An Inkling of sorts...

Great Tante Gret

2012-02-25T09:23:00.000-08:00

A tiny frail woman, sat upon this chair. Rescued by a woman of faith, who tempered the restless and angry soul, who sat upon that chair. Crocheting hands kept busy, now and again a fist would shake in the air, at demons, as she rested in the chair. Positioned near a window, looking out to the world that walked by, the chair dominated the small room. This was her chair, a place to be creative, a place to watch, a place of solace from a world that was once cruel to her. Women of faith, healing each other, by a chair.

Linking to Jenny Matlocks:Saturday Centus
Prompt: The chair dominated the small room...

My husbands Grandmother, who fled war torn Russia, whose husband was murdered by the Bolsheviks, came to Canada in the early 1950's with her children to start a new life. Once here, she discovered a lost Aunt who was living in squalor with a man who was not treating her well. She took this Aunt out of the home and took care of her, until she died. We now own the chair, and remember that sometimes furniture has a story to tell.

(I haven't written for a while, no excuse really, except that I am a person who starts many projects, and have felt guilty for not finishing some of them. I will pick up the pace in August when my full time job is over.)

Super Bowel Monday

2012-02-09T20:32:00.000-08:00

Superbowel Monday,

was the word of the day on his ipad,

she would have to concur,

for the crapulence she felt was apparent.

It was about the food, not the game,

but if every play was like the last 10 minutes of this game,

she might become a convert,

on both sides of the border.

Linking to GMan's Friday 55

Prompt: write a piece of fiction in 55 words

Not a football fan, but I do enjoy eating and getting together with friends,

be it the Super Bowl, or the Grey Cup, and if all the games had

exciting close calls like this one, I might just watch more than the final game.

Manna's Message

2012-02-08T19:35:00.000-08:00

Dear Son,

There are many components to life,
it's like a formula
first part
live and laugh
second part
dream and pursue
third part
do

The method is easy,
the ingredients you can add
to spice it up,
are your choice

We will miss you Dexter
as you pursue the elements you seek
but remember
a well tested recipe of life
always has room for alterations

the direction you take
can always
be adjusted.

So stop fretting
about having enough pepper,

make your own piquant
and remember,
to keep room for enough salt
for it will season you
along the way.

Linking to Poetry Jam
Prompt: recipes and ingredients

For our son, who will be graduating in June and moving to the big city, away from his Mommy who will miss him very much.

The Pith and the Posh

2012-02-07T18:21:00.000-08:00

Tiny little sandwiches
on a tiny plate,
her little tiny finger
stretched out,exaggerate

Not so dainty chewing
on a Sunday jaunt,
pickle juice sialoquenting
conversation's, delight

Folderol exchanges
more put on her plate
crimson rush of titillation
soon begins, to discombobulate

Pay attention closely
in these fatuous times,
for often what we hear
we read between, the lines

Because in moments of jibberish
where two voices cackle on,
one story invariably
turns out to be, the wrong one

Altered by their wanderings
mind over matters, said,
with la-di-da's and ei-di-dai's
gossip travels, far ahead

Such a lovely lady
in her Sunday best
but underneath those breeches

a yahoo, is still a pest.

Linking to dVerse Poets Pub
Open Link Night

After reading about Shel on the previous post I couldn't help but use silly words for this poem. Found them on a site "100 funniest words in English".

Magpie 103

2012-02-05T12:40:00.000-08:00

a grave at the Novodevichy Cemetery, Moscow

Ruby tears

of sorrow

dropped on a rock,

tinted the ore beneath it

Palms sprout

clasping the heart

of sadness,

left by a mourners wail

Iron works

solder the bond of then and now,

recollections of soft touches

and caressing strokes.

Hands

reaching out

cradle the memories,

a monument of life

lived by two souls

departed, yet together in heavens embrace.

Linking to Magpie Tales

Picture Prompt

Bruce Nauman, Fifteen Pairs of Hands

Hands intrigue me. I will notice someones hands before I even notice if they are wearing glasses. These were taken in Washington at the National Gallery, Modern Art exhibit in 2010

Images of Last Summer

2012-02-04T12:05:00.000-08:00

I am a slowpoke. We live in a digital world, that I can't keep up with. Today I just received images of our weekend trip to Kenora from last summer, I should have gone over to my friend's house and just upload (or is it download), them onto my flashdrive, but I am a procrastinator that way.
We went to the city a few weekends ago and I finally made copies of two years worth of pics that I had taken. 400 pictures later I can update everyone albums, I will leave a space for these pics, when I get around to getting copies made.

Since Winter pics were just on my mind, here are some fun summer shots to get us all excited about what's around the corner.

Forever Friends

Can you see the fear?

Okay honey, hold on tight, and don't let go.

I can't do this

I said, hang on!

Kiss me you fool, before we die.

It was great while it lasted. Where did she go?

Images of Winter

2012-02-04T11:05:00.000-08:00

I am tired of winter, before the "actual" day of it begins.

But,

I never tire of this.

Soon, very soon....

the snow will melt, and you will all return.

Creme de la Creme

2012-02-04T07:54:00.000-08:00

Don't you just hate pop up adds,
you google a sinful recipe
and a bulging belly throws you off
skin overflowing still finds love,
they don't call it love handles for nothing

sweet temptations bubble over
as two doughy bodies find each other
flames ignite, sealing ones affection

I loose sleep over creme brulee.
caramelized custard
of any variety, it's what's inside that counts

the French may own the rights to these lusty discoveries
but even Costco sells this mean dessert
and I'll take it anywhere
anytime

with...anyone.

Linking to Imaginary garden with real toads
Prompt: temptations

My lips never touched Creme Brulee until my husband and our daughter, and I, took a trip to Washington in 2010, and we ate at Fogo de Chao. I was in heaven. No dessert can ever tempt me, the way Creme Brulee can.

Stone Dead

2012-02-02T17:50:00.000-08:00

Tundra of a Siberian heart
lies on a chilly wasteland
of fear & ignorance.
Haunted by footprints
of the past,
it beats unsteadily, hiding.

Outrun the ancestors
that pull heartstrings back,
once so full & vibrant.

Hollow echoes rise
through broken ceilings
as frigid voices, gone missing,
(slaughtered),

chant tormenting songs,
to the hearts of Siberia's tundra.

Linking to Poetry Jam
Prompt: cold and hot
Linking to Gman's Flash Friday 55

Russian Mennonites were abducted, tortured and slaughtered by Red and White armies, from 1919 until WWII, they were brutalized to the point that they fled, in the thousands out of Russia to the USA, South America, and Canada. I focused my poetry on the cold heart of humanity, sadly this story can be seen repeated, throughout history on almost any continent since those dark times.

Magpie 102

2012-01-29T10:52:00.000-08:00

Red Spot II Wassiy Kandinsky

God's Eye

has a plan

sometimes jumbled

in chaos,

why question that?

Sometimes the plan

is to walk down

a dark road,

to find Eden

on the other side.

The road may take eternity

to get there,

but, it is, still

a plan.

If you can look past the clutter

you will see a beautiful palette

surrounded by colours of faith.

Some,

just take time

to be noticed.

Linking to Magpie Tales

Picture Prompt

Sestina of Sensations

2012-01-28T07:10:00.000-08:00

Aroma of sweet fortune lies in life's
bountiful pleasures. Sparked by loves true flame,
it caresses a hungry soul. Oh woo
this salacious appetite with your flesh,
flavors, that yearn deep within my mind,
a taste that enriches with every kiss.

Let us savor this moment, this long kiss
that kindles our desire, this, our life,
of happenstance and tenderness of mind.
A chorus of sensations fan the flames
of the friction between our dreams and flesh,
that profits us to slumber in our woo.

Stretch out your arms for this, our blissful woo.
Two heart beats meld in rhythm by one kiss,
vanilla creams softens our touch of flesh,
caressed under blankets of wistful life.
intoxicate me with your burning flame
that glows when two thoughts are one in the mind.

Perception tremors the curious mind,
as we tumble in the garden of woo
chasing touches beneath the covers flame.
Draw closer for this breath, a breeze, my kiss,
upon your hand that hungers for my life.
A cordial trice of souls delight in flesh.

A pulse ruptures upon our weaving flesh,
and silence, mingles, with our content minds.
Pillow talk whispers of a peaceful life,
consummate an evening of wanton woo
as soft petals of love reach for a kiss.
Endearment meant to seal the marriage flame.

Even under cold ash, an embers flame
can ignite under sweet words from the flesh.
For sweet kind words open, seductions kiss
delivered by fate that joined these two minds.
Fortune smiled to them, at their place of woo
as nature's chorus echoed their new life.

Paradise and her kiss offered a life,
far from home, as flesh found its way to woo
her flame, that often came to her in mind.

Linking to Poetry Jam
Prompt:Sensual Poetry

Mink Creek Falls a place of woo

In March of 1992 I sent an anonymous letter to a friend of a friend, who was living in Ontario, I was one province over. No internet back then, we wrote almost daily, sometimes faxed each other. In May I finally met him for our first date, we met two times more, and by October we were engaged and married one year almost to the day of writing.

And the winner is...

2012-01-26T20:58:00.000-08:00

The camera pans to his face and the question is asked.
"Hey captain, you've just grounded a 5 story ship on a sand bar, then abandoned your guests to fend for themselves. What do you plan on doing with your severance pay now?"

"Take my family on a luxurious ten day all inclusive Disney Cruise, of course."

Linking to GMan's Friday 55

Remember those shameless plugs for Disney after pageants, and or football games? Just a thought that inspired me.

Daydream

2012-01-24T16:07:00.000-08:00

I can see this
in my dreams

your touch
so soft
like a loofah
caresses my soul
and in my dreams
I am perfect

perfectly
content to lie here
in your imagination
of what dreams
are made of

Linking to Magpie Tales
Picture Prompt

Do You have a Reservation?

2012-01-22T16:52:00.000-08:00

Old Salem Tavern, NC

Step forward young man

and receive a blessing

grace which saved your soul.

Grace, whose hands

we all rest in,

words found, in ancient scrolls.

Moravians were the first to start

this thought of

grace not works.

As martyrs followed

to free the spirit

of all who love the Lord

Linking to imaginary garden with real toads

Picture Prompt: by M.Bednar Photographer Art happens 365

The Old Salem Tavern located in North Carolina was once operated by the Moravian Church.

In the early 1400's Jan Hus objected to the practices of the Roman Catholic Church, and thus began

the protestant movement.

A Gentle Persuasion

2012-01-22T15:45:00.000-08:00

Meadow of living

souls, marsh of divinity,

tiptoe into life

Linking to Haiku Heights

prompt: tiptoe

Excuse me, while I disappoint you

2012-01-22T10:13:00.000-08:00

The fall is hard
on the pedestal you've put me on.

Don't let the walk
through the doors of the green roof fool you,
Am I not a Human?

Flo Rider and LMFAO
beat in my van
as my communion shots relax this tempered soul.
If perfection is what you desire
when you see people following Jesus
than stop watching,
you will be disappointed.

I AM Human
after all,
and so was He once.
This is the message you should remember,
the borders between you and I
are closer then you think.

I, Human, in all my imperfections
struggle, like you.
Climb the ladder with me,
or perhaps I should step down to where you are.
For we stand on the same
level,

in His eyes.

Linking to Dverse Poets Pub
Prompt: For this week's poetics, let's cross some border with our pens...Write a poem about real or imagined border, borders between countries or relationships, borders you would love to cross some day, or borders you have crossed and should have never, borders in every way you can think of...

I was once told that in the small town I live in, Christians are watched and the "unsaved" have put us on a pedestal, so we should be careful what we say and do. This disturbed me a lot, and has bothered me ever since. I can not be perfect, I told this person, and if the watchers see us as so perfect, how could they think that they could Ever enter the doors of the green roof in town.

Newt in my House

2012-01-19T17:34:00.000-08:00

Let's have an open marriage, he said. After all, he thought, I was married when I met you.

She stared at him. What does that really mean, she thought Open to smash your head against the wall, open to beating you with a stick. Ya, let's have an open marriage, open the door and keep walking.

Linking to Gman's Friday 55
Prompt: write a character piece with a plot in 55 words

I asked my son, what could I write about in 55 words, that could be political. He said the words, open marriage. He has been following American politics a lot closer than I have.

Going back is in the Remote

2012-01-18T19:51:00.000-08:00

Satire filled our lives

lying inches away from the screen

munching on Dad's cookies after school.

Mom was never in sight,

upstairs baking and rolling dough, I suppose.

TV on the sly as our homework stayed unfinished,

Gilligan's Island and Get Smart were more important.

Where are you Mary Hartman?

Are you happy now?

We used to stay up late, sneaking show likes

Soap and Second City, which were verboten to watch,

but they never caught on, snoring upstairs.

The idiot box, shaped our lives,

and when I close my eyes I can almost picture it now.

We were one of the lucky ones with cable.

It'll ruin us one day, they said.

Perhaps...

is that why irony and sarcasm

runs amok now?

Satire of today doesn't hold a candle to you Norman,

you were the best at it, and led the way for others.

Sadly, television sets have become thin,

with originality.

Hey Mary, meet me at the House of Pancakes

and save some syrup,

I'll be there soon, after I catch an episode

on Deju Vu.

Linking to Poetry Jam

Prompt: Well, what I would like you to do this week is to refute the words "You can't go home again." I would like you to return to your childhood home in some way and write from within your experience of your childhood home. Whether it be the house as a whole, a description of a room, something from within the room (favorite toy, kitchen table, etc.), an experience, or someone (even yourself) who lived there. Write from the perspective of either you as child or now as an adult.

Murmurs from Above

2012-01-15T17:23:00.000-08:00

Sculpture: Jason de Caries Taylor

Drowning in her own life,
a solemn grave
of still comfort
washes her sorrow.

Mute,
her cries are heard
only by her

soundless wailing's
wanting for time to turn back
and change her tide.

A silent evolution
faintly unfolds
around her

as streams of bubbles
escape to the surface
releasing her voice
to the world above.

Linking to Magpie Tales
Picture Prompt #100

Aaniin

2012-01-14T12:50:00.000-08:00

They're too shy to come into the room,
she says,
to the rest of the girls in the choir room.
Found wandering the halls,
they are guided within,
whether they want to or not.
Black lines, eyelashes black
with sticks of goo,
stare back, at one another.

In Anishinaabe,
"aaniin" means
what's up?
Not so for these tribe of girls.
They don't really want to know
each other.

The know-it-all teacher
doesn't understand that a quiet soul is not shy.
Only the white man needs to blather on
in his over syllable tongue.
In silence the Ojibwe listen,
much is understood in words that are not spoken.

She points with her lips
but the white girls don't see the joke,
they are too busy figuring out
what doodem they belong to.
As the two shy girls
get up and disappear

out the door.

Linking to Sunday Scribblings
Prompt: tribe

Opening her Eyes

2012-01-14T07:08:00.000-08:00

The Challenge on Saturday Centus was to write a cliff hanger using 100 words and the prompt, conclude the story using only 50 words. Part One was last week, Scroll down to read Part Two. This was difficult to end, I was expecting another 100 words and wanted to add a little retrospective about Chris's personality, but didn't have enough words. Sidenote: this didn't happen to me, but my name is Christine, and I do have a brother Henry, who, growing up could see the whimsical in life a lot better than me (and I am a worry wart who drove him crazy growing up

Hanging Around-Part One

Opening her Eyes-Part Two

...but first you have to promise me something...stop being a worry wart and see the beauty that surrounds you...now....unbend your legs...."

Suddenly she felt a platform. Henry jumped down onto it with her, and the two of them stood arm in arm, watching the sun set.

Best Laid Plans

2012-01-12T19:24:00.000-08:00

His whimsical inner spontaneous child

had this great idea.

Buy Kinder Surprises for New Years.

If only he had remembered to serve them.

A week later, the bowl was empty,

and his children were flying higher

than a kite...

and in every corner of the house

toys like this guy were

staring back at him.

Grey Matters

2012-01-08T15:38:00.000-08:00

Her feet slip out
and over the rails.
Sliding, shimmying
into her slippers.
pat pat pat
Her feet slap the floor,
a cold, hard surface
that she walks
over over over again,
smiling to her friends.

Her eyes slip in
and out of reality.
Searching, yearning
for something normal.
fip fip fip
Her eyes move,
down a dead end hallway
of despair,
over over over again,
she tries to smile to her friends.

Her mind slips here
and there, inside walls.
Pounding, scratching
for a way out.
thump thump thump
Her heart beats
as hands pummel
the air
over over over again,
she smiles

no one is there.

Linking to dVerse Poets Pub
prompt: onomatopoeia
Linking to Sunday Scribblings
word prompt: normal

A Sapling, Grows

2012-01-07T11:07:00.000-08:00

leaves ever changing

chapters on the tree of life

pages never lost

Linking to Haiku Heights

Word Prompt: page

Hanging Around

2012-01-07T09:35:00.000-08:00

Hanging off a cliff, she screamed for help. It seemed like forever by the time she saw Henry's head pop out from the rocky edge.

"Hey," he said, "whatch ya doin?"

"WHAT!?", she yelled. "For God's sake man, get some help or help me up!"

"You're so dramatic Chris, like the time you were ranting and raving on the lake and how we'd get lost steering the boat around the islands."

"We did get lost. It took us 3 hours before we found the route back."

'Yah, but think of the adventure and cool cliffs we found."

"Speaking of CLIFFS!", her cries echoed in agony.

"Listen up Sis, this is what you should do..."

To be continued, next Saturday.

Linking to Jenny Matlock's Saturday Centus
Prompt: Hanging off a cliff: using an additional 100 words create a piece of writing that leaves the reader hanging, until next week when the story concludes with another 100 words. Thanks Jenny, terrific prompt!

Four teenagers, under one roof!

2012-01-06T17:25:00.000-08:00

Thirteen years ago, on this day, just shortly after 5:00pm, these two beautiful girls came into our lives. Turning our family of four into six. From a Volkswagen Golf, to a Van.

Before they were born, people would ask me, "How are you going to do it?" I answered, "let me get them out of my body first before I worry about taking care of them."

Frankly it was easier to raise twins, then my first two children who were 15 months apart. My husband and I always say, we hope everyone we know and love could experience twins, in fact, I sometimes wish there had been another one in there.

Happy Birthday Girls! We can't imagine life with out you both.

Kaleidoscope of Hope

2012-01-05T16:44:00.002-08:00

There is a dullness
in January
as the lights are put away.
Tertiary of hope
still lingers though.
The Message
rooted in her heart,
by a story firmly planted
by an evening candlelit service.

Snug in Dad's car they drove away,
first, a ride down Memory Lane,
then off to Oma's
for Halvah and oranges.
It was in this moment,
as lights and glitter awakened the poor night of the city
she took her glasses off
to enjoy the radiance of the glow.

Hues of all colours
prismed before her.
Brilliance of sapphires,
emeralds and rubies
melded together,
as her face looked out of the window,
in wonder.

She breathed out
misty crystals of her breath
that percolated around her
touching the air,
capturing the spell
that Winter brought.

Why?, she wondered,
are the lights only on in December
when this city,
this place,
this very street
needs to see the diamonds,
that are laid before His feet.

Linking to Poetry Jam
Prompt: Colour

A Puffed Up Prickle

2012-01-05T16:44:00.000-08:00

Flavia
thought her excrement
never smelled.

High above the Alps
of Nothing,
she would bend over waiting,
for a kiss.

Many complied to her posterior
that paddled
into the room.

Not so for Enid.

She took one look at Flagrua's pithy berth,
and didn't give this boob
a second thought

and turned the other way.

Linking to GMans Friday 55
Prompt: write a plot and character in 55 words

Threads of Life

2012-01-03T20:20:00.000-08:00

A needle point picture
was on that wall,
over there. Once.
Stitches, embroidered,
hands patiently threading a life.

Time well spent
in thought, as fingers
pull, up and over
revealing Poppies, and Roses.

The Matador for him,
Pink Girl for her
and many others
gifted, by her hand.

Blank walls, empty.
What frames your world now?
She wonders.

Petti point flowers
have moved to a new home,
old home, has not forgotten
the stitches of time that took
her artist away.

She weaves and sews
in heaven now,
casting knots above,
stringing templates
down
connecting her children

to her soul
forever.

Linking to dverse poets pub
Open Link Night

It has been 17 years since I spent Christmas in my family home, a home filled with needle point pictures created by my Mother. I wonder sometimes what hangs on those walls now. She created many pictures for friends and family. All of which are loved because it was from her.

Reverie on the River

2012-01-02T09:09:00.000-08:00

River, by Marina Moevs 2005

Journey, reflected

calm now

after torrential

rains, pummel

and surge the river

Choices drowned

left along the shore

deposited in layers

to be discovered

uncovered, sifted

one day

Serene is the moment

after the storm

come to the other side

here, we will eat

eggplant and elderberries

and build a new life.

Linking to Magpie Tales

Picture Prompt

Mom has a Camera Again

2011-12-31T11:19:00.000-08:00

I have hinted for two years that I need a new camera. Over the summer, it became apparent that I really needed a new one, since the only way to take a picture was to hold the battery door closed with one hand, while trying to take a picture with the other. Since our family enjoys taking self timed shots, a new camera was in order.

I warned them all, that if Momma didn't get one under the tree, she would be going out on her own to buy one after Christmas. I was not expecting a Cannon Power Shot SX40 HS, (I have no idea what all that means).

Old Camera:

Happy New Year!

New Camera: Images of the Christmas Season

Perplexus Epic

I know I can get up there?

From Our House to Yours
Wishing you a safe, and happy New Year
full of health and friendship!

Not the time to read the nutrition label

2011-12-31T08:42:00.000-08:00

Sitting four on the couch, the New Year revelers were laughing in their uncomfortable state. Trying not to spill their wine, each would from time to time, reach over and nibble on a cashew, cracker dolloped with cream cheese and pepper jelly, or tempting themselves with a chocolate truffle.

Cindi, who happened to be a nutritionist specialist, grabbed the box and began reading the ingredients list. "You know, " she began, "one truffle has 40grams of fat and is 100 calories, and you've eaten four already Dan! Perhaps we need to make a resolution."

"Schmezolution, " quipped Dan, as he grabbed a truffle from the box and promptly placed it in her mouth.

Linking to Jenny Matlocks: Saturday Centus
Prompt: Use 100 words plus the prompt, resolution schmezolution, in your writing.

dVerse: Couplets for the New Year

2011-12-31T08:14:00.000-08:00

Needles falling, branches balding
sort out, box up, thrift shop is calling

The old is out, the new stored away
resist the urge to buy today.

Linking to dVerse Poets Pub
Prompt:couplets

Parlay Play

2011-12-28T19:34:00.000-08:00

Modulation of the voice
rings with echoes
through canals deep
within a`skull

Inflection
emphasis
tone

misunderstood

by them, and her, and everyone around
who bend the language that transforms
the conversation in the room.

Pitch
forked tongues
grab onto the crap
that no one wants to touch,
with bare hands.
Just fling it over there
into that pile
with the rest of the words
that need to be burned.

The flames alter
the resolutions
that try to demolish
your sense of
dignity, self worth.

Cast your speech carefully
you never know
who is in the way
to catch it.

Linking to dVerse Poets Pub
open Link Night
and Three Word Wednesday
Prompt: demolish, resolution, transform

Chrismahanukwanzadan

2011-12-21T17:08:00.000-08:00

Baking, and wrapping and concerts oh my. My head has been swirling and it's not because it's been filled with sugar plume fairies these days. I will be taking a break from writing and commenting for a while, but not reading, how could I stay awhile that long.

Wishing everyone a Merry Christmas, Pancha Ganapati, Happy Hannakkah, Happy Kwanzaa and of course Happy Festivus.

Gourd for Nothing

2011-12-18T15:59:00.000-08:00

Seeds left

in the soil,

promise of yesteryear.

Pumpkin patches

orange in delight

hopeful

vines to play.

They grow and stretch
across the field.

Something does not seem right.

These round glories

of a perfect harvest

seem quite disturbing in sight.

The nobby rounds

of green and yellow,

are taking over

the tomatoes.

The beans and peppers

and lettuce rows

are suffocating as well.

On closer observation,

I see to my dismay

the pumpkin patch

of hopeful seeds

are but useless

gourds of decay.

Linking to Poetry Jam

Prompt: Occupy THIS

I am not a fan of the occupy movement. It disgusts me that they use the slogan we are the 99%.
At least 80% of humanity lives on less than $10.00 day. The occupiers need to get their percentage right. They are the 1% that has access to 99% of the worlds wealth. Stop blaming corporations or governments, we are in this mess out of sheer greed. Period.

Playing Survivor

2011-12-17T09:18:00.000-08:00

How the game is played:

the proximity of your work space

indicates how much retribution

there will be

depending on the immobility of your tongue

How to win the game:

think before you speak

and when needed

brown nose your way to that raise.

Who will win?

the suck ups who know which side

to kiss, if you know what I mean.

Linking to Three Word Wednesday

Prompt: immobile, proximity, retribution

Sometimes saying nothing, is the best game to play.

I was sick on Monday and stayed home from work, in my feverish stuper I had this realization that life, and the work place, is like playing one big Survivor show. It's all about the communication, and how many steps further you can make it to what you want and how long can you stay in the game.

I am in a funk right now, trying to reinvent my game at work, and wondering how long can I stay in this.

By Dexter

2011-12-12T14:30:00.000-08:00

The album had been a work in progress for many years now. This was understandable as the singer had taken to writing her own lyrics and composing her own music. She drew inspiration from her past struggles as well as the beauty she saw in everyday life. Anxious fans waited years for her next work, but eventually even they forgot about her when the next big superstar began touring. Yet the singer continued her arduous task of creating a new album. She began recording her songs, while the rest of the world was obsessing over the latest auto-tuned pop queen. She spent weeks traveling the world searching for an inspirational album cover, simultaneously the rest of the world rushed to by an album whose cover was essentially an image of a woman's midsection. After she put the finishing touches on her album she admired her work, she was finally finished, her next masterpiece.

When her album was released it became an instant success. She was praised for her vocals as well as the messages her music contained. Her album shot up the charts, past the auto-tuned pop queen, straight to number one. All eyes were on the singer, everywhere she went, everything she did. She was given awards and appeared on all kinds of talk shows. Her tour sold out everywhere. She felt the love of her fans surround her and she knew this was what music was all about. But alas, all good things must come to an end, within a couple of months the auto-tuned pop queen regained the #1 slot on the charts and the singer dropped into irrelevancy.

The singer began working on her next album. . .

This is written by my son Dexter for an English assignment, he wanted to share it with my writing world, he forgot to title it, and I didn't think it was up to me to give it one. He reviews, books and movies on his blog called Snappy Reviews, which he created for a school assignment as well. Have a look and leave him a comment, a Mother's job is never truly finished.

Troll

2011-12-12T13:25:00.000-08:00

The cover looked perfect
the words sublime,
the story spoke
volumes, if only in rhyme.

It sat on a shelf
for many years on end,
no one noticing
or caring
because of what it said.

Words of enchantment,
found behind embossed gold,
paper thin pictures
that blinded
the sensible good.

Judge this book
by it's cover
and your sure
to get burned.

For when its opened
her real truths
can be heard.

Linking to Sunday Scribblings
Prompt: Fairy Tales

Within Grasp

2011-12-12T06:40:00.000-08:00

image by Mostafa Habibi

Sink, hole of depression
falling deeper
into despair

Arms, length of time
tears that
purify

So close are my dreams
that will take me away
from here

Water ripples
the years of waste
to unknown shores
for new deposits of sand
refresh the footsteps
of my years,

and I will be free, soon.

Linking to Magpie Tales
Picture Prompt

Sewing Circle

2011-12-10T15:21:00.001-08:00

Picture found at Guildess, Milwaukee website

Her hands weave,

threads

that connect the past

to the present fabric

of humanity.

Crooked, bent, aching,

from years of

giving,

hands that stand

the test of time.

Pull through the eyelet

of a narrow door,

where not all

can safely say

they deserve to pass,

for in their heart

they see no colour

but the masses

would lead otherwise.

Piece together, each

forward step,

perfect corners

will match, one day.

For patches of stories

the weave maker sews

will complete humanity

and cover the world

with harmony, forever.

Linking to dVerse Poets Pub

Prompt: Fabric of our Lives, inspired by the Gee's Bend Alabama quilters

Is it me?

2011-12-09T15:42:00.001-08:00

I can't talk to crazy people

they make no sense with their

irrational gibberish

exaggerated gestures

stupefied ideas

that come out of nowhere

I always look for a way out

of the conversations

since no one else bothers to

stick it out with me.

Then I notice

the mirror behind her head

and the reflection

is me.

Linking to Gmans 55 Friday

Prompt: in 55 words

Dogbert: "Reality is always controlled by the people who are most insane."
Scott Adams, Dilbert

Two feet of separation, please.

2011-12-08T09:19:00.001-08:00

Lunch, George Tooker, 1964

It's easier this way really
don't look at me
I won't look at you
And never the twain shall meet

We can pretend it's all right
I like you
you like me
but please don't sit in my space

Your cooties may stain
my pristine world
see that door
that's the one
for you to enter by

What lies between
each slice of bread
is non of your business
but looks alright, all the same

Thanks for the lunch date
this was peachy
my dues are met

same time, next week?

Linking to Magpie Tales
Picture Prompt: Lunch by George Tooker
Inspired by some emotions I have felt today. Not a race issue, but rather the struggle I have being a Christian working in a secular world, that leaves forgiveness, grace and love, somewhere else, not sure if they even know the meaning of the words.(it hurts even more when the Christians I know treat me the same way)
Just having a really bad day today.

Lunch

by George Tooker

Lunch is an indirect reference to the contentious lunch counter sit-ins occurring across the nation during the 1960s, but its pale palette and dull figures have none of the heated passion so often associated with them in real life. Instead, Tooker’s figures all bear an uncanny resemblance to each other and eat their identical lunches with identical motions.

Taken from the website art and social issues

Lost in the Forest

2011-12-06T16:22:00.001-08:00

Liese-Lotta
come closer
can you feel my breath,
against your skin
upon your neck.

Can you feel my heart racing
running towards
the open door
that led outdoors.

A beating heart
with wilderness lust
it chases wildly
for every chance

to capture you
and all your desires
great with ecstasy
under the stars.

Liese-Lotta
come closer
can you see my breath
the night has fallen
around your neck.

Cold mist from the lake
rise under a moon
your face has faded
where have you gone?

My hands search daily
deep into the woods
by the brook
of our last years.

Pulling away
the vines of youth
overgrown memories
lost deep in the trees

and one day soon
I'll find you there
among the flowers
smelling your hair.

Linking to dVerse Poets Pub
Prompt: Open link night

Happy Birthday Steven

2011-12-06T16:04:00.001-08:00

If you tell a joke in the forest, but nobody laughs, was it a joke? -- Steven Wright

There was an inkling in his conversation.
Moses to God one day.
A subtle mission really,
embarked by his mischievous side,
that the world was laden with enough tragedy and sorrow,
it needed something.

So, Moses, with his amorous need to be right,
asked God for a favor.
First he brought God a cup of coffee with a hint
of vanilla to sweeten the deal, and placed it carefully on a trivet,
so as not to leave any water marks on God's favorite table.

I promise to forget and will never bring up again,
how you denied me entry into the promise land,
if you do this one thing for me.

God listened.

Create a being that will bring much laughter and joy to the world.

I already did that in December, many years ago, God reminded Moses.

Yes, yes, and he was a terrific lad, water into wine, great gig, and no one can replace him,
but
the world is crusted again with problems, a precipice of depression waiting to happen.
They need a lad to lighten their loads now and again. Moses then looked at God, genuflect in posture, and waited.

Okay, your request has been granted, and he dismissed Moses away.

Then in his cozy chair, God rested, and turned his viewing downward. His son walked into the room, and they both began to laugh heartily at his creations observations of life and the deadpan way he delivered it. And it was all good.

Linking to Sunday Whirl
Prompt: Use all 12 words in a piece of writing: Bark, December, mission, trivet, amorous, precipice, crusted, genuflect, inkling, laden, subtle, vanilla

Dimensions of my Youth

2011-12-03T14:58:00.001-08:00

Skeeve, the dreamy
boy from Klah
would never be accused
of being bourgeois.

Roaming the country side
with his pal Aahz,
in search of an assassin,
who broke some bad laws.

Gleep at his side,
his dependable dragon
they walked for miles
never needing a wagon.

The tales were collected
One by Two lead to Twelve
encased in plastic
where no dirty hands would delve.

On a comfy old couch
the reading was fun
and the premise of writing
contained dozens of puns.

So if you are curious to know,
what this is all about
google Myth Adventure
and take time to, check it out.

Linking to dVerse Poets Pub
Prompt: Comics: Collected this comic book in Junior High along with my Brother and his friend, it just made me feel apart of the boys club, and fun to read too. Myth Adventures by Robert Asprin & Phil Foglio by Warp Graphics

...the years of waste.

2011-12-03T12:32:00.001-08:00

Beneath the shivering fear
of being discovered,
her laugh, at times,
betrayed her sorrow.

Spaces in the wall
melded her soul
to oblivion,
and the eyes that thought they saw something,
were mislead.

Immersed thoughts
of regret
crept upwards daily.
Remembering,
the wall that hid her well.

Mortar filled by tears of lament
sealed the bricks of her fate,
which only words could break
through, one day, by her
her own hand.

She would try to paint
a new memory
of what could have been,
fraudulent hours
that skewed her memory.

Fathomless moments,
engrained flashes of time,
burn never-ending.
Flames lick deep,

the wounds of adolescent confidence.

Linking to Poetry Jam
Prompt: Deep

Sixteen and counting...

2011-12-02T17:41:00.001-08:00

Fathomless moments,
engrained flashes of time
burn never-ending.
Flames lick deep

the wounds of adolescent confidence.

For Jenny Matlock's Saturday Centus
Prompt: Sixteen, write about when you were 16, and use only 16 words.

To read more of this poem see the next post, ...the years of waste.

It was a pleasure to serve you.

2011-12-02T06:51:00.001-08:00

Feel better now?
Do you feel all tingly inside?
When you walk out that door, will your steps feel lighter?
Is this how you start your day?

Did anyone ever tell you "do unto others as you would have them do to you,"
because if this is your motto,

you need to find new friends.

Linking to Gmans 55 Friday

Maybe it's the season, but have you found that customers have been ultra rude lately?
Just a note: do unto others- people,

Harvest this Baby!

2011-11-30T17:04:00.001-08:00

The bed was always untidy. Blankets thrust aside, as yesterdays laundry lay haphazardly on pillows. The mornings were always rushed, as the two bodies rustled side by side vying for the closet. As they left for the day, sunshine poured in the room as the ruddy colours of the wall, mellowed the obvious need of new paint. By the end of the day, the unmade bed was a welcomed sight, a fulcrum for sore feet.

Kerri began changing into something more comfortable. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she shuffled through the days mail. A shudder came over her as she looked down at her phone bill. So gullible to text at any moment, she was paying for the price of instant communication. Then she came across something that sparked her naughty side. It was the latest seed and perennial catalogue. With a smug look on her face, she started spinning an idea.

This was her husband's magazine. He was the gardener of the home. She knew that he'd be engrossed in this magazine and all others that would follow in the mail until spring. He'd be dreaming of the next bulb he could order, and weird purple vegetable he could plant. Then she began tearing pages out of the catalogue.

With pages in hand, she placed them all around the floor of the room. Subliminal foreplay, she thought. Then, she lay naked on the bed, but for a few choice flower pages placed anatomically correct on her body. Then she called, "Dearie, your Vessy's Seed Catalogue is in!".

Linking to Sunday Whirl
Use the words below in a piece of writing

Hide-a-Faith

2011-11-27T13:05:00.001-08:00

photo: Christine Donnier-Valentin

I'm no good any more
broken, tattered.
There are holes inside of me
that you can see through.

Threadbare remnants
of being, cast aside,
left, to be forgotten.

Good enough for beggars and lepers.
They sit and wait, upon this luxury.
Washed out bricks of humanity
hide with them all.

Do you see me?

Look closer, for my cloth looks worn,
but the words of my mouth are still sweet.
The holes have fulfilled a purpose.
You are just too blind to see it.

A radical stood upon me, shouting to the masses
feeding the hungry, telling stories of tax collectors and
prostitutes going to heaven.

But you, you think I am not worthy anymore,
since I am not perfect and new. I don't sit right anymore.
My springs make unholy sounds,
they come out disjointed and foolish.

But.

You will, find me, one day.

I will stay here, with them.

Waiting.

Until the day you see the real colours

of my cloth.

And I will love you all the same.

Linking to Magpie Tales
Picture Prompt

Just the Beginning

2011-11-26T15:33:00.001-08:00

First start with a clean kitchen

Gather all the ingredients

Find some willing helpers

You start with this

and end up with that

Just a little sampler platter for you

Rolo cookies

Ginger snaps

Sugar Cut out Snowflakes

Reverse Nanaimo Bars

And what day of baking isn't complete with at least one burnt pan of cookies. Why do I do this? Every single year, I think I am wonder woman and multi task as the cookies burn. The Reverse Nanaimo bars are to die for. First layer is made of crushed coconut, almonds and graham wafers crumbs, pressed into a pan, second layer is melted butter, cocoa powder, icing sugar and custard powder, then the white layer is pure white chocolate, and to top off this slice of heaven, more chocolate. Recipes upon request.

My son wants you all to know that I only make this Reverse Nanaimo once a year, as he yells this in disgust. "ONLY, ONCE, A YEAR! :( "

The Mirror Lies

2011-11-26T12:32:00.001-08:00

Into the bent mirror, of angled corners, eternity, sees.

Into the mirror,
draw closer to the reflection,
keeping sight on the rings
of life,
blackness surrounded by a watery blue, ocean,
that spills salt
upon the ground.
Don't look down upon the flesh and pores
of open wounds,
your too close,
the image is now distorted.
Eyelashes long with compliments
once held,
their gaze.
For a moment.
Then they looked down, up close to the real you.

The mirror, keep staring into the mirror,
until the jungle disappears.
When those wild eyes see past the forest
and you see the beauty
that is before you.

Linking to dVerse Poets Pub
Prompt:Wander in the Wild

I've wandered back into the wild with this prompt. This poem is about me, in my teen years. Our bathroom mirror could bend, and if you looked into the corner of it, your image went on for eternity. Often I would look at myself in the mirror. Real close up, so all I could look at was the insides of my eyes. Because I didn't want to see the rest of my face. Just my eyes, my eyes that people thought were beautiful, but nothing else about me was. I felt ugly as a child, the child deep down inside of me, still feels ugly. Look into my eyes, see the rings, the blue, the watery hole that tears fell out of every night of my high school years. The eyes that judge me and still see the ugly little girl.

Armani won't feed you one day.

2011-11-26T07:56:00.001-08:00

The menu came as Laura fumbled in her black Armani coat pocket. Looking at the meager coin, she was glad to be sitting next to the heating vent. As her toes thawed, she ordered a cup of coffee which came promptly by the waitress. She looked around the room as she sheepishly pulled out a package of crackers and ate them. She kept an eye on the ladies room and when the moment was right she'd have her opportunity to go and cleanup. Then venture out again on the job hunt. Suddenly her thoughts were jarred by a sarcastic voice asking her, "would you like fries with that?"

Linking to Jenny Matlocks Saturday Centus

Picture Prompt, and use only 100 words and the prompt :Would you like fries with that?

Should have ordered the Soup

2011-11-24T19:11:00.001-08:00

The evening was perfect, view of the lake, friends laughing around a table. They ordered drinks, then the salads came. There was small talk between bites, when suddenly Corey's lips curled in disgust as he pulled a band-aid out of his mouth. Peter looked shocked, then burst out in laughter, Happy Thanksgiving, he chuckled heartily.

Linking to GMans Friday 55

True Story, only Corey chewed on the band-aid for some time before noticing what it was. Peter loves telling this story.

A dVerse Thanksgiving

2011-11-24T18:18:00.001-08:00

Danke Schoen
or danksch
as we say in our house

Everything becomes
abbreviated
these days

So little time to say Thank you,
the proper way

It's easy really
a phone call,
a note,
a smile
or a wink

You know someone is waiting
to hear it, see it, catch a glimpse of it.

Thank you lifts the spirit,
it gives value to action,
cures the heart of selfishness
and concludes a moment
in time.

Linking to dVerse Poets Pub
Prompt: thank you

Thank you dVerse for opening my world and giving me a place where my voice, can be heard.

What!

2011-11-23T18:36:00.001-08:00

Me. Would you please pay attention to me once in awhile?

What Lies in your Backyard?

2011-11-23T16:59:00.001-08:00

Your witness is hollow

as you run to save humanity,

when the sanctuary of your

comfortable home

lies metres away from poverty.

Send your prophets and diviners of the rod.

Send them far,

into the chaos and eternal night

of shattered beauty.

Look closely,

for beauty has lost her elegance here too.

Saving Jerusalem,

falls on shallow thoughts

when Jerusalem lies in our hearts,

not on a map.

Heaven, will wait on them,

but who will stay to clean up our mess?

Inspired by an article I read in the Canadian Mennonite Volume 15 Number 22

Linking to Poetry Jam

Prompt: theme Paradise Lost : using prompt option #2, using the all or part of the phrase...I sung of chaos and eternal night...

Linking to Three Word Wednesday

Word Prompt: Hollow, misery, shallow

Happenstance

2011-11-22T15:50:00.001-08:00

Credit the Butterfly
that made him tumble
and fall into a fossil like world,
the kind, that one could only dream of.

The Cradle of Mankind.
Steppe, with history,
lies deep within a ravine
hiding, waiting, perhaps to unveil again.

From the edge of the world
they come.
Exploring and discovering,
finding and dating.

Lucy never sounded so good,
under an Autumn moon.
As the echoes of diamonds
glittered in their eyes.

As the gorge
revealed
the truth.

Linking to dVerse Poets Pub
Prompt: Open Link Night

Strange, and may be true

2011-11-20T06:54:00.001-08:00

It was a strange relationship. They first meet at a furniture store, testing out ergonomic kneeling chairs, when their eyes meet, in a locked embrace. They both stood up, simultaneously, and in that moment, they knew they were meant for each other.

It was, a strange relationship. They both enjoyed wearing business attire, all the time. They both played the Ophicleide and knew every line from the TV show Square Pegs. They enjoyed arranging flowers and drinking cold tea like they were shooters, and every year on the anniversary of their first meeting they returned to the store to test out furniture, just for fun. Yes, they had a strange relationship. The fact that they could never straighten out their knees could also be a factor in their strangeness, but for Sean and Shawn they were kindred spirits, who saw the beauty in Techno Music, and making sculptors out of dryer lint. Do I really need to say more?

Linking to Magpie Tales
Picture Prompt

The Cost of...

2011-11-19T07:48:00.001-08:00

"We gather together to ask the Lord's blessing.., were the words that came from my Father's mouth just moments after we finished the great Trek. We walked 10 kilometers over two days for our freedom. Many were not so lucky." As Katja gave the commencement speech, she reminded the students of how fortunate they were to be in a free country. Never to take their freedom of education for granted, for in her homeland, the educated were the first to be slaughtered by the Bolsheviks. The room was quiet as she spoke, and as she looked down, she noticed a tear falling from her father's eyes.

Linking to Jenny Matlocks, Saturday Centus
Write using only 100 words including the prompt: We gather together to ask the Lord's blessing.

Manic Moment

2011-11-18T17:33:00.001-08:00

Fractured words, drags the soul into the snare
of a dark endless hole, a cold wet lair.
A pit, A pit! with impetus speed
she falls broken, lying she bleeds.
Hide well your heart the Ravens cry echoes
a pit has no solace, for all your woes.

Mockingbirds sing their tune, on empty lies
as the hollow blue moon, looks with her eyes.
Look fast, Look fast! beyond yourself,
stories may stay upon the shelf.
The prattle talk, it goes from ear to ear,
look fast for the Raven, will keep you near.

Vindication will come but not from fear
your limbs and flesh feel numb, release a tear.
Drop Dead, Drop Dead! your empty thoughts,
before they become bloody clots.
Direct your mind to all that may be good
drop dead your fears for to be understood.

Linking to dVerse Poets Pub
Prompt: To write a poem in the Staccato form. It consists of two or more six-line stanzas with a set of syllable count and rhyme scheme. a,a,b,b,c,c, syllables 10,10,8,8,10,10 But there is an additions; two-syllable repeats appear twice consecutively at the beginning of L3 followed by an exclamation mark and once again at the beginning of L6. In addition to the repeats, the form requires an internal rhyme interplay between L1 and L2 of each stanza, usually the sixth syllable in each line.

Linking to Three Word Wednesday
Word prompt: impetus, solace, vindication

C.H.A.T.

2011-11-15T17:20:00.001-08:00

She loves God and all His creation

as she, creates for Him

Tribute of words

torn from paper

made alive on canvas

Collage feelings on

gold paint, gilded by determination

Her strength comes from a Psalm

hope, from Matthew

and she invests her soul,

on a journey

of imagination,

and faith

He meets with her, His creation

as she prays in secret

And they chat

awhile,

about her art

as she imagines,

with her soul

Linking to dVerse Poets Pub

Open Link Night

Still Life in Time

2011-11-12T16:30:00.000-08:00

Clock collection, edited on Picnic

Movement of the time piece

follows, in a circular code

ever forward, vast the seasons

memories that age and erode

Auspicious is this movement

on which path, we dare to walk

an oval cipher, keeps the time

that becomes our stumbling block

Perception fools our allotted time

immortal thoughts of glory

as we hunger, for our lives, to hold

an enduring, time-honored, story

Linking to Poetry Jam

Prompt: Still Life, use objects from your home

For Art is Emotion without Desire

2011-11-12T09:40:00.001-08:00

The tears are still wet on my face, and my heart trembling, this morning. I just finished reading The Elegance of the Hedgehog by Muriel Barbery, recommended by my son who owns the book. He likes to underline sentences in his books and as I read, I added ones that I thought were provocative, and moving as well.

In his review of the book, on his blog that he created for a school project, he mentions that it is the most amazing book he has ever read. I concur this thought. My hands are still trembling. He uses the words "shocking ending" in his blog label, and he was not joking about this.

What I found to be so brilliant and perfect about this read, is how the author pulls the reader in with such elegant words, and a beautiful weaving of metaphors that only become apparent to the reader, if you paid attention to the authors subtle way of dropping them into her book, in the last few chapters of the novel. I also appreciated the length of her sentences. Which may seem odd to you the reader but liberating to me, who tends to write with run on sentences, but in her novel, make sense and are perfectly due-able to her story telling.

The title of my blog post is a line from her book. When reading this novel it is apparent to me that the author is a genius with grammar and the use of vocabulary. The novel was originally written in French and translated to English by Alison Anderson, so perhaps some of that credit should also go to Ms.Anderson. "And on the way home I thought: pity the poor in spirit who know neither the enchantment nor the beauty of language." This line from the book really sums up to me the brilliance of her writing and how beautiful her novel is written. Beauty, nature, fate, consequences, art, and social standings are running themes through out her novel.

"Personally, I think that grammar is a way to attain beauty."

"Because art is life, playing to other rhythms."

"Where is beauty to be found? In great things that, like everything else, are doomed to die, or in small things that aspire to nothing, yet know how to set a jewel of infinity in a single moment."

"she's no whiz on the conceptual or logical side but she has an unbelievable gift for repartee. It really is a talent. I'm intellectually gifted, she is a champion of precision response."

The Elegance of the Hedgehog is a novel of hope, of taking off the mask that we hide behind, and open up ourselves to the beauty of life and living in it.

"If you want to heal

Heal others

And smile or weep

At this happy reversal of fate"

Follow Her Voice

2011-11-07T10:56:00.000-08:00

created by the Artist

Tranquil waters, reflect the brush
cobalt birth from paint to cloth
Transform the bark through
fiery orange, a hue of enlightenment
that sparks the voice

Demand attention
on rubescent weaves,
she is born through painters sleeves
Desire stretches from limb to limb
Three pieces gather, to create,

a hymn

14 hours too late to link up to dVerse Poets Pub, but here it is anyway. The Prompt: Colour

MEDA 2011 and Beyond

2011-11-07T07:03:00.000-08:00

I have been absent from this writing sphere since Wednesday. Not for the reason of a mental break, or writer's block, or just too busy with family life, but that my husband and I traveled south to Pennsylvania to attend a MEDA convention. An invitation by my husbands employers, several others as well in management and their wives all embarked on the trek to this very meaningful and enlightening convention. We attended two years ago when it was held in San Jose and as in the previous experience, this one did not disappoint.

To be honest, I had never heard of MEDA until I attended that convention two years ago. Being Mennonite I was well aware of MCC and MDS, both organizations that deal with the response of human suffering, disasters, peace and justice, but MEDA is a different branch of the Mennonite umbrella of responding to God's call.

The conventions are laid out with instructional seminars on various topics, with small tours of interest interjected into the three days. Being in Pennsylvania we did an Amish tour of course, and also had a tour of Harrisburg and the urban housing revitalization program by WCI Partners. Another tour we embarked on which was the most inspirational for me and brought tears to my eyes several times was the tour called Serving God Together.

I wasn't sure what to expect when we choose this excursion. All I knew is that I wanted a deeper understanding of MDS and MCC and had a over whelming desire to see the offices and meet the people and organization, that, historically, saved my family from war torn Russia.

The expectations of this tour did not disappoint me. I was moved beyond anything that I can describe, but I will try.

Beyond my feelings of pride, I swelled deep down with love.
Beyond my notion of what God is, I saw Him everywhere in the faces of those that hosted us.
Beyond my desire of want, I was humbled by how people gave up their time.
Beyond all that I could understand, God surged deep in my veins and opened my eyes, beyond.

Take time to read up on these wonderful yet quiet unassuming organizations. They may inspire you, beyond.

A Writer's Collective

2011-11-01T08:37:00.000-07:00

source from here

It was a dark and stormy night as his hands pounded the keys to his...no that's not right. Rule number one, never start a story about the weather.

My name is Julie from Brodbrook, I have had this typewriter for three years...I'm bad, work the character into the story, don't start with the character. Let me start again.

"Guess what? I found this typewriter at a garage sale, for only 10.00 dollars. Do people even still use these things?"...This doesn't sound right either. My hands were cold, and my mind empty. Looking down at the scrap of paper that I tore out of the newspaper, I reread the writing contest theme, and deadline. Buying this old typewriter was not giving me the edge that I needed. I am not a writer, I say to myself. I imagine it, I pretend I am, but who's kidding who here.

"Maybe you should just listen to me?", tapped a voice. I looked down to see these words on the paper of the typewriter. What the hell...did I do that? I look around the room, my eyebrow is frowned and lips tightly pursed. My eyes dart at the paper, the keyboard and then the door, for my escape. I must be crazy, because I know I did not type that.

"No you didn't you stupid fool, I did. Now look, the only way you will win a contest, is if you just enter one. Write, submit, write, submit. You'll never get anywhere if you don't write. It may take a while, you will write crap, but eventually it will get better."

The chair I was sitting on, was now on the floor, and my body was pressed against the wall. I was still within eye shot of the possessed typewriter as I watched the slow indents of the letters, revealing it's rather rude yet insightful message. Okay, I thought. It had a point. I don't write. I talk about it a lot. The reason I bought the bewitched Olivetti, was to motivate me. Playing computer games on my Apple was just not doing it. I nodded in agreement, but the sweat under my arms and my pounding heart told me I had to do something drastic.

I began to reach down by the wall. Suddenly it began again, "What? What are you doing? Don't go there, don't turn me...."

I patted the machine, and said to it softly. Thanks for the advice, but you are really creeping me out. I need to do this on my own, I'll plug you in later, when I need someone to edit my work. Then I began my journey, no excuses, no distractions, just write, submit, write, submit....

Linking to Magpie Tales
Picture Prompt

Ghosts from the Past

2011-10-30T19:52:00.000-07:00

Can you hear the voices?

Door to door they stop and call,

Halloween Apples

Linking to Haiku Heights
Prompt: ghosts

Growing up in Winnipeg, this is the term we used on Halloween night, you could hear the chorus of small voices, chanting "Halloween Apples". Chimes of intermittent calling, like a choir of voices echoing throughout the neighborhood. "Trick or Treat" was sometimes used, but not by my girlfriend and I, or many others. We called out for Halloween Apples. We got a few of those as well as a toothbrush, lots of candy and chocolate, tiny comic books and the odd religious tract. You don't hear Halloween Apples anymore, too bad. Imagine the faint lilt, on a dark and cool night, of voices calling that out. Imagine it if you will. Anyone else know of this tradition? I have yet to meet someone who remembers calling it out.

Read my Mind

2011-10-29T13:14:00.000-07:00

"You know what? You're an asshole", I say
as I walk out of the room.

Of course, this isn't what I said, but I thought it,
as I glance over to the other side, looking for a way out.
I keep a stupid smile on my face,
I nod at the incredulous words to the conversation
in the room. But I am not alone.

Captured, you and I, with this pompous man.
A one way conversation. His ears are deaf to our responses.
"What ever shall we do", says the look we give each other.
"How do we end this trivial moment", our telepathy tries it's best.
"You are so incredible to put up with him," my eyes say.

I am silent, I have known the fool much longer than you,
but you in all your proper upbringing give him a chance.
I touch your arm, we feel each others response of agony in the moment,
as the fool continues to dismiss our point of view.
"Yes dear, I know he's my Uncle, but I need to leave now" I say in my facial expressions.
"Please don't leave me here with him," he senses back to me.

"Oh, look, the hot appetizers are out," is what I really say,
as I walk out of the room, leaving you, with him, the asshole that is.
From the other side of the room, as I nibble and dip the venison in a sweet
mustard sauce, I feel your pain, I see the help me look.
"Sorry honey, I have had to endure that man longer than you, it's your turn now".

Linking to dVerse Poets Pub
Prompt: conversation poem, create or capture some characters, let them talk, let them show us their emotions, make us curious, make us feel them...and tell us their story. ( I decided to create an internal conversation, of looks that sometimes my husband and I experience, in the company of others)

Black Box

2011-10-29T07:16:00.000-07:00

Can you see my nucleus?

You see what comes out,

and what goes in, but

do you know me?

I am more than just my sum.

Linking to Jenny Matlocks, Saturday Centus

Prompt: using only 25 words write something using the picture above

Reality Cheque

2011-10-28T20:52:00.000-07:00

embroidered life
manicured dwelling of perfection
patterns on china
transcended over lace covered runners
botanical freshness, cut
fresh from rows of blossoming colours
adorned by front entry door

a paradise abodes well here
it is an epicure of ravenous indulgences

a finer way of living

sunken in,
the family room
a body hungers for a way out
crapulent years of living
on the line,
of credit and lies
wolfed by rapacious greed,
she waits on the curb

for the foreclosure reeper
to show her

a new way of living

Linking to dVerse poets pub

Write a poem that is constructed using conflation. This means the poem must possess at least two different, wholly unrelated themes package together.
To challenge you further, the two or more thematic aspects of the poem must be revealing about yourself

I found this theme very hard to wrap my head around, not entirely sure if this really works. What I was trying to reveal is the need to keep up with the Jones', to attain perfection in our stately lives, and yet most of us are one pay cheque away from loosing it all. Critique away.

What's a Little Hazing?

2011-10-27T17:08:00.000-07:00

Should we be shocked?

It's just another cultural rite of manhood,

only it happens to be in the "civilized world".

This isn't Sparta and it ain't no kryptia,

I don't see a bullet ant glove coming out,

and let's not even go to the Mardudjara aborigines .

After all, aren't we the

evolved ones over here,

right?

Linking to .Gman Friday 55

Hazing, initiations, rites of passage, as long as we turn our backs to it, and say boys will boys, nothing will change. What I don't get is why people participate or want to stay in "the club" when stuff like this happens? I think the Mardudjara people should show these groups what a "real" rite of passage feels like. I have a feeling no man on this continent would join any athletic club if they had to go through their initiations.

Whisper it

2011-10-24T19:29:00.000-07:00

photoscanada.com

whisper it

Aurora Borealis

Polar dancers with jingle bells on
that make no sound
but you can see them from the deck
and they swirl and sway
all around you

whisper it

Aurora Borealis

Merry dancers that begin
in far off galaxies
calling you to bend
and stretch to watch their magic

whisper it

Aurora Borealis

Evening dancers that whirl in the skies
coloured lights that go on forever
in my backyard
on a cool fall evening
reminding me of the night
long ago, when I said goodbye to him

whisper it

Aurora Borealis

The lights that danced for me
that left me a sign
that his spirit was gone
upward
to the heavens
in the silence of the night
I whisper it

Aurora Borealis

Linking to Sunday Scribblings
Prompt: In my Backyard

Just saw the most amazing Northern Lights this evening, the photo above is close to what we just watched. My Dad died on Oct 25 1992, the day after, my Mom and I watched the Northern lights dance in our backyard. I can't help but think it's him now when I see them.

The Race against Nature

2011-10-24T11:20:00.000-07:00

Torrential rains,
create rivers of mud
of destruction.
Currents pulling
nutrients
to the lake.
Streams d i g g i n g
ruts
on the fields.
Cascading fresh droplets
unable to quench a thirst
as a river

is

b
o
r
n

Linking to The Gooseberry Garden's Poetry Picnic
Prompt: nature, forest, rivers, mountains

The Other Nick Mason

2011-10-23T15:43:00.000-07:00

In neon glowing lights
of centered stage of darkness
I entered the arena.
Carnage of excitement
from the shouting voices,
the chanting energy
pulsates with anticipation.
Arms held high,
I feel their intensity,
then the show begins.
I am the master of the rhythm,
lead guitarist thinks he's "it"
but the sticks tell another story.
Can he move a body
like I can.
Muscles that pulsate
with every beat,
muscles that feel
the vibrating track
straight to their heart.
In my pod of drums
and symbols,
I am the centre of their universe
I am the pulse they felt before they were born
I am the past that links them to their ancestral beginnings
I am, the timbre in their soul.

Linking to dVerse Poets
Prompt: Create a persona poem using monologue as your format. Write from the point of view of someone other than yourself.

Not sure if I tackled this prompt correctly but when I look into the mirror, this bravado does not exist. The other side of the reflection she is looking out at me, laughing, having a great time and letting loose, all her inhibitions.

The Chatter Box

2011-10-22T08:05:00.000-07:00

Linking to Jenny Matlocks Saturday Centus
Prompt: I planted a little story seed...

I planted a little story seed deep within a stony well. Many words from inside my head, gently placed within an ornate box. Thoughts, grand ideas, impressions, beliefs and a notion or two fit inside. The words looked up at me before I shut the box, spelling "Why now?". I closed the lid tightly, without an explanation, but whispered, "I will come for you soon."

Then gently I lowered all the words that laid inside, down the stony well. Their inkling echoes, muffled tales and story lines called for me.

They were relentless in their cries. Until one day I could no longer take it, and a blog was born.

Then and Now

2011-10-21T16:17:00.000-07:00

There was a quest for fire

long ago,

body upon body,

fighting for survival.

It opened her eyes

to a neolithic world

of stone, to origins of man.

But if you love this planet,

you would keep them open,

eyes, that is.

To that subversive tale,

banned by those living south,

who try to be the world's moral compass,

who fight, a threat to our survival.

Joshua came at the right time.

As Canadian pride swelled,

to the riches of art and literature,

that those who create,

fight for survival,

among all the glitter and gold.

The cream of the crop

bring into being,

our look at life

as quirky and honest,

as real and raw.

No bells or whistles here.

Just crude, uncooked art,

on film,

for those to see.

No box office smash

no red carpet glamour,

just Brach, Richler and Nash.

Linking to Poetry Jam

Prompt: connection; pick three unfamiliar titles, it could be movie, tunes or books. This is your beginning, middle or end. Use the words themselves, or some image or concept they suggest, but write a poem that in some way connects the three.