We struggle, we juggle, we bear, we fall, and we stand up. Isn’t art one of those crutches we use to keep us going? We find shelter in empty lines and compassion and empathy in words written by others.
We are emotions and senses. Poetry is not there for us with a meaning; poetry is there for us to give it our own meaning.
Poets walk the world searching for their own words, and on this journey, if they are lucky—and only if they are fortunate enough—their words will be heard, remembered, and appreciated by others.

In a corner of the world, in Vankleek Hill, a group of amateur and professional writers and readers gather once a week to write and share their thoughts. They use guided prompts to open their minds to the words of others and to characters that are not physically present but alive in their imaginations. Janis Goad, a talented amateur writer, reads her work with a calming voice and invites others to join her in this imaginary place, combining memories and creativity.

The following poem is called “The Pearl Necklace,” which was created by Janis in response to one of our guided prompts. This poem beautifully captures the essence of transformation, using the image of the oyster and the silk worm, and the metaphor of the necklace representing connections. As mentioned before, it is not anyone’s job to give meaning to a poem, but to the reader. Take a look at this beautifully crafted piece of poetry and join us at The Vankleek Hill Creating Center any Wednesday at 6:30 PM if you are an avid writer or want to learn the craft and connect with others. 

The Pearl Necklace

I was an oyster on a rock, surrounded by kin.
I bathed in dark cool water.
I was at home in the river.

Into my opening half-shells you
Dropped a grit, even several.
They scratched me, burning, an inflammation.
I squeezed my fluids around each, layered nacre
Upon layer, but irritation grew.

You removed me. You cast my oyster aside.
Or ate it.

I was a pearl. You pierced me, precisely
Lest I crack. I stayed whole, unshattered.
I am a river pearl.

I was an egg, then a silk worm, green, wriggling, ravenous.
I chewed mulberry leaves.
Among kin, incubated in the mulberry garden I
Ate, I grew, I moulted, each instar
Expanding until
Out of my tail I spun whispy threads
I cocooned myself in silk.
Within, I dissolved. My proteins, DNA, my secret mystery
Unlatched and shifted, longing to
Transform to wings, to grow to flight.

You removed me. You unwound my thready home,
My life’s brew draining.
My threads you spun to silk to ply or weave.
I am a white silk thread.

I was silver, a vein in the mineral mother lode.
Out of the dark earth you mined me,
Bathed ore in arsenic to purify
In furnace you forged me, red hot
Liquid poured to moulds.
You polished me, smoothing burrs,
Burnishing to shine.

I am a sterling silver clasp, mullioned
Like tiny fairy windows.

From three vectors of provenance
I come. You strung me, knotting silken thread
Between each pearl,
Each knot a union and a separation.
You clasp me on your throat.

I am not a string of pearls
I’m the vertebrae of your spine
I’m the days of your life
I’m the breaths of a miner
I ‘m the lap of waves above an oyster bed
I’m the line of whitecaps near a shore.

I am all these transformations.
I am unshattered.
I am whole.

For additional information about our writing group, please contact us at [email protected].