Do you know what today is? It’s my BLOGIVERSARY!

It’s been 19 years since I began blogging on here!!! So many life events have happened. I am so happy that I chronicled it! Time for me to look back and reflect!

Here’s to 19 more!

Stages

Much like a butterfly’s life, 

my life has slowly unfolded in stages.

From humble beginnings,

in the smallest and most basic form,

I emerge

and begin the process 

of maturing,

of becoming,

 of evolving,

with the realization that

 I cannot and will not

 be stopped.

Devouring the fuel,

 knowledge, skills, 

tools and self-reflection 

 needed to transform,

I begin the ugly process

 as I pirouette into a cocoon,

enveloping & shielding myself,

creating a protective barrier

against the world.

Metamorphosing,

I am a mess,

literally and figuratively.

I am broken down

in preparation for

the rebuilding that will

ultimately take place.

vibrating at a high frequency

with many moving parts behind the scene,

in sync with the circle of life.

Continuously growing

as I shed that which does not serve me-

old skin made of trauma and pain;

a pain necessary for the development

of the newly forming mind and body.

Using everything within me

to propel this much-needed growth

to completion to avoid a

premature re-entry into the world; until…

Finally,

bursting out of my encasement,

I squeeze out of the cocoon,

transformed into

a bigger, better version

that has managed to thrive

despite the many situations

that could have possibly disrupted my evolution.

I am a new being

-unrecognizable to everyone-

… including myself.

If you knew me before,

you don’t know me now.

I am now a beautiful butterfly. 

I’ve become the me

I was always meant to be!

Wonderfully alive,

I take flight, spread my wings

flying and soaring

like the wonderfully complicated being

that has always been there,

but that has

only recently been revealed.

After today, I only have two more days. It’s been a challenging month, but I’m looking forward to next year. Here’s today’s offering:

Here’s today’s offering:

His Eyes

His eyes penetrate my soul

They caress my face

and pierce my heart.

I was so busy working on a second edition of my third special education guide (The Special Education Teacher’s Guide to Life After the Classroom) that I forgot to post today’s offering. It’s a day late, but here it is.

My offering for Day 27:

Regulation

Our government has a long and brutal history

of curl pattern prohibition, body bullying, and reproductive restriction!

To that I say,

Hands off my hair.

It’s my crown! 

I will wear it as I please.

You can’t regulate the curly out of my curls.

I say,

Hands off my womb!

It’s my belly.

I will carry as many babies as I please.

You can’t regulate the eggs I carry!

To the politicians 

who like to regulate women’s body,

I say, “Stop it!”

Leave.my.body.alone!!

My body belongs to me!

Don’t tell me how to live,

how to wear my hair, or

how many children to have!

Don’t tell me how to woman!

Here’s my offering for today:

GRIEF

Sucker punched and side swiped by grief.

I wasn’t afraid to die; more afraid to live.

Yesterday was one life, today’s another

Writing a poem a day is a little bit of work. After this, I only have five more days. But, here’s my offering for today:

Anger, Self-Loathing, & Stagnation

It was more than an exhale.

It was a soul sigh.

My soul sighed.

It was the release of

years of pent-up frustration,

anger, self-loathing, and stagnation.

It sighed because

She…it finally came to the realization

that she was all that she thought she could ever be.

All that she couldn’t even think to imagine.

It had nothing to do with anyone else but her.

After today, I’m all caught up. Here’s today’s offering:

Caring For Me

Conservator,

caring for a painting,

when I too am in the process 

of learning and caring for myself;

putting down the broken brush 

I and others sometimes

attempt to paint me with.

Letting go of 

not being true to myself,

neglect of self,

disrespect of self,

putting others ahead of myself,

not following through,

being inconsistent,

lying and deceiving.

In all of my learning,

I’ve learned to 

be content,

humble and kind-

a happy and fulfilled

ME.

Dull Ache

Where do I put that dull ache in my heart?

The one that won’t relinquish its hold on me?

Where does it go?

Is it put on the shelf like a worthless tchotchke?

Is it left out in the open like forgotten food from last night’s dinner?

Should I pretend it’s not there?

Dust all around it

Until it fills my nose,

Sneeze it out, blow it out?

Like mucus?

Snot all over its memory?

Does that make it worthless?

Where do I put it?

Where does it go?

Where should it go?

So, without further ado, here’s my offering for Day 22. I will post Day 23 & 24 later today.

I’m Allowed

I’ve learned:

I’m allowed to feel it. 

The gratitude! The pain!

The hate! The hurt! The love!

The audacity that must be on sale right now, 

because everyone seems to have some!

I’m allowed to question it!

I’m allowed to want it!

I’m allowed to be scared!

I’m allowed to reckon with the possibility of…

I’m allowed to choose myself!

I’m allowed to let go!

I’m allowed to give myself closure!

I’m allowed to give this loud, 

annoying, irritating, 

hopeless ache a name! 

I’m allowed to own my life. 

To know that it belongs to me. 

I’m allowed to choose!

And I choose me!

Here’s Day 18’s offering:

Invoice

The accusation came with an invoice 

I couldn’t and didn’t want to pay. 

The price too high. 

Can’t afford for it to be charged to my heart. 

It’s too expensive.

This post is out of order, but here it is anyway.

Feed Me

I’m calling in a love that’s freely given,
A non-negotiable one that fills the room before I enter it,
that wraps itself around my weary shoulders and hugs me tight.

A soul-type love that makes space for me-all of me- the loud, 

the quiet, the unsure,
the soft, the scarred.

An unending love that adores 

this peculiar woman.

One that doesn’t judge.

It understands and nurtures.

The stirring, unwavering love
that sets a place at the table for me
without asking if I’m worthy.

I’ve always been worthy.

A steady, centered love that wraps itself 

around my tender edges
and stays—not because I chase it,
but because I am enough.

I’ve always been enough.

So, don’t give me anymore 

rationed affections or

half-servings of attention.

I’m hungry!

 I’ve starved too long
on slow texts, half-truths, and
love doled out in teaspoons.
Just enough to keep me quiet,
but never enough to keep me full.

I want love that knows how to cook,
how to serve,
how to sit with me at the table
not just watch me ache.

I want a full-course meal—
complete with meat, not just the bone.
Don’t expect a smile when you give 

me crumbs.

So keep them.
I won’t shrink myself for scraps.
Not now.
Not ever again.
I’m ready to be fed.

So, feed me!

I’ve been sleeping off & on for the past couple of days because I broke my leg. The funny part is that I broke it last Saturday, but didn’t know until this Wednesday when the swelling went down, and I started feeling some pain.

So, I’ve been recuperating, but I’m finally able to get my bearings and post what I’ve written.

Here’s Day 21 (14 & Pregnant)

14 & Pregnant

Life was not always kind to you.

Became a mother while still a child.

Taken away from your own and married

by an abuser

Who saw the specialness in you,

And sought to remove every last iota of it,

Along with your independence,

Your spirit,

And your indomitable will.

But God!

Here’s today’s offering:

The Whisper

The lightly whispered wish,

The hurried, barely audible 

breathless response, 

Spoken under bated breath 

Confidence to speak up, non-existent.

Sometimes the quietest words carry the most weight.

A brave whisper,

once unthinkable, now a reality.

Turned loud, confident.

Daring to be!

Quietly carrying weight,

as heavy as Sisyphus’ boulder.

as strong as Superman’s resolve.

Two words- survival mode. 

I named it.

I had to. 

In the unnamed-ness,

It wreaked havoc.

In the unnamed-ness,

Took advantage of my ignorance

Of its destructive power, of being unnamed.

In the naming,

I took away its power.

One choice is all it took.

Recuperating from 

putting myself in my own mental cage.

Tried to fly free,

But mental fatigue prohibited flight.

Not at all befitting of this phoenix

birthed from regretful yeses,

tear-stained no’s left unsaid

created from rumblings deep within

the soul’s cavernous remembrances that made it to 

the graveyard of wish-you-wouldn’t-haves.

Try as I might, my spotty internet would not let me post this yesterday. But I’m still going to post it. Next, I’ll post Day 16, both on the same day. Yes, I am!

So, without further ado, here it is:

The Poet’s Beatitudes

The Poet’s Beatitude

Lord, bless the eyes of the poet.

Let their eyes see the good in all.

Let their eyes find the beauty in the mundane.

Let them notice what others miss.

Let the eyes of the poet see through the lens of love.

Lord, bless the ears of the poet.

Let their ears open to hear the best.

Let their ears follow where truth leads.

Let them be the spirit of truth.

Let the ears of the poet answer the call.

Lord, bless the mouths of the poet.

Let their mouths bless the children.

Let their mouths speak life.

Let it imbue truth in untruth.

Let the mouths of the poet be the mouth of the people.

Lord, bless the hands of the poet.

Let their hands embrace the heart of the hopeless.

Let their hands heal and soothe.

Let them draw out pain like a salve.

Let them hold love and never let go.

Lord, bless the hearts of the poet.

Let their hearts beat with passion; 

Let their hearts have altruistic empathy for the people.

Let it form deep, life-long connections.

Let the heart of the poet transmute pain to pleasure.

Lord bless the pen of the poet.

Let their pen connect directly to their soul.

Let their pen write many blessings.

Let it speak for them.

Let the pen of the poet speak for those who cannot.

Lord, bless the soul of the poet.

Let their soul align with its calling.

Let their soul transcend time and space.

Let it step fully into its becoming.

Let the soul of the poet have the desires of its heart.

Lord, bless the eyes, ears, mouth, hands, heart, pen, and soul of the poet.

And Lord, most importantly, bless this poet and everything I put my hands to.

Here’s today’s offering. It may not make as much sense, since it’s an ekphrastic poem, based on one of my friend’s photo.

What is an ekphrastic poem, you ask?

Well, glad you asked. An ekphrastic poem is the exploration of art through ekphrasis, a literary device, a poet uses to engage with paintings, drawings, sculptures, and other visual art.

This particular piece is based on a beautiful photo my friend, Karissa took. I’ll ask her for a copy and retroactively insert a copy of it if she obliges.

For now, here’s the poem.

DOPE

Gleaming, gleaming in the sun.

Water’s reflection, oh what fun.

Mountain high, double image.

Way up by the tree’s plumage.

Top of the world, few have seen.

To get a peek, I’m so keen.

One mere drop, a point in time.

But a peek at hilly clime.

Dripping, dripping on the slope.

Man, Karissa, that pic is dope.

Playground

My body is a playground,

My emotions swinging to and fro

On the merry-go-round of life,

Sliding into sandy situations,

in grassy knowls,

Riding high on life!

Here is today’s offering:

unnamed-ness

Two words- survival mode. 

I named it.

I had to. 

In the unnamed-ness,

It wreaked havoc.

In the unnamed-ness,

Took advantage of my ignorance

Of its destructive power of being unnamed.

In the naming,

I took away its power.

One choice was all it took.

Original poetry by C.L. Cramer

I’m barely getting this one in for today, but here it is:

Never Just Once

He may have threatened.

May have raised his fist,

May have “accidentally” shoved you.

“He’s only done it once.”

You think, deflect, then

Genuflect,

as you worship his pain

that he so lovingly shared with you.

Just enough to jerk your heart;

to tear down your carefully built walls.

Just enough for you to become hooked.

Just enough for you to feel

you understand him 

like no one else does.

This feeling won’t last.

It always escalates.

It‘s not a matter of if, 

It’s a matter of when.

You may not see it coming.

There will be no warning.

It’s not always recognizable.

There are levels to this.

Some soft. Some gentle.

Not harsh. 

But it’s all violence.

It will never be just once.

When it finally happens,

you would have guessed,

the feather would have knocked you over 

before he did.

I thought…

that he loved me,

that he would never do…

something like that.

I never would have thought

that, the same hand

caressing my face

would be the same hand delivering

an open-handed slap in the mouth.

I Didn’t Know

I didn’t know…

I could feel this way.

Floating & drifting in the clouds.

Head in a fog, 

Don’t know where he ends and I begin.

I didn’t know…

I didn’t know he’d mean so much to me.

That he’d be the reason for my Wednesday morning smile,

My last thought before going to bed.

I didn’t know…

I didn’t know he’d be my inspiration.

I can’t stop writing.

I’m in a zone.

I didn’t know I’d love him

FIRE

Only love can stop the hate.

This cannot possibly be our fate.

We rise, we care, we come to the conclusion

Their words, their lies, their delusion

Can’t destroy belief in truth & light

We can’t stop, we must fight.

Stop the hate with love.

*I think I can still work on it.

Here’s my contribution for today. Imagine it being rapped (Even though I can’t) to Ice, Ice Baby by Vanilla Ice.

     ICE

ICE, ICE BABY

ICE, ICE, DON’T TAKE THE BABY

   I’m rocking this mic

Naming the truth in plain sight

   ICE is nobody’s friend

Their reign of terror must end

   They don’t listen

That’s the point of contention.

   They do what they want to do.

Power concentrated in the hands of a few.

   They don’t compensate

Nor do they abate

ICE, ICE, BABY

ICE, ICE, DON’T BE SHADY

  They terrorize the undocumented

They’re sick & demented

   What is their final goal?

What will be the final toll?

   On all humanity?

Who’s counting the cost in reality?

  They do the orange ones’ bidding

Kidnapping & killing, no kidding!

   Committing felonies, left & right

Shooting & macing in broad daylight

ICE, ICE BABY

ICE, ICE, DON’T TAKE THE BABY

  What will it take to bring them down?

Let’s stand our ground,  we won’t back down!

  The people must stand up

We must step up

   Be the voice of the voiceless

Put a face to the faceless

   Stop them once and for all.

Oh, we must stand tall.

   Be what the people need.

Can’t stand and watch them bleed.

   Stand up and protest.

Pass the test

    This revolution, not televised.

But it will be poeticized.

   By the artist, the creative

Not those in control, the legislative

   We will be the deciding factor

We will be the ultimate actor,

   Acting on what’s true & right

Can & will protest. Be the light.

  We march in peace, we march with might.

With open hearts & justice in sight.

ICE out, from every town.

United we rise, we won’t back down.

Protector

His love is easy to hold

He protects my heart like its his own

I am my beloved and he is mine.

I am he and he is me

MOTH

He, a shining flame!

I, like a moth, drawn to him.

Singed by the bright light.

Here’s my offering for Day 4. I thought I’d posted this before, but I checked my version history and saw that I created it in July 2025, after NaPoMo ended. So, here it is!

Firewoman

Didn’t know how to write about it because I was busy living it!

Especially on the days I barely existed.

Sometimes, survival was the best I could do!

While surviving, I hid my light,

made myself smaller to embiggen others;

set myself on fire to keep others warm;

gave my flowers away to so many undeserving of them.

Like my marriage of inconvenience-

Paper-thin vows,

held together by familial obligation,

Not love.

Lopsided, non-reciprocal friendships.

Letting others take, take, take, and take.

What wasn’t taken, I gave.

But still, I tried.

Nails bloodied from digging my own grave, 

from giving too much.

Giving and giving til I exhausted myself.

What wasn’t given was taken.

I came back to myself.

I’d forgotten who I was.

Pleased everyone except myself.

I wasn’t comfortable in my own skin.

Wore someone else’s for too long.

But the skin wasn’t fireproof.

It was no help to me as I extinguished fires 

with my own blood, sweat, and tears.

I’ve given away my gifts and flowers for the last time!

It’s time for me to soar.

To live life,

collect sacred memories-

Ones I now know how to write about, because, 

I am she who climbed mountains with four children on my back,

Useless man in tow.

I am she who alchemized pain into passion, hate into love.

I am she who set herself on fire to keep others warm; 

doused in lighter fluid as a thank you.     

Flames burned brighter,

But so did I.

The pain wasn’t the end. 

It was the beginning

Of being transformed into the phoenix.

The beginning of clarification,

The beginning of knowing.

The beginning of remembering

Remembering was necessary

because the forgetting couldn’t be continued.

So, daily I remember!

I remember me, who I am.

In the remembering,

I loudly, proudly, and unapologetically declare, 

I.AM.PHOENIX!

I.AM.Firewoman! 

No longer surviving. Now rising.

I.Am.Firewoman who rose from volcanic ashes to spread the word. 

Narcissists beware. 

I.Am.Firewoman, no longer bound by 

Regrets, maybe’s and should-haves. 

This fire no longer consumes me,

It fuels me!

I.Am.Firewoman no longer setting myself on fire.

I.Am.Firewoman no longer burning for others. 

I now burn for me!

I now burn with purpose.

I am the spark!

I am the flame!

This fire is mine! 

It was never anyone else’s to hold.

Burn, Firewoman, Burn!

 Cage

Recuperating from 

putting myself in a mental cage

of my own doing.

Tried to fly free,

But mental fatigue prohibited flight.

Not at all befitting of this phoenix

birthed from regretful yeses and

tear-stained no’s left unsaid.

Culled from rumblings deep within

the soul’s cavernous remembrances that made it to 

the graveyard of wish-you-wouldn’t-haves.

The way I let that man play with me,

Like I’m someone who can be toyed with.

Like I’m not authentically ME!

Like I’m not Bang, Pow, Boom!

The way I didn’t ask for myself back when negotiating my surrender.

Just gave my power away.

For free!

Like, I didn’t earn it.

Like I’m not worth it.

Like I’m not 5’1 of woman.

The way I didn’t roar like the Lioness I am.

Like, I’m not amazing.

Like it didn’t take years of mourning,

Of healing, digging deep, and isolating 

To get to this version of ME.

Like, I don’t look in the mirror every day and see this ME

Like, I don’t deserve it.

I’ve made a promise to myself to start & complete this challenge. Even though I haven’t been able to do so in 4 years, this year is going to be different.

Here’s Day 1 (Legacy)

LEGACY

Dear Woman,

You are the birther of generations,       

the giver of life.

Without you,

Life ceases. 

You are the keeper of remembrance.

Carrier of the flame within. 

Representative of your ancestors.

A culmination of all who came before.       

You are hope eternal 

Held in our marrow.

Holder & keeper of all our todays.

You are the quintessence of your parents,

Antecessor of your children,

Manifestator of dreams. 

Watchman of our tomorrows.

You are love personified,

warmth in our hearts,                   

peace in the storm,

light in the dark.

You are resilience embodied,

the epitome of grace under pressure.

Strength in times of trouble.

You have walked on thorns and hot coals.

Bore the brunt of 

what was, what is, and what’s to come.

You are compassionate

istener, supporter, advocate,

Empathy incarnate.

Dear Woman,

You are LEGACY.

Original poetry by Carole Leila Cramer

I postponed my newest book. It is book #4 in my special education series entitled, “From Chaos to Connection: The Special Education Teacher’s Guide to Building Relationships & Community”. Here’s a pic:

I’m so excited about this book. It’s 231 pages of my experiences w/100+ pages of resources.

WHAT I’M WORKING ON THIS YEAR

The 2nd Edition of The New Special Education Teacher’s Survival Guide

Next, I recently finished the 2nd edition of my first special education teacher’s guide, The New Special Education Teacher’s Survival Guide. I updated the chapters and the size. The former size is 5.5 x 8.5. The new size is 7.25 x 10.5. I really love it!

One reason I’m so proud of myself regarding this book is that I am so gentle with myself. I took a look at the 1st edition and realized it wasn’t up to par. Instead of beating myself up, I said, let me make it better. And I did!

Here’s a pic:

It will be released on January 15, 2025!

The 2nd Edition of The Special Education Teacher’s Guide to A Well-Run Classroom

Now that I’ve completed the 2nd edition of The New Special Education Teacher’s Survival Guide, I’m working on the 2nd edition of The Special Education Teacher’s Guide to A Well-Run Classroom.

I’m not sure what I plan to add to it, but I’m working on it now. I’ll see.

The 5th Special Education Guide

After that, I’ll finish the 5th special education guide on behavior. I’ll release the title closer to the release date.

My 1st Young Adult Novel

After that, I’m going to complete my young adult novel. I will complete it by summer. Again, I’ll release the title closer to the release date.

After That…

After the summer (or before, depending on how smoothly the writing process goes with the YA novel), I will complete books #6 (I.E.P. Writing) & #7 (Lesson Planning).

It’s going to be a busy year. So, stay tuned…

Here’s what I’ve been working on!!! It will be out on Halloween before Thanksgiving!

This little beauty is called “From Chaos to Connection: The Special Education Teacher’s Guide to Building Relationships & Community!”

I read Thank You, Mr. Falker by Patricia Polacco to my new students and it wowed again. Although some of them had already heard it, they still loved it. I’m never going to not read this. I’ve even read it to high school students.

So, Thank You, Ms. Polacco, for all that you’ve done and given! You’ve truly created a book that’s going to last and be relevant for many years to come!

I’ve taken on a new assignment. I have 3 grade levels. One of my students is a Kindergartener. He, like most kids, is like a little sponge. He takes in everything I say, in a good way. When I first met him, he was really hard on himself. So I told him that it was okay to make mistakes. Well, not only did he take it to heart, but he used the phrase to “help” me.

Let me preface this by saying that I have not worked in elementary since 2013! So, now that that’s been said, I started dozing off as I was helping him with his classwork after 1:30. I caught myself and shook myself awake.

That’s when he said, “Ms. Cramer, I saw you falling asleep. It’s ok to fall asleep. It’s a mistake. It’s ok to make mistakes!

Well, thank you, young post-pandemic genius child!

He really made my day ’cause I know he’s been listening after all!

Now that I’ve quit that terrible job that was destroying my peace of mind, I’m on the mend and ready to write again. So, on to the story…

“It wasn’t that bad,” is what I said today when speaking to the Kindergarten teacher. I said that in response to her giving me the number for “The Help Group,” the Special Education team’s group. She said, “Oh, it’s not saying that you can’t handle it. It’s for a little help.”

“Oh,” I said. I’m not used to having help. I’m used to being a team of one.”

At my last job, not only was I not part of the team, but the other team members (Who were “like family” because they’d worked together for so long.) were actively sabotaging me. The sad part about it is that there was not a lot I could put my finger on it. But that’s a story for another time.

So, imagine my gratitude when I discovered this teacher was trying to help. Haven’t had that happen in a long time!

In spite of everything I’ve been through with unsupportive team members, I’m still hopeful. Let’s hope they are who they say they are.

As always I’ll keep you updated.

Red, multi-layered meaning, representing

destruction of the downtrodden and the forgotten;

symbolic of the blood of those who wrestled with the trauma of delay

and promises not realized.

In the time between promise and freedom,

stuck, singing negro spirituals in the fields.

Bodies broken,

often toiling from dawn to dusk.

The sun, though an unwilling partner, still complicit,

bruising them as unforgivingly as

the ferocity of the overseer’s whip on bare back

Nothing but hymns to comfort them.

Others may not acknowledge, but we will.

We remember!

WHITE

White, represents the purity

lost through years of unending, sadist, and perverted abuse.

They bled beneath the weight of waiting.

Still they believed.

Still they called out.

Still they clung to songs older than their chains.

Delaying what should have been, anyway.

Slaves, who weren’t, but didn’t know.

They sang, but no one listened.

Nothing but hymns to comfort them.

Purposefully forgotten, but

They remembered.

BLUE

Blue, devoid of responsibility. Responsibility not taken. 

Columbusing and colonizing their way through the south.

Left behind by broken promise,

Freedom rang, but not for them.

To those forgotten, freedom sounded,

not like a bell, but a whisper, 

An echo in the well of time.

For, what is freedom

with sudden and worsening poverty?

Without wages, even unfair ones?

What is freedom if you don’t know it’s yours?

No one remembered, but they did!

To them, freedom was a dream

buried beneath centuries of unyielding concrete

with no tools to reach them; 

fingernails ripped from their beds trying to do just that; no rest.

To them, freedom was untasted,

Withheld, a feast denied.

The hunger never left their mouths.

To them, freedom was not being forgotten.

We didn’t!

We remember!

We remember what our ancestors endured-

their strength,

their love,

their kindness, 

their resilience,

their desire to live, 

their sacrifices.

Because they were, we ARE!

To them, freedom was a melodic, heartfelt song with no audience.

They were silenced, but they sang,

Their hymns comforted them.

We remember!

Here’s a freebie for being loyal readers for so many years.

IEP Meeting Checklist

Enjoy!

~Leila~

Here are my offerings for today. It is a sestina. So, what is a sestina you ask? Well, a sestina is a highly structured, fixed-form poem consisting of six six-line stanzas and a three line envoi (a concluding stanza). The core of the sestina lies in the repetition of six specific end words throughout the poem, but in a rotating, non-rhyming pattern. These end words appear in a different order in each of the six stanzas and then again in the envoi. 

Key Features of a Sestina:

• Structure: Six stanzas of six lines each, followed by a three-line envoi. 
• End Words: Six specific words are used as the end words of each line in the stanzas, repeating in a predetermined sequence. 
• Envoi: The envoi contains all six end words, typically appearing twice in each line (in the middle and at the end). 
• No Rhyme: Traditionally, sestinas do not rhyme, but variations have been explored. 
• Variations: While the standard sestina follows these rules, there are variations like double sestinas (with more stanzas) and tritinas (using three-line stanzas). 

Example of a Sestina’s End Word Pattern:

Let’s say the end words of the first stanza are “sun”, “moon”, “star”, “sky”, “earth”, “fire”. The end words in the subsequent stanzas would be arranged in a rotating pattern, for example: 

Envoi: moon, sun, fire, star, earth, sky

Stanza 1: sun, moon, star, sky, earth, fire

Stanza 2: fire, sun, moon, star, sky, earth

Stanza 3: earth, fire, sun, moon, star, sky

Stanza 4: sky, earth, fire, sun, moon, star

Stanza 5: star, sky, earth, fire, sun, moon

Stanza 6: moon, star, sky, earth, fire, sun

LOVE

LOVE

He, the one, I considered my life’s love!

Had to get over the heartbreak. 

Because I loved him so, it took some time to heal! 

Was it limerence? 

Or was it the real deal! 

If so, will it be forever? 

Longing for forever. 

Is he my life’s love? 

I want it to be the real deal. 

Don’t want to deal with another heartbreak. 

Don’t want more limerence. 

I’ll find the answer as I heal! 

Please, I want to heal. 

Hoping it doesn’t take forever! 

That’s the thing about limerence. 

You’re not certain if it’s really love. 

It could lead to heartbreak. 

It’s most definitely not the real deal. 

With the real deal ,

There’s no need to heal! 

It’s the opposite of heartbreak! 

A relationship that lasts forever 

Is Love! 

Not limerence! 

What is limerence? 

It seems to be the real deal. 

But, it’s not love. 

It sometimes requires the need to heal. 

It won’t last forever. 

Hopefully there’s no heartbreak! 

No more heartbreak! 

No more limerence, 

I want forever, 

The real deal, 

I’m ready to heal!

I want real love! 

When it’s love, not limerence, you can feel it’s the real deal. There’s no heartbreak, no need to heal. That’s how you know you’ve found your forever!

Here’s my original poetry:

I’ve learned:

I’m allowed to feel it? The gratitude? The pain?

The hate? The love? The hurt? 

The audacity that seems to be on sale right now, because everyone has some!

I’m allowed to question it?

I’m allowed to want it?

I’m allowed to be scared?

I’m allowed to reckon with the possibility!

I’m allowed to choose myself!

I’m allowed to let go!

I’m allowed to give myself closure!

I’m allowed to own my life. 

To know that my life is my own. 

I’m allowed to choose!

And I choose me!

Today’s challenge poem is a sestina. A sestina is a 39-line poem with a specific structure and pattern of repeating end words. In essence, the sestina is a poem where the end words of the first stanza are strategically interwoven through-out the poem, creating a complex and rhythmic pattern. It consists of six six-line stanzas followed by a three-line envoi. The key feature of a sestina is the intricate repetition of the end words from the first stanza in a specific order throughout the remaining stanzas and the envoi.
Here’s a more detailed breakdown:
Structure:
The poem is divided into six stanzas of six lines each (sestets), followed by a three-line envoi.
End Words:
The first stanza has six end words, which are repeated in a specific, rotating pattern in the subsequent five stanzas.
Pattern:
The pattern of end word repetition is:
Stanza 1: ABCDEF
Stanza 2: FAEBCD
Stanza 3: CDEFAB
Stanza 4: BDFECA
Stanza 5: AEBCDF
Stanza 6: DCFAEB
Envoi: The three-line envoi contains all six end words, often repeated within each line.

Here’s my sestina offering: LOVE

Love

SESTINA

LOVE

He, the one, I considered my life’s love!

Had to get over the heartbreak. 

Because I loved him so, it took time to heal! 

Was it limerence? 

Or was it the real deal! 

If so, will it be forever? 

Longing for forever. 

Is he my life’s love? 

I want it to be the real deal. 

Don’t want to deal with another heartbreak. 

Don’t want more limerence. 

I’ll find the answer as I heal! 

Please, I want to heal. 

Hoping it doesn’t take forever! 

That’s the thing about limerence. 

You’re not certain if it’s really love. 

It could lead to heartbreak. 

It’s most definitely not the real deal. 

With the real deal ,

There’s no need to heal! 

It’s the opposite of heartbreak! 

A relationship that lasts forever 

Is Love! 

Not limerence! 

What is limerence? 

It seems to be the real deal. 

But, it’s not love. 

It sometimes requires the need to heal. 

It won’t last forever. 

Hopefully there’s no heartbreak! 

No more heartbreak! 

No more limerence, 

I want forever, 

The real deal, 

I’m ready to heal!

I want real love! 
When it’s love, the real deal, not limerence, not heartbreak, no need to heal, it leads to forever!
Survival Mode

Surviving doesn’t mean no tears.

It means thriving after the soul cleansing cry.

Tears a part of my healing.

Floodgate lifted

No longer controlled

No more holding back!

Today’s offering is a collage poem. So, what, pray tell, is a collage poem? Well, a collage poem is also known as a “cento,” is a type of poetry constructed from pre-existing text, often taken from other poems or sources, and juxtaposed to create new meaning. It’s a form of “patchwork” poetry, where lines or phrases are borrowed and reassembled to form a new work.
Here’s a more detailed explanation:
Borrowing from Existing Text:
Collage poems don’t originate with the poet’s original words but rather source phrases, lines, or even entire passages from other poems, books, or even everyday materials like newspapers or magazines.

Note: I need more time to complete the collage.

Original poem: Dull

Where do I put that dull ache in my heart?

The one that won’t relinquish its hold on me?

Where does it even go? What do I do with it?

Do I put it on the shelf like a worthless tchotchke?

Is it left out like forgotten food from last night’s dinner?

Should I pretend it’s not there?

Dust all around it until it fills my nose?

Sneeze it out, blow it out like mucus? Snot all over its memory?

Does that make it worthless?

Do memories live in the past, present, or a future never to be seen?

Do they mean what we think they mean?

How do I categorize it?

Where does it go?

Where should it go?

Today’s poem is a bop. What is a bop? A bop is A Bop poem is a three-stanza poetic form created by Afaa Michael Weaver. It’s designed as a poetic argument, moving from a problem in the first stanza, exploring it in the second, and then presenting either a solution or a failure to resolve the issue in the third. Each stanza is followed by a refrain, a repeated line. 

Here’s a more detailed breakdown:

Flexibility: While the structure is set, the Bop form allows for flexibility in terms of meter and rhyme, focusing on the poem’s argumentative progression. 

Structure: The Bop consists of three stanzas: a six-line stanza introducing the problem, an eight-line stanza exploring it, and a six-line stanza addressing the solution or failure. 

Refrain: Each stanza is followed by a single-line refrain, which is repeated after each stanza. 

Argument: The poem essentially follows an argumentative structure, presenting a problem, exploring it, and then offering a resolution or acknowledging the difficulty in solving it. 

The Artist’s Anthem

This tale of an oligarchic regime, 

tells of an era bygone- Or, is it…

Under the guise of making us great, they only served to make us worse. 

These oligarchs, leveled and razed entire systems;

showered friends with pardons and money,

but silenced the revolutionaries.

These faces without shadows, these voices without names,

struck fear in all who dare attempt to stand.

These shadowless faces, these nameless voices, these terrible things,

they killed our ambitions; didn’t want us to dream. 

Tried to kill our creativity, but the artist’s spirit is indomitable. 

After that, no one dared;

no one stood up to those who could and did 

kill the innocent and the fragile.

We must stand together against these terrible things!

They cannot triumph.

Our voices will rise, We must stand together.

They can’t kill our spirit, take our peace, steal our voice, or destroy our agency.

This yoke is heavy. Together we lighten the load.

Though darkness comes, so will the light!

My Original Poem: I’ve Learned

I’ve learned that:

I’m allowed to feel it. 

The gratitude! The pain! 

The hate! The hurt! The love!

The audacity that must be on sale right now, 

because everyone seems to have some!

I’m allowed to question it!

I’m allowed to want it!

I’m allowed to be scared!

I’m allowed to reckon with the possibility of…

I’m allowed to let go!

I’m allowed to give myself closure!

I’m allowed to give this loud, annoying,

irritating, hopeless ache a name! 

I’m allowed to own my life;

To know that it belongs to me. 

I’m allowed to choose!

And I choose me!

I’ve had a paradigm shift. According to , a paradigm shift is a fundamental change in approach or underlying assumptions.

I used to live for the weekends. As we all know, they’re just too short. Essentially, since I was living for the weekend, I was only living for 2/7 days of the week. Well, I’ve determined that 2 out of 7 days/week isn’t enough time; that’s not the only time I want to have fun. I want to have fun whenever my little ole’ heart desires.

So, I left my job! It was long overdue. I should have left the first three weeks I was there. It was during the fentanyl epidemic in ’22 that I considered it because kids were overdosing at my school left and right. But, I decided to stick it out! In the words of Julia Robert’s ‘Pretty Woman’ character, “Big mistake! Big, big mistake!” But, I’ll know for next time. One thing I’ve learned (and they’ve become my mantra) are three things:

1. I don’t want to!
2. I don’t have to!
3. In the words of Sheree Whittfield of The Real Housewives of Atlanta, ‘Who gon’ check me Boo!’

These phrases take care of most of the things in my life!

So, here’s to figuring out my next moves!

Today’s challenge poem is a cinquain. So, what is a cinquain? Well, simply put, a cinquain is a five-line poem, often with specific syllable or word patterns for each line. It’s a short, concise form that can be used to capture a specific moment, feeling, or idea. The term “cinquain” comes from the French word for “five”.

Here’s a template:

• Line 1: One word (the subject of the poem)
• Line 2: Two words (describing the subject)
• Line 3: Three words (action words describing the subject)
• Line 4: Four words (showing emotions about the subject)
• Line 5: One word (a synonym of the subject)

Here’s my offering:

Love

Love,
Heartwarming, intangible
Falling, feeling, happy
Changes everything it touches
Devotion

Today’s offering is an elegy. What is an elegy? Well, an elegy is often confused with a eulogy. A eulogy is a speech or piece of writing that praises someone or something highly, typically someone who has just died. Whereas an elegy is a poem of serious reflection, typically a lament for the dead. In this case, my poem is a eulogy for my former best friend, Pain. It’s part two of my poem, Best Friend (Pain).

My Best Friend! (Part I)

Snot everywhere, bloodshot eyes, and a look of pure brokenness! 

Anyone else would have shied away from me; not her though. 

She came closer and held me tight as I pieced my shattered self 

back together, bit by severed bit. 

One of many such times she held me as I was beaten nearly lifeless

 blindsided, by life, with a series of jabs & crosses

 like a champion boxer.

She assured me that I was justified in feeling the way I felt.

Never was it held against me.

Not even during the months-long, torturous, hate-fueled nights

when sweet slumber evaded me. 

Gently, she whispered a woe-filled lullaby 

as she lulled me to sleep,

lifting the anchor placed around my neck by insomnia. 

We were in sync with the rhythm of life,

in all its misery.

I with her, she with me.

At times it seemed she breathed for me.

I know she’d die for me! 

Nothing was as soothing as the time

when she was close at hand

for the thirteen long hours I toiled in labor

with my third son who showed no signs of leaving my womb. 

The agony, so unbearable, I should not have made it through.

Faithful as could be, she remained with me the whole time.

During my first heartbreak,

when my man cheated on me,

as I lay, ugly-crying on the cold, hard bathroom floor,

she picked me up, held me even closer, then

helped me formulate a devious plan to get back at him.

That’s why I had to fight when someone had the nerve

to tell me to let her go because she is not my friend. 

What?!?! 

They absolutely.do.not.know.what.they’re.talking.about! 

How could I give her up when we’ve experienced so much together?!?!

I honestly don’t know how I’d live without her.

She brought out facets of me I didn’t know existed.

No one loves me like she does.

I mean, she really sees me, down to my very being;

Not the pretend me I show the world!

Though I will admit that she’s been the cause of some hurt feelings.

But, wasn’t it necessary?

Truths had to be revealed, right?

So she may not be the most popular.

And maybe, just maybe, she’s not well-liked

because she has the temerity to reveal

what others would not and could not.

There’s nothing anyone can say that can make me stop loving her.

I will love her till the end.

So, I dare you,

try and separate me from my friend, Pain, 

and we have a problem. 

Let her go?

Not a chance!

Elegy for My Former Best Friend (Part II)

Old Friend,

you were the best friend I never knew I needed.

You served your purpose,

got me through the hardest times.

Sad to see you go.

In my heart for many years.

Letting go,

one of the hardest tasks.

Though I’m better because of you,

You are no longer needed.

You brought out the worst and best in me.

I owe much to you.

You had One job, and you did it well!

Goodbye old friend!

Though I’m sad to see you go,

I have to let you go!

I was trying to catch up and then post, but that wasn’t a good plan. I am going to write and post the others as I’m catching up. So, the days are going to be a little wonky. Today’s offering is a kwansaba. So, what is a kwansaba you ask? Well, according to Writer’s Digest, a kwansaba is a 49-word poetic form, inspired by the African-American holiday, Kwanzaa, created by Eugene B. Redmond in 1995. It features seven lines, each with seven words, and no word longer than seven letters. The poem is a form of praise, often celebrating family and African-American culture

Here’s my original poetry for today:

As Though It Were My Own

Wasn’t comfortable in his skin.

But I tried to wear it anyway.

Wore it, as though it were my own.

It wasn’t mine to wear though.

Can’t own something that belongs to the streets.

Here’s my kwansaba offering:

Family

Family, a stitch uniting life as one.

Woven into the entirety of me/I.

Like a tightly woven quilt.

Kindly knit with care and love,

Joining those who hold your heart.

Though, at times, feathers are ruffled,

There are no others I love more!

I’ve been curiously missing in action and owe some poems from Days 9-15.

Day 9- Duplex

Day 10- Haibun

Day 11- Villanelle

Day 12- Ribcage

Day 13- Golden Shovel

Day 14- Blackout

Day 15- Didactic

Day 16- Ballad

Day 17- Free Verse

Day 18- Elegy

Day 19- Ghazal

Day 20- Prose

Day 21- Tanka

Not only am I behind, but I’m behind on poem forms I’ve never written before. I have some serious catching up to do!

I have some extra time this week since I am on Spring Break. So I have some poem writing to do!

I made a boo-boo! I mixed up my days. Yesterday I was supposed to write an ode and a pantoum today. I didn’t do that, but it’s ok. As long as I write; that’s the important part!

So, here’s my offering for today- Ode. So, what is an ode? An ode is a type of lyric poetry, with its origins in Ancient Greece. Odes are elaborately structured poems praising or glorifying an event or individual, describing nature intellectually as well as emotionally. A classic ode is structured in three major parts: the strophe, the antistrophe, and the epode. Different forms such as the homostrophic ode and the irregular ode enter.

Ode to Black Men

Oh richly melanated being,

You stand with strength untold.

A more handsome man I’ve never seen.

Creating a story worth its weight in gold.

Oh Black man, Oh Black man

How I wait with breath bated.

Count me as your greatest fan.

I honor you, I see you!

You’re so very appreciated.

You hold us together; you’re the glue!

Oh richly melanated man,

I bless your manly existence.

I’m forever in your debt.

From me you’ll encounter no resistance.

Oh Black man, Oh Black man,

I’ll always have your back.

Your greatness I’ll never forget.

My love you’ll never lack!

For Holding

My hands are made for holding.

Petite and delicate, just for him

Our fingers intertwine perfectly.

Original poetry by Carole Leila Cramer

VERSE 1

1. (a)- He laughs.
2. (b)- “Don’t be silly,” he gaslights.
3. (a)- You know how you are!
4. (b)- Just let it go.

VERSE II

2. (b- repeated from 1st stanza)- “Don’t be silly,” he said.
3. (c- new)- “No, I didn’t say that. You misunderstood.”
4. (b- repeated from 1st stanza)- Just let it go.
5. (c- new)- Hey, you wanna’ get something to eat?

VERSE III

5. (c- repeated from 2nd stanza)- Hey, I asked if you want to get something to eat?
6. (d- new)- She notes, “Something to eat always comes after the put downs.”
7. (c- repeated from 2nd stanza)- “No, I didn’t say that. You misunderstood,” she says.
8. (d- new)- “I really wish you would get it together,” he says.

END VERSE (or continue for as many verses as you like)

(d- repeated from 3rd stanza)- “No, I mean it. I really wish you would get it together,” he snidely chides!

(3 or 1 (a- from 1st stanza)- You know how you are.

(d-repeated from 3rd stanza)- He wants to get something to eat. “Oh no, here comes the put downs.”

(1 or 3 (a- from 1st stanza)- He laughs!
DON’T BE SILLY

He laughs.
“Don’t be silly,” he gaslights.
You know how you are!
Just let it go.

“Don’t be silly,” he said.
“No, I didn’t say that. You misunderstood.”
Just let it go.
Hey, you wanna’ get something to eat?

Hey, I asked if you want to get something to eat?
She notes, “Something to eat always comes after the put downs.”
“No, I didn’t say that. You misunderstood,” she says.
“I really wish you would get it together,” he says.

No, I mean it. I really wish you would get it together, he snidely chides.
You know how you are.
He wants to get something to eat. “Oh no, here comes the put downs.”
He laughs that evil laugh!

I am particularly excited about this one. I’m going to spend real time on this one. I’d mentioned this one to Hiram (Sims- LAPL Commissioner and creator of The Sims Library of Poetry), but didn’t know the name of it at the time. Imagine my excitement when this poem type showed up on the NaPoWriMo challenge list.

So, what is a cento poem? Glad you asked. A cento poem is a poem created by piecing together lines or passages from existing poems or texts, rather than being entirely original. 

• Origin: The term “cento” comes from the Latin word “centum,” meaning “hundred,” referring to the idea of a patchwork garment made up of many pieces. 
• Purpose: While centos can be used for various purposes, they are often employed to pay homage to other poets, explore a topic without introducing the author’s voice, or create a new meaning through the juxtaposition of different voices and ideas. 
• Examples:
  • T.S. Eliot’s “The Waste Land” is a famous example of a cento, drawing heavily from various sources, including Homer, Virgil, and Shakespeare. 
  • Ezra Pound’s “Cantos” is another example of a cento, using fragments of various texts to explore different themes. 
  • John Ashbery’s “The Dong with the Luminous Nose” is a contemporary cento that gathers lines from famous poems, including those of Lord Byron and T.S. Eliot. 
• Modern Centos are often witty, creating irony or humor from the juxtaposition of images and ideas. 
• Citing Sources: It is important to acknowledge the sources from which the lines or passages are taken, as a cento is not intended to be presented as original work. 

So, I am going to cheat and make my offering for the cento poem once I’ve had time to work on it.

My only offering for today is an original poem:

Boogie, the Beat

Hand tired from writing, but…

Gotta’ read everyday.

Gotta’ write everyday.

Gotta’ write one more line before retiring to bed.

There’s no sleep before then.

Gotta’ get this poem out 

​​to the rhythm of the boogie, the beat!

Carole Leila

C: aring- will give you the shirt off her back;

A: mazing- all around!

R: esilient- she’s overcome more than anyone knows.

O: riginal- there’s none like her.

L: audable- she deserves praise for all that she is.

E: xceptional listener- tell me what’s on your mind.

L: over of flowers; it’s the essence of Leila.

E: loquent- speaker of truth; beautiful wordsmith.

I: ndustrious- she is diligent and conscientious.

L: adylike- they call her Lady Leila.

A: ffectionate- hugs and touch are now her love language.

Black Cat (Original poetry by C.L. Cramer)

I am the embodiment of black cat energy.

I wonder if I could embody siren energy.

I hear someone say, “No, you cannot!”

I see that they don’t know me very well.

I am the embodiment of black cat energy.

I pretend that I don’t know sometimes.

I feel energy, I’m aware of what it is!

I touch his heart with my empathic vibe.

I worry that he won’t understand me.

I cry alligator tears and become frustrated.

I am the embodiment of black cat energy.

I understand that I’m not meant for everyone.

I know I’m peculiar.

I dream of being like everyone else.

I try to be like everyone else.

I hop off that train.

I am meant to be different.

I am black cat energy.

Twilight (My 2nd Offering) Original poetry by C.L. Cramer

Life is short, my love is long.

We’ve found each other in the twilight of our lives;

going to spend the rest of our lives loving each other,

proving true love does indeed exist.

I embrace everything that you are now and will be.

So it begins…