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Wednesday, January 24, 2024
The prompt was: If hope is a living, breathing thing, what would it be?
If hope is a living thing,
what would it be?
Would it be a an animal that calmly listens to you while you vent,
with fur that is a comfort to pet when you're hurting
eyes that look directly into yours and seem to understand what is going on in your heart.
If hope were a living, breathing thing
Would you want to hold it
or watch it from a distance
to see what it does?
If hope was something you could see or touch
Would it be the water that keeps us alive
Would it be the sun lighting up the day?
Would it be the moon, bright at night?
Would it be the stars that we wish on as children?
Would it be the clouds, shape shifters and bearers of rain and snow?
If hope is a living, breathing thing,
What would it be?
If hope is a living, breathing thing,
maybe it's you and me.
Sunday, January 21, 2024
People watching while listening to jazz piano. Brings out the romantic in me.
to look at each other.
comfort with a kindred spirit
like a pillow
through loss and grief
They found each other
Late in life
Late in life
But not too late
To be happy again.
Saturday, January 20, 2024
Thursday, January 18, 2024
Written during a Craft of Poetry sampler class (Women Writing for (a) Change). There were several prompts. The one I chose was "Only the things I didn't do crackle after..."
Only the things I didn't do crackle after the smoke clears The decision is made. It's time to go. I accomplished a lot and yet there is still so much left unstarted or unfinished. Am I burning bridges? Am I abandoning things I started and thought were failing? Yes No. Everything I did here mattered to me Maybe to others. I did things I wasn't sure I could do I did things I never imagined I would do. I had setbacks and leaps forward. Now it's a new year, time to move on, leave last year behind. As amazing as it was, I can't continue to bask in its fading glow. It's time to move on even though the things I didn't do call to me ask if I will come back. No, I answer, I won't return. I rarely go back. Things specific to this place will remain here undone. Things I can do elsewhere I will take with me. Maybe I will work on them Maybe I will decide they don't interest me anymore and start new things instead Either way, The things I didn't do will remain in my subconscious poking out at random times reminders of earlier hopes. There's space in the new year for me to celebrate the past think about the future live in the present. Continuums of time will be with me, in me. and at year's end I will again take stock decide what to leave behind and what will remain. Start anew.
From writing prompts come poems. Thankful for online writing communities and workshops.
2. I am running to I am running from I am running because I want to I am running because I can. I am thankful that I can run. I am running to things that I want to see and do I am running from being tied down, feeling the need to meet other people's expectation, I am running from responsibilities and commitments that feel like obligations It's not that I don't like being there for someone, But if I want to see new places try new things I need to run away from what holds me back, thoughts and people who hold me down. I need to run to me I need to run. I am running into the new year I am running into a new chapter. I am running.
Wednesday, January 17, 2024
Writing prompts can tickle memories and draw out thoughts I hadn't had in years.
Was he the one who got away or was he never there? Depends on the moment in time when that question is asked. For a while, in my mind at least, he was the one. But he made it clear that I wasn't Which, I suppose was also a way of saying he wasn't the one. Friends, we were and remain Friends. A complicated relationship for me, not so much, for him. Love, closeness, emotional attachment Commonalities, differences. I left. He left. Now we're each writing a new chapter His is long, ongoing I've written several, they are shorter. While I've been writing new plot points He's on the chapter he started when he left. It might be a long one It might be his last one As for me, There will be several more chapters I hope. Was he "the one" who got away or was he never there? Time has erased the expectations softened the feelings. But the question randomly surfaces when I hear a song, read a sentence in a book or a line in a poem see someone who reminds me Of him. It's a moot point now. As I write another page I'm tempted to go back several chapters, revisit the characters and plot. unearth memories. What was real, What could have been. Images and feelings have blurred over time. love and its many contradictions. Was it one-way love? Was it non-romantic love? Was it love at all? Does it matter now? As he used to say, It is what it is. And now I say It was what it was.
Wednesday, January 10, 2024
The prompt was "What memory compelled them to give special thanks for the fruit?" I took it in a different direction.
A tricky thing.
You think you remember,
And then someone who was there
Tells a different story
Or says they don't remember that at all.]
He's allergic to strawberries.
It's not something he announces,
He just never eats them.
His mother told him
How when he was a child
he broke out in hives
after eating strawberries.
He asked his dad about the story
His dad said he didn't remember much about it,
because his mother handled it.
As for him,
He looks at strawberries
and tries to remember
He ate them once as an adult
just to see what would happen
He got a little itchy
but no welts.
He looks at the menu
Fresh fruit with breakfast would be nice
So he asks the waitress about strawberries
says he's allergic.
They could probably create a bowl without berries
if he'd like to try it.
As he says yes,
Did he really break out in hives?
Has he ever broken out in hives?
Does he know what hives look like?
Did his mother exaggerate what happened?
Maybe he just didn't like the taste
and made a face
or scratched his arms or belly.
He'll never know.
Until she was no longer able to speak,
If he asked
He was allergic to strawberries.
She loved him,
And that was all that mattered.
Monday, January 8, 2024
Write a letter poem. Pick who you're writing to (an imaginary person, a real person).
I have probably never met you, Or maybe I have. I have no idea who will read this, so I assume you are not someone I know.
I hear so many conflicting things. Some of them get me so mad I talk, scream, gesture at my computer or Echo speaker or car radio.
I seem to get wound up faster than I used to? Does that happen to you too?
I tell myself to calm down, I tell myself to turn it off, I tell myself to do anything except pay attention to the news,
But I am drawn back,
Like a moth to a flame?
I get worked up, I walk away again, I go back,
And on and on.
The barrage of news and opinions doesn't stop, my anger and confusion go away and come back,
I wonder how will all of these wars and conflicts and lifetime grudges end?
Will the world explode before I do?
Do you have similar thoughts?
Are you tormented by what you hear and wish there was an easy solution. Hell, do you wish there was a hard solution? Do you believe there is a solution?
Or, like me, do you feel like, this has gone or for so long, it will never end.
There will be no winner.
We will all lose.
We're all already losing.
Do you know what I am writing about? Which war, conflict, difference of opinion, I might be referring to? Present? Past?
Does it matter?
Do you call a war a conflict?
Do you care what it's called when there are bombs and guns and orders and passion turning cities, towns, fields, into battlefields? Ripping apart families. Making enemies of friends.
Do you think these places will ever be able to live in peace?
Do you think we live in peace here in the US?
Do you sometimes wonder what it would be like to live in a country constantly at war?
Are you already living there?
Do you feel like you live in a different form of war?
Words, beliefs, religion, politics.
Do you think, it's time,
it's past time,
We need a truce.
Before it's too late.
Do you wonder if it already is too late, we're past the point of no return.
I hope, I dream, I wish
that every day was armistice day.
What do you hope, dream, wish for?
Saturday, January 6, 2024
Thanks to Phyllis Cole-Dai for posting a writing prompt and WAGE PEACE by Judyth Hill.
Breathe in suffering
Breathe out healing.
Breathe in bad
Breathe out good.
Breathe in sadness
Breathe out happiness.
If only it was that simple.
If only you could transform the evils of the world
and your demons,
By simply breathing them in
And exhaling peace and goodness.
Yet we keep doing it
We have to.
We breathe in and out,
Filling and emptying our lungs
in a rhythm that keeps us alive.
If we get upset,
Someone might tell us
Take a deep breath
Blow it out slowly
Breathe in, breathe out.
Like breathing can cure our problems.
Breathe in, breathe out,
Carbon dioxide out..
When you stop breathing
Breathe in, breathe out
Until your last breath.
That isn't a metaphor.