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Friday, May 25, 2012

Nature’s Drum


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DSC_3614
Morning light
Morning breeze
Drum roll…
What?


Lazily meandering out to the mail box
A slight tap, tap, tap--
a heavenly beat from above
touches ears.

Eyes reach skyward
blinded by a fresh bright glow between tree lines.
running through aperture modes finally reaching correct focus.
Snap.
Red heads peek through branches.

Run--
camera ready nothing comes into view.
Deflated ego resolved to stubbornness
rotating round and round searching, searching
bingo- payoff.

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Monday, May 21, 2012

May Play with Every Day Poems

May's poetry word grab came from a poetess Kimberlee Conway Ireton's On Inspiration

I actually wrote this poem when I thought the poem was about playing and hadn't read Ms. Ireton's poem. I inadvertantly grabbed two words in the poem that I didn't even know existed given that I hadn't read it yet. I guess I was meant to be writing this semi-autobiographical poem.


Snippets

Running through purple clover
Marie and her friends find secluded
shelter behind a cluster of Oak trees.

Little hands placed in pinafore pockets
struggle to pull mini dolls and furniture
previously hidden from prying eyes.

Names like Macy, Lacy, and Rose
come from cherry red tongues
while their minis are provided
leaves, bark and wispy grass houses.

The little girls and their minis
sip a bit of lemonade, eat a bite
of crumbled pink sugar wafers at tea.

A shrill sharp ring
pierces the laughter
of the little girls.

"We must run
we'll be late,"
whispers Marie.
"lets go."

20 minutes of fun
then mind numbing numbers.
Recess is over.





 

Wednesday, May 16, 2012

Morning Walk and The Awakening Rain

The Awakening Rain 


The Sky from the housewindow was a threatening grey; dull as an old white t-shirt that has never seen bleach. There were days when all she wanted to do was stay inside and putter around the house but today she woke up wanting to turn cartwheels in the freshly mown grass; drink in the intoxicating aroma of the gardenias that she didn’t even know were in her yard, and explore the idiosyncrasies of her neighborhood.  

Tying up white and purple Converse tennis shoes she heads to the door and then stalls at the threshold anticipating either a chill or the breath-repressing humidity which has kept her in the suffocating darkness of her house up until this moment. She takes a deep breath and shifts one tennis-shoed foot over the threshold out into—Rain.

Hesitating she turns around to go back inside, drat, I don’t want to get soaked. I guess I’ll just go watch T.V., she thinks to herself.   

Oddly enough her feet head her off toward her bedroom closet where her hands find a lime green and pink polka dotted umbrella and she heads back outside. Instead of the chill or humidity she was dreading, what she finds is a deep clean scent of earth which slowly calms and renews her spirit of how good it is to be alive.  

Yes, the surrounding sky and air are dull but the colors, the colors are as if she had stepped into an Andy Warhol painting! Lavender, red, and hot pink Impatiens flow out of hanging planters at the Schiller’s house; milky white Gardenias are seen a little further down the road and orange hibiscus pop out of green bushes. But the Greens— now they were something else. The greens would make any painter’s palette envy with its variety of shades! She saw waxy, shiny green brown leaves jump off of Magnolia trees; woodsy deep green needled pines and ghostly gray green moss drape the oak trees adding to her experience of awakening.

As she walked down the street yellow lights glimmer through curtained windows as if it was a snowy December morning in the west and not May 16th in Florida.  The first snow in a town is beautiful but I’ll take rain over snow any day. It’s usually so cold and reverberates through my already cold prone body. Here the rain is tepid and soothing.

Here’s the funny thing about Florida, dead leaves can be seen lying amongst new growing fruit on a fig tree or in gutters even while new shoots form on the oak trees; there is never an end to the circle of seasons that happen weekly here. I guess the growing seasons can become confused just like for the best of us.

She ambles along with every step she feels lighter and lighter. A woman was walking from the opposite direction with her small white Chow and when they meet she smiles first at the woman and then at the dog that is sniffing her pant leg. Poor dog won’t find any kindred or opposing dog smells from me. We haven’t had a dog in 7 years. Too bad we can’t have one again. Roxey was a sweet, beautiful and loving German Shepard. It’s sad that she couldn’t be happy staying in our yard and kept running away from home. I really would have like to have kept her. Maybe we can get another dog someday however it would have to be a smaller dog this time. Open handed she reaches down and pets the Chow, says “have a good day,” to the woman, and keeps walking.

Reaching the end of her subdivision she turns around and heads back to the house— When she is done she will have walked 2 ½ miles round trip. That’s a fairly good walk if I say so myself..

The rain is building up in strength and her pant legs are getting wet; by the time she arrives home she is soaked. Well, I guess I timed that out right; now to dry off and spend sometime writing and reading. What should I write about?

Smiling to herself she has a small inclination of what will be typed today. . .



  
Mckenna (not me)


Monday, May 14, 2012

Water to Pop the Oil

I Love EDP
Water to Pop the Oil


The black rectangular screen is unhinged and set erect; a welcome screen meets my eyes. Ten small digits type a password into a box. While waiting for the whirling boot up, I walk away to pour myself some Wild Sweet Orange tea; a ping is heard from across the room. Tea in hand, I scan the inbox; my eyes catch the words Every Day Poems. I open the email and a wonderland of words and pictures come into focus. It’s here, this month’s newsletter!  I devour what’s inside. I take my non-squeaking mouse click on an image and it opens to a new window; an illustration— The Poet from sweet 14/15 year old Sara Barkat pops up. Reading, I laugh at the Poet’s newest escapade of having to write for the Local Senior Ladies Club and the mishaps he commits after having lost his writing license weeks before. The Poor guy is fighting a strenuous battle for supremacy and just can’t beat the “formats” down to where they let him use them as weapons for good. 

Daily poems arrive in my box creating more joy than the monthly email does. Seriously this is the best $2.99 I’ve spent all year! To start and cap off the week my two favorite days— Monday’s “steal a word from our poem to make a new poem” challenge and the Friday Picture prompt. I am in heaven. My photo folder is filled with the gorgeous and oft times thought provoking pictures that spur on my poetry and to be truthful some of my short stories. I am thankful that Facebook placed an ad that I dared to click on.  

My mind before subscribing to Tweetspeak and buying a year subscription to Every Day Poems was churning with new words; I was raring to let my fingers unleash the fury that was building up inside but it is sluggishly coming out not at all the storm I expected. Like the oil spill in the Gulf, my mind had become gummed up and was ruining the words that seconds before were freely floating towards the surface. The monthly and daily emails from Every Day Poems are the tiny droplets of water that pop the oily sludge that churns in my head onto a new page.

Saturday, May 05, 2012

Sounds of Silence

"Fools', said I, 'You do not know
Silence like a cancer grows..."

                   - Simon and Garfunkle's Sounds of Silence

Let's get a little real here- what do you do when your spouse, significant other or friend decides to get angry and give you the silent treatment? I'm the type of person who wants to talk it out. I can't stand the silence and it just ticks me off the more days it continues.

Have you ever felt that way? Or are you a "silent treatment" personality that needs to cool down for days on end before discussing the situation/problem? What is it that makes you go "silent"?

A friend of ours is going through this right now- The silence got so bad with her husband that he ended up walking out on his family after finally airing out all the problems that he had seen in his marriage but had NEVER said a word about. He had never stuck up for himself, never told his wife what he was feeling and one day just blew up...

Communications my friends is the key.

Had there been communication maybe the marriage would have been salvagable, but then again maybe not. When a spouse choses to only focus on the negative, (don't fool yourself we all do sometimes,) the negative becomes the blinders  and you never seem to see the rest (or the good) and it just gets worse from there. It's like dealing with your kids; the kids complain about something their sibling does or doesn't do and you let it go, they complain again and you let it go again thinking eventually they will just move on while playing but then the complaining continues and it festers and festers until that is all you hear from that child.

We've had that situation in our house and I've always told my kids that when they see one negative thing they have to find a postive and either write it down or continue to think about it until they notice that positive thing over the negative.
Sometimes it doesn't work, more often then not it does only because kids have short attention spans and finally they move on.
Maybe with adults though the problem, is we are so busy in our lives, running to and fro from meeting to meeting or activity to activity that our attention spans have developed a detrimental time lapse and we just forget to change the focus to the good.

I'm not sure if my way of thinking is the right way. If I focus on what is bad then it overwhelmingly becomes part of my personality and I end up being a mad and complaining woman. I try to focus on the postive so much so that I tend to get a little flighty with it and seems to my own self not strong enough in my convictions. But strength in convictions can get you to where Compromising is less apt to happen since we get stubborn and unmovable. So where is the happy medium?

I don't have the answers.

I just know that for my part I have decided to be grateful for the large, small, complex and simple things that others do in my life and try as hard as I can not to dwell on the negatives. I use a Gratitude Journal for those days that I am extremely negative but maybe instead of just having my Gratitude Journal I need a book where I can write down what is bothering me and then burn that page to let it go (the burn book- hee hee)? It might be better for me and everyone else if I do that and let it drain off my mind and into the reverbial garbage can.

What does everyone else think about "Silence"?

Couple Sitting Under A Tree
courtesy of WebMD.com: Philipp Klinger/Flickr

How Shakespearean are you?




For those of you who like to write there is a fun little analyzing tool on the Oxford Dictionary's blog that tells you how much of your words from whatever you enter is clearly words that William Shakespeare used.

I entered part of a poem that I wrote just for fun and this is the answer I got:

Your English is 83 percent Shakespearean.
The waters of the Avon almost lap at your feet.

How fun that I use 83% of the Bard's words.

How Shakespearean are you?



Shakestext by Carl Bettis is licensed under a http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/us/