I'm so grateful you decided to offer this space, Kaitlin. I'm often surprised by where I end up when following your prompts, and that definitely happened today. My poem isn't especially warm or celebratory. Instead, it's an honest reflection on where I am at this moment.
A., One of the joy for me for this 10 days is the opportunity to read your wonderful poems, A. Your honesty reaches down into my own depths, and a reminder that sometimes we just come to the table to collapse. to rest, to renew, to weep, to sleep...
I love your honest, yet hopeful words...I am determined to find hope even in the current state of affairs of the world and also find the wherewithal to make change happen!
Oh, I had a feeling yours would be something like this today. You have such a welcoming voice and you never seem to miss an opportunity to raise it for others. I've missed your poems, Larry.
This is beautiful! I thought too about including something about how tables can widen to accommodate more, share more love and reach out to others. And those tables that are barren, devoid of kindness or love. This is a lovely offering. Thank you for sharing it with us here.
Thank you Nicole for your very kind note. I love the way a prompt can manifest in many different ways through the hearts, spirits and minds of this blessed collection of poets and light shiners! I am grateful for your gifts and your sharing of them!
This is very nice Jane. I like the progression of the table going from bare to being filled. I am grateful for your filling the tables with the best of who we are.
This is so very beauifiul, Nicole. It reads for me like a dream, a song, a prayer. The tables and community you nourish and nurture are filled with your spirit.
That is so kind of you. It’s the first thing I’ve put out on the interwebs, and it was a strange feeling to let something out like this. It feels like a mishmash of grace and clunkiness, but it is from the heart. Thank you for receiving it with grace and kindness.
oh this made me cry. Yes to all of it, to the complexity of table and people and family and what it means to show up to one another and to set boundaries and acknowledge what the table is and what it isn't.
Thank you!! ☺️ Good question, in this case with a lot of playing in Microsoft Word! I came up with the first/last two lines initially, and then a couple of the images, and figured out how to string them together in a way that the first half reads more narrative and the second half still makes sense but in a transformed, lyrical way. I definitely think I’m masochistic when I get the urge to write in a strict poetic form, though 😅
I am so looking forward to these ten days. This first prompt is perect for me right now. I am setting out to embody the prompt and see what rises to the table! Thank you Kaitlin!
I'm so grateful you decided to offer this space, Kaitlin. I'm often surprised by where I end up when following your prompts, and that definitely happened today. My poem isn't especially warm or celebratory. Instead, it's an honest reflection on where I am at this moment.
The table is full -
covered and cluttered
by all manner of items
- and yet...
the table is empty.
No one is gathering,
eating,
doing,
being
together, here.
There is so much
in the way,
and I am
so very
tired.
Thank you for sharing your heart here with us, it means so much to me. Holding love and care out to you today.
Lovely words! I feel your weariness and offer hugs of support <3
Thank you, Karri!
A., One of the joy for me for this 10 days is the opportunity to read your wonderful poems, A. Your honesty reaches down into my own depths, and a reminder that sometimes we just come to the table to collapse. to rest, to renew, to weep, to sleep...
Thank you, Larry! I'm so glad to be here with you!
Me too! One day, I hope we all sit around a table, virtual or real, celebrating the poems we all share with one another!
That would be so wonderful.
The Table
The Table
Every month, we come to the table:
Clean, ancient wood we call the welcome table.
A table of grace
A table of hope.
A table of peace.
A table of joy.
A table of love.
Always prepared to make the table bigger
and wider
as we come to understand
all who have been excluded
from these tables
far too long.
In my life,
I have found many tables.
Some of them have been empty,
others have been silent from the weight
of what has, or will, come.
Too many tables with empty places,
the quiet grief from those who have left us.
Oh so many tables where the language
of anger and fear was all
that was spoken.
I dream of a table where isolation turns to community;
Violence dissolves into peace,
rabbit holes become meadows and mountains of light;
Hate suddenly explodes in love;
Wars of heart, mind and body finally are history.
Broken hearts healed inside out.
My tears, our tears, move to quiet laughter,
gathered together, finally, at this table.
beautiful!
Thank you!
I love your honest, yet hopeful words...I am determined to find hope even in the current state of affairs of the world and also find the wherewithal to make change happen!
Thank you Karri. You sure do embody hope and “good trouble” in the world!
Oh, I had a feeling yours would be something like this today. You have such a welcoming voice and you never seem to miss an opportunity to raise it for others. I've missed your poems, Larry.
Thank you A.! And I have missed yours! I am grateful for you!
This is beautiful! I thought too about including something about how tables can widen to accommodate more, share more love and reach out to others. And those tables that are barren, devoid of kindness or love. This is a lovely offering. Thank you for sharing it with us here.
Thank you Nicole for your very kind note. I love the way a prompt can manifest in many different ways through the hearts, spirits and minds of this blessed collection of poets and light shiners! I am grateful for your gifts and your sharing of them!
I am so glad you have created this opportunity - only last week I was telling some friends about May's poetry writing :)
The Table
The table is bare -
waiting, empty, loneliness in physical form
The table is cluttered -
working, busy, daily life in physical form
The table is set -
inviting, hopeful, compassion and hospitality in physical form
The table is filled -
nourishing, joyful, love and connection in physical form
I love a set table - we don't eat at our table nearly enough but I like setting it even for a simple occasion; it feels anticipatory!
This is very nice Jane. I like the progression of the table going from bare to being filled. I am grateful for your filling the tables with the best of who we are.
Thank you :)
Above the Table
Stories are shared and tales are told,
Around the wooden table.
No matter the meal or occasion.
Ordinary days or celebrations.
Memories made linger there,
Long after there are empty chairs.
Laughter and love, discussion and discourse
Remain suspended in the air above its well worn surface
Until such time they are recalled, revisited, relived.
Maybe even around that same worn surface,
Again and again.
Karri Temple Brackett
12/20/23
Very nice Karri’. You nicely evoke the range between full and empty tables. Your nice poem reminded me of a song by the late Glen Frey, “After Hours.”
Thanks for doing this again, Kaitlin!
The Table
Serving tasty food
from the hands of my own labor
around the table
in the presence
of my beloved guests
allows me to feed
their bodies,
but it is my soul
that is truly nourished.
Words of contentment!
Trish, this sounds like the perfect table to be around.
I’m not sure where these words came from; when I took a breath and closed my eyes this came bubbling up.
The table is where the magic of daily life happens-
where we nourish each other as we nourish ourselves.
The table is where life begins and ends and is sustained therein.
Where life is born anew every day, in each of us,
as we take time to be gentler with each other.
Where community and reciprocity meet and greet one another.
Where love is cultivated and grows.
Rebirth over a cup of tea or glass of wine.
Tenderness laid upon a plate.
The gift of our communion,
our shared need for one another
blessed by the simplicity and joy of breaking bread
Together.
What we bring to the table is more than food and drink. It is who we are as people, the drawing near of the heart to
One another.
it's so true! the magic of daily life. I love that!
Very descriptive and lovely poetry!
This is so very beauifiul, Nicole. It reads for me like a dream, a song, a prayer. The tables and community you nourish and nurture are filled with your spirit.
That is so kind of you. It’s the first thing I’ve put out on the interwebs, and it was a strange feeling to let something out like this. It feels like a mishmash of grace and clunkiness, but it is from the heart. Thank you for receiving it with grace and kindness.
It was Thanksgiving at the table,
and we walked in,
my son and I, and your
head jerked up, and you
spoke the first words you’ve uttered
since those angry texts.
Now you were eager to talk,
elated to claim that “there is no room,”
which didn’t seem right
when I tallied the chairs,
but what’s the use in tallying?
I’ve never wanted this fight.
So we walked back out,
my son and I, and we
sat on the couch and
made tables of our laps,
and I replay that moment sometimes,
the sting of it and
the wondering why, but also
the warmth of my child
and the plate on my lap
and the knowing
that my heart is a table,
and there is plenty of room -
even for you.
oh this made me cry. Yes to all of it, to the complexity of table and people and family and what it means to show up to one another and to set boundaries and acknowledge what the table is and what it isn't.
Well you just said everything so perfectly in a single sentence! Now I feel like my poem is horribly inefficient. 😂
An object:
Meant to bring us together
Joining us in celebration, in joy
It held us there for a moment
Round and smooth
Nudging us with one purpose
To bring us together
Becoming a square with sharp edges
We’re at right angles
Each on our own side, divided
Unable to breach the gap
Four lives, separate without purpose
The table is unadorned this year. Last year, the table and the house were decked out In Christmas finery.
The table is unadorned this year.
Not because of great tragedy or deep grief.
The table is unadorned this year.
The meh, born of weariness, is in the air here.
Weariness of the unrelenting bad news in the world.
The table is unadorned this year.
Perhaps it is as it should be. Stripped of its Christmas splendor, it reflects Gaza and other places where there is no splendor, only war.
I sit and pray at the table that remains unadorned. I pray for peace, for remembering the One who came to a stable that was also unadorned.
Come to the table, Emmanuel.
I just sit, most all the time.
All by myself. In my own room.
Quiet.
dark.
Cold.
An overpriced hunk of
once majestic oak,
now reduced to patiently wait
for the few, very few, too few
opportunities to pop in my leaf
and shore up the fruit of the spirit.
and feel majestic once again.
It's my cross to bear.
this is so good, Chuck, and so full of imagery and emotion. thank you!
😊
glad for this special space you make for us.
Thank you.
What a thoughtful poem of yearning. Hoping to meet you at the table one day, my friend.
Ah Chuck, your words make me feel the neglect I have inflicted on my own table! And want to put it to use more often.
Thanks for this prompt 💜 I wrote a palindrome poem:
“No Transubstantiation”
This is the living sacrament
I believe in: earth transforming
sun, soil, and water
into crusty bread, broth under winter-cracked
hands. Kindred voices shapeshift
into old songs, fog our humble stained-
glass suncatcher. Come to the table, soften
this early dark: a candle, borderless as
the generous loving self. One breath renders
heart into
earth,
hearth into
hearth into
earth,
heart into
the generous loving self. One breath renders
this early dark a candle borderless as
glass. Suncatcher, come to the table, soften
into old songs, fog. Our humble-stained
hands, kindred voices shapeshift
into crusty bread, broth under winter-cracked
sun, soil, and water.
I believe in earth. Transforming:
this is the living sacrament.
yes yes yes. this is gorgeous, thank you!
Whoa, I am inspired and awed! How do you do start and finish a palindromic poem?
Thank you!! ☺️ Good question, in this case with a lot of playing in Microsoft Word! I came up with the first/last two lines initially, and then a couple of the images, and figured out how to string them together in a way that the first half reads more narrative and the second half still makes sense but in a transformed, lyrical way. I definitely think I’m masochistic when I get the urge to write in a strict poetic form, though 😅
This is so so cool. I love it!
I am so looking forward to these ten days. This first prompt is perect for me right now. I am setting out to embody the prompt and see what rises to the table! Thank you Kaitlin!
There are piles on the table:
Papers, pencils and yesterday's mail
A garland of cards hangs above, on a sunny yellow wall
And tonight to mark the solstice
I string dried orange slices between cranberries
One slice, three berries, one slice, three berries
Now it hangs in the kitchen window.
My table is a desk
My table is a mess
Of my own making
So I am taking the time to put away the pencils
The papers, and place a tablecloth of red and white checks
No picnic fabric this is
More like winter: poinsettia and snow
Welcoming a new season, a stilling, a space
To sit and share
The last series of a poem a day was very meaningful to me, glad to be here again.
This morning at the table,
The candle lighter lit no more.
The candles in the Advent candle,
Diminish in size, after being lit so often.
This evening at the table,
I eat the last of the nut-free pesto,
Made in summer by a local farm,
I scrape the container for every last bit.
I am hanging on to the remnants of this year,
Yet striving to let go of fears of next year.