Writers' Circle: "Love + Longing" Recap + poetry prompts

We were once again blown away with the packed out gallery and such vulnerable, beautiful love poems. It was great to hear so many people sharing. Thank you, everyone, for supporting us and each other. Special thanks to Essine for the deliciously rich hot cocoa and Isobel for the yummy chocolate cake! These were perfect treats for our love celebration. We always appreciate when there are snacks and drinks to share.

Since this is the IVLC first official blog recapping the latest writers' circle, I will also give a rundown of the flow for a typical session for anybody that hasn't been and is interested in what that looks likes. We usually settle in to the gallery with a piece from another writer to read aloud. Whether it is a particular line, phrase, word, theme...it can be helpful to utilize as a jumping off point. We also encourage to let your mind wander to whatever feels good. Don't feel pressure to write poetry-it could be a reflection piece, it could be prose, it could have nothing to do with what we read! We take the next 10-15 minutes to focus on writing creatively.

Our first poetry prompt was "my president" by Danez Smith. This powerful piece set the tone for the evening, inspiring a range of responses from the participants.

---

my president

today, i elect jonathan, eleven & already making roads out of water

young genius, blog writer, lil community activist, curls tight

as pinky swears, black as my nation i trust the world in his tender

blooming hands, i trust him to tell us which rivers are safe to drink

& which hold fish like a promise

& i elect eve ewing, who i know would ms. frizzle the country

into one big classroom where grandmas finger paint

the national budget & uncles stand around smoking blacks

plotting on stars for our escape she could walk to the podium

at her inauguration & say, the future is now, & we’d all marvel

at the sun & moon looping the sky like a gif as the cars learned

to fly & our skin grew bulletproof

& colin kaepernick is my president, who kneels on the air

bent toward a branch, throwing apples down to the children & vets

& rihanna is my president, walking out of global summits

with wine glass in hand, our taxes returned in gold

to dust our faces into coins

& my mama is my president, her grace stunts

on amazing, brown hands breaking brown bread over

mouths of the hungry until there are none unfed

& my grandma is my president & her cabinet is her cabinet

cause she knows to trust what the pan knows

how the skillet wins the war

& the man i saw high kicking his way down the river?

he is my president

& the trans girl making songs in her closet, spinning the dark

into a booming dress? she too is my president

& shonda rhimes is my president

& nate marshall is my president

& trina is my president

& the boys outside walgreens selling candy

for a possibly fictional basketball team are my presidents

& the bus driver who stops after you yell wait! only twice

is my pres

& the dude at the pizza spot who will give you a free slice

if you are down to wait for him to finish the day’s fourth prayer

is my president

& my auntie, only a few months clean, but clean

she is my president

& my neighbor who holds the door open when my arms

are full of laundry is my president

& every head nod is my president

& every child singing summer with a red sweet tongue is my president

& the birds

& the cooks

& the single moms especially

& the weed dealers

& the teachers

& the meter maid who lets you slide

& the cab drivers who stop

& the nurse’s swollen feet

& the braider’s exhausted hands

& the bartender

& beyoncé

& all her kids

& the rabbi

& the sad girls

& the leather daddy who always stops to say good morning

& the boy crying on the train & the sudden abuela who rubs his back

& the uncle who offers him water & the drag queen who begins to hum

o my presidents!

my presidents!

my presidents!

my presidents!

show me to our nation

my only border is my body

i sing your names

sing your names

your names

my mighty anthem

---

After sharing their pieces, participants reflected on the different types of love that emerged. Whether it was honoring a writer you admire by writing an 'after' poem or crafting a comic love poem, the diversity of expressions was remarkable. There were some anti-love poems, love for an object pieces, and proclamations of self love. The atmosphere was electric, filled with heartfelt poems and the warmth of shared experiences.

It is key when writing about love or sex or all the intimate and intricate spaces in between, to not give in to cliche. Be honest and vulnerable, even if that means it is not the Hallmark kind of love. There are so many unique ways to look at love that have nothing to do with romantics.

Shari read aloud "Baseball in the Living Room" by Deborah Harding Albritain.

---

Baseball in the Living Room

Through the yellow roses on the coffee table 

I peer at the ball game, tired of Whitman, tired 

of wanting to be great. 

“Holy cow,” roars the announcer, 

“walk him walk him,” Dad hollers, 

my parents planted in their twin recliners, suited up 

in silk pajamas — and when it’s Miller time Dad 

limps to the kitchen with his bad hip, there’s the chink 

of spoon and glass as he mixes the nightly dose of meta-mucil — 

Mom turns to me with that sigh of surrender: 

“since the surgery,” she says, 

“all he wants to do is watch baseball.” 

Five to three. Top of the eighth. 

Leary pitching. 

“Who do you think our pin-up boy’s gonna be this year?” 

jokes one of the guys — and I stare at these beauties, 

the hard butts, the kind 

you want to sink your nails into.

The first baseman slides one hand 

over his hip, wets his bottom lip — 

I think he wants me 

then the black one leans over the plate 

ready to swing — he means business, that look 

you want to see when a man’s 

on top of you — these men in their prime, 

I’d take any one of them 

right now on this couch — Dad snoring, 

I should go to bed, finish The Body Electric, sleep... 

Gonzales fouls one, 

spits a stream of tobacco, a thick gold chain ribs 

his neck like a rein, wild eyes 

dark as river stone —

Mom’s drifting now, her head makes little bobs 

before she catches it 

somewhere in a field of consciousness. 

Berryhill slams it to third, the crowd 

leaps to their feet — everyone’s going nuts, 

the full moon, my bare legs, the ball low and outside.

---

After this steamy and silly piece was shared, we started our second poetry prompt that leads into a longer prompt session. Our second poetry prompt was "O Small Sad Ecstasty of Love" by Anne Carson.

---

O Small Sad Ecstasty of Love

I like being with you all night with closed eyes.

What luck—

here you are

coming

along the stars!

I did a road trip

all over my mind and heart

and

there you were

kneeling by the road

side

with your little toolkit

fixing something.

Give me a world,

you have taken the world I was.

---

The chapters we referred to and shared with the group were "As Soon as These Blossoms Open" and "Bodies Flaring in the Moonlight" from In the Palm of Your Hand: The Poet's Portable workshop (Second Edition) by Steve Kowit for a deeper dive into love and longing. There are a surplus of poetry examples and digestible breakdowns of why the poems work as well prompt ideas like anti-romantic, nonsexual longing, unadulterated passion, aubades, first times, love for a friend, family member, students, an object, and so much more to work with. Highly recommend getting this book for writing inspiration.