Today’s host of the final day of the September 2026 Open Write at www.ethicalela.com is Leilya Pitre, who writes: In Louisiana, we often use the word lagniappe, meaning “a little something extra.” It is an unexpected gift offered in generosity. Today, I welcome you to a little lagniappe: one more space for conversation, reflection, encouragement, or an unexpected poem.
Leilya invites writers to look back or look forward and suggests considering a Gogyohka. She explains: Developed by Japanese poet Enta Kusakabe, a Gogyohka consists of five lines. Each line holds one phrase or breath, but there are no syllable counts, required themes, or preferred topics. You may write about anything that calls to you. That’s it: five concise but free lines.
Today’s Open Write at http://www.ethicalela.com is hosted by Dr. Sarah Donovan using a prompt by Alora Young, who is the Poet Laureate of the Southeastern United States. She inspires us to write an I Have Many poem. You can hear hers at this link and see the structure for the poem, beginning with the line I Have Many X. They….They…..They…..They… begin the last for lines for repeating beginnings. My mind went to a book my Kindred Spirits book club read earlier this year by Emily Henry, entitled People We Meet on Vacation. One of the main characters has “too many wine,” and it made me think of a picture I received from a fellow teacher retiree just last night on the way to dinner. We’d been playing Mahjong the day before, and we realized that we can have drinks in public now without fear of getting fired. At dinner, she snapped a photo of herself smiling big with wine, and sent a text that said Cheers! So I snapped a picture of me with a beer and replied Cheers! (Disclaimer: I was with my husband, who was driving. I did not tell stories or get up and dance or, heaven forbid, sing anything. I did ask Siri who was singing the songs a couple of times because the first one did NOT sound like Keith Whitley, which my husband insisted it was….and it was, God rest his soul – Keith’s soul, to be clear – and the second one sounded more like Hank Williams Junior than Travis Tritt and my husband insisted it wasn’t Junior, and it wasn’t, but there were too many kids one table over and it made it hard to hear….but not because of the beer).
Cheers! from The Blackbird Cafe in Woodbury, Georgia
Too Many
I have many Blue Moon they sing country song they tell loose-lip story they line dance wrong they don’t drive
Today, I’m hosting the second day of the September Open Write at http://www.ethicalela.com. You can read my full prompt here and then, later in the day once all the poets have had a chance to write to the prompt, visit the site to read the poems others have written.
My writing communities have a huge impact on my life as a consumer and creator of poetry. Each month, writers of Ethicalela and other groups encourage me with prompts and ideas. I am blessed that other writing friends freely share ekphrastic prompts (Barb), prompts from Substacker Audrey Gidman (Denise), prompts from Georgia Heard (Margaret) and prompts from Writer’s Digest (Glenda) and so many others. This month, I’m using Robert Lee Brewer’s Wednesday Poetry prompt idea shared by Glenda to get us started on what we want to get back to. While many are going back to school, I’m getting back to knowing myself at the pace of retirement. What are you getting back to?
Make a list of all the possibilities of things we can get back to. Back to the Future. Back to Back. Back to School. Back to School Shopping. Back to the topic at hand. Back to What We Were Talking About. Back to Sleep. Then, create a poem along that line of thinking. Glenda Funk and I offer two short forms below.
Glenda’s Poem
My Poem
Getting Back to Me: A List Poem
I’m getting back to
pressing wildflowers
sipping coffee later
writing poetry
reading books
watching sunsets
feeding hummingbirds
wearing jeans and Birkenstocks
napping with dogs
learning mahjong
mailing postcards
building campfires
painting with watercolors
stretching yoga poses
peeing on my own schedule
lingering over lunch
taking walks
driving the back roads
sewing rag quilts
getting to know myself
….all over again
Campfire reading at Vogel State Park in the North Georgia Mountains, September 2026. Book: The Sideways Life of Denny Voss by Holly Kennedy
My brother Ken and I on July 8, 2025 (my birthday) cleaning Dad’s house
Mo Daley of Illinois is our host today for the September Open Write Day 1. You can read her full prompt here. She writes:
As fall approaches, I can’t stop thinking about changes and shifts. Of course, the changing colors of Midwestern trees are always inspirational, but something else has been on my mind lately.
I look around and see the land and how I have worked with it and changed it, which leads me to wonder about those who came here before me.
Mo inspires us to consider our surroundings with these questions: How would you describe them? Have they always looked this way? Who was there before you? Perhaps 20, 50, or 100 years ago? How about long before then? Do you know what indigenous tribes were living there hundreds of years ago? You can enter your address in this online tool to inform you.
She inspires us to take a few moments to think about those who came before us, and then as a tribute to those who came before us, to write a poem about the land around us. Of course, my mind flashes back to this time last year, when my brother and I were in the midst of cleaning out a lifetime of a collector’s full collection of so many things we never even knew existed. He and Mom had been going to estate sales for years, collecting everything under the sun for the store they would one day own but never did because the one who knew how to make it happen departed this life before he did. And that’s when we discovered just how much they had accumulated……
Ritual Cleansing of 322 Magnolia and 7 Associated Storage Rooms
Each month, as part of The Stafford Challenge writing group led by Brian Rohr of Portland, Oregon, I look forward to the virtual writing workshops and visits with poets. Earlier this month, Melissa Helton, Director of Literary Arts at the Hindman Settlement School in rural Appalachia, offered a bonus writing workshop in which she shared several of her favorite poets, their poems, and prompts to inspire us to write our own poems. For the next few days, I’ll share the way she presented the information and the way she led attendees to write poetry using mentor poems.
When we arrived in the session, Brian introduced Melissa, who took us on an exploration of four poets by briefly sharing a little about each. Then, she shared a poem that had stuck with her. She read a single poem by each writer and then gave a prompt, inviting us to write our own poems.
One poet was Frank Walker, who wrote the poem Affrilachia on race and cultural identity. After reading this poem aloud, Melissa invited us to write to this prompt: make a list of all the groups with whom you identify, such as churches, hobbyists, sports, regional affiliates, etc. Then, pick two and write about what it’s like in the intersection where two things are an unlikely crosspoint. I thought of the ancient Chinese game of Mahjong, which I have recently begun playing, and how it has now become Americanized and even theme-based.
Each month, as part of The Stafford Challenge writing group led by Brian Rohr of Portland, Oregon, I look forward to the virtual writing workshops and visits with poets. Earlier this month, Melissa Helton, Director of Literary Arts at the Hindman Settlement School in rural Appalachia, offered a bonus writing workshop in which she shared several of her favorite poets, their poems, and prompts to inspire us to write our own poems. For the next few days, I’ll share the way she presented the information and the way she led attendees to write poetry using mentor poems.
When we arrived in the session, Brian introduced Melissa, who took us on an exploration of four poets by briefly sharing a little about each. Then, she shared a poem that had stuck with her. She read a single poem by each writer and then gave a prompt, inviting us to write our own poems.
One poet was Willie Carver, who wrote Requiem for a Dollar Store Christmas Bear. After Melissa read the poem aloud, she gave us a prompt: write about your own precious lost toy.
Each month, as part of The Stafford Challenge writing group led by Brian Rohr of Portland, Oregon, I look forward to the virtual writing workshops and visits with poets. Earlier this month, Melissa Helton, Director of Literary Arts at the Hindman Settlement School in rural Appalachia, offered a bonus writing workshop in which she shared several of her favorite poets, their poems, and prompts to inspire us to write our own poems. For the next few days, I’ll share the way she presented the information and the way she led attendees to write poetry using mentor poems.
When we arrived in the session, Brian introduced Melissa, who took us on an exploration of four poets by briefly sharing a little about each. Then, she shared a poem that had stuck with her. She read a single poem by each writer and then gave a prompt, inviting us to write our own poems.
One poet was Dianne Gillam Fisher. She wrote the poem Milk, which you can read by scrolling down in this newsletter. The after-reading prompt was to write about breaking stride by rejecting a rule or law to do what is right. My fierce and unwavering love of dogs led me to think about how I would rescue them all, despite regard for any reasonable number of them.
In Memory of Fitz, my soul dog, who crossed the Rainbow Bridge Spring 2026
Rules are Rules ….Except for Dogs
the rule is no more dogs,
the homeowner says
but I happen to be the wife
so I bat my eyes
plant a kiss
and open 2 hearts, 4 arms
…..and the doggie door…..
At his favorite window, watching a deer
It’s true – – my heart remains forever broken over losing Fitz. I think it’s him from over across the Rainbow Bridge trying to send me the message that it’s time to open our arms to another dog who needs a chance at a good life. Last week, I submitted an application to Schnauzer Love Rescue, where we got Fitz and Ollie, for a Schnauzer who bonds strongly with one human. Dot Werner and Nancy Delf have been phenomenal about finding just the right fit for us twice, and I would not go anywhere else in my search for a good buddy. The rescue organization where we got Boo Radley went out of business shortly after we got him, and I wonder to this day whether Boo may have been part of the reason (he is anything but an easy dog)…..
Each month, as part of The Stafford Challenge writing group led by Brian Rohr of Portland, Oregon, I look forward to the virtual writing workshops and visits with poets. Earlier this month, Melissa Helton, Director of Literary Arts at the Hindman Settlement School in rural Appalachia, offered a bonus writing workshop in which she shared several of her favorite poets, their poems, and prompts to inspire us to write our own poems. For the next few days, I’ll share the way she presented the information and the way she led attendees to write poetry using mentor poems.
When we arrived in the session, Brian introduced Melissa, who took us on an exploration of four poets by briefly sharing a little about each. Then, she shared a poem that had stuck with her. She read a single poem by each writer and then gave a prompt, inviting us to write our own poems.
One poet was Annie Woodford, who wrote the poem Soon the Red Wolf. You can read the poem here. The after-reading prompt was to write a poem about some kind of extinct or invasive species in our own areas. My mind immediately went to Cogongrass, a leading invasive species in the rural southeastern United States. It’s one of the reasons we are not supposed to bring firewood into any of the campsites we visit. Because Cogongrass is so hard to eradicate (like kudzu), even the seeds that might be left on a saw blade cutting trees used as firewood could be transported into areas through the firewood and take root in state parks. I suppose that really, these seeds could do the same thing on tires of cars, e-bikes, or even yard toys kids may take camping, but we respect the rules and their reasons.
In retirement, I’ve been dedicating more time to submitting my writing. I recently opened my Submittable page and saw what every writer wants to see: an acceptance among all the declined work.
Dear Art on the Trails Poets-
Congratulations on your acceptance into the 10th Anniversary Art on the Trails Chapbook!
We are thrilled to have both returning and new poets join the ranks of hundreds of poets who have participated in the program.
Today is the gathering along the trail in Massachusetts where attendees will gather to move progressively through this landscape of artist and poet joining to celebrate the visual art pieces and the poems that were selected by the artists to represent each work. When I saw the work of children’s woven moon phases in Selection 16: Phases, created with wire, wood, and yarn by Denise Johnson’s elementary school students who would be featured as part of the 2026 Art on the Trails: Time in Landscape, I thought of the young hands weaving this art, leaving their mark on the universe ~ a timestamp. And my poem was born.
Timestamp Tanka
children weave moonbeams
waxing, waning, wrapped in light
young hands shape vast skies
their marks on the universe
immense timestamps of presence
You can hear me read my poem Timestamp Tanka here (video). Or, hear the audio below.
I would like to encourage my writing friends to submit to next year’s call for poems. It’s revitalizing to be inspired by visual art that prompts writing.
Today is one of those overcast, drizzly Saturday mornings when dogs who don’t like to get their feet wet balk, then reluctantly tiptoe like entitled snobs out to greet the grass with morning tinkles as the droplets off the roof at the corner of the eave beat down like a hand drum onto the upturned blue bucket beneath. It’s the kind of day an introverted reader relishes from a too-soft channel quilted chair by a window, next to the dim lamplight of gray morning, the kind of day those Cat in the Hat kids could only endure until the cat showed up with his two Things. But no cat with surprises is needed here, not today in all the golden silence of a rainy morning while the coffee is hot and Small Things Like These by Claire Keegan and Whistler by Ann Patchett await and the dogs’ feet have dried enough to curl up in the chair in a room recently decorated to welcome autumn with cozy throws, a menagerie of mums, and a blend of buttery pumpkin potpourri emanating from the table, blending with the scent of coffee poured from the piping glass pot into a shiny ceramic mug, the clinking of the stirring of a spoon heralding the morning in the same way church chimes of Rockport, Massachusetts echo all through the town to remind us of our daily blessings. Pour a cup and come read with me.
Common Threads 