

Sixteenth birthday, six days away,
driver’s license within reach,
but I can’t find the will to practice;
everything is exhausting.

Plus there’s nowhere I want to go.
There isn’t anywhere I want to be;
I don’t want to be here.

There is no route by car
to get to a place
where it doesn’t hurt like this
where I don’t feel like this
there is no such place.
There will never be any such place.

What I want is license to let go.


To anyone reading this who is struggling: Rader’s thinking was wrong. Mortally wrong, because depression lies. Life is worth living and does get better. Help of so many kinds is available. If you’re in crisis, please tell someone! You also can call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline, 1-800-273-8255, or click here for their online chat. You can text the Crisis Text Line at 741741. If you have an ongoing battle with suicidal thoughts, make a safety plan that’s easy to put into motion when life starts to get overwhelming. The NotOK App is one you can have right at hand, on your phone, to alert trusted contacts to check on you when you’re in need. There’s no one else like you, and you are so loved. Please stay.

tags: aprpad, poetry, driver's license, suicidal thoughts, point of view
Friday 04.19.19
Posted by Susan Ward
 

little inconceivabilities

For today’s prompt, take the phrase “Little (blank),” replace the blank with a word or phrase, make the new phrase the title of your poem, and then write your poem. Possible titles include: “Little Guy,” “Little Richard,” “Little Mermaid,” “Little Italy,” and “Little Words That Pack a Big Punch.” I think if you think about it for a little bit, you’ll find a big (or little) poem to write. — Robert Lee Brewer, Writer’s Digest

Little known

Little did I know
how far my life would be
from what I had imagined
for myself
and my family

it doesn’t seem foolish
to dream of an ordinary future
to expect the world to be
as it always has been

yet every little thing
is different
I
am different
in a thousand ways

Little did I know


tags: aprpad, poetry, little things, change
Thursday 04.18.19
Posted by Susan Ward
 

for ... reasons

For today’s prompt, write a reason poem. If this prompt seems unreasonable, just remember all the reasons you write poetry or enjoy cooking, dancing, singing, etc. Or provide a reasoned argument for your lack of reason. Only you know your reasons. — Robert Lee Brewer, Writer’s Digest

It’s also National Haiku Poetry Day, so haikus it is! I went to yoga today, so my first one covers some of the reasons I practice yoga.

Yoga makes me feel
strong peaceful balanced content
not confused or sad

poetry takes my
thoughts out of my spinning mind,
puts them in order

I remember you
a hundred times every day.
Doesn’t bring you back

much of what I do
the reason is just to feel
I’m doing something

I bake bread because
it tastes so good and makes my
house smell delicious
(I feel like that one really required no explanation!)

Wednesday 04.17.19
Posted by Susan Ward
 

catch and release

Time for our third Two for Tuesday of the month! Pick one prompt or use both … your choice!

  1. Write a catch poem. Catch a cold, a ball, a fish, or someone’s eye.

  2. Write a release poem. Release your anger, a ball, a fish, or someone’s head (from a head lock while wrestling, of course).

Remember: These are just matches meant to spark your creativity; you can catch and release your fire wherever you wish. —Robert Lee Brewer, Writer’s Digest

Catch and release

Sometimes I catch myself
imagining
the parallel universe
in which Rader right now

hurtles toward high school graduation
six weeks away,
and the life that waits for him
after leaving home

in which we release him
into the wild
and he figures out how to fly

finds his place at college
enjoys his classes and friends
prepares for work, life, love.

He comes home to visit;

he’s just been away.

Just away for a while.

tags: aprpad, poetry, parallel universe, alternate universe, catch and release, imagination
Tuesday 04.16.19
Posted by Susan Ward
 

unpredictability

[Day 15.] Half. Way. There. It’s all downhill from here. For today’s prompt, write a prediction poem. Make a prediction. Write about another person’s correct or incorrect prediction. Or, you know, be unpredictable. — Robert Lee Brewer, Writer’s Digest

Fortunes

[for today’s poem, I found an online fortune cookie message generator. I’m going to let it give me a few fortunes and work from those.]

Love is right around the corner.
Sometimes I feel
as if Rader is right around the corner
just out of sight
’on the other side of the veil’
that we could meet in a dream
or I could conjure him
if I just imagine hard enough.
But memories
are all I can manage.

Seek out a new environment if you’re stuck in a rut.
Change of scenery,
getaway.
Shake things up
go somewhere new.
But remember,
wherever you go,
there you are.
You’re still you.

Move quickly. Now is the time to make progress. (and/or)
Work with your destiny. Stop trying to outrun it.

Speed up!
Or slow down.
Reconsider.
Make another choice.

Don’t rush me!
Maybe now is the time to stand my ground.
There may be hazards
to forging ahead.

Don’t fence me in!
Maybe now is the time to expand my horizons.
It could be dangerous
to stay at a standstill.

There is no safe option,
no guarantee of success.
I have no way of knowing
the outcome of any path.

I deliberate.
The winds of fortune blow.

tags: aprpad, poetry, rhyme, fortune cookies, prediction, fortunes, contradictions
Monday 04.15.19
Posted by Susan Ward
 

on growing up in a small southern town

Two weeks! That’s how much poeming we’re about to complete. Big deal. For today’s prompt, pick a state (or province, territory, etc.), make it the title of your poem, and then, write your poem. A few possibilities include New York, California, Ontario, Bavaria, and Champagne. It goes without saying, but I’ll say it anyway: Feel free to bend this in any direction you wish. — Robert Lee Brewer, Writer’s Digest

North Carolina

I had just turned 11
when we moved from Washington state
to rural northeastern North Carolina
for my dad’s maybe-three-year assignment
in a town that was home to
the world’s largest pulp and paper mill complex
and very little else to speak of

We weren’t from around there
but right away I learned
to say ma’am and sir
and y’all
and found my place
in the Girl Scout troop
and Miss Anne’s dance class

And three years came and went
but we stayed

I lived there again for one short summer
once I left the state for college, but
North Carolina remains my home.
It’s where I’m from.

tags: aprpad, poetry, North Carolina, places, hometown, growing up, rural south
Sunday 04.14.19
Posted by Susan Ward
 

the way i see it

For today’s prompt, write a view poem. Wherever you’re at, you have a view: maybe of a river or sunset. Maybe of a cubicle or a copy machine. Even the blind have a view of darkness, nothingness, or some other -ness. And that’s just being literal, because everyone has views on sports, politics, poetry, etc. — Robert Lee Brewer, Writer's Digest

Harbingers

IMG_0320.JPG

Lake
pitted by raindrops
that also fall, pattering,
on the tin roof

Birds call
and flit by
robins, crows, cardinals
other unseen songbirds

Still-bare trees
almost shimmer
with the verdant haze
of leaves about to burst forth

The rain falls faster
reflections of light like static
across the surface of the water
ripples, circles

A mallard soars past
audible rush of wind and feathers
to make a noisy splashdown
quack, and preen

Now he swims by
all majestic iridescence topside
and busy orange feet underneath
V-shaped wake trailing him, a royal cape

The rain cloud passes,
sun emerges
everything above reflected below

A view I will love all of my life
that I long for when I am away
How this place soothes my soul
All is well, you’ll be well, be still and listen.

tags: aprpad, poetry, lake, rain, nature, birds, mallard duck
Saturday 04.13.19
Posted by Susan Ward
 

the art of holding space

For today’s prompt, take the phrase “The Art of (blank),” replace the blank with a word or phrase, make the new phrase the title of your poem, and then, write your poem. Possible titles include: “The Art of Writing,” “The Art of Painting,” “The Art of Showing Up to Parties Fashionably Late,” and/or “The Art of Being Awesome.” — Robert Lee Brewer, Writer’s Digest

The art of holding space

What even is it, holding space?

[Of course the internet knows.
The first article I looked at had the best definition:
”when you hold space, you are creating
a container for the other person’s emotions
to come up,
be seen without the interference of your own
and be released.“*]

The art is in creating
the metaphorical container
beautiful and functional.
It is a gift,
without obligation.

It says,
”This is for you,
and you may fill it with whatever you wish
or leave it empty.
I’m here,
but for you, not myself.”

Holding space,
you resist the desire
to relieve,
to fix,
to solve,
to advise.

Rather,
simply hear,
reflect,
validate.

The art of holding space
is, in some ways, just
the art of showing up,
stepping in,
saying, by being present,
”your suffering doesn’t scare me;
I am with you.”

* Connor Beaton, “WTF Is Holding Space. (A Man’s Guide)”

Friday 04.12.19
Posted by Susan Ward
 
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