The American Sentence is a form created by Allen Ginsberg, consisting of 17 syllables. (He basically took the haiku and did away with the 5-7-5 requirement.)

Yesterday in a Facebook post, I invited folks to write such a sentence, then today, bowled over by the poetry, beauty, heart, and realness of the responses, I decided to compile them into a single poem. The effect, I think, is really powerful — and surprisingly seamless. It’s also a poignant reminder that even in our isolation, we can finds ways to connect and create together.

Thanks to everyone who contributed, and to Maya Stein for the inspiration to create a collective piece like this one.

Gray skies, biting cold. Butter hits sizzling pan. Yolk like summer. Dig in.
Watch how hard the sun is loving the trees; then close your eyes and root down.

Designing and building our age-in-place dream home while we’re still able.
Grief is dancing between past and future; gift now is breath in the present.

I am managing to stay afloat and on top of all life's pleasures.
I am inexplicably exhausted and just want to go to bed.

Winter mist drifts
softly touching my face
the refreshing joy of fog

Eating all the desserts because the healthy lifestyle starts on Monday.
I can practically taste something new coming. But here I am, still.

The sun’s shining, making me happy. I miss the snow. Can’t have it all!
Japanese Witch Hazel about to burst. Yellow stars against gray sky.

Calendula orange. The magic I need is found in my backyard.
The substance of spaciousness is lost for now and known in the now.

Oatmeal with almond butter and dark chocolate for dinner. Yum Yum.
Had a near fall experience today; Made me feel invincible.

The birds the dogs and the squirrels are all keeping me company here.
I smile out at snow, grimace some at the cold, I sit inside warm.

I'm cycling hard between grief and overwhelm, but I'm getting through.
I am so tired and seemingly unable to do anything worthwhile.

And this:
Life is so full of amazing things and a wonder to behold often.

Seeing my friends won't hurt me
Leaving the house is okay.
Keep breathing.

Sharing one’s truth
seeds all of life.…
Thank you for seeding
my heart with you.

I want to visit my mother.
She is fading away,
far from me.

Breathing in the night sky, cats dancing round the garden and peace is mine.
The numbness of uncertainty, seeing your friends grieving, your heart stops, silence still, and then you breathe.

Know that the world is healing and that there is a new vision brewing.
Walking home at night, I encounter a black snake--time to shed my skin.

I want to be everywhere; but the last thing I want is to go there.
I’m weathering the costs of getting into good trouble, friends.

American Sentence: A Collective Poem