TUESDAY POETRY CHALLENGE - 7-27-10

Want to write a poem but can't think of a new idea? Here's the place for inspiration.

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Mlou
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TUESDAY POETRY CHALLENGE - 7-27-10

Postby Mlou » Tue Jul 27, 2010 4:33 pm

Yep..Tuesday again. Time to marshall your forces, gird your loins, etc. etc. and step up to the challenge. :D

1. So how about something on "Tuesday's child"??

2. Hand watching is a fascinating thing. Have you seen hands that made you look again...at their shape, their motion, the task they were about? Tell us your thoughts on a hand/hands.

3. And, of course, the ever-inspirational word list, from which to dazzle with a new poem:
glass, quiet, bucket, dark, step, noon, wing, become

May the force be with you!
nothing is ever simply Yes or No. There's always a But...


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Postby Olsenpotter » Tue Jul 27, 2010 11:44 pm

First to reply. Ahh...I miss you Wordtrip.

Hands touching Hands

She was standing between the kitchen
and the dining room;

leaning with one hand on the door frame,
the other rubbing her forehead, soothing
the headache brought on by work
while the meatballs simmered in their sauce.

"You know what they said today...", she shouted,
as both hands flew out from her body like eagles after fish.

She didn't finish her sentence.
I'll leave you a note in the freezer.
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Postby Mlou » Wed Jul 28, 2010 9:04 am

We miss you too. Whatcha doin'? :)
Darn, OP, you always leave us wondering...like, what DID they say? Why didn't she finish? lol sneaky, aren't you??
nothing is ever simply Yes or No. There's always a But...





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Postby JT » Wed Jul 28, 2010 3:29 pm

Tal Wilkenfeld

Cause We've Ended As Lovers,
you're sitting at a Table For One.
Just a young girl of eighteen,
playing with the big boys.
Now you're twenty-three.
Like they say, sweet child,
you've got the groove;
you've got the moves.

Your hands do cartwheels,
with each song
you play.

Your hands...
ah...your hands
give us sweet music.
And I love the look
on your face.
Last edited by JT on Thu Jul 29, 2010 12:47 pm, edited 1 time in total.
JT

Can't you hear the writing in the air? Ronnie James Dio (RIP)
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Postby Mlou » Wed Jul 28, 2010 7:52 pm

Great take on the hands prompt, JT! And I know how you dislike prompts...
Yep, she has the beat...and she's a knock-out besides! This old lady likes melody better though. :)
Missed you over yonder. Where be y'?
nothing is ever simply Yes or No. There's always a But...





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Postby JT » Thu Jul 29, 2010 12:46 pm

Mlou wrote:melody


Go to youtube and punch in "Tal Wilkenfeld awesome solo" and see the melody she pulls from that bass during her solo on Cause We've Ended As Lovers with Jeff Beck. I think she was only twenty at the time.
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Can't you hear the writing in the air? Ronnie James Dio (RIP)
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Postby pengwenn » Thu Jul 29, 2010 12:50 pm

The letter

hands pressed to her stomach
the papers slowly drift to the floor

We regret to inform you...

her fingers raise to her lips
to contain the sob that is coming

...death of Staff Sargeant...

lips that will never feel his caress
never taste his own in a kiss

...killed in the line of duty...

she falls to her knees
wrapping her arms around herself

...hostile insurgents...

a small hand reaches out
and touches her hair

"Mommy?"
Is this my reality or yours?
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Postby Olsenpotter » Thu Jul 29, 2010 6:20 pm

First to address Mlou,
well her hand was keeping her leaning against the wall...
JT,
I like the way that your poem is so straight-forward (as most of your poems are).
Penn,
I love your poem. It's sad but very well written.
I'll leave you a note in the freezer.
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Postby mae » Thu Jul 29, 2010 8:15 pm

I wrote this several years ago, but it has undergone a major rewrite. I'm submitting it for challenge #2. mae




SWEET GRASS AND PINE NEEDLES


Anna Manigault weaves her baskets
from sweet grass and pine needles,
with hands gnarled and scarred.
Weaving and wrapping, weaving and wrapping
sitting next to the slave cabins
just outside the plantation gates.

She learned from her mother,
who learned from hers,
who was taught by hers
in one of those old cabins
near where Anna sits now.

Watching her hands
in the shadow of the slave's,
in and out, weaving in and out,
the basket’s first purpose lost to memory,
her baskets now decorate our walls
easing our consciences.

Sweet grass and pine needles,
Anna Manigault weaves her baskets
with hands gnarled and scarred.
My heart beats in poetry. I think in rhythm and dream in rhyme.

Give me a crit! I can take it!

CELTIC QUEEN, an Epic Poem, Cynthia M. Bateman, amazon.com, barnesandnoble.com, http://www.tatepublishing.com/bookstore ... +Epic+Poem at Tate Publishing
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Postby mslover » Fri Jul 30, 2010 1:55 pm

mom

bone white, her hands,
striped with blue-green veins
dropped from her wrists
lifeless, empty.

she lay stone still
exhaling shallow breaths
inhaling even less
then she was gone.


***sadly this is what the hands challenge brought to mind.

"Winter must be cold for those with no warm memories - we've already missed the spring"

"Life is not about waiting for the storm to pass; it's about learning how to dance in the rain."
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Postby Mlou » Fri Jul 30, 2010 9:18 pm

Well, I haven't been popping in because my email hasn't told me anyone's been here! Wonder what happened??

JT...Yes I checked her out before I posted to you. What I checked out was awesome plunking...but still plunking. Guess I'm more into symphonies..:)

Pengie...Wow, sorrow here alright...Last line really cinches it. (But I thought they sent someone in person with a message like that??)

OP...I hope she was just knocked out! 2 deaths in one thread here is getting deep!

mae...believe it or not, I remember that poem well. You were struggling with it back then. Finally tamed it, huh? :)

ms...well that does it! 3 deaths in a row on here this week??
great descriptive write there but I hope it was imagination at work and not a close personal loss. (I too have written about my mother's hands several times.
nothing is ever simply Yes or No. There's always a But...





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Postby mslover » Sat Jul 31, 2010 11:52 am

interesting how the hands are so intertwined with thoughts of death here. and these poems written are deep - well done everyone! i hope to meet another of these challenges by the next challenge. :)

mlou - i answer to your question, this is what i remember of my mom. in her last days, pale white against the sheets, 20 years ago...

"Winter must be cold for those with no warm memories - we've already missed the spring"

"Life is not about waiting for the storm to pass; it's about learning how to dance in the rain."
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Postby Mlou » Sat Jul 31, 2010 10:02 pm

Sad that we have these memories. I have them too. But I like to remember her as she was before...funny, smart, loving and busy all the time!
nothing is ever simply Yes or No. There's always a But...





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Postby JillStar » Sun Aug 01, 2010 11:49 am

That was very sad MS... :(
Fast Fiction Friday Blog 2011-2018: Additional FFF Prompts
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Postby pengwenn » Mon Aug 02, 2010 12:09 pm

Mlou, I think they probably do send someone in person. But something else (but similar) inspired me. I was on the phone talking to an ex-soldier friend of mine while he was opening his mail. He received a "death notice" from the VA for some soldier. He didn't know the person and it completely freaked him out. And it freaked him out that he didn't know why he was getting the notice in the first place. I've never heard any one lose it before like that. It was like trying to talk a jumper off the roof trying to get him to tell me what he was reading/feeling/thinking. Being in a whole 'nother state I was at a lose for anything to do to help him. Death is not something you joke around about with a soldier.

I told him to put the papers on the counter and call them in the morning to striaghten it out (it was too late that night). He said he dropped them on the floor like he had been burned and he didn't want to touch them so they'd stay there until he calmed down or called them. Turns out if was just a mix up but his reaction has been indelibly imprinted into my brain. He was so worried about if/does the family know. What about the guy's kids (if there were any) would do. What would his kids do if they got a letter about him, etc. My heart ached for him but there was nothing I could do.
Is this my reality or yours?
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Postby mae » Mon Aug 02, 2010 4:45 pm

JT, I listened to the Tal Winkelfed solo. She was 24 at the time (or so it says on Youtube) and yes, indeed, that was awesome. Jeff Beck and his drummer were clearly enjoying it. Nice tribute to her playing.

mae
My heart beats in poetry. I think in rhythm and dream in rhyme.



Give me a crit! I can take it!



CELTIC QUEEN, an Epic Poem, Cynthia M. Bateman, amazon.com, barnesandnoble.com, http://www.tatepublishing.com/bookstore ... +Epic+Poem at Tate Publishing
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Postby mae » Mon Aug 02, 2010 4:46 pm

Wow, Gwenn. That's all, just wow.

mae
My heart beats in poetry. I think in rhythm and dream in rhyme.



Give me a crit! I can take it!



CELTIC QUEEN, an Epic Poem, Cynthia M. Bateman, amazon.com, barnesandnoble.com, http://www.tatepublishing.com/bookstore ... +Epic+Poem at Tate Publishing
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Postby mae » Mon Aug 02, 2010 5:00 pm

Challenge #3 - mae

BEHIND THE GLASS, IT'S QUIET.

No sirens or squealing tires.
No gunshots or screams.
Just quiet.

The Old Man kicked the bucket
the last time she heard those things.
It was late and dark and he'd gone out on the step.
For a smoke, y'know?
He never smoked in the house.

She'd slept in the next morning
and didn't find him until noon.
She thought it had been a dream last night,
all the noise. The gunshots and
squealing tires.
The sirens and
screams.

But it wasn't.

She saw him laying there
and hoped they'd just winged him.

But they didn't.

He was dead
and stiff.
It was then everything became
quiet.

Her whole family was dead
from gunshots.
He was the last.
She couldn't deal with it,
so now she sits behind a window
in a quiet room
and looks out on the chaos below.

Behind the glass, it's quiet.
My heart beats in poetry. I think in rhythm and dream in rhyme.



Give me a crit! I can take it!



CELTIC QUEEN, an Epic Poem, Cynthia M. Bateman, amazon.com, barnesandnoble.com, http://www.tatepublishing.com/bookstore ... +Epic+Poem at Tate Publishing
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mae
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Postby mae » Mon Aug 02, 2010 5:05 pm

I'm working on Tuesday's Child.

mae
My heart beats in poetry. I think in rhythm and dream in rhyme.



Give me a crit! I can take it!



CELTIC QUEEN, an Epic Poem, Cynthia M. Bateman, amazon.com, barnesandnoble.com, http://www.tatepublishing.com/bookstore ... +Epic+Poem at Tate Publishing
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Postby Mlou » Mon Aug 02, 2010 5:59 pm

Hi, mae...I haven't read yours yet because I haven't done mine for this week. Have been spending mucho time...thanks to you...on the poetry site and having a ball. Finally got around to writing a sestina (on my to do list for a long time) for a contest there. We shall see if I end with egg on my face. :)

pengie, I'm glad it was a false alarm for your friend. Things like that should be handled waaaay more carefully than that obviously was!
nothing is ever simply Yes or No. There's always a But...





GINGERBREAD MAN by Mary Lou Healy at Amazon.com http://www.publishamerica.com/shopping/ ... ogid=16658 at Publish America
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Postby Mlou » Mon Aug 02, 2010 6:10 pm

HOW CONSTELLATIONS WERE BORN

From his bucket of stars
Sky Master drew the dipper out,
set it in the north and
spilled it forth
into the dark glass
of evening sky.
Stepping quietly past
the wing of Pegasus, he became
the galaxy of the Milky Way,
and placed his eye, bright
as the light of noon,
into the webbing
of Orion's belt.
Last edited by Mlou on Tue Aug 03, 2010 9:04 pm, edited 1 time in total.
nothing is ever simply Yes or No. There's always a But...





GINGERBREAD MAN by Mary Lou Healy at Amazon.com http://www.publishamerica.com/shopping/ ... ogid=16658 at Publish America
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mae
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Postby mae » Tue Aug 03, 2010 4:39 pm

"the dark glass of evening sky" - what a beautiful metaphor. Nicely done, mlou. I think I would have liked it even better if you'd made it more than one sentence. The whole thing is in one sentence! Also, did you mean to say that Sky Master himself became the Milky Way? I don't understand that part, I guess.

mae
My heart beats in poetry. I think in rhythm and dream in rhyme.



Give me a crit! I can take it!



CELTIC QUEEN, an Epic Poem, Cynthia M. Bateman, amazon.com, barnesandnoble.com, http://www.tatepublishing.com/bookstore ... +Epic+Poem at Tate Publishing
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Postby Mlou » Tue Aug 03, 2010 9:02 pm

Yes, I was thinking of things just being created...the dipper, Pegasus he'd already done, and became the whole galaxy with parts of himself in the constellations. But of course it wasn't a deeply planned, thought out piece. I hardly ever write them ahead. I just do it on the post, as it happens to come out. I edited so you get 2 sentences. :)
nothing is ever simply Yes or No. There's always a But...





GINGERBREAD MAN by Mary Lou Healy at Amazon.com http://www.publishamerica.com/shopping/ ... ogid=16658 at Publish America
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Postby Mlou » Tue Aug 03, 2010 9:09 pm

Well, mae...that was kind of a sad piece! Well done but sad. What's with everyone this week??
AND for some reason, I no longer get email notices about posts here. Have to come looking.
nothing is ever simply Yes or No. There's always a But...





GINGERBREAD MAN by Mary Lou Healy at Amazon.com http://www.publishamerica.com/shopping/ ... ogid=16658 at Publish America

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