One day while E.C. was planning a small baby caper
She felt something odd in her diaper di diaper.
I Didn't Just Wake Up This Morning With A Craving
I Write To Stop Time
One day while E.C. was planning a small baby caper
She felt something odd in her diaper di diaper.
Today
I hate the way,
I feel I have naught to say.
I want to report today’s events
But it wasn’t exciting, no suspense
I miss the mountains and woodsy air
And struggle with feeling so lost from where
(I want to be)
‘Tis a time of change, these autumn days
Present-minded in them, may I stay
I’m not a poetry person, usually, but I heard a story on NPR about a Seattle Arab-American author who wrote about places like Syria, where it becomes difficult to remember the individual human lives that are shrouded by the dirty cloud of war and violence.
The best writing, in my opinion, is simple and straightforward, yet pierces directly to your heart.
“Running Orders”
They call us now.
Before they drop the bombs.
Time slows
In the dewy-promised morning of a welcome unfolding, my limbs and words reach out to those long unseen.
In a hot afternoon of mid-day revelry, hearing delighted cheers from the joust over the hill, playing tag with the sunlight to not burn my skin,
In the smell of the blacksmith’s fire as it stings the back of my throat and the soft fragrance of honey from the slowly melted wax,
Time slows.
Around the soft wool plaid-covered dining table and softly falling ash from the open fire, eating freshly simmered stew off oversize wooden spoons, next to elders and the younger, all helping cast off, understand, and slow down the mundane dragging of life,
Reclining in swirling pipe smoke, calling out insults and verbal barbs with kinsmen, wrapping my tongue around thick pronunciation and enjoying their faces as they consider a comeback, reveling in their creativity,
Oh, how time slows.
Watching nature wake up, a rain of inchworms becoming a cloud of butterflies, verdant leaves, flowers, and a wee hidden sheep cushioning the visual space.
Air thickens with humidity until the tantalizing promise of rain finally blows through the glen, where nothing can thwart the pulse of life and joy that moves through.
A final exhausted circle of dusty day-worn bodies teasing, jovial and affectionate. Hands passing flasks and bottles around, each one carefully and considerately conserving a sip to share and make room for the next,
Time slows.
Alas, it does not stop, and so, until next time…
*Inspired by Day 1, Writing 101
This is a weekly post I do to highlight blogs or bloggers who have inspired me in some way during this week – another car on my imagination train!
1. I’m not normally a poetry kind of girl, but as I was writing this week, I felt like I wanted to. I found, on this post from Writer’s Digest, a list of different styles of poetry, explaining thme and giving me examples. As I was looking, I was inspired to try it a few times on different topics. Stay tuned for future efforts. 🙂
Cluttered Corners.
Crowding cashe calms customers chiefly concerned
(with) consumption.
Curiosities.
Photo from Jinan, Shandong, China
Sun setting (summoning?) severely stymies seeing
Sinultaneously
Such shapes stop sight signals.
Photo taken in Oeiras, Portugal.
With the help of the WP blog, I found several new prompt events in which to take part, and in the past 20 minutes, I wrote this, my first submission to the three words a day challenge:
Antelopes and anteaters aren’t always amicable,
basically bringing baleful “blessings” before bashing brother beyond brother.
Crafty cheetahs contemplate calming contagious crowds
despite dangerous daring despots.