Poetry Project — September, 2025

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I’m in under the wire this month, with a draft of a tritina.

My goal was to write around our theme of the year (conversation) and, in particular, conversation with the planet, which we seem to be forgetting how to do at the moment.

But here’s why it’s a draft. I wanted all three repeating words to be homographs that I could use in different ways as different parts of speech. Land and sound — check. Listen — not so much. I’d like to try this with a different third word. Also, it’s such a heavy lift to make a tritina read naturally and this isn’t there yet.

But it’s mid-morning on Poetry Friday so here goes. Thanks for reading.

We Are
Liz Garton Scanlon

untethered birds, frantic and spinning, looking to land
in the tender cups of trees, to roost safe and sound.
But there’s noise and fire everywhere now: listen.

We are broken rivers, craning our necks to listen
for the distant sea, dragging ourselves over land,
too drained to rush headlong, to babble, to sound

out the way. We are forests and calved ice, the sound
of bats and bees. Why not lean into the wind and listen
to the whole wild song of us as we lift and as we land.

Watch that your boots land soundlessly. Shh. Listen.

 

You can read my pals’ poems here:
Tanita
Tricia
Mary Lee
Sara
Laura

And the wonderful Amy at The Poem Farm is hosting Poetry Friday today.

That’s all for now. Take care, friends.

27 Responses to “Poetry Project — September, 2025”

  1. Tricia

    This is a heck of a draft! This question resonates with me today:
    “Why not lean into the wind and listen
    to the whole wild song of us”
    Why not indeed! Glad you made it.

  2. tanita

    Oooh, this is gorgeous. I resonate with what you SAID about the effort of making these things read naturally, but I disagree: this is there. This is beautiful. Here’s to the whole wild song of us, friend.

    • liz

      Thanks, Tanita. I think it’s that I can still see the machinery under it, y’know?

  3. Tracey Kiff-Judson

    Liz, it feels like a tritina is a bit like weaving cloth. I love how you’ve created a tapestry of with the threads of sound and land that made me pause to listen.

  4. Janice Scully

    I found myself listening and imagining all the sound I have ever heard outside. Interesting images that felt new, like rivers craning their necks. The last line reminds us to walk respectfully. Lovely poem.

  7. Carol Varsalona

    Liz, the way you start your tritina is lovely: “We are/untethered birds, frantic and spinning”…I agree with everyone else that this poem is a masterpiece of thoughts that blend beautifully. I think it goes beyond the status of draft.

  8. Laura Purdie Salas

    “the whole wild song of us”–sigh. I totally forgot about the conversation aspect (again), and I also wanted to use homographs, but failed miserably. And yet, and yet…we draft our way through life, right? Landing boots soundlessly takes practice, takes time.

  9. Rose Cappelli

    “there’s noise and fire everywhere now” – so true. Thank you for the reminder to “listen to the whole wild song of us.”

  10. Mary Lee

    Here’s to “the whole wild song of us,” and to the sacred act of listening.

    Off to lean into the wind and talk to my caterpillars.

  11. Karen Edmisten

    Liz, I hear you on thinking that the words you chose are limiting. (I felt the same way, but my words genuinely *were* limiting. :)) But I respectfully disagree with you about your alleged inability to vary the word “listen.” 🙂 Here’s how it landed with me:

    The first appearance of listen is an imperative, a command. The second is part of our genuine attempt to tune in (as we crane our necks, we’re trying). The third is gentle encouragement (why not lean into the gift?) And the final use of “listen” circles back to an imperative, but feels more inclusive and inviting than commanding.

    Overall, I think it’s a gorgeous draft!

    • liz

      Oh, thanks, Karen. That’s really validating. It’s hard to see when you’re in it, right?

  12. Michelle Kogan

    Gorgeous poem Liz, this line is speaking with me,
    “too drained to rush headlong, to babble, to sound/
    out the way.” Hope we can still lift and land…Thanks for your sensitive call from/for nature and those quiet boots…

  13. Margaret G Simon

    I’ll take a draft like this one any day. The first stanza is swoon worthy. Oh, to be those free birds searching for a landing among the wild fires, the fires of war. I am immediately drawn in to empathize. And your end word is perfect: Listen. We certainly need more listening and less talking. Thanks for sharing.