Day 20 of the November 2009 PAD Chapbook Challenge involved writing a poem entitled “And Then (blank)” where we fill in the blank. Here’s my attempt for the day:
And Then We Walked Away
We could have talked it over
Worked through fears
Gaps in understanding
It seemed too much work
Prying at old walls
That made it possible for us
To remain aloof from the fact that
The house was falling down
Around our ears
We hadn’t sense or
Wherewithal enough to
Save ourselves and all we’d built
So we stopped talking
We turned our backs on one another
And then we walked away
The theme for Day 19 of the November 2009 PAD Chapbook Challenge was to write an attachment poem. Since all of life involves attachments there are numerous ways to interpret this.
Pensamientos de un Pescador
Attached by a small hook
Hangs the brightly colored painting
By the artist whose name is no longer recalled
That inspired such joy each day
Upon opening the eyes that it was carried
From home to home, city to city,
Even though the joy was no longer there
When gazed upon with the eyes
The soul pondered the losses – so many losses
Attached to the times, the places, the people, the spaces
Where the bright colors brought joy
Now… nothing
Instead of
Rushing away from
The love we’d lost
Like the rapid current of the
Yellow River
That curves behind the neighbor’s house
Under the overpass and
Along side the cemetery
We meandered
Out of each other’s lives
More like
Bayou St. John
En route to the lake
Motion barely perceptible to the untrained eye
Which upon first glance
Would not likely notice the flow
Or imagine any movement at all
From bayou to lake
To canal to river
To gulf and finally
Out to sea
1. Write an explosion poem.
2. Write an implosion poem.
Without Warning
Implosion of the soul generally occurs without warning. – m.b.
It was so sudden
I did not anticipate
The extraordinary pain
From the gaping hole
In the center of my chest
Where my heart once sat,
I thought, safely nestled
Inside my rib cage
Cradled gently in soft tissue
And muscle until the day
I understood
That you never loved me and
Never would and
All those years
Of trying to be good
Didn’t soften your heart but instead
Bred distain
So you could easily rip
Mine to shreds over and over
From childhood ‘til now
Until finally
The light dawned
– not like soft candlelight
But like sticks of dynamite
Strategically placed
To cause my soul
To collapse onto itself
The theme for Day 16 of the Writer’s Digest Poetic Asides November 2009 PAD Chapbook Challenge is “Clouds (blank)” where we fill in the blank for the title and write our poem. Well, here’s mine:
Clouds the Mind
Nebulous, dark storm clouds of thought
That in another space and time
Would have incited riotous rebellion
Now cloud the mind with fear, anxiety, self-doubt
Driving self-destructive pursuits
Wine, rum, sweets, and … ah yes… sweets
Light finally breaking through
Confusion giving way to meditation, prayer, peace
I’ve had some interesting revelations about myself as a writer as a result of participating in the Writer’s Digest Poetic Asides November 2009 PAD Chapbook Challenge. The first, and possibly most important, of these is that that I can, indeed, write poetry. It may not be the best poetry. It may not be the most carefully crafted poetry. It may not be the most vivid poetry; however, I have come to see poetry as much more accessible than I had in the past. Of course, like many people I’d jotted a few lines of poetry in my youth — those tortured lines of teen angst that resonate with the soul of a fifteen-year-old. But, my specialty in college was op-eds and essay writing with a smattering of fiction for flavor. So, for me, discovering my inner poet has been a blessing that I cannot describe. I’m glad I’ve taken on this challenge.
I encourage you to join me in the quest for our inner poets by participating in the November 2009 PAD Chapbook Challenge or at least enjoying some of the lovely poetry written by other participants.
For Day 15 of the November 2009 PAD Chapbook Challenge we were prompted to write a hanging poem. I wrote about my absolutely least favorite thing (okay maybe my 2nd least favorite thing, vacuuming is 1st).
Waiting
Hanging
Like the bed sheet
Out on the line
Longer than necessary to
Dry in the summer breeze
Flailing on the line
Day turning to twilight
Twilight to night
Waiting for dawn
The theme for Day 14 of the November 2009 PAD Chapbook Challenge was to write about about lines. The poem could refer to anything having lines or having to do with lines. Here’s my poem for today.
Laugh Lines
His face was still the same
Kind of, sort of
Harder-edged than I remembered
Formerly smooth
Now with deep creases
At the sides of the mouth
Except when he laughed
Really laughed
Then the boy, no – young man, I knew
Shined through
Glinting brown eyes
Tiny laugh crinkles at the corners
Harsh lines transformed
Almost their former selves
For just a moment of
Unrestrained joy
The theme for Day 13 of the November 2009 PAD Chapbook Challenge was to write a renewable poem, or rather a poem about something that is renewable.
As the Sun Rises
In solitude but not alone
Between prayer, sleep, and vision
Learn ancient tongues
Secret lessons
Of herb, water, and spirit
The power of word
Oaths of silence
Strength renewed
Faith reinvigorated
Re-enter the world of mankind
As the Sun rises to
Meet the new you
The theme for Day 12 of the November 2009 PAD Chapbook Challenge was to write a poem entitled “If only (blank)”, fill in the blank, and write a poem about it. Here goes:
If Only the Possibilities Were Not Endless
If only the possibilities were not endless
I would not be able to imagine
All the tiny and great things that
Pass through my mind each day we do not speak.
Was it the careless remark I made that day?
Or, was it the time I didn’t answer the phone
When you called because
I was cleaning the bathroom and
Didn’t hear the phone ring?
Or was it the ex-girlfriend
Who looked you up on Facebook and
Started reminiscing about those old college days?
Or was it the ex-wife?
It could have been the ex-wife.
Or, could it be that I shared too much
Too soon and didn’t make great efforts
To hide my flaws because it seemed
Disingenuous to pretend that I was perfect
When, well, who is?
Maybe you were abducted by aliens?
Wishful thinking, perhaps.
If you were abducted by aliens, then I could
Put to rest all the amazing, and not so amazing,
Ideas that pass through my restless mind.
If only the possibilities were not endless.
The Secret Life of Bees by Sue Monk Kidd is a coming of age story of a young white girl, Lily Owens, growing up in the rural South in 1964. The author has the African-American Civil Rights Movement as a backdrop for a story about Lily’s search for her self-identity through her quest to learn more about her mother.
It has been more than two years since I read the book and roughly twenty-four hours since I viewed the movie version starring Queen Latifah, Dana Owens. This is one circumstance where the movie did the book a great favor. Due to the time constraints of film, certain concepts were condensed into single phrases that encapsulated the very essence of the book, for example, at the opening scene Lily’s voice over states:
I killed my mother when I was four years old. That’s
what I knew about myself. She was all I wanted and I
took her away.
Here we see what is meant to be the premise of the book and the film. Lily must be propelled by fate to gain self-awareness. This process begins with her running away from her abusive father, freeing her nanny, Rosaleen, from hospital arrest for insulting a white man, and making her way to the home of May, June, and August Boatwright where she and Rosaleen find a safe haven and Lily starts to learn about herself and the suffering of others.
Without going into great detail and revealing the plot to those who have neither read the book nor seen the movie, there are typical coming of age issues that arise: learning a trade (bee-keeping), first love, death, injustice, and forgiveness. As a fan of Southern literature, I am instantly gratified by a tale set in the South that addresses these issues in an intelligent fashion. As an advocate of women’s literature, I am delighted to enjoy a well-written tale of a young lady facing her own demons and coming out stronger and better for it. However, as an African-American woman, I find the story to be all too common in a fundamental way: once again, the story of African-American women is being told by a Caucasian woman. While the stories of how African and African-American women and their Caucasian counterparts interacted in the past is an important one for a full understanding of our history as a nation, it is unfortunate that the story of the Boatwright sisters was not told from their point of view.
Some of the themes I imagine may be overlooked by traditional reviewers of this story are: 1) Lily starting her interaction with the Boatwright sisters with a lie and its symbolic correlation to the interactions whites have traditionally had with people of color around the world using lies and manipulation that caused confusion/disintegration of the social network; and 2) Lily bringing the outside and its violence into the sanctuary the Boatwright sisters had created for themselves and its symbolism for the way whites have brought violence and death through oppression to the shores of every land they invaded; and 3) Lily’s lack of regard and understanding of the real danger African-American boys/men faced (and continue to face) in a racist society (READ: American society not simply Southern society) brought death physically and symbolically to the tenderheartedness in African people that saves the Caucasian people from utter annihilation every day – when May dies, so do all good-hearted people.
It will be easy to talk about the secrets of the bees and the secrets of life. It will be easy to talk about racism in the rural South (as though it never existed in the North although there were only two states in the US that had no reports of lynchings). It will be easy to talk about overcoming hate and budding interracial relationships. There will be many discussions about May’s wailing wall and dealing with pain and loss. And, there will be a lot of talk about Lily learning about herself, learning that love is messy and people are a mess, and learning that forgiving herself for the accident that killed her mother so long ago would free her to become the woman she should grow into – strong, beautiful, and resilient.
But, will there be discussion about the African-American women who reared white children only to be reviled by them later in life? Will there be discussion of the women who left their own families to take care of the children of the people who belittled and humilated them each day? Will we hear the tales of the Boatwright sisters in their own voices? More importantly, will there be brave discussion of why, even in the early part of the so-called new millenium, the story of a young white girl telling the stories of African-American women is the best we can hope for in popular culture in the US?
Last Sunday, I had the pleasure of visiting a new club here in the ATL, The Foreign Exchange Cafe, which is situated just off I-20 near I-75/I-85. On first glance, the exterior is none too impressive. In fact, were it not for the extremely good lighting over the front door and the cars in the parking lot I would have had no idea what a treat awaited me inside the nondescript square-shaped building.
Upon entering, one is greeted by friendly staff offering a level of hospitality that I have not seen, even in Atlanta the seat of Southern hospitality, in many moons. Admission was only $5.00 on this particular night. With an additional $5.00 dinner and a drink were on offer. I walked through the bare foyer into a sensuously lit cafe-like setting. Cafe tables of varying shapes and sizes with an interesting array of chairs held sway in the middle of the room while sofas and arm chairs created conversation spaces on one side and along the rear wall. A moderate bar on the opposite side of the room and a small dance floor in front of the stage completed the setting. Strategically dim lights made for a soothing ambiance that also is quite flattering to the imperfect human form.
The interior is decorated with the exposed brick of the building being well utilized as a backdrop to a slightly industrial look with exposed vents and metal embellishments on a couple of the walls and the exterior of the bar. Music posters, funky lamps, and drop light fixtures add an edgy jazz/blues club feel to the space. The sound system was carefully designed to provide loud music that is not eardrum busting and allows for non-shouting conversation in all areas of the room. Instead of the Hip Hop music from Billboard’s list; the DJ selects a wide variety of positive message Hip Hop/Funk fusion that emphasizes that The Foreign Exchange Cafe is not trying to be just another Atlanta dance spot but a place with a soul and a message.
Since I already had eaten before coming out, I asked the kitchen to give me whatever they felt like I should try and a down home plastic plate with fried fish, seasoned crinkle fries and bread magically appeared before me. The flavor was wonderful and the meal was just the right size for a snack while out on the town. Dieting may be out of the question at The Foreign Exchange Cafe so take your low-fat issues to Buckhead.
Marketing Manager, George “g-phenom” Leslie, and his wife and business associate, Tineja Leslie, are striving to create a positive environment for local artists to showcase their work for the public. It is clear that they are lovingly crafting a space where people can come together to share in the musical experience in a way that is safe, supportive, and enjoyable for both the artists and the audience. For those who live outside Atlanta city limits, the drive may seem daunting but The Foreign Exchange Cafe is easy to locate and, in my opinion, worth the drive. It is a joy and a pleasure to enjoy the company of African-American/Caribbean people building an enterprise such as this one in our community for our community.
Upscale but not pretentious, The Foreign Exchange Cafe will prove to be an exciting new addition to Atlanta nightlife.
I have some concerns of my own regarding news coverage of the war on terror. Please see may response to Anderson Cooper’s blog below.
There is another, more fundamental issue with regard to how the stories about the so-called war on terror are covered. There is an assumption that the people who are fighting against our occupation in there sovereign lands are not reasonable or justified in their position. They are called militants and insurgents as though a) being a militant or an insurgent is inherently evil; and b) they have no right to defend their position as vehemently as we defend ours.
It would do all of us some good to remember a few things:
1) the “founding fathers” of the United States of America were themselves militants and insurgents in their time;
2) our moral and ethical position with regard to this war sits on very shaky ground considering the under-handed manner in which former President Bush got us involved in Iraq;
3) the US Government has created its own enemies through shady dealings with dictators in the past and inhumane policies to this day.
It is no wonder to me that our efforts at nation-building in Iraq have been less than successful to date; and, that our self-created enemies have been able to spread their messages of hatred far and wide to gain support amongst the young. We have allowed our government to create this mess just as we allowed it to bankrupt the country by handing the keys to the treasury to the greatest thieves in modern history – the bankers.
I simply ask the media to think before simply spreading the propaganda the government hands over under the guise of news. Adopting the language of the aggressor almost assures the ones being brutalized will be painted as the villain despite the fact that they had little or no real say in how the situation played out. I liken it to a domestic abuser saying, “She made me hit her.” We must question the abuser’s perspective, especially when the person with the black eye is smaller and weaker.
Click the link below to read an except from the book Slavery by Another Name: The Re-enslavement of Black Americans from the Civil War to World War II by Douglas A. Blackmon.
This morning, I found myself thinking I should update my Twitter status to “Embarrassed by my own arrogance and sense of entitlement.” You see what had happened was, I went to to make groceries just like I normally do on Sunday morning. I like to go on Sunday morning because most folks in Atlanta are at church or are getting ready to go to church at 9 or so in the morning, so there are always parking spaces near the door, plenty of space to walk and few, if any, lines at the check out. Anyway, I went to the Walmart up the street, grocery list in hand, and proceeded to add items to my cart. I couldn’t help noticing this huge bin of pears in the front of the fruit section. I found myself wondering if there were enough people in Snellville to buy all the pears in the bin.
I wandered the store a little more picking up coffee and creamer moving to the condiments aisle to get Blue Plate mayonnaise meandering through the grocery section picking up items and scratching them off my hastily scribbled list. At one point I realized I could not remember if I had thyme or rosemary on the spice shelf. I could not find fresh tarragon and already had decided to forgo it this trip rather than make a quest to three additional grocery stores to locate it. So, I picked up my cell phone to call home and ask my daughter to check for me. It turns out that I had neither (good thing I checked). I made my way over to the frozen vegetable freezers. I know, fresh is better. I love fresh veggies. But, I also need to make sure I get a certain amount of bang for my buck because I’m a single mom and have to feed three kids; I can’t afford for fresh fruits and veggies to go bad and get thrown out if we fail to eat them. So, I went looking for spinach, broccoli, corn, and the like. I located the corn and broccoli without a problem, but the spinach was no where to be found. That’s when I became frustrated.
There I stood in front of the frozen veggies staring through the glass doors of freezers over-filled with corn, okra, green peas, string beans, California mix, corn on the cob, carrots, and any number of other veggies and I was frustrated because I wanted spinach so I could make fish with sauteed spinach over pasta on Friday. A moment later I began to feel ashamed and a little embarrassed. Here I am living a totally over-privileged lifestyle in the richest nation on the planet in a grocery store that is more than just a grocery store — don’t forget the cheap clothing, music and dvd’s, electronic devices, sporting goods, toys, home and garden section, and the automotive department — carrying a cell phone that I could casually use to call home to see if I had certain spices on the shelf so I wouldn’t double-buy and being irritated that I couldn’t get frozen spinach. Yes, I felt shame.
I remembered my first trip to Mexico. I was on a college-sponsored Global Awareness trip to Oxaca. We were taking a bus trip to see ancient historical sites in the region. At one point we stopped and talked to some little kids with no shoes who were playing nearby. Their curiosity must have drawn them to see the group of Americans who were passing through their part of the world. These kids and their parents probably would be overwhelmed to see the abundance of food neatly wrapped in colorful plastic containers we have in our grocery stores. And, I had the audacity to be frustrated over the lack of spinach.
I thought about my trips to Haiti where the poverty is almost a stench in the air. Men, women and children who hold themselves quite proudly as the only African peoples in the “New World” to successfully overthrow and oust their European oppressors (only to be replaced by home-grown Haitian ones) most of whom live in such abject poverty that they walk through garbage and raw sewerage to get to open-air markets that skirt heaps of refuse. And, I became agitated over the lack of frozen spinach today.
I recalled driving through the country-side in Guatemala observing some of the most beautiful scenery God created and catching view of tiny one-room homes with no windows and doors and only tin corrugated roofs to keep out the elements. Just a trip to the market for the people living in those huts would be an hour’s walk back and forth. Meanwhile, I drive in comfort to an air conditioned or heated as needed mega-store loaded down with fruits, vegetables, grains, and meats of varying types, sizes, and quantities only to complain inwardly that I could not find spinach to cook my meal of choice.
Yes, I felt ashamed. And, I continue to feel ashamed and embarrassed. Now that several hours have passed and I’ve had some time to think about the situation, I feel concerned as well. I am concerned about myself as an individual. I have many questions to ask about my moral and ethical grounding as well as my sense of concern for others. But there are larger questions here as well. After all, I consider myself to be a pretty average American. So, what does my response to the spinach situation say about us as a people? Are we so accustomed to having what we want available to us that we can’t imagine a not being able to get what we want when we want it? What if life in the US became like life in Haiti?
On my second trip to Haiti, the friend I was traveling with lost the small lock he had for the foot locker style chest he brought down with him. We needed to go get another tiny lock so we could board the plane and not worry about the contents of the trunk scattering across the baggage carousel. First, we had to wait for transportation to take us from the slightly suburban house where we were staying into town to shop. That was two hours of waiting. When the transportation arrived we waited for our hosts to negotiate a rate with the driver. Then, we drove painstakingly into town over roads that had potholes big enough to swallow a Smart Car. We disembarked the vehicle and wandered from shop to shop inquiring if any one of them had a tiny little padlock. After three or four stores I would have given up but we pressed on until at the sixth shop the object of our quest was produced from behind the counter. The quest for the lock had taken about five hours including waiting and travel time.
What would we do here in the US if we have to search for hours for items we currently take for granted? What if we entered the grocery store tomorrow and there were no apples? What if there were no bread? In recent years, some people in the US have had to experience this first hand (much respect to our honorable brothers and sisters who opted to stay in New Orleans and along the Gulf Coast after the Katrina debacle). They’ve braved neighborhoods with no lights, water, telephones, and no grocery stores or gas stations for miles. But what of the rest of us? Could we survive if the food supplies were suddenly cut off? If so, how? What if there were no natural gas to warm our water? Most of us go crazy if the cable goes out for more than five minutes. What if the very items we need to live, food, water and shelter, were withheld from us? What would we do then?
I know I need to think about these issues as I fill my bath with hot bubbly water and crank the heat to a balmy 72 degrees so I can sit in the tub and relax after a hard day of tapping at the computer keyboard. I need to think about the women who walk miles in all sorts of weather to carry their wares to market to feed small children whatever they can afford and the men who travel far from their families to perform the back-breaking work of the underclass so they can send money home so their brothers, sisters, wives, children and elderly parents can live a little better than they did before. But maybe, just maybe, you need to think about it too.
Last week Ryan Moats, an NFL player in Texas, was stopped by a police officer after running a red light in an attempt to arrive at the hospital before his mother-in-law passed away. While the media is portraying this as an issue of police insensitivity, I perceive this as another example of the dangers we face as in these United States of America.
There are a few problems one can easily see by watching the video and listening to the exchange between Officer Robert Powell and Ryan Moats. The first problem, clearly, is the insensitivity Officer Powell displays when Mrs. Moats exits the vehicle to rush into the hospital. He does not care that her mother is dying and that she is trying to get to the hospital room in time to say goodbye.
The second problem is Officer Powell’s apparent inability to assess a threat. Even if he wanted to argue that he felt he may have been in danger of attack by the passengers of the vehicle, as soon as Mrs. Moats exited the car and ran toward the hospital doors, it would have been evident to anyone with common sense that there was some sort of emergency at hand. His first thought, as an officer of the law sworn to serve and protect, should have been to see what the emergency was and to offer assistance if possible. Then, he could write the ticket for running the red light. Instead, he chose to draw his weapon on people who displayed no clear and present danger to themselves or others.
The third problem with this situation is Officer Powell’s threat to take Mr. Moats to jail because he ran a red light. Running a red light, in an of itself, generally would not warrant taking someone to jail. And, in this case, the police officer clearly states that he would take Mr. Moats to jail if he did not “calm down and cooperate.” Before any of you police officers get bent out of shape over my statement, please remember, these people turned into a hospital emergency room parking lot, clearly expressed there was a family emergency, were unarmed, were willing to accept the ticket, and were harassed unnecessarily by an officer who clearly had on his mind two things: 1) I must gain control of this situation even if I violate basic codes of morals and ethics in our society and as a police officer and 2) this nigga is not gonna tell me anything.
The sad reality of the situation is that police officers in the USA, and not just white police officers, are trained to gain and maintain control over citizens whether they run a red light in an emergency or are suspected of armed robbery and car jacking. instead of serving and protecting the citizenry, our police officers are trained to terrorize and brutalize the people of this nation. I personally believe this situation would have been handled differently if a distraught white family had exited the vehicle. I believe Officer Powell would not have drawn his weapon to begin with and that he would have allowed the wife to enter the hospital without the threats he made toward Mrs. Moats. I also believe that it is only by virtue of Officer Powell knowing there was a camera on his dashboard recording the events that he did not fire on this African-American family. However I must admit that given the training the police now receive which encourages them to be domineering and abusive (both verbally and physically) this situation could easily have played out in a similar manner with a white family.
What I do feel with some certainty is that police officers have been trained to look down on the American public. They are further trained to belittle and humiliate the very people they have sworn to protect and serve. They are encouraged to intimidate those whom they perceive to be weak. And we – the people – permit this in the name of public safely or national security. We should be ashamed of ourselves.
Let me leave you with this thought. When we allow ourselves to be terrorized by the very people who are supposed to serve and protect us, we set ourselves up for tyranny. The government and its officers, including but not limited to the military and the police, are supposed to work for us, not against us. We should be deeply concerned about the state of this “democratic” society when the laws are used to hurt us rather than to help us.
Beware of willingly giving away your civil rights in the name of security. Having a bad attitude might be the only right you have left.
So, I decided to participate in the Writer’s Digest Poem-a-Day Challenge. I encourage everyone to try it out. I’ve never been much of a poet but they say practice makes perfect, yes?
Here’s my submission for 3 April 2009 (this is the spell checked version, I hit the submit key too fast on the Writer’s Digest site):
The Problem with Time
Remembering days gone by
summer days, riding bikes to parks to play,
pool parties, and beach days
all the time that’s slipped away.
Seeing days ahead that loom
prom, college, mounting bills, all
the trappings of life that call
beckoning come this way and fall
into the trap of time.
Recalling, yet not seeing details,
faulty memory and hindsight,
the lessons not readily revealed in dimmer light,
due to time and loss of sight.
Oh, how we squander what we have
how we pray for what we don’t
and always how we long for more
of ever elusive time.
The problem with time is
there’s too much, yet so little.
As you may know, I jumped into the Writer’s Digest Poem-a-Day Challenge a few days late. The poetry prompt for today was an animal. Here’s my second attempt at poetry on the fly. No pun intended.
Brown Puppy
Floppy, dark brown ears,
black oval eyes, shiny button nose –
a gift from an innocent soul.
Perceiving vulnerability and loneliness she said,
“Here, Mommy. Brown Puppy will protect you.”
I hadn’t realized I needed protecting.
Yet she felt, saw, understood… my fear.
The innocent heart, desiring to protect
the one who should protect her,
presented me a guard dog
who to this day
sleeps in the cubby of my night stand
next to my bed
watching in the night
for things that go bump.
The Carpe Articulum Literary Review is holding its bi-annual Carpe Verbum Literary Award which has competitions in various writing categories and photography. Please visit the web site for submission guidelines, deadlines, and other important information.
The writing prompt for April 5 was a landmark. I chose to write about St. Louis Cathedral in New Orleans.
St. Louis Cathedral in New Orleans, LA
An Ode to St. Louis Cathedral in New Orleans
Had I known that the last images I would have of you,
Before the destruction of all we held between us,
Would reside in the hard drive of a computer
I would have made a point to print them up
So I could admire you as I lamented our loss
Had I known the end was so near
I would have stayed a while longer to stare at you
In the fading sunlight that last fine Sunday afternoon
When I strolled the French Quarter thinking I had all the time
In the world to revel in the beauty that you are
Your checkered history only makes you
That much more striking in my eyes
Spires reaching toward bright blue sky
English garden outstretched before you
Jesus with arms raised high marking blood soaked land behind
Sunlight fading, I casually strolled away,
Never imagining that would be my last day
To see you face to face and take in your scent
Of flowers and frankincense
The day 6 writing prompt for the Writer’s Digest Poem-a-Day Challenge is something missing. I encourage you to try your hand at this poem a day challenge. Here’s my attempt for today.
Trust
Where r u?
Out.
Out where?
Sports bar w/Tim.
Coming home?
B there soon.
Ringer turned to silent
Phone slipped into pocket
Wedding ring already left behind
In the ashtray of the car
The lack of color where the band should be
Tells all that needs knowing.
Narrative’s Spring 2009 Story Contest opens for submissions on May 1 and has a July 31 submission deadline. The contest is open to all fiction and non-fiction writers. For more information visit the Narrative web site.
Today’s writing prompt for the Writer’s Digest Poem-a-Day Challenge was memory. For some reason, even though I had a good deal of time this morning to work on the poem, but I avoided working on it until late tonight when I felt the pressure to get something down on paper.
Here’s what I came up with for memory.
Remembering?
Why have I avoided writing about memory?
Is it because I fear what I will see?
Or do I fear what I won’t?
Will I remember the details of every hurt I’ve ever felt?
Or forget the way you looked at me that day
When I thought the rest of our lives lay before us
Like the blank pages of an unwritten book?
I had in mind to write about the little shed in the corner of our yard. So I started searching for a photo of the building so I could look at it and think about it. In the process of searching I happened upon the image of a statue of Mater Dolorosa that is often used to represent Ezili Freda of the Haitian Vodou. The statue had been burned in a fire. The image spoke to me.
The Burned Mary
I tried to clean her face
After the fire
That was started by unseen forces
The mysterious fire
That charred her face, jewels, and dagger
Scorched her crown,
Burned away what remnants
Of love and trust
Resided in the heart
Already pierced
By treachery and lies
She no longer cries
Nor do I
The writing prompt for day 12 of the Writer’s Digest Poem-a-Day Challenge was “So we decided to…” where one fills in the blank. Here’s my attempt for today.
So we decided to keep driving…
Turn right at the corner
Straight for a while
And then left into the park
On a beautiful day
Filled with colored eggs,
Bunnies that deliver candy,
And little girls in flowered dresses
Drive around seeking a spot
So we can alight to enjoy the sun,
Swings and skateboard tricks,
Basketball and the merry-go-round
To no avail
So we decided to keep driving
Out of the park and down another road
Trying to find that pretty place
We passed so long ago
Where we saw that great house
With the picket fence and the large yard
Turn left here? We try it, unsure
Vaguely recalling the gas station
Make another left
Then, on our right, we see the lake
Not named what we remembered
We find a place to leave our car
We whisper amongst the trees
Skip rocks on the water
Take photos on the bench
And take in the sun
Yes, it’s now day 24 and I’m only on day 14 of the Writer’s Digest Poem-a-Day Challenge. To be fair to myself, I have been feeling under the weather, courtesy of Atlanta’s pollen-filled Spring. But, to be honest with myself and the rest of the world, I was completely at a loss for what to write for the Day 14 challenge. Day 14 had two writing prompts: a love poem or an anti-love poem. I was stuck either way, caught like a deer in headlights. I was paralyzed and could not write. After several days, ten to be exact, of pondering why I could not or would not write about love, or it’s “anti,” I came up with the following.
Stopped in My Tracks
Pondering the meaning
Of love
My heart skipped a beat
As it always does
When I remember you
And me
And how we could be
How we should be
Mid-thought stilled my pen
Reliving
The talks for hours
About everything
And nothing
The way you said my name
Imitating the way you
Heard me say it
Thinking turned to feeling
Again
I thought I had stopped that
Feeling
Feeling again
The way it felt
When you called me
Beautiful and
Ruined me for life
Venturing into
A new adventure
Thrust upon us by
Lack of freedom
Inability to move about
At will
Necessity is
How do they say?
Ah, yes, the mother of invention
Movement limited by
Roads and will
Weather and desire
Necessities Clarify rapidly
Forced by lack of means
To move about freely
Instead we move into
This new place
Lacking
Needing
Asking
For help
Day 2’s theme for was to write about something from another perspective. Visit the Writer’s Digest Poetic Asides Blog to start participating in the 2009 November PAD Chapbook Challenge.
Here’s my Day 2 attempt at poetry:
Moonlight
Bathing you in my light
I watch you wander
Warily checking over your shoulders
Fearful
Night animals
Scurrying and calling
To one another
Through the woods
I see you
Dreading leaving
The comforts of
Electric lights, televisions, computers
New night sounds
So different from
The ancient calls
Of owls and crickets
And all manner of
Wild thing wandering
The forests
You used to know
Long ago my light marked
The passing of time
Lit the way as you moved
Carefully through the night
A time long past
When you honored me
Creator of all
Symbol of life and death
Now distant, removed from me
And, from yourselves
The time before
Merely a memory
That once in a while
When feeling romantic
Or filled with nostalgia
You come into the night
And for a short while
Bask in my light
As I shine down upon you
With love
The challenge for Day 3 of the Writer’s Digest Poetic Asides November 2009 PAD Chapbook Challenge was a two for Tuesday option. We were challenged to write either a positivepoem or a negativepoem, or some combination of the two.
Here’s what I came up with:
Positive Vibes
When right –
Love energy flows
Between us
Like the strongest
Electrical current
Carrying light
Into the heart
Of midnight
The writing prompt for Day 4 of the November 2009 PAD Chapbook Challenge was to write a poem entitled Maybe blank where the writer fills in the blank. I actually played with this in my mind all day and finally came up with the two poems below. I even tried my hand at a Sevenling.
Sevenling – Maybe Today
Maybe today
he will bring me flowers, hold me close,
kiss me until I’ve no breath left
Maybe today
he will take my hand, call me sweetheart,
declare his love
Certainly tomorrow
M.B. – November 2009
Maybe Ice Cream
Maybe ice cream
Will ease the pain
Like a hole punched
Straight into the middle of my chest
When you showed me
Precisely
How little
You cared for me
After I’d opened my soul
Spread myself wide
Given all
I’ve been on the road to Dallas, TX, so I’m behind on the challenge. I’m determined to catch up today though. And, I intend to tell you about some fabulous meals I’ve eaten here. So far, the food has been sooooo much better than in Atlanta!
Okay, I’m still traveling so I’m behind in my writing and my posting. And, I suspect, my writing may be suffering from my lack of routine; however, I had another great dining experience here in Dallas, so I really am not too concerned about that. Yea for editing. I can get to that later.
The theme for Day 6 of the November 2009 PAD Chapbook Challenge was to write about someone or something that is covered. I’m not sure how well I wrote to this theme but my attempt is below.
Martini Light
Not too dazed
To see through the shimmering light
You know – that special glow
Cast by cosmos and pineapple martinis
Not so confused
As to wander unprotected
Into un-chartered lands with
Soldier boys – no longer quite boys
But off-center enough
To drunk dial – against all advice –
One most desired, too far away to touch
Memories still covered in stardust
The theme for Day 7 was to write about a plant. While there are numerous ways one can think of a plant I went for the traditional leafy variety. Here’s what I came up with for Day 7 of the November 2009 PAD Chapbook Challenge:
Philodendron
Queen Marble Fern
Is how I learned your name
Tough little creature that you are…
No matter how I tried
No water
No light
Moving from place to place
No attention
Certainly no tender speech Nothing managed to kill you
Until one day
When I realized how much I loved
To have you there
Not demanding anything from me at all
I looked again only to find
You slumped over
In desperate need, much like myself,
Of great feeling and deep words
Of love
Slippery as an eel
Elusive as the elves
That steal only one sock
From each load of laundry
Is there clarity, understanding, or
Light as I look into your face?
Watching the words form, listening for, but
Never actually hearing – the truth
At twilight
She begins her work
Bulbous body, spindly legs
Spinning out the finest of threads
Intricately constructed
Into ever-changing patterns that
Catch the light but
Never truly reveal
The lady sitting
Patiently awaiting her prey
