Posted tagged ‘with real toads blogspot’

People Who Really Upset Me (Inner Monologue?) (No, it doesn’t have to do with Politics.)

September 5, 2012

People who really upset me  (Inner Monologue?)

First, there’s that one in the glass,
whose bra strap always shows,
and whose (big) feet can be often found
stepping on her very own toes.

And then there is
that other one–
who lives in the other
lobe–
who steps
on her own–
toes some line–
who sorrows in
what glows–

who, strapped,
may be found
in “very” (though
not so much in
“own”)–

who, made of
glass,
steps on, towing–
that other one.

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This is a rather odd poem for a With Real Toads challenge hosted by Kerry O’Connor to write an inner monologue (i.e. bit of a rant) about someone annoying to you.  I’m afraid I went for the obvious–looking in the mirror, and the other side of my own brain.  Dashes are meant really for pauses rather than for any coherent grammatical purpose.  

“Did I Mention The Olives?” (Bougain-veal-ia) – Shadorma

August 27, 2012

“Bougainvillean Dreams” by Jaime Clark

Did I Mention The Olives?

He ordered,
beneath pink courtyard
vines, the Mounds
of Venus
two scoops mozzarelle on veal–
cheeks deep pink then too.

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The above is a very silly version of Shadorma – a six line form with a set syllabic pattern – written for Kerry O’Connor’s With Real Toads challenge involving the use of Shadormas and wonderful “macro” photographs by Jaime Clark.   Check out Kerry’s article for info on Shadormas, and more beautiful pics!             .

PS – as a longterm vegetarian, hate to make a joke involving veal- in other words – maybe stick to the olives and mozzarelle! And Pasta and Fagioli!  

 

“Playing it Again, Sam, Playing it One More Time”

August 26, 2012
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Modified, but from “Casablanca” with the incomparable Humphrey Bogart and Ingrid Bergman

Playing it Again, Sam, Playing it One More Time

Yes, we’ll always have Paris–
the mattress that,
with corners tucked up walls, just
fit the room;
the warped door that we could
only open lying down–perfect, in
other words, but where

not-love was in the air, and I wished
each morning, after we wedged in
the croissants, that I had ordered
cafe au lait, trying
to come up with
something, anything, to change, to
focus in on

other than the actual worm in our
rosebud: that frankly,
my dear, you didn’t
give a damn, while
I loved you, you were my only reason
to stay alive, if that’s what I was.

Yes, the silhouette of
your profile,
noble as Brad’s (pitted against the window-
framed gargoyles) would bend towards
mine occasionally
to kiss me, kiss me
as if it were the last time (which
you were already sure it was).

I guess you figured that, while teaching me
to quit you, what I needed
was kissing badly–French tea
never terribly good–though a little less
looking at you, kid–you not
looking
at me–might also
have helped–

 

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I am posting the above (belatedly) for the writing blog With Real Toads, for Fireblossom Friday’s prompt to write a love poem worthy of a romantic movie (“Lights, Camera, Love”).  I didn’t quite have it in me to come up with that kind of love poem this weekend, but I could think of lots of bits of romantic movies I love (sprinkled above.)  

“Blackberrying” (With Pics)

July 21, 2012

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Blackberrying

In a daze of phosphorescent moss,
we make our way across rockbed, log and stalk,
to a field that’s sharply girded against loss
where nettle, thorn, and briar edge our walk.
Our eyes bore in on any sign of sheen,
a glisten beneath a leaf, a garnet chain.
They’re hard to see at first, then like a dream
we find them here and there and there again.
First scrapes sting, branches fiercely snag skin
of wrist, arm, shin, dogged to defend their own.
We reach around, above, even step within
thickets transformed to some more personal zone.
Not even tasting now, nor caring for prickers,
we feel ripeness alone, we blackberry pickers.

 
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Here’s a sonnet for dVerse Poetics Pub anniversary poetics challenge, hosted by the wonderful Claudia Schoenfeld, on “process” and also for “With Real Toads.”   Blackberrying is one of my favorite processes on earth.
 
Have a great weekend. Check out dVerse and, if you have time, my books! They are fun! Children’s counting book 1 Mississippi -for lovers of rivers, light and pachyderms, Going on Somewhere, poetry, or Nose Dive, a very fun novel that is perfect for a pool or beachside escape.

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Hell, “A Different Level” – Thinking of Aurora

July 21, 2012

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A different level

I.

Hell is a clock
that cannot be
turned back.

II.

Hell is discovering
that your most special,
coveted,
dear, one
and only,
purpose,
culmination,
all,
can be culled
randomly,
gone
in an instant,
wrong
seat/street/virus
crazed/gun
forever.

III.

Hell is not
being able to take
the bullet for them;
hell is having to
swallow the bullet for
yourself
after it’s hit.

IV.

Hell is knowing
too late
how fast
it all was.

V.

Hell is
firsthand.

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Mourning the terrible event in Aurora, Colorado. This led me to the above draft poem, linked to the wonderful poets at Imaginary Gardens With Real Toads, a discussion of hell. Ridiculous to think of prompts with events like these, but it was somehow a way to write about these awful things. One worries that these things come across as pretentious; I mean to write only with sympathy and sorrow.

I am also linking this to Tess Kincaid’s wonderful Magpie Tales, where she happened to put up a picture prompt of Franz Kline’s Figure 8, which seemed also to fit with this poem.

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