I gather the discarded items here
Sort them and stack them and put them in piles
Suggest a high price for keepsakes so dear
Remembering the events brings back smiles
Thoughts of birthdays and Christmases long past
Lost in the memories of happier days
Of family and children who grew up fast
With crayons, baseball, and parts in school plays
I’m hurried and rushed but no more delays
I’m hurried and rushed but no more delays
The closets and kitchen are sorted out
The auction will start at morning’s first rays
China and glassware are scattered about
Hand tatted lace and embroidered bed sheets
I’ve packed up suitcases with things to keep
Including my bed and a pair of seats
Tomorrow the lot will be purchased cheap
What isn’t sold will go to the scrapheap
What isn’t sold will go to the scrapheap
Decluttered, divested no baggage claimed
In a new home tonight I will find sleep
I hold onto that family picture framed
It isn’t as hard as facing down death
We’re all alone and the house was too big
Less muss and fuss when I take my last breath
I’m wasting away, my arm’s like a twig
A discarded person my grave they dig
This is a poem written as a Novelinee. It was created by Sarah Rayburn as a derivative of the Spenserian stanza. It consists of at least one 9 line stanza written in iambic pentameter or with decasyllabic (10 syllable) lines. The rhyme scheme is a/b/a/b/c/d/c/d/d. When more than one stanza is used the last line of the preceding stanza becomes the first line of the following stanza. If you have more than one stanza the last line of the last stanza is a derivative of the very first stanza of the poem. (It sounds so much harder than it really is to write!)
As for the content. Well, Sparky’s parents are thinking of moving into assisted living. His father is hoping sooner rather than later. They are nearing 90 and the condo is getting hard for them to maintain even if there is no outside maintenance. They have started the sorting and paring down of the household. Sparky’s dad seems not to have any strong attachments to things he owns. It is his mother who is struggling with the letting go. She has started asking if there is any one thing that each of her children would want. But those things are easy to part with – she knows that they will be cherished. It is the little things, like her collection of little glass pigs, her favorite wooden spoon, the magazine holder, and all the paintings on the walls. For the last 3 months she has been sorting photographs into piles on the dining room table. The process has now moved to putting them in photo albums. The place that is highest on the list will provide a bedroom, living room and bath. That would mean they have to get rid of 3 rooms of furniture and all their kitchen stuff. It is a very hard process.
The Poet of the Week, Brandon Eldrich, set the Wea’ve Written Weekly poetry prompt on The Skeptic’s Kaddish blog. This week the prompt is a real challenge as we are asked to compose a riddle or “puzzle” poem. I had to really mull this prompt over. I had to think hard and even enlisted the aid of my sons. They made lots of suggestions from a banana to the Deep Water Horizon oil spill. I decided to go with this one:
I’m square or oval but mostly round
All around I can be found
From kitchen blender
To computer sender
Outside the front door
And when vacuuming the floor
Siblings find them just for fun
You’re exposed when I’m undone
Too much to eat and I will pop
Match me up bottom to top
Made of metal, plastic, bone and glass
Guess me quick, don’t be the last!
Make your guess in the comments and I’ll confirm or deny!
I was waiting in traffic on my way home and I couldn’t help but notice the different driving styles especially at the intersections. I thought about it and realized there are several distinct styles.
1. The Creeper – this driver slowly inches up on the car in front until they are millimeters from the bumper. Most other drivers will in turn inch forward to create a little breathing room. This only encourages The Creeper to again inch closer…
2. The Crowder – this is the driver who stops his car in the crosswalk. All the pedestrians have to walk around the front of the car. I have personally known several people who do this. When asked they are of the opinion that it will magically make the light change more quickly…
3. The Cautious – these drivers are the opposite of the Crowder. They will hang back nearly a full car’s length from either the crosswalk or the car ahead. They aren’t usually a problem except when train tracks are involved. They really need to get a little closer…
4. The Crazy – there are far too many of these folks out there! They are the drivers who come screeching to a stop just as the light goes red or in many instances they scream through the light as it is yellow turning red, a “pink” light. My sister calls this “bleeding through” a light. Supposedly the traffic people plan for a certain number of people to pull this stunt since there is a delay before the other light turns green. Obviously in my town the people in charge of the signals didn’t get the memo!
5. The Confused – this driver doesn’t understand the concept of the 4-way stop. They either don’t know when to take their turn causing others to question if it is their turn or they go out of turn! No matter how you look at it they are accidents waiting to happen!!
6. The Coward – this is the last type I observed. They are most commonly seen in bad road conditions. The Coward is so timid and so slow that they are a peril to all the other cars. It is one thing to slow down as a light changes and something altogether different to start slowing down a full block before the intersection even though the light has just turned green. And of course when I say slowing down I mean to reduce speed from 25 mph (in a 30 mph zone) to 10 mph a full block before the light.
Now that I’m safe at home I can chuckle at the chaos that is winter driving in Indiana. But come tomorrow when I must brave the elements and struggle with my fellow drivers I know that I’ll be “white-knuckle” driving…
Hourglass figures from days of corsets cinch’d tight
Constricted breath and contained all movement combined
To make a sphere constrained and thoughts smaller
And birthed ideas bubbled forth
And birthed ideas bubbled forth
Women wondered, heard, held their heads taller
Took baby breaths and baby-steps from roles assigned
Fought battles from boudoir to basement for their rights
This is an Amanda’s Pinch. It is a rhyming, syllabic form that contains a refrain of repeated lines 4 and 5. The syllable count is: 12/12/10/8/8/10/12/12 with a rhyme scheme of: a/b/c/D/D/c/b/a. Its centered on the page to give the idea of being pinched in the middle. I first wrote one for the Scavenger Hunt this last September and liked it so much that I thought I’d give it another go.
I’m old enough to remember when I couldn’t have a credit card on my own. My father had to put me on his card. I remember being told I had no place in Veterinary medicine because I was female. In fact, it was shocking to the guidance counselor that I was even considering a career working with animals. When in college I took an aptitude test for possible career directions. I was told that I would make a great beautician, dental hygienist, nurse, even a passible mortician (because the dead don’t care about your gender). If it hadn’t been for the counselor (a woman in the armed services who had broken many barriers) I wouldn’t have seen the career at the very bottom of the list – veterinary technician. I have many women to thank for my rights – the right to vote, the right to own property (including real estate!), autonomy over my health care (but now not including reproductive rights). But I’m seeing an erosion of those rights and perhaps they will disappear completely. Now there is a lessening based on how much money I have, how mobile I am, how educated I am. If I’m rich and have the ability and the knowledge, I can travel to where I can access the care I want and need. If that’s not the case, I’m at the mercy of short sighted politicians. The struggle is real and the fight is not over. It was never over.
There have been times in my life when I have been under extreme stress verging on distress. During those circumstances I would have recurring dreams. Most of them were disturbing in some aspect. I can still remember a couple of them that played on a loop at least once a week and sometimes more often. But those are not the dreams I’m looking for.
I have had periods where I have been deliriously happy and contented and produced dreams that were euphoric. The first week after I left my job, I had that wonderful dream. It was so pleasant that I didn’t want to wake up. I had had this dream before and I’m hoping to have it again. This particular dream involves me flying. I’m not exerting any effort and realize I am airborne! From that point my dream takes me on a tour of cities or mountains, or perhaps flying over oceans and islands, and on occasion I fly through clouds and rainbows. No matter the direction the dream takes, it is fun beyond compare! And always a let down when I wake and realize it was just a dream.
Which brings me to wanting to repeat that very enjoyable dream experience. I’ve done some evening meditations. I’ve done exercises that are supposed to help you focus and bring the experience to the fore of your mind. I’ve performed relaxation techniques. But still the dream evades me. Just like rainbows, you can’t just order a dream to show up on command. *sigh* Have you ever had a dream so delightful that you wanted it to continue??
Here is my offering for the W3 poetry prompt set by Denise DeVries. I really had trouble coming to grips with this prompt. On the one hand my muse looks at it and shudders in revulsion on the other my mind argues that it is nothing more than a tool. My internal argument went something like this:
Muse: Using artificial intelligence to assist in writing a poem is cheating.
Mind: AI is just a tool.
Muse: A tool for lazy people and the unimaginative.
Mind: More like a prompt to kick start the creative process.
Muse: I am the creative process!!
Mind: You are unreliable. The AI doesn’t take sabbaticals for months on end.
Muse: I’m NOT unreliable!
Mind: You are egotistical and a fragile flower. You need to get over yourself!
Muse: If you do this thing with AI, I’m out of here – forever!
Mind: Can we compromise? Maybe just have the AI come up with a couple random words to incorporate into a poem?
Muse: Hmmm. I suppose that would be alright. Just this once.
https://randomwordgenerator.com/ gave me the following 3 words:
miserable, premature, idea
I struggled. I sweated. And I nearly rolled on the ground like a horse with colic. After I had a little chocolate and calmed down, I thought about what I wanted to say. Then I considered which form would be the most expeditious to convey those ideas. I settled on the Tanka. It offers a little more freedom than the Haiku but still requires a conciseness.
Poetic ideas gone
My muse ran away from home
Muscle memory writing
I was not born blind
But I cannot see
I was not born deaf
But true deaf I be
All these conditions
Do not define me
Nor do I count them
Not a single eye
Can see a soul leap
Not one human ear
Hears when ere hearts weep
All fear the silence
When the senses sleep
And dread the moment
Death into minds creep
Age has made reading glasses necessary. I don’t doubt that eventually Sparky and I will need hearing aids. We are well on our way to preferring large print editions of books. We’ve adjusted the size of fonts on the computer screens and on the smart phones too. I’ve stated before that being physically blind is not as bad as being spiritually blind, yet even so we are impossibly near-sighted, spiritually speaking. As for deafness, I know that selective deafness has crept up on both of us. Sparky tunes me out more often than I’d like to admit (and I call him on it). I think there are certain sounds that just don’t register in my auditory senses – most notably the alarm clock, and the constant hum and drone of the refrigerator and the furnace fan. As for the spiritual deafness, I have to admit that I tune out pleas for money from street people. At the same time I strain to hear the spiritual directions from God. I guess I’m no better or worse than the rest of the world and that does not comfort me. I’ve been struck senseless! I have tried and I will continue to try to be better and do what all Christians were commanded – Feed the hungry, clothe the naked, comfort the sick and dying, visit the imprisoned and to love neighbor as self.
There was a meme floating around Facebook that went something like: Teaching your child to question/stand up to authority means they will eventually question/stand up to you. This popped up on both our FB feeds while son#2 was visiting. He proceeded to tell me about a person he knew from college who had a confrontation with his father. The bottom line was that the son had an opinion that differed from his father’s and was unwilling to change his mind just because his father told him to. The father decided that might makes right and discovered that his “little boy” was an adult who could and would defend himself. This led to a discussion about his childhood, parenting, and the end result – a fully fledged successful adult. I told him that I hoped that I had “done right” by him even though I probably made mistakes. He reassured me that I had been and continue to be a great mom. He did point out a couple things:
1. He thanked me for keeping my promise to let him quit Suzuki violin lessons once he completed book 10. Of course he never did quit and he only got to book 9 before he graduated and went to college. He considered my “deal” to have been a stoke of genius and a little tricky. (He is a professional musician)
2. He said that if I hadn’t introduced him to foods/dishes from around the world he’d have ended up like a couple of his friends who refuse to eat anything except burgers and fries. He has been doing lots more cooking and has asked for recipes. That made my heart happy.
3. He was grateful that books were an integral part of his upbringing. He said that when we were all taking turns reading the latest Harry Potter book that it reinforced the fact that reading was something you did for life – not just as a kid in school. He has been reading a lot since he lives alone. He was bragging that he read nearly 100 books last year and hopes to better that number this year!
4. The one thing he holds against me is that I sold his TMNT figures at a rummage sale. But to be fair, he said I could and I did give him the money generated by the sale (he was in HS)… But now they’d be collector’s items and worth some coin. Hindsight is 20/20!
So to sum it up, his father and I did lots of things right and a couple of things we could have done differently but the end result speaks for itself. We have 2 fine citizens, who are respectful, caring, law abiding, and socially and environmentally conscientious. I think we did a decent job after all!
This is the very last of the House of Mayhem of the Mind Scavenger Hunt developed and hosted by MoonCatBlue. I am wrapping this up with a story poem (free verse sandwiched in a monorhyme) that includes the situation on Prompt #6 – due to a misunderstanding someone has booked a stay at an AirBnB/owl sanctuary despite a mild fear of birds and #8 – retell/reimagine a children’s story shifted for adults. I chose the Grimm Fairy Tale The Owl for this prompt. It is essentially a story about letting the imagination override reason resulting in destruction of property and death of an ordinary owl which is imagined to be a supernatural monster.
In the darkness I alight
Pay the Uber head toward light
Air BnB for the night
Rustling wings give me a fright
Fear of owls swooping in flight
This mistake can’t be put right
The urge to leave I must fight
Sleep and dream and just sit tight
All is better in daylight
A tangled dream of monstrous eyes
Clawing talons squeezing breath
From punctured lungs and crushing weight
I confront the owl confused
Who is more afeard when imagination
Captures reason and tears logic down?
Would I burn up all I own
When dread runs a rushing wind
And causes insanity in men?
Sweat drenched awake at midnight
The Lord’s Prayer aloud recite
Fear and terror will incite
A great panic to ignite
Patient wait for dawn’s first sight
See that everything’s alright
Convince self of trip’s delight
Know owls don’t hold hateful spite
For dream owls with flames I smite
This is my response to the W3 poetry prompt hosted by David at The Skeptic’s Kaddish. The Poet of the Week, Sarah David asked that we write a poem of 14 lines or fewer in any form on the theme of “dreams”. Dreams are elusive, slipping through my fingers on most mornings. I do have a couple recurring dreams, one really fun one and several that I classify as stress dreams. But the majority of my dreams leave me with a faint taste on the tip of my tongue or a lingering feeling of someone holding my hand or brushing my hair…
Seal slip into the dream ocean
I swim through memories undone
Surrounded by liquid emotion
Pulled, twisted, plunged deep and spun
Shadow ghost of the give and take
Revise the day, the night remake
Silver moonbeams a rare silk line
Strands of regret and gray hair
I weave my history symbol and sign
Connect my heart from here to there
What was, could or should be
The dream is my soul’s fervent plea
Jolted awake the dream dissipates
I rise to pass through reality’s gates