Monthly Archives: April 2010

Wannabe

Riffing off Paschal‘s class again – Wannabe Song Cathy Bowman style – just for fun 🙂
I wanna carry you around in my pocket
I wanna wear you around my neck in a locket
I wanna hear your motor and clock it

I wanna be your favorite song
I wanna be what makes you strong
I wanna be yours all along

I wanna be your home again
I wanna be your secret plan
I wanna be your flash in the pan

I wanna be your cheesecake
I wanna be your earthquake
I wanna be yours for Pete’s sake

I wanna be your train tracks
I wanna be your first act
I wanna be your matter of fact

I wanna be your picker upper
I wanna be your slow cooker
I wanna be your honey butter

I wanna be your sweetest dream
I wanna be your cooling stream
I wanna be the other half of your team

I wanna be your waring blender
I wanna be your chicken tender
I wanna be your return to sender

I wanna be your hallelujah
I wanna be your lollapalooza
I wanna be what it takes to enthuse ya

Working Lanterns

One Word: Industry More Japanese Lantern Poems

eight
hour day
industry
weekend
short

feed
machines
industry
eats up
men

school
seems like
industry
product
drones

man’s
precious
industry
getting
things

grey
windows
industry
blinded
eyes

“That’s The News And I Am Outa Here”

Read Write Poem
Prompt – Headlines
(shown in italics)

Laptops given to Gaza’s children
While Nigerian denies child bride claim

Yemaya’s babies deserve better
She calls her own to her
They stumble home weary and worn

Indian radioactive death probed
Bank boss warned of tough times

The wizard is checking the cost
Ancient fears prevail like desert winds
Who could have predicted that

Murder charge in PlayStation row
Space rock has frosted surface

Oracle no longer heeded
Lost people wander single file
No compass or north star to guide

Industrious Labor

One Word: Industry and another Three word Wednesday

busy busy
stir the scrabbling
stew pot bees
buzzing peas porridge
hot as a firecracker
ignite the rotten
core the termite heart
infestation defenestration
bath water and baby depart
lay it down easy
feather soft feather
filled pillow pink slips
who needs all that buzzing
fuzzy memory
jive in the hive
the queen preens
while we go marching
one by one
hurrah

Testing Testing

Three Word Wednesday: depart, ignite, rotten
in “honor” of TAKS week

sparks ignite
tiny fires
in the dark
a scan would show
where the heat lies
potential can be measured
by bubbled pages with
number two pencils
dot the eyes and cross the tees
this one is rotten
it says so right here
depart from rigid and
flow with time and circumstance
find the cure the end
justify the means
the average the mundane
no magic here
no one can pull out that sword
where’s merlin when we need him
spit the words out and tell us the answer
do you know
are you cognizant
ambivalent of the requisite
documentation do you have
your papers in order
to cross the border

the gulls are singing and waves
and sun and seasoned wind
time tells but not the how
or why look into the water
seers scry and love rounds
the corners the sharp
edges pray hedges around
the knight fails
and the beggar rules
the house of cards tell
the tale the dice fell
no prescription for what ails
just love and hope
give it get it want it
need it learn it
earn it
summer heals all

Congrats to BunnyGirl – – can’t wait to read her new book Maelstrom!

What To Do When You Can’t

one more tonight…

When you can’t talk to anyone
writing flows out through fingers
and though it lay on the paper
it will rise slowly

When you can’t sing
write a cappella is nice
with wine and whether adagio
or allegro the harmony will soothe

When you can’t play the language of
strings and things that strike
hammers and syllabic rhythm
the bass will carry the bottom line home

When you can’t dance
a poem can waltz the best
and rap your knuckles with staccato
stilettos but ballet is flexible

When you can’t cry
the paper can hold tears
a little salt folded gently
careful not to bruise

When you can’t paint
write the colors, the lights and shadows
and the design they leave
Will map your heart to the treasure

When you can’t sleep
dreams or nightmares in
twisted sheets of thoughts
pillow the landing come down

When you can’t write
think and read and sing
and dance and cry and sleep
words will find you

How To Deal With a Fissure

Still reading Vivian Shipley and One Single Impression prompt was Fissure so:

you need not holler
Sound will bounce around here
and the animals won’t like it
things get dislodged

Steer clear of the edge because
chunks can slip
and age worn rock defies grip
though water darkens patterns

If there is a tree with an eagle in it
do not sing and do not look up
he has been testy lately
and views you as trespasser

You can go around or
down but no jumping
is allowed and blood takes
eons to wash away

a guide will tell you
follow well marked paths
leave a prayer in the niche
or place your hand inside

snakes have the right of way
no matter what the sign says
and old spirits may whisper
politely nod or bow, either will do

Wind will find the way and
fissures, crevasses or outcroppings
change the pitch and light
free parting gifts for all customers

A wonderful young blogging poet introduced me to “Lantern Poems”.  You can read hers here. They are centered and each line has a prescribed number of syllables so that the poem takes the shape of a Japanese lantern. Here is mine.

chasms
too wide
to cross alone
your hand
reaches

open
empty space
a fissure opens
hearts touch
closed

granite
fine veined
rain carved fissures
dark minerals
golden

Mine are not quite right 1 word at top and bottom but not one syllable.  I may need to play around a little more

What To Do With Onions

There is a weird new kind of spam showing up – duplicates of comments already made but from weird various places.  WordPress is doing it’s best to keep them at a minimum but I am also having to go in and delete manually.  Just a heads up to the rest of you bloggers – I don’t think it is just me.

Sunday Scribblings 212 prompt is Dinner and Murat11‘s kiddos are riffing off Vivien Shipley’s “What To Do About Sharks” and Gertrude Stein’s Tender Buttons and somehow that landed me with this

chop the scallions scamps rapscallions
gallons and gallons
we shop and hop and chop the scallions
scampering in the scandalous stalls of markets
old women baskets and shawls
chop and dice and peel and rice
clean the mess the test of
kitchens smidgeons of pidgeons breasts
stuffed with the scallions
scalded scantily clad and wrapped
in scallions, garlic and sage
and scalded chopped and sliced and diced
for nineteen ninety nine its
yours and knives to cut and fill
your gut but wait there’s
more
just a touch of lemon takes
the smell away the shell
the skin this onion
has many layers

The Eyes Have It

Weekend Wordsmith 147

Read Write Poem wordle

“What do you think she saw?”  I was scribbling in the Moleskine I kept in my jacket pocket.

Jack puffed on his cigar.  “Hell if I know, and she ain’t telling.” He gloved up and peered around her for evidence, stepping carefully.

You could tell she had been beautiful.  Not anymore.  Jack’s words reverberated in my head and dizziness threatened to take me down. “What is that stuff on her shirt?   It looks like it’s peppered with rust.” I kept my eyes on her shirt.  Don’t look at the face again.  There was a wet tendril of saffron hair flung across her neck as though a sudden squall blew through and left no trace but those stands.

“Dried blood”  Jack said.

I flinched and looked away.  There was no one around.  “What do you think she was doing here?”  A broken sign that read “Tomorrow’s Emporium” creaked in the breeze.  A crow sat on a post and I felt a fierce irrational anger at it.

The photographer snapped from different angles. I didn’t envy him.  “I’ll see you down at the station.”  Jack waved and I shoved my notebook back in the pocket and  got in my car, relieved to be out of there.  I wished I had been home asleep instead of sitting in the bar with Jack when the call came in.  There would be no sleep tonight.

Wordle is a great site for generating beautiful word clouds.  The purpose of this one was a poetry prompt but I’m feeling contrary…

Wolf Moon Begins

Thursday Tales #4

Jae’s father carried her on his shoulders.  They had stayed at the garden late and the sun was low.  She loved to work with him and now she was sunburned and tired.  The sun was hanging low and the sky was purple and rose. She laid her cheek on his hair and daydreamed.  Her stomach growled.  Mama would have supper waiting for them.

She heard a  howl and opened her eyes.  Her father walked a little faster and glanced behind them.  “Put me down, da.  I’ll walk.”  He set her down and took her hand.

“Come  Jae.  I’m hungry.” They hurried as darkness fell .  The moon rose big and white in the sky.  There was more howling back in the woods to the west.

“Can think you can race me home, daughter?”

Jae knew he was worried but she pretended not to notice. “I can beat you!” She took off with him right behind her.  They could see the smoke from the chimney of their house now.  Jae turned to smile at him and tripped.  As she fell she saw a sight that terrified her.  Right behind her father was the biggest grey wolf she had ever seen.  Her dad skidded past her and turned to pull her up as the wolf’s teeth closed on her leg.  Her father beat him with his staff til he backed off growling.

“Da!”

“Jae, are you hurt bad? Can you walk?”

“Yes, da.” Her leg hurt. She got up and carefully put weight on the injured leg.

“Go home.  I’m right behind you.”

He walked backwards, never taking his eyes from the wolf.  The wolf growled once before turning and loping away.   Her father picked her up and ran toward home.  They had to get to Simon. He would know what to do.

More Wolf Moon tales

Perfectly flawed

Read Write Poem prompt #21: perfectly flawed

smiling faces sweet
blanket pulled back the
family complete
she is perfect they said
look at that face they said
they kissed her and she was
their heart they said
daddy’s girl
apple of mama’s eye
healthy all the fingers, toes
and she would grow
and all their hope pinned
on the perfect little
sweet smiling face

~
she went to him and said
can you fix this
this part you know is much too big
far apart, too small she said
and happiness is just a bit
of change away
my life is almost perfect see
if I could just become the me
that I would like to find
it’s there you know I
see it in the edge
of the mirror
can you fix this
she went to him and said

~

to look down through
the time that passed
the memories that hold
fast to the heart are those
that share the inside part
not mirror glass
but pictures of the love
that grew and family
friends, laughter too
the mirror now shows
crows feet paths
more than dna science
or make up life carves
the rivers

~

come here, my child He said
you are and always were
the way I made you
perfect in my sight your heart
the part that makes you
My child, My work
of heart is loved not
for what is in the edge of the
mirror but for what
is mirrored by the heart of
you the part
My perfect art
that’s Me the glory

Wolf Moon Peace

Jae woke a little before dawn, first light making shapes visible.  In the dream, she had been running and running and couldn’t get away from whatever was chasing her.  It was an old dream, as familiar to her now as her own skin.  It seemed like a hundred years ago.  To wake up here in this house after the dream made her feel like that child all over again.  Her father carried her here after the wolf bit her.  Simon doctored her bites and kept watch over her until the first full moon brought about her change.

Her family had hoped he could help her.  They had believed in him.  They were wrong.

She shook the last of the dream confusion out of her mind and opened her eyes.  Simon was asleep in the rocking chair near the fire.  He looked older in his sleep, face slack, mouth slightly open. A wisp of white hair had worked loose from the long braid and his skin was more translucent than she remembered.  Jae frowned, trying to remember how old he had been when she left.

She stretched and put her hand on Aedan’s chest.  His heartbeat was strong.  His eyes opened and he looked at her, whining softly.  She put her hand on his face and laid her head against him.

“Hungry?” she said quietly? “Just a minute.”

Jae went and got some of the pieces of meat and brought it to him, feeding him slowly, a piece at a time.  She got a pan of water and brought it to him.  He drank a little and closed his eyes.  “Sleep, Aedan.  Rest and get better,” She crooned.

Simon opened his eyes and turned his head toward them.  A look passed between them and she crawled up on the bed and gently curled up next to Aedan, careful not to jostle him.  The dream never came twice a night.  She would sleep now, giving her peace and warmth to her mate.


More Wolf Moon Tales

Just Breathe

One Word: Joyful

and riff off a friend’s twitter post – for you Tony 🙂

bubbling over all around
it just wells up from who knows
where or cares because
it’s here and when it comes you
just gotta squeeze the juicy juice
into the glass that’s more than
half full, it’s spilling over
getting all the goody sweetness
everywhere and covering
a multitude of sins the ins
and outs of all the shouts
of glory hallelujah boys we
sing because we can and why
shouldn’t we lift our voices
lift our hands and let
the pretty balloons go flying
trying to touch the clouds
we fly with them another day
and looking down on tops
of trees and breezes blowing
smiles are showing who
we are and want to be
at least today we’re joyful
grateful to just breathe

Behind the Mask

One single Impression: Mask and One Word: Castaway

behind the trappings
slapped on skin
the laces and velvet
the denim and boots
lift up the petals and leaves
to the roots
cast away the chaff
but keep the meaty part
the heart the chocolate
covered inside is the best
the test of all
time stands still for
the tender shoot that pokes
it’s little green head up
well the world just runs over
us and leave potholes but still
the center holds
are you in there
is anybody home
echoes if you look under the
bed but out here
we be sailing along
the song keeps playing
I’m just saying

Night Wings: Lolly and Sloan

Sunday Scribbling #211 Wonder

He’d been drinking all day.  Saturdays were the worst. Lolly closed her book and felt the familiar tightening of her stomach.  He had been banging and slamming around  the kitchen for a few minutes.  That was never a good sign.  He wasn’t like this when mama was alive.  Lolly sighed and stuck a pillow over her head.

Please Sloan, stay out his way today.

“Sloan!” He yelled.

Aw crap.  She held the pillow tighter.

Now what?.  Why can’t he just leave him alone.  Take his beer and go sit in front of the television and go to sleep.

Sloan didn’t answer.  It didn’t matter.  If he answered he would tell him to come to the kitchen.  If he didn’t answer he would just go after him.  Either way it would end up the same.  She threw the pillow on the floor and scooted up into the corner of the bed, arms clasped around her legs, chin resting on her knees.  She was too thin with a pointed chin and eyes too large for her face.  She hated her hair.  On good days it was just curly but drizzly days like today it frizzed out like a cloud around her head.  She scrunched her eyes closed tightly and willed her father away from Sloan.  No good.

She heard her brothers’ door slam open and her father roar “Don’t you hear me calling you, boy?”

“Yes sir.” Sloan answered in a small voice.

“Guess you think you’re smart hiding in here when I need you.  You come when I call you!  Take the trash out, you useless little jerk!”

“Yes sir.” Sloan said again.

Please, please, please, please.  She kept repeating to herself, a litany of hope. It never worked but she couldn’t help thinking that the one time she didn’t say it, would be the one time it would have worked.

She heard a thud and her brother cried out.  It had happened often enough that she could picture it. A tear squeezed out and she put her hands over her ears, scissoring her legs, crumpling up the bed clothes.  He never came for her and she felt so bad.  Sloan told her not to be stupid that she should be thankful.  He said he was glad and that made it seem worse.

She rocked back and forth still hearing the sounds of him hitting Sloan, her brother grunting in pain.  Suddenly she really could see it.  She was there with him!  How could that be?  Oh my God, he’s going to hit us again!

“Lolly?”

“Shhh Sloan, he’ll hear us!”  The hand came at him again and he landed on the floor at the end of the hall.

“Stay down, Sloan.  Just stay down.”

“Lolly, how?”

“I don’t know but I’m here.  Just keep listening, I’ll stay with you.”

It’s okay Lolly, but I’m glad you’re here.”

Their father lumbered off to the living room.  “Do you think he’ll stay gone now?”

“Yeah. He’ll fall asleep in his chair now.” Sloan sat up, moving limbs to make sure nothing was broken.

“Do you think you can get up?”

“I think so. Ouch!”

“I’m so sorry, Sloan. Come to my room.”

Lolly jumped off the bed and met him at the door.  She closed it quietly and threw her arms around her brother hugging him gently.  She stood back and they both looked at each other wide eyed.

“What just happened?”  They stared at each other in wonder.

“Sit here and I’ll get you some ice.” Sloan’s eye was already puffing up.  It was going to be a mess.

“Be careful, don’t wake him up.  It doesn’t hurt that bad.”

Lolly waved him off and slipped out the door to the kitchen.  She grabbed a towel from the rack by the sink and eased the freezer door open.  Dishes were piled in the sink and the trash can was overflowing with beer cans.  Not much food in the house but there was always plenty of beer.  She scooped some ice into the towel and silently shut the freezer door, tiptoed past the living room where he was slumped in his ratty arm chair that was threadbare and leaking stuffing. He was snoring now, tv flashing shadows around the dingy room,  volume on low.

She slipped back in her room and put the ice-filled towel on Sloan’s eye. “Hold that.”

“So want to try it again?”

Sloan nodded.  “How do we start?”

Lolly grabbed up a stuffed rabbit and hugged it to her.  She shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t know how we did it the first time.”

“Well, try closing your eyes and thinking about something.” Sloan moved the ice pack and winced.

Lolly closed her eyes.

“You know I hate math.”

Lolly opened her eyes and grinned.  “So you haven’t done your homework yet?”

“No and maybe this will be a great time to try this out.  You can help me through the quiz tomorrow.”

“Sloan, what are we going to do?  It gets worse every time.  He’s going to really hurt you one of these times.”

“I’ve been thinking about that.  I think I’m gonna have to leave.”

“If you think I’m letting you leave by yourself Sloan, you’ve taken one too may hits to the head!” Lolly crossed her arms and glared at her brother.

“He doesn’t bother you.  I don’t know where I’m going.  I can’t take you with me.”

Lolly stuck her chin out.  “You don’t know what will happen if you leave me here alone with him. I’m scared of him.  I might never see you again!”  Her lip quivered a bit at the last.  Sloan knew if he was going to get away without her he would have to sneak out and carefully or she would catch him.

“That’s not going to happen!”  Sloan jerked his head up,  “No, you didn’t say it out loud, but that doesn’t matter anymore does it? I’d rather take my chances with you

Sloan groaned.  “Fine.  But if we are both going to go, we’re going to have to come up with a plan.  I don’t think we’ll have to worry about him. He probably won’t even know we’re gone until he sobers up.”

“How’s your eye?”

“Why are you asking? You already know.”

“I do, but we are going to have to keep in the habit of talking unless we want to be labeled freaks.”  Lolly grinned and nodded and pulled the chessboard out from under the bed.  They’d been playing since they were twelve but this was going to be a whole new game.

To read More Night Wings

Poem Starting with a Line from Norman Dubie #2

Read Write Poem Prompt

first lines of Norman Dubie poems

His chapel fell into flowers long ago.
a holy land of milk and honey
righteous anger nearly felled them all
eyes refusing to see creation color
wandering lost on the other side of
a wall he built one brick at a time
unknowing, stiff and alone
no sin to confess makes
a cold unforgiving heart of weeds
nothing blooms like faith
or breeds tenderness like
grace extended toward good soil
he refused to reach out his hand
but the garden grew anyway
tended by others

Hide and Seek

One single Impression: Vicarious

we peek around the tree
to see who’s peeking back
and are they smiling
sitting by the window breeze
the pen the page
the writing freeze the scene
is what it is and we
are not within
but lookers only
looky look we see and write
we are not in the scene tonight
but eyes have ears
and fingers agile as the mind
allows them to be a moment
please can you repeat
I think I missed that beat
put down the pen
and come outside the sun
in shining down and warm
and you can hide behind
the tree
and I will find you peeking
out and smile
home free