When I first saw this sticker, I had to smile. If this were true I definitely would qualify. Seems I had a hard time convincing my wife! Philosophy does not seem to change reality! Clutter is still clutter. This is my limerick full of wishful thinking!!
When she saw here man’s bench she would mutter
His workbench was covered with clutter
Then she was told
He was a genius to behold
So no more words did she utter
I must say it has improved greatly since this photo was taken!!
Our disposable society has a lot of downside and excess baggage that comes with it. I believe we lose so much these days because we are too quick to discard what we once held dear. Whether it be friends or family or spouse, everything these days is dispensable. Commitment and vows seem to be archaic confinements in this generation. We seem to forget that in relationships we will have differences; things that may hurt deeply, but forgiveness is always a part of life. Without forgiveness, we will go on repeating our same mistakes and adding more and more baggage to our life’s load.
Today’s Poetics at d’Verse once again challenges me to try something new. Laura asked us to write a poem using a line from a list given. The one I am doing is the Nonet, which is syllable based starting with nine and ending with one. She gave us a choice of beginning lines and we had to continue it in sequence. I chose: “Broken shadows across the cracked ground” (cite Merwin) .With the Fall Equinox just around the corner, I used my dried up sunflower as my subject.
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A Dunkard Brethren church once sat at the top of the ridge overlooking Willow Run. Now in crumbles of brick and mortar, flowering honeysuckle invite bees to commune at their cups of sweetness. Blacksnakes slither through the rubble looking for a toad or rat residing there.
It was in this church where itinerant preachers on horseback brought fiery brimstone, forgiveness, and grace to the faithful who gathered. Souls were saved and dunked all the way under in Willow Run.
On the hillside the full moon reflects off of a few protruding graveyard stones. Most have long since been overgrown and broken. The names on the stones kiss the ground, above the deceased as “In their dreams they sleep with the moon.”
Tales are told by the ancients, who still live nearby, that at midnight’s full moon rise, horses pounding hooves echo through the night!
Today at d’Verse, Merril introduce a prosery prompt. This is a short story of no more than 144 words that can be flash fiction, true, or far out imaginary. It must include a random line from a poem that she shared with us. Her line was from a Mary Oliver poem, (Death at Wind River),“In their dreams they sleep with the moon.”My story is flash fiction, based on a little church from my home town. My two brothers and I visited there two years ago, and I took a bunch of photos. These are a couple of photos from there. The story is made up.
When I was an twelve years old, in 1959, I was big for my age. My mother bought me clothes that had ” Husky” on the label. I felt very self-conscious and wished I could be skinny, fit, and muscular like the Charles Atlas ads I saw in the back of every comic book. Once, I cut out the ad filled, in my name and information, and sent it in. In a couple of weeks, I got an envelop with a set of mimeographed pages illustrating a set of exercised to do. I soon lost interest in that effort.
When I tuned thirteen, my parents had the insight to send me to work summers on my uncle’s dairy farm. Daily labor pitching haybales worked much better for becoming fit. I loved the farm, and worked there five summers. By the time I graduated high school, I was slim, trim and muscular. Now I am back to Husky plus!
This morning I turned on the TV to watch and remember the 9-11 attacks, that killed so many innocent people in New York City. There were comments and news bites, but the talking heads kept interrupting and distracting. Network TV went on with trivia as usual. As the Vice President delivered his remarks. only one network was watching. The rest had already moved on to old news! It just caught me the wrong way, so I decided to write a poem reflecting on my feelings of the morning.
Today at d’Verse, Peter from Australia challenged us to focus on editing. He said we should write like a dog and edit like a cat. Love what you write, then go back and edit like it was the first time you read it. He asked us to take a poem we had already written and reedit it. Then post both poems to show the changes. This is a poem I did a couple of years ago.
Face the Light
In the black darkness
one can see a candle
burning in the distance
…unless he turns his back
staring into the darkness
where there is no light
The first is hope
…the other is depression
Turn until you see the light
Focus on it
It will light your way
Guiding you out of the darkness
Face the Light
Black darkness overwhelms
Distant candle burns // shines
Bringing glimmer’s promise
…unless I turn back
staring into the abyss
blackness swallowing me
Choosing hope over
I strain against darkness grasping light
Focus // Follow glimmer’s path
Light of Promise // Guides me
Brighter day dawns
Darkness to Light
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