The Poetry Sisters’ prompt this month was to write an etheree, a relatively straightforward ten-line poem, with each line growing by a syllable, so that the first line has just one syllable and the tenth line has ten. That’s it! Fun, right? And hugely accessible for poets of all ages and experience.
(As an aside, I really love this form. I once became so enamored of it that I composed an entire, relentless chapter book out of etherees that, shockingly, did not sell. I did share a single etheree as part of the Thanku anthology that published several years ago, and I talked about that in this video I shared with students during early pandemic lock-down days.)
OK, back to our current prompt. Not just an etheree, but an etheree that somehow touches on transformation, the word we’re using as our overarching theme for the year. And, you might remember that I’m drilling down within that theme in order to explore various scientific processes. (So far I’ve looked at melt and oxidize.)
This month, as snow begins to melt all over the country and the squishy ground opens up to spring, I decided to write about decomposition. Which, I’m slightly horrified to say, made me think about true crime. So welcome to the place where mycelium meets My Favorite Murder, or something like that. The mind is a curious thing…
DECOMPOSE/decompose/verb
Liz Garton Scanlon
March
(melting)
putrefies
and disappears
winter’s evidence,
breaking forensic clues
down into strands of secrets,
covert carriers of what’s next.
Never mind everyone’s reaction,
just consume each story along the way.
You’ll find more etherees here:
Sara
Laura
Tanita
Tricia
Mary Lee
Kelly
and Poetry Friday is being hosted by our own Mary Lee at (A)nother Year of Reading.
If you’d like to write along with us next month, we intend to write poems “In the Style of” Pablo Neruda. Do with that what you will!
For me, decomposition ranks right up there with photosynthesis as two of the most amazing miracles of nature. To make life from death, and to make life from sun and air and rain…this planet is never ceases to amaze! Love those “strands of secrets!”
Well, you’ve sold me on the wonders of decomposition, haha. Who knew it was so mysteriously beautiful (well, Mary Lee did.) Your ending made me laugh, too—never thought of composting/decaying/decomposing as “consuming stories” but YES. This is brilliant, Liz.
What an odd and eerily appealing juxtaposition–decomposing and stories. But we compose stories and poems, so it actually makes perfect sense. Thanks for a fresh view at a rotting topic–hehe!
I like the way this starts with your basic melting and very quickly becomes something much more powerful and mysterious…”strands of secrets,
covert carriers of what’s next.” Happy NPM, Liz!
ooooh…that unexpected word, “putrefies.” It’s all so true and the necessary decay that leads to spring. Love it!
Such powerful word choices, Liz! I like thinking of March consuming winter and paving the way for what’s next. Thank you!
Along with other wonderful lines, I love “covert carriers of what’s next.”, Liz. And in addition to kids’ book & poetry, I read mysteries, know that some of the “detectives” would smile at “strands of secrets”, their delight! I like reading that you’re researching various scientific processes, great learning.
“…strands of secrets,
covert carriers…”
You captured the hidden work of winter-into-spring
🙂
You packed lots into those ten lines–wonderful transformation and uplifts at the end too, thanks Liz!