Just in time!
(Hope you all enjoyed the day!)
Archive for the ‘Uncategorized’ category
Finally Catching Up To Christmas
December 25, 2011Happy…errr.. Hoppy! (Jingle With Elephant!)
December 24, 2011A Merry Best to All! Thanks so much for reading, commenting, writing, inspiring!
Flash 55 – Mystery of Christmas (A Clue)
December 23, 2011
The Mystery of Christmas (A Clue)
The best–clue-making: cryptic rhymes taped to wrapping.
The pleasure: watching them strain to figure me out–giving hints that told all (if they could but understand).
The few “real” presents opened, I’d run from tree to basement to gather old books, clothes, knickknacks–anything to wrap and encode, to transform into my gift.
The above is my offering to the G-Man for Friday Flash Fiction 55. Have a happy holiday.
(Also–check out the “Villain-elle” from yesterday, illustrated with elephants. Unfortunately, in the midst of holiday season, I dropped an elephant painting when I posted, but I’ve got them all in now.)
Contrast/Villanelles/”Villain-elle” (With Watercolors and Elephants)
December 22, 2011I am a great lover of villanelles. I am reposting “Villain-elle” today because it illustrates an important tool in villanelle writing: contrast.
Contrast in poetry, the subject of a thoughtful prompt by Victoria C. Slotto for dVerse Poets Pub , is a useful tool for effects in all poetry, but it is especially useful in the repeating, and potentially static, lines of a villanelle. Contrast in a villanelle can come through changes in meaning, homonyms, enjambment (the breaking up and running over of lines), elephants. (Note that I tried to put the lines of the poem in the drawings but they are incomplete and blurry so I’ve put them below each drawing, and the full poem below that.) (I am also linking this poem to the poets’ rally.)
He twirled his ‘stache when he thought no one could see
and kept away from rope and railroad track,
for a cartoon villain was not what he would be–
what he sought was originality.
Wearing a hat that was not quite white, nor black,
he twirled his ‘stache when he thought no one could see,
until the day he met that Miss Bonnee,
whose single smile made all his knees go slack.
Though a cartoon villain was not what he would be,
she steered him to a classic robbery,
a bank heist with a gun, a car out back,
He twirled his ‘stache when he thought no one could see,
but see they could, if only digitally.
She whispered, as she relieved him of the sack,
that cartoon villain was not what he would be,
“my hero,” and other murmured fiddle-dee,
till his bent head received a good hard whack.
She twirled her stash when she thought no one could see.
A cartoon villain was not what she would be.
Here’s the poem without elephants!
VILLAIN-ELLE
He twirled his ‘stache when he thought no one could see
and kept away from rope and railroad track,
for a cartoon villain was not what he would be–
what he sought was originality.
Wearing a hat that was not quite white, nor black,
he twirled his ‘stache when he thought no one could see,
until the day he met that Miss Bonnee,
whose single smile made all his knees go slack.
Though a cartoon villain was not what he would be,
she steered him to a classic robbery,
a bank heist with a gun, a car out back,
He twirled his ‘stache when he thought no one could see,
but see they could, if only digitally.
She whispered, as she relieved him of the sack,
that cartoon villain was not what he would be,
“my hero,” and other murmured fiddle-dee,
till his bent head received a good hard whack.
She twirled her stash when she thought no one could see.
A cartoon villain was not what she would be.
HAPPY HOLIDAYS!
P.S. If you like humor, poetry or elephants, don’t forget to check out my books NOSE DIVE, GOING ON SOMEWHERE and 1 MISSISIPPI on Amazon. Thanks much.
P.P.S. = Accidentally dropped “Whack” painting from first posting of this. So sorry! (Kind of tired when posting but had a nap now!)
House Republicans (Fighting with One Hand Behind Their Backs?)
December 21, 2011
In honor of the House Republicans’ refusal to agree to sign on to the Senate bill that will extend (i) payroll tax cuts and (ii) unemployment benefits, a few haiku:
“When I pledged no tax
raises, I didn’t mean…um…
for working people.”
“It’s the uncertain-
ty I hate, you know, all that
damn uncertainty. “
“I’m worried about
the working man. Can’t you see
how worried I am?”
And here’s one with a reference to Shakespeare:
Sound, fury, tales told,
idiots. “Job creators?”
Mumbo-jumbo? Hmmm…
I don’t like to be so political, but the current situation is just maddening.
I am linking this to the Sensational Haiku Wednesday (though the theme is spirit!)
Looking for Christmas Spirit (Without Propulsion of Compulsion)
December 21, 2011
Didn't we just do that? (Sure--a YEAR ago!)
I am having an amazingly difficult time feeling “Christmasy” this year.
I have blamed it on the commercialization of the holiday, the dispiriting events in the world, the weather.
I suspect, however, that some of my disconnect comes simply from the way that aging speeds up time: as in Christmas Again!? Didn’t we just go through all that?
There’s also the problem that, at the moment, there are few small children in my life. Putting aside the specific connections between young children and Christmas, one of the great pleasures of parenting is that part of your “job” is to spend pleasant/instructive time with your kids: at Christmas, that means time spent caroling, cookie-baking, tree-decorating.
It’s a bit harder to justify taking time from the day job to sing to yourself!
Okay, so you could do these things for others! Your community! Your friends! Aging relatives! Your somewhat grown children!
Yes. But a bit of Christmasy feeling is required even to jump-start those impulses.
My task, here on December 21, is to (i) start going through the motions, and (ii) stop going through the motions.
This means to simply MAKE myself to do some Christmasy things, for example, to go out and get a tree. (I know I know.)
But also to stop in the midst of these Christmasy things and to understand that I don’t have to actually do all so much, replacing some of the propulsion of compulsion (i.e. hurry up with the tree already!) with simple, visceral enjoyment (as in wow, doesn’t that balsam smell wonderful.)
To be a bit of a young child, as it were. Having a pleasant/instructive time.
Probably some cookies would help.
MagPie 96- Wearing the Trousers in Macbeth (In English Class With Two Ringed Braids)
December 20, 2011
Here is a poem for Magpie Tales 96 and also dVerse Poets Pub Open Link Night. This is based on a photographic prompt from Tess Kincaid, which was of a woman in a shadow that appeared to be a beard. (It’s not so clear in my version above.) Below is my poem:
English Essay In Two Ringed Braids
In English class in post-colonial school,
the study of idioms, literature
and exposition are assayed with
diligence: “some
complain that Shakespeare is
dull as ditchwater but in
the pages of MacBeth
may be found
a rip-roaring
ride. Lady
Macbeth wears the trousers
in the family at the
beginning of
the play, but by Act V, Macbeth
has taken the trousers
back while the Lady
throws the baby out
with the bathwater, as it were, going mad.
Macbeth, in the meantime,
adds suspenders
to his belt, killing one and all
till he feels as certain of
the throne as Bob’s
his uncle, but he cannot
see the forest for
the trees, coming
to a very bad end.”
The girl writing the essay wears
her hair in braids, which curl into
two ravenshone rings, elastics
camouflaged, in
each case, by
a large white bow, looped
to emulate both butterfly
and lotus,
wing and bloom,
and too, the “x”
of “betwixt,” all
in one
fell swoop.
And now a question for decisive poets and readers out there–I contemplated changing the last couple of lines to refer to the “cross” in “betwixt” rather than the “x”. That seemed a bit heavy-handed to me, but I am curious to see if anyone thinks it would be an improvement. Also toyed with “braces” in place of suspenders, but, well, I live in NYC. Thanks much for your thoughts.
(And please please please check out my new comic novel NOSE DIVE on Amazon if you have a mo.)
No Stopping It
December 17, 2011
DVerse Poets Pub has a graphic prompt today, hosted by Brian Miller, with drawings by Tera Zajeck. The drawings are lovely and detailed–you can see some of them on Tera’s site, Olive Hue Designs, but I tend to like to use my own art, so have done my own rather muddled version of one of them.
And here’s a sonnet (of sorts).
No stopping it
I learn each day there’s no control to be had.
The wind will roar, the jacket that you wore
will be too thin. Joy turns sour, smiles sad,
what used to fire his passion now’s a bore;
children that you carried look askance.
Remember how they hated to let you go?
Now they leave without the merest glance
while you soothe your heart with how it must be so.
It’s not all lost, you find such sweetness too–
the cake you share, the couch where you two sprawl–
but still no holding fast, no straight course true,
no certain grace to mitigate the fall–
only the moment, that present but distant shore,
that you know must be enough, for there’s no more.
Flash 55 – Doctors/Nurses Texting In OR (Mine is Only 55 Words.)
December 16, 2011
Doctors, nurses, online in the OR.
Makes sense (sort of): human eyes evolved to catch light flickers–maybe the next meal, or predator, while that tabled blob of flesh? He’s not even edible! (By most.)
Little screens, mirrors, handheld reflectors, our customized world. While the aforesaid blob–a wristband–wait!
A sale! Prices slashed!!!!
Oops….
(The above is my 55 word Flash Friday about all those nurses and doctors texting in the OR, then going out into their cars and texting some more. A sure way to keep the hospitals filled! Tell it to the G-Man. And have a great weekend.)
Ballad? Maybe. (Song, or Rather Sing-song–Yes!) Morning Ballad
December 15, 2011
DVerse Poets Pub, hosted by Gay Reiser Cannon today, has a prompt to write a ballad, carol or lullabye. I do not think this is a true ballad, but it may be an entertaining effort. (Also a bit of an homage to Robert Frost.)
Morning Ballad
You woke up that morning–
you woke up that day–
wanting to see me
in the worst way.
You saddled your horse
and you rode fast and true
though the rain, it was washing
the sky through and through.
You rode beneath storm clouds
and past lightning’s strike,
past water high-rising—
we’d never seen like–
while your horse, she was frightened,
you held fear at bay,
riding on as rain threatened
to wash all away.
When you came to my window,
and murmured my name,
the sun seemed to rise
though it rained all the same.
Come quickly, you whispered,
we’ve not time to stay
if the road we must take
does not wash away.
I stole to the barn and there,
soaked to the bone,
we clung close together
in lovers’ sweet moan.
Then just as you mounted
high up on that horse,
we heard the dread sound
of my father’s stern voice.
Betrothed to another–
that’s what he said,
and that other’s I’d be
if he saw me dead.
You reached for my arms,
but duty held sway
for I feared that his anger
would ne’er wash away.
He swore that he’d kill you;
you heeded him not.
Till I told you I wanted
what that other had got:
a rich farm with cattle,
a tea set of ‘plate
servants aplenty
to wash and to wait.
Tears hammered my heart
like rain at the roof,
but my face was a desert
my manner aloof—
Oh, I was so clever
that though you did look,
you no more could read me
than a tightly-closed book.
I woke up this morning
like I woke up that day,
wanting to see you
in the worst way.
But what I said then
I cannot unsay.
cause the road not taken
was washed away.
I think of your fingers.
I think of your hands.
They’re farther now
than the farthest of lands.
A heart that’s forsaken
is here for to stay,
while the road not taken
is washed away.
Oh I woke up this morning
like I wake up most days,
wanting to see you
in the worst way.
A heart that is broken
is here for to stay
while the road not taken
is washed away.
P.S. –I am also submitting this poem for the Thursday Poet’s Rally. And please please please check out Nose Dive! New comic novel!
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