This is my response to the W3 Challenge this week, which basically is to write a poem and then feed it into http://www.spoonbill.org/n+7/, a site which “replaces the nouns with another one a bit further on in the dictionary. No AI involved.”

So — I wrote a Triolet in response to the vitriol on the news. There’s a HUGE part of me that wishes people — not politicians — could sit at the same table and listen to each other.

A triolet is a poem of eight lines, rhyming abaaabab and so structured that the first line recurs as the fourth and seventh and the second as the eighth.

My original:

I sit across the table from
One whose thoughts veer far from mine
“Tell me, friend — why so glum?”
I sit across the table from
Someone wounded by the scrum
I listen, hear the counterline
I sit across the table from
One whose thoughts veer far from mine

The Spoonbill version (with a few tweaks to make it fit the poem structure)

I sit across the tangle from
One whose times veer far from mob
“Tell me, future — why so glum?”
I sit across the tangle from
Someone wounded by the scrum
I listen, hear about your job
I sit across the tangle from
One whose times veer far from mob

_______________

New word for me, which I think I love because it so suits the situation:
Counterline: A secondary melody that contrasts with the main melody and is played at the same time.

Listen. Really listen. Can you hear both melodies?

“Without a hurt, the heart is hollow”
At 17 my heart o’erflowed–
My boyfriend left (I did not follow)
Lost, alone — I carried the load

A load of grief — weak teenage heart!
But without hope, the heart is heavy
What feels so insurmountable then
Is but a tax that life must levy

Levy, impose, charge, collect
The one-two punch when child leaves home
Without a home, the heart is haggard
We need belonging to find shalom

Ah, Shalom, you’re so elusive
Particularly when life is knotty
It is so humbling to sit in failure
Without humility, the heart is haughty

Still and still and still again
Hurt and hope, home, humility
When life brings sorrow to our heart
We can find strength in our fragility

There was a little girl,
Who had a little curl,
Right in the middle of her forehead
When she was good,
She was very good indeed,
But when she was bad she was horrid.

~~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

She was cute, although
Her favorite word was NO
She shouted it often and loudly
Her mother sat her down
And said, with quite a frown,
“Daughter, you do NOT do me proudly.

“I know this sounds absurd
But could you choose another word
One without such negative implication?
If you can’t do that for me
I’m afraid that you will be
Quite lonely when we leave you for vacation.”

“NO” formed on her lips
As she planted hands on hips
Then she looked to see her mother really meant it
So she took a deep breath in
(And grinned a little grin)
Saying, “I will do my best to prevent it.”

Such an eloquent little girl!
Complete with little curl
Right in the middle of her forehead
She gave up shouting “NO”
And with sweet face quite aglow
She shouted words that were even more horrid

This is my submission for the W3 Challenge this week. Poet of the Week Violet (Congrats, Violet!) gave me the kind of challenge I love — a story poem. However, I did not follow all her guidelines. Here’s what she said:

Tell a story in verse—true or imagined, rooted in memory or invention. Let it unfold in a place you know well or one you’ve only dreamed of.

You can let the voice guiding the poem speak in a dialect—regional, ancestral, invented, or intimate. Let that voice shape the rhythm, grammar, and soul of the piece. Whether it’s Appalachian twang, Mandarin-inflected English, Nigerian Pidgin, or your grandmother’s Russian-accented Hebrew, the dialect is not a flourish—it is the storyteller.

While this use of dialect is optional, it’s highly recommended. Give us a poem that walks and talks in its own shoes.

I DID tell a story. However, I didn’t use a dialect. Trust me, this is good — my original attempt was to write a poem in Pig Latin.

This is my response to the W3 prompt by Leslie Scoble. (Congrats, Leslie!)

The prompt: Write a monologue poem in which a character—historical, fictional, or original—takes center stage. Step into their voice and let them speak. Who are they, and whom are they addressing? Reveal their personality through their words, tone, and actions.

• Set the Scene – Your character must be seated on a bench. It could be a park bench, a courtroom seat, a workbench, or even the dreaded school “naughty bench.”
• Use Subtext – What remains unsaid is just as important as what is spoken. Let hidden emotions or unspoken truths add depth.
• Engage the Audience – Though alone, their words should feel directed at someone or something—whether a specific listener, a memory, or the universe itself. 
• Finish Strong – End with a revelation, a twist, or a lingering thought that leaves an impact.

This is loosely based on some family history of my great-grandfather, Martin Hopkins, who was a Nantucket fisherman who died when his schooner went down in a storm in 1899.

This is the W3 Challenge for this week, given by Anupama, the Poet of the Week.

• Challenge: Reimagine emotions as objects;
  • What if feelings took shape? Anger could be a blade, sharp and biting. Loneliness might be an echo in an empty room;
• Poetic form: Any
• Length: No more than 12 lines

I struggled with this. My first attempt was using the Irish Snam Suad. I put the rules below the poem — and I, of course, didn’t follow all of them. Also, is introvert an emotion or just a state of being?

A closed box
Rarely talks
Readily

Disconcert
-ed by crowds
Too too loud
In a shroud

Introvert

Rules for Snam Suad:

• all lines have 3 syllables with the following rhyme pattern: aabcdddc
• lines four and eight are 3-syllable words, all other lines end in monosyllabic words
• lines two and three share consonance
• lines three and four, six and seven, and four and seven share alliteration
• line seven uses alliteration

Frankly, I was not satisfied with my introvert poem so I tried again with a different Irish form: Deibide baise fri toi and different object-emotion pairing. Water — Peace. It makes sense to me, but I’m not sure I communicated it.

Rules for Deibide baise fri toi:

• The poem and/or stanzas within the poem are quatrains (or 4-line stanzas).
• Rhyme scheme for each stanza is a simple aabb pattern.
• Lines one and two rhyme on a two-syllable word; lines three and four rhyme on a monosyllabic word.
• Line one has three syllables, line two has seven, line three has seven, and line four has one

I met a prattling woman
From her mouth, the words kept a-comin’
Critical talk-talk-talk-talk
Like a hen: bawk-bawk-BAWK
’til I finally exploded and said,
“You realize, don’t you, that you aren’t the only person in this room,
or this organization,
this town,
this country,
or this world,
right?
You need to stop talking.
Stop talking.
Listen.
Take a breath.
Other people have thoughts and feelings.
They may be different than yours but they are just as valid.
The biggest problem right now in this country isn’t
transgender troops or
government waste or
Venezuelan gangs.
It’s that people don’t listen.
They don’t.
They talk over people.
They mock.
They belittle.
They shut down conversations.
They think everything is about them.
Please stop.”

Actually I didn’t say that. But I woke up in the middle of the night wishing I had.

This is my response to this week’s W3 prompt: write an Almost Poem, a poem that’s almost something, but not quite.

Actually, I’m not sure how almost this is. It’s based on my day yesterday. Or a snippet of it.

Congrats to Jaideep, this week’s Poet of the Week. I HIGHLY recommend reading his poem You, Me and the Catastrophe of Love. It’s amazing!