Getting My Write On and Proud of It

This week's RemembeRED was to write about something that you're proud of.


I've got to say, the things that I've done on this blog - my little bits of writing and art - are things I am proud of. 


In college, I had an abusive boyfriend that I stuck with for way too long. I developed severe depression and went almost two years before I sought any professional help (which didn't really help, but there you are). I had always been a writer, just as I had always been a reader. I really started coming into some better poetry just as I got into college, but then the depression and the suppressing of emotions and experiences. It was all I could do to hang on for the ride.


Needless to say, my writing dried up. Even when I tried to use it as a creative and therapeutic outlet, nothing came. I used to joke with my (genius, novel-writing) roommate that I had the longest bout of writer's block in the history of man: four years. 


It hasn't been until recently that I've found my way back to writing. Two years ago, I started kicking around an idea for a novel, but nothing much has come of it - a little world building and some random notes and doodles. It wasn't until March, after reading the writing/literary blog of a friend of mine that I started really pushing myself to write and express. I may have started the ball rolling a few months earlier, but pushing myself to write everyday and post to the blog a few times a week has really gotten me expressing in a way I haven't in years. Not only that, but it's taken me back to a way of seeing the world that I haven't in a long time. It's nice to start to see things with an artist's eye again. Pushing to express and finding new creativity where I suspected that it might have dried up forever is something I am proud of. I am proud to have pushed and found myself capable of getting there again. 


Fruits of my labors:
Found in the Sea off Cape Artemision, ca. 1920
Thai Fare
Vapid Aphrodite
Heaven Bent
Orphic Mission

Found in the Sea off Cape Artemision, ca. 1920

Another ekphrasis inspired by a statue I fell in love with on a trip to Greece. 

Found in the Sea off Cape Artemision, ca. 1920

Raising your arms high, you are mistaken for your brother.

They change the tales that made you king of all the children,

whose feet run in the dusty, dirt road clouds. The dust sticks

to our feet, turning our heels black – our bulwark against civilization.

Our sun-baked limbs carry us to the shore and the others squawk

their excitement like gulls, their eyes falling from the sky to the ocean

to watch you emerge. The sea has changed your form – to them you are

now the sea king in your brother’s place, swathed in seaweed finery.

They declare he has been found again, a god among them, while my eyes

fill for you. Your speechless mouth does not contradict, for your arms

spread too wide, your height too tall: they can no longer look in your eyes

and see who you are. They merely stand in awe of your striking figure.

Waves still crashing at your feet, you have not been found. You know

now that every story of his will be indistinct from your own, your legends

collapsed into one. They turn and leave you alone amid the sea shells,

their forms so small to you now. You always were a giant among them.

Grown too tall and too broad, you no longer belong to them. I take

your hand and our gaze meets on level ground. Head held forever high,

you step forward, unafraid.




For a photo of the statue: http://www.namuseum.gr/collections/sculpture/classical/classic02-en.html (ps - it's Zeus, not his brother Poseidon) I could also post my own photos of this piece, but it needs to be read first.

Vapid Aphrodite

A post I got to via lovelinks, by Patricia over at Contemplating Happiness about people watching pushed me over the edge this morning. I went on one of the most lovely Easter Sunday walks to a zoological/botanical garden this year and along the way I picked up (in my writer's mind) a woman, whom I've charmingly named the "Vapid Aphrodite". 

Vapid Aphrodite

We walked through the gardens with spring all abloom

Our fingers meeting in between camera captures, lovely

and bright, the flowers, cranes and flamingos strutting

their best jeweled plumage in the afternoon warmth

We hold the camera at arms’ length, heads together

faces smiling with a light that is not all from above

A sheer mist from the fountain cools our faces, frenzies

of children splash and give chase in the delight

The clicking of another camera comes to our ears

from a fellow being directed by a tall and fair woman

She presents an orange-flowered tree for the camera

as a showcase showgirl presenting her latest wares

The sun illuminates her sun-bleached mop, her lips

too pink, painted as though she could be done up better,

Nature’s beauty undone, she holds her lover’s smile

too long, telling tales of perspiration and aching feet

The corners of her mouth fall with the camera lens,

gone until the photographer glances back up grinning

He leans in for her lips, but she presents a rouged cheek,

looking determinedly for her next ware to showcase.

Comments welcome.  :)

Autumn

Autumn 

It just happens one day, I wake up

and I can breathe in a deep breath

the air is different, heavy and moist

with the smell of dying leaves

never do humans find death so beautiful

as they do each autumn

the earth slowly shutting itself down

for the hibernation months ahead

this – this is when I come alive,

when all else is veiled in tragic beauty




Comments welcome.


Photo by author.

From a Jester to his Queen

Today I am posting a poem that I started working on yesterday. I am not usually one to write a whole bunch of drafts with my poetry (unless prompted  to do so), but this poem started in the completely wrong way (wrong tone, wrong perspective, going in the wrong direction). So I took a few hints from the P&W prompts I have completed in the past and changed it up. I took the original writing, reversed the order of the lines, picked out the phrases that I liked the best and redrafted twice.


I didn't originally intend for this to be a RemembeRED post, but it was inspired by a memory, and I can't think of jesters without imagining red, so this will also serve as my Red Dress Club post for the week.


This is what I came up with:

From a Jester to his Queen

Here my resignation lies, my queen, at your feet. I must away -

but do not sorrow, for another fool will take my place.

Perhaps he will mock you appropriately, where I have faltered.

I must go my separate way, but worry not! For your court

is greatly populated with those ready to serve your will;

your childhood bed filled with stuffed animals to bow to your whim.

I, too, once populated your little kingdom, running amok at your will.

You would run and I would give chase, bound to my duties.

We two were fools together: myself licensed, you a natural

taking up the parts of the players: you the hero, myself

the distressed damsel, though my beard often gave me away.

The animals would whisper behind their paws, but you affected

not to notice. It was all a part of your elaborate façade,

but your excitements quickly became thin, your meanings

were not meaningful and the animals smiled vapidly for you.

You sat upon your throne and doled out judgments, all around –

no one could be missed. Your fluffy subjects trembled and quaked.

With a vengeful eye, you were willing to cry until ill to get your way.

You confided in me your worry that the leopard would not

give up his spots to you, nor the elephant share his wrinkles.

You gathered your many whims into you and snuggled them close,

your stuffed subjects laying asunder and neglected.

But it is not my place to say, though I am the kind who says

when it is not my place. I must only say that playing the fool

for a fool is no fun and is not something I will to do any longer.

Again I say this: do not despair, my queen, for someone else will come

who will be confided in and called upon, with motley hat and gloves.

I am no loss, for I did not amuse you enough to hold your attention

and you did not amuse me enough to continue. 

Comments welcome, as always.

For fun information on jesters, check out this link. This image was pulled from Wikipedia Commons, here.

Here and Now

I was reading at The Yawp about an ekphrasis project (poetry inspired by images in this case) and thought it sounded like a great idea. I did a free write at Sans Serif about the picture before I started writing. I'll be pulling some of my ideas from that free write for this poem. 


Here's the image I started out with:

(Photo from "Getting Pregnant Over 40 - Is it possible?" http://www.squidoo.com/get-pregnant-over-40  Copyright © 2011, Squidoo, LLC and respective copyright owners)

With a free write under my belt, I sat down to write a poem. I'm not sure it's quite there yet, but here's (at least) a first draft:

Here and Now

Our minds dwell on future and past

Where will we leave our footprints

behind? Where have they gone before?

A child lies restless in the belly of a woman

who is on her path to starting a family.

The child tosses and turns, the mother thinks

“Where will he go – a mover like this?

Will he be a doctor or lawyer or teacher?

Where have I been? Here and there.

And now I am going to be a mother.”

She smiles to herself at the future path

laid before her, brick by brick 

in her mind.

This woman is already a mother.

Her child inside her is already her child.

He is living, experiencing her care,

her movements, her strange food desires,

her inhale, her exhale – he takes her breath.

Placing a foot behind her belly button,

he presses – Know I am here. She knows.

Tickling toes that she will soon see bare,

she hums to herself and to him – 

living in the moment.

Comments welcome.

Filling Water Balloons

So this weekend's RemembeRED prompt is up:


This week, we're giving you a photo to take you back in time.
In 700 or fewer words, show us where your memory takes you. 

Remember that this image is merely inspiration. Your piece needn't have a hose in your piece, but we need to easily see how you were inspired by it.

 I don't so much have a hose story as a brief memory about water balloons. The hose makes little appearance.

Filling Water Balloons

The water was cold on my toes as I tried to fit an empty water balloon over the end of the leaky hose nozzle. It was my birthday and we were a good half an hour into a water fight.

“We always take my car ‘cause it’s never been beat,                                                                                                  and we never miss IT with the girls we meet.”

It was Dan singing. I was only 8 and had yet to discover the meaning behind the lines, but there was something about the way he sang it that made it stick in my mind. He was a few years older and had a much more worldly view of that song that I. He helped me fill up my balloons – it was so much easier with four hands – and we jumped back into the crowd of kids running around the front yard.

Carefully avoiding the red ant piles, I ducked around the Dogwood branches and nailed James right in the chest with a wobbly balloon.

“Arhh! I’m gonna get you for that!” he yelled. The fresh balloons were cold.

Comments welcome.