Tag: Writer’s Workshop

Life · poetry

Because I Lack Chutzpah

Sally1 Comment

Prompt: List ten things you would say to ten different people in your life, if you had the chutzpah.

  1. Please stop coming by the house.
  2. Please come by the house and help me sort through all this.
  3. Call your doctor.
  4. Do your job.
  5. Should you be eating that?
  6. Stop being such a bitch.
  7. Do you remember that time twenty years ago when I came to you for help and you shut the door on me?
  8. As a Christian, how do you feel about warehousing people? What would Jesus do?
  9. Could I tell you my side of the story?
  10. I love you.

This is a response to one of the prompts in this week’s Writer’s Workshop.

Ten things I would say. Ten people. No chutzpah.

Here’s a poem with the names of those 10 people hidden inside in no particular order.

A hadj
I’m dreaming of a hadje
Anywhere
Let me look
Arles looks nice
(Van Gogh and all that)
Or a farm
Where I could grab udder teats
And milk a cow by hand
Buy ripe fruit and vegetables
Harvested that day
Or visit the Cape
And hope terrapins emerge
From brackish waters
Travel to South America
See pika
(thy love for small animals satisfied)
Flee
Annotate
Breathe deeply
Visit an adobe house
Wear a robe
Kahuna visit
Honestly, though,
The best ever
Is home
Always home

poetry

Exploring Roots

Sally3 Comments

An ancester named Zidsel is in my tree
’twas a new name to me
Looking through the smoke of generations past
(No — no one asked)
I am curious about my roots
And look for attributes
Genetically passed down my tree
So that I understand me

Who am I? Why am I the way I am?
It’s an anagram
I try to rearrange letters to see
Nature? Nurture? What’s the key?

Zidsel married Peder to whom she bore
Four children, maybe more
My great-grandfather Andreas was her son
He left Denmark — US life begun

I think, though, I would learn the most
Walking Zidsel’s Jutland coast
Seeing where she was born and died
Visiting the church where she was a bride
Finding old homes in the town of Varde
Imagining Zidsel in the yard
Nearly two centuries have gone by
Still, I’d like to give it a try

One of this week’s Writer’s Prompts from the Writer’s Workshop was to write a post based on the word smoke.

This poem is what grew out of that.

Well, that, and some poking around on Ancestry.

fiction

A Fractured Fairy Tale

Sally9 Comments

1Once upon a time there was a king who had a magic mirror that spoke only the truth.

2Every day, he would stand in front of the magic mirror and say,
“Mirror, mirror on the wall,
who’s the richest king of all.”

3Every day, the mirror would respond,
“Oh mighty king, you know your brand —
you are richest in the land.”

4One day, the king, after hearing a story about a king named Midas, changed his question and asked,
“Mirror, mirror, may I be bold
and ask who has the mostest gold?”

5The mirror responded,
“Your riches lie in resources many,
but Midas has gold more plenty.”

6The king frowned because this was not the answer he wanted to hear and he demanded that mirror grant him some magic so that he could have more gold than Midas.

7When he woke up the next morning, he reached over to shut off the alarm clock and it turned to gold when he touched it — in fact, everything he touched turned immediately to gold, including all the clothes in his closet when he went to get dressed.

8So he said to the mirror,
“Mirror, mirror, tell me true,
what I am supposed to do?
I have no clothes and a parade to march in.
Is there something you can put some starch in?”

9The mirror, for the first time in her existence, told a little white lie,
“Oh king, it’s not what you suppose —
When I look at you, I see fine clothes.
March in what you now are wearing —
People will cheer as they are staring.”

This is my response to The Writer’s Workshop Prompt: Write a post in exactly 9 sentences. Clearly, I have trouble counting. Forgive me.

Also, there needs to be a final line. What do you suggest?