Category: Your Turn

  • What YOU’RE writing (July 2025)


    Writing Prompt:

    Summertime Poem

    This month I want to offer a bit of a challenge, and perhaps a break from the typical reflective journal writing. Many of us do not claim to be poetry writers, either because we do not love reading poetry or we admit that writing poetry feels to difficult and “scares” us.

    But I’m going to make it easy today to write a poem about summer. Begin by creating a brainstorming list of ways your senses experience summer (colors, sounds, sights, textures, etc.). Write as many ideas as you can.

    If you’re ready to begin writing or typing those ideas into order, be my guest! If you want to turn this into a fun, experimental activity, write each idea from your brain storm list on a small slip of paper. Then find a large enough area to spread all of the ideas out and begin arranging them in order. Feel free to move ideas around or combining them.

    Below I’ve offered three mentor poems for your inspiration.

    1. Warm Summer Sun

    by Mark Twain

    Warm summer sun,
    Shine kindly here,
    Warm southern wind,
    Blow softly here.
    Green sod above,
    Lie light, lie light.
    Good night, dear heart,
    Good night, good night.

    2. Midsummer, Tobago

    by Derek Walcott

    Broad sun-stoned beaches.

    White heat.
    A green river.

    A bridge,
    scorched yellow palms

    from the summer-sleeping house
    drowsing through August.

    Days I have held,
    days I have lost,

    days that outgrow, like daughters,
    my harbouring arms.

    3. A Recipe for Summer

    by Mary Dow Brine

    What is summer made of?
    Of opening buds and flowers;
    Of sunshine and of shadow,
    And gracious little showers,
    Of birds that in the tree-tops
    Sing sweetly all the day;
    Of buttercups and daisies,
    And breath of new-mown hay. Of butterflies that hover
    O’er every fragrant rose;
    Of bees that gather honey
    Where the honeysuckle grows.
    Of brooks that murmur softly,
    And thro’ the meadows glide:
    Of shadows shifting gently
    Adown the mountain-side. Of rainbows after showers,
    Of starlight nights so still;
    Of moonbeams shimmering softly
    O’er every brook and rill.
    Of mornings dawning sweetly
    O’er dew-wet grass and flowers,
    Oh! Summer time is only
    A life of golden hours!


    Story Starter:

    “I scream, you scream, we all scream for ice cream! July 1 marks National Creative Ice Cream Flavors Day as a day to sample or wonder about the odd combinations of ice cream flavors. The greatest thing about ice cream flavors is we have so many to choose from. Chocolate, strawberry, vanilla, or cherry to name a few. The great thing about creative ice cream flavors is if you can imagine it, you can achieve it.” 

    “The crowd was so thick around the store window she couldn’t see, so she pushed her way through until she saw the sign that caused all of the commotion: ‘Announcing! The world’s greatest ice cream competition.’ “


    Feathers

    by Micah W. (age 5)

    Feathers, feathers everywhere.

    Jumping

    Flying

    In the air.

    At Bat 

    by Micah W. (age 5)

    (inspired by a particularly tough turn batting in this week’s TBall game)

    At first it seemed to be stuck like glue

    But then

    Pop!

    It flew!

  • Barefoot Stories (June 2025)

    National Go Barefoot Day was celebrated on June 1. It holds two purposes:

    1. To kick off (pun intended) the first summer month and warmer weather by going around sans shoes
    2. To bring worldwide awareness that an estimated 300 million underprivileged children are forced to live barefoot because they don’t own a single pair of shoes*

    🗺️ Write the places your feet have traveled

    Visualize your life as a walking journey—where have your feet taken you, literally or metaphorically?

    🌞 Remember a barefoot summer moment

    Let a warm memory surface—can you feel the grass, the heat, the joy?

    📝 Make a list of 5 things you like about going barefoot

    Focus on the small joys—freedom, connection, sensory details, or even silliness.

    🔍 Write what your (naked) bare feet expose about you. What makes you more vulnerable?

    Bare feet can mean truth, exposure, and honesty. What do yours reveal?

    ⚖️ Write about the choice to go barefoot. What are the freedoms? What are the limitations?

    Explore both the literal and metaphorical meaning—freedom vs. protection, vulnerability vs. boldness.

    *Soles4Souls created National Go Barefoot Day after the 2004 Tsunami disaster. Visit the ​Soles4Souls organization​ for more information on how you can help bring shoes to children across the world.


    Story Starter: Arnie the Doughnut Dog

    Version 1.0.0

    Friday, June 6 is National Donut Day. Laurie Keller took American’s love for doughnuts and wrote about it in her book Arnie the Doughnut. In the book, Arnie and Mr. Bing are both frustrated by a future that seems impossible—until they form an unexpected friendship that fulfills both of their dreams.

    Read Arnie the Doughnut and begin writing your own story after the last sentence. What happens next to Arnie and Mr. Bing in “Arnie the Doughnut-Dog”?

  • YOUR Turn : What you’re writing (April 2025)

    Writing Prompt:

    Rebirth and Resurrection

    Christians celebrated Easter in the month of April, remembering a time when Jesus died and then rose again. To me, it is not coincidental that Easter occurs in the spring, a season in the Midwest associated with rebirth and renewal.

    Write about what rebirth and renewal mean to you. Maybe it demonstrates itself in one of the following ways:

    • A second chance you didn’t see coming
    • Something (or someone) you once lost that finds its (their) way back to you
    • The heaviness of waiting—for answers, for healing, for closure
    • A place that comes alive again
    • A person you didn’t expect to forgive—or be forgiven by
    • Planting something and watching it grow
    • A tradition you create out of grief
    • The moment you realize you’re healing
    • Someone rising from ruin—not literally, but in spirit
    • What it means to be “reborn” emotionally or spiritually
    • A small resurrection—something broken that becomes beautiful again

    Story Starter:

    Seven Days, One Secret

    After being declared dead for 24 hours, you wake up in the morgue with no memory of what happened—only a strange symbol burned into your palm and a note in your pocket that says, ‘You have one week to finish what you started.’

    Easter

    -by Maryanne MB

    We were a family of seven. Most of my memories started with waking up to an Easter basket at the foot of my bed lovingly set out by our mom.  She spent years staying up late into the night finishing up dresses for my sister, Camille, and me. They were made of pastel colored organza, pique cotton, a silk or polyester blend, and were accented with lace and white pearly buttons. As we got older, she let us pick out the patterns and fabric.

    Six of us would get ready for Easter mass. My dad would open up the liquor store he owned for many of my growing up years. After we were late for mass at St. John Vianney, we would take flowers to Live Oak Cemetery where my dad’s mom was buried. How is it that just about every year either Camille or I would get one of our brand new white patent leather shoes with white lace trimmed socks wedged into one of the algae water flower containers? Then we would pull out a freshly dyed green shoe and sock creation. My mom wasn’t one to swear, but as a mom I know what I would have said.

    After that we’d head over to my moms’ parents home nearby. We loved going to Nana and Tata’s house whenever we could. And Easter was a special occasion. Looking back, their home  was way too small to host a group of over 20 in a 2 bedroom, 1 bath, 855 sq. ft house. But there we were, my nicknamed mom and her siblings—Bebe, Dede, and Champ, along with their spouses and our cousins. Oh how I miss those days. We were all dressed up and gathered for a home cooked breakfast. It was served in rounds according to who showed up first. We were always last. For decades, Nana and Tata made us a feast of eggs, bacon, sliced ham, beans, tortillas, and orange juice. My brothers thought the juice glasses were too small. Then there was the Easter egg hunt. The adults would hide the eggs in the back yard and then all 15 grandchildren would scramble outside to find them. Some how Camille always managed to find the most. She said she loved the challenge of the hunt. When we were older plastic eggs were added to the mix including one with a fifty cent piece. That started a more intense competition. We ended the day with a group photo.

    Sometime when I was in college, we switched over to a picnic at a nearby park to give our grandparents a break. We shared buckets of Kentucky Fried Chicken, potato and macaroni salad, coleslaw, baked beans, rolls, deviled eggs, cookies, rice crispy treats,cakes, and beverages. We played softball where my Tata was the pitcher and my dad played first base. They each had a can of beer at their positions. When my future husband joined us for the first time one Easter right before we were engaged he said, “In my family Easter was a high and holy holiday where we sat around grandmas’s table. It had to be boring and quiet, but we could play Old Maid because it didn’t involve real cards and gambling. And now, look at you guys!” I looked at him and said, “He is risen! Salud!”

    Orchid

    -by Sarah G

    Orchid opening

    buds linger on drooping stems

    patient petals curl