Overheard Malicious whispers Between two Co-workers My heart grew cold at their words Squeezing in my chest
Breathing stopped Blackness obscured sight My fists clenched And unclenched Thoughts swirled like a tornado Unholy and wild
Office chair Calmed me in this storm I held on Took a breath Straightened my back and went out “I heard what you said”
This is my response to this week’s W3 challenge: to write shadorma poems.
The shadorma is a compact Spanish syllabic form built from a six-line stanza with a strict syllable pattern: 3 / 5 / 3 / 3 / 7 / 5 (26 syllables total). It is typically unrhymed, and a poem may consist of a single stanza or a series of stanzas.
For this challenge, the theme is Sensory Details.
Write a close-up study of a single inanimate object or a very specific moment. Think small and focused rather than narrative or expansive. The power of the poem should come from sensory observation—what can be seen, heard, touched, smelled, or felt.
Yes, this actually happened. It was a specific moment and I tried to write the sensory details of it.
Amelia’s knights neighed Her black pawn had tea with my white Our bishops talked “What are they talking about?” I asked “Hello,” she said, bobbing one up and down “How are you?” she said, bobbing the other similarly She giggled “This is more fun than checkers,” she said Amelia is in third grade “The pieces are people,” she stated “Can our queens be friends?” she asked I paused “That’s not how the game works,” I told her She pressed her lips together Then she reached over and touched her pawn The one that was head to head with my pawn “But they can still have tea, right?” she asked
When I read the Stream of Consciousness prompt for today — the word “distance” — this song is the first thing that came to mind.
I have a love-hate relationship with the lyrics. Allow me to — stream-of-consciously — dissect them.
On the surface, yes, it’s all so true:
From a distance, the world looks blue and green And the snow-capped mountains white From a distance, the ocean meets the stream
Yep — those pictures taken of the earth from space show our planet as green and blue. We can see water, land. We have to start zooming in, though, to see ocean meeting stream. We have to really zoom in to see the last line of that verse:
And the eagle takes to flight
If we were to really really zoom in, we would see that eagle swoop down and grab a living creature — a fish, a rabbit, or even someone’s pet. Hmmm…
From a distance, there is harmony And it echoes through the land It’s the voice of hope It’s the voice of peace It’s the voice of every man
Well, not EVERY man. I’m so disturbed by the words of our Secretary of War/Defense this week. He initially acknowledged the fallen troops, but then they became a PR problem to him. He accused the press of trying to make the president look bad. Seriously??
From a distance, we all have enough And no one is in need And there are no guns, no bombs, and no disease No hungry mouths to feed
From a distance, it may look that way, but it’s not true. It’s just not true.
From a distance, we are instruments Marching in a common band Playing songs of hope Playing songs of peace They’re the songs of every man
I actually like this verse. Music is a uniter. I think about the story from WWII of Germans and Americans singing Silent Night together, in their respective languages, on Christmas Eve. (I think that’s how the story goes.)
God is watching us God is watching us God is watching us From a distance
Umm…. the Christmas story is that God was born in a stable. The Lenten story is that after a dusty, dirty itinerant life — walking with us, eating with us, teaching, listening, healing through touch — God in human form died for us. God bridged the distance.
From a distance, you look like my friend Even though we are at war From a distance, I just cannot comprehend What all this fighting’s for
I’ll go back to that Christmas Eve story and I’ll say this, You, Iranian mom, are my sister. In 2017, I went to Bosnia and shared meals with people of a different faith. I learned they were also my friend/family. I’ll also go back to those powerful people in the world who move us around like chess pieces. I just cannot comprehend what all this fighting’s for.
The rest of the song is pretty repetitive of what’s already been sung.
It’s a lovely song. It really is.
I just wish it didn’t lean so heavily on God watching “from a distance”.
Perhaps it’s simply saying that God has the best perspective — “from a distance”. Hmm… I need to ponder that.
“Can I have a kitty?” itty- bitty me asked my father — rather, my mom put me up to it. It seems that she knew new kitten would equal no. No, unless she rigged the odds. Odds are he would say yes to me, mea- ning I asked, pleading, “Yes?” — “Yes.”
Ichibon — Ichi + bon — Japanese for Number One — our first cat
We were on an army base at the time. The family with the kittens had recently come back from Japan.
How could my father say no?
This is my attempt at an Echo Poem, this week’s W3 Challenge. An echo poem repeats the ending syllable (or syllables) of each line. That’s it. No strict rules about meter or length.
Smooth <— that’s the Saturday Stream of Consciousness prompt.
Honestly, I got nothin’.
The only thing that comes to mind — and KEEPS coming to mind — is the sarcastic “Smooth, real smooth” that I’ve heard when I’ve goofed up. Again.
Have I ever mentioned the fact that I’m a little awkward at times?
For my work, I have to call people, and it stresses me out. I think ahead to what I want to say when I have to leave a message — “Hi, this call is for [insert name]. This is Sally calling from the Membership Office.”
Sometimes, I get through the point of the call seamlessly.
Other times, though, someone will walk past my open door, wave, and I get distracted. That’s when I start babbling.
I think that as I grow older, it’s not just my body that loses some of its flexibility, but my brain also loses elasticity. I don’t multitask like I used. I forget names and/or words.
The Lens-Artist Challenge this week is “to explore juxtaposition as a photographic technique.”
Years ago, I heard Nat Geo photographer Sam Abell give a talk on his photography. He talked about waiting for days for the light to be in the right place and for everything to come together for an amazing photograph. Even with all his planning and waiting, there was a certain element of luck or serendipity or something that came into play with the best photos. That, and shooting rolls and rolls and rolls of film.
Anyway, I snap pictures because I want to remember something. That’s pretty much it. I’m not an artist; I’m a memory keeper — although I think the best artists probably are memory keepers. Amazing memory keepers.
The following are my juxaposition submissions — with a little explanation.
Two #14s in perfect synchronization (2016?). What also makes it interesting to me is that one player is my son and the other his cousin who was on the other team. I only wish I hadn’t taken the photo in black and white but I was playing with settings.
That’s my mother in the foreground “resting her eyes” at her granddaughter’s high school graduation (2010). And that’s my youngest daughter looking at the camera and, I’m sure, wondering how much longer her sister’s graduation will go on.
My sister with her two younger brothers (1964). Juxtaposition of facial expressions?
Is this a juxaposition photo? I dunno. I thought it was funny — kids waiting to see Santa who’s getting a parking ticket from the military police. (circa 1964)
I took this photo today at the Munson Art Museum in Utica, NY. It made me laugh. Part of the museum is in an old Victorian house, with rooms staged with antiques, roped off with those red-velveted cords. Anyway, in one room full of glorious ornate pieces of furniture and statues and artwork, there was this yellow vase with a truck on it. Here’s the card that explains it:
I suppose tire theft isn’t funny, but I laughed. The artist, and the museum in the way it displayed his artwork, were very clever.
The next time change is two weeks away! GAH!!! On March 8, we must turn our clocks ahead and lose an hour. I’m not a fan.
In Val’s Seasonal Scavenger Hunt, prompt #3 is to write a Dizain describing your personal journey into the new season. A dizain is a ten-line French poetic form, popular in the 15th-16th centuries, featuring 10 lines of 10 syllables each (or iambic pentameter) and a strict ababbccdcd rhyme scheme.
Here’s a dizain bemoaning the upcoming time change.
I bristle when it’s time to change the clocks It seems to me that time is time is time The change of seasons we cannot outfox Circadian rhythms are somewhat sublime To muck with them just seems to be a crime C’mon, old body, you can re-adjust! It’s not a choice — in fact, you must! You must! In the fall, then once again in spring I’ll do it, but I’ll do it with disgust The brittleness of age dislikes the swing
The apples at the store were soft Their crispness was long gone Too long sunsets were early And too late was the dawn
Snuggling with her Tigger-Tiger Kept little Molly warm As outside snow swirled and blew Another winter storm
“It’s almost March! When will this end?” Mamma wailed and whined The blinding blizzard hammered down Of Spring there were no signs
Molly hugged her Tigger-cat And cried, “But Mommy look! Since we can’t go outside today Let’s read another book!”
This is my response to Val’s Winter Scavenger Hunt‘s second prompt: Use the following words in a poetry form of your choice: apple(s), sunset, tiger, hammer.
Yesterday, I walked on the track listening only to Queen. I had this idea that I could put together a whole play list of Queen for my senior walkers. My concern was that Queen may not appeal to the 70-year olds, but when I asked a few of them, they were in favor of it.
So I was walking on the track listening only to Queen. Their music is great: Somebody to Love, Another One Bites the Dust, We Will Rock You, We are the Champions, etc.
When Bohemian Rhapsody came on, I couldn’t help but think of our local summer opera company — Glimmerglass Opera — and how cool it would be to hear them perform that song. Can’t you picture it? Do opera companies ever do anything like that?
Anyway, back to walking on the track, a song came on that I didn’t recognize at first. I was a good way into the song before someone sang the words “under pressure.” Of course, I knew the song then.
Of course, I came home and watched the video, which I had never watched before. The chaos that they show — so appropriate for today. The whole song is so appropriate for today. The chaos, the scariness, the need for love.
So here you go — a little Queen and David Bowie.
I know Linda Hill wasn’t thinking of pressure as a starts with ‘pre’ word when she suggested that for the SoCS prompt, but I had the song running through my head when I saw her prompt.
Hot Dogs and Marmalade 