The Words That Get Her Through

Psalm 23

1 The Lord is my shepherd. I shall not want. 2 He maketh me to lie down in green pastures. He leadeth me beside the still waters. 3 He restoreth my soul. He guideth me in straight paths for His name's sake. 4 Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for Thou art with me. Thy rod and Thy staff, they comfort me. 5 Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies. Thou hast anointed my head with oil. My cup runneth over. 6 Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever.

Winter Lovin'

Wishing you the joy
of family and the warmth
of the holiday.

Still Fighting

Still fighting but the
fight seems long and her strength wanes.
Time for inner strength.
(And some revolver platforms.)


BBC's 100 Books

Colleen from http://andotheradventures.blogspot.com/ gave me a challenge. She asks:

Have you read more than 6 of these books? The BBC believes most people will have read only 6 of the 100 books listed here. Let's see if you are the book nerd that you claim to be.

1 Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
2 The Lord of the Rings - JRR Tolkien
3 Jane Eyre - Charlotte Bronte
4 Harry Potter series - JK Rowling
5 To Kill a Mockingbird - Harper Lee
6 The Bible - I've read some, but not all.
7 Wuthering Heights - Emily Bronte
8 Nineteen Eighty Four - George Orwell
9 His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman
10 Great Expectations - Charles Dickens
11 Little Women - Louisa M Alcott
12 Tess of the D’Urbervilles - Thomas Hardy
13 Catch 22 - Joseph Heller
14 Complete Works of Shakespeare - I've read many but not all
15 Rebecca - Daphne Du Maurier
16 The Hobbit - JRR Tolkien
17 Birdsong - Sebastian Faulk
18 Catcher in the Rye - JD Salinger
19 The Time Traveler’s Wife - Audrey Niffenegger
20 Middlemarch - George Eliot
21 Gone With The Wind - Margaret Mitchell
22 The Great Gatsby - F Scott Fitzgerald
24 War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy
25 The Hitch Hikers's Guide to the Galaxy - Douglas Adams
27 Crime and Punishment - Fyodor Dostoyevsky
28 Grapes of Wrath - John Steinbeck
29 Alice in Wonderland - Lewis Carroll
30 The Wind in the Willows - Kenneth Grahame
31 Anna Karenina - Leo Tolstoy
32 David Copperfield - Charles Dickens
33 Chronicles of Narnia - CS Lewis
34 Emma -Jane Austen
35 Persuasion - Jane Austen
36 The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe - CS Lewis
37 The Kite Runner - Khaled Hosseini
38 Captain Corelli’s Mandolin - Louis De Bernieres
39 Memoirs of a Geisha - Arthur Golden
40 Winnie the Pooh - A.A. Milne
41 Animal Farm - George Orwell
42 The Da Vinci Code - Dan Brown
43 One Hundred Years of Solitude - Gabriel Garcia Marquez
44 A Prayer for Owen Meaney - John Irving
45 The Woman in White - Wilkie Collins
46 Anne of Green Gables - LM Montgomery
47 Far From The Madding Crowd - Thomas Hardy
48 The Handmaid’s Tale - Margaret Atwood
49 Lord of the Flies - William Golding
50 Atonement - Ian McEwan
51 Life of Pi - Yann Martel
52 Dune - Frank Herbert
53 Cold Comfort Farm - Stella Gibbons
54 Sense and Sensibility - Jane Austen
55 A Suitable Boy - Vikram Seth
56 The Shadow of the Wind - Carlos Ruiz Zafon
57 A Tale Of Two Cities - Charles Dickens
58 Brave New World - Aldous Huxley
59 The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time - Mark Haddon
60 Love In The Time Of Cholera - Gabriel Garcia Marquez
61 Of Mice and Men - John Steinbeck
62 Lolita - Vladimir Nabokov
63 The Secret History - Donna Tartt
64 The Lovely Bones - Alice Sebold
65 Count of Monte Cristo - Alexandre Dumas
66 On The Road - Jack Kerouac
67 Jude the Obscure - Thomas Hardy
68 Bridget Jones’s Diary - Helen Fielding
69 Midnight’s Children - Salman Rushdie
70 Moby Dick - Herman Melville
71 Oliver Twist - Charles Dickens
72 Dracula - Bram Stoker
73 The Secret Garden - Frances Hodgson Burnett
74 Notes From A Small Island - Bill Bryson
75 Ulysses - James Joyce
76 The Inferno - Dante
77 Swallows and Amazons - Arthur Ransome
78 Germinal - Emile Zola
79 Vanity Fair - William Makepeace Thackeray
80 Possession - AS Byatt
81 A Christmas Carol - Charles Dickens
82 Cloud Atlas - David Mitchell
83 The Color Purple - Alice Walker
84 The Remains of the Day - Kazuo Ishiguro
85 Madame Bovary - Gustave Flaubert
86 A Fine Balance - Rohinton Mistry
87 Charlotte’s Web - E.B. White
88 The Five People You Meet In Heaven - Mitch Albom
89 Adventures of Sherlock Holmes - Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
90 The Faraway Tree Collection - Enid Blyton
91 Heart of Darkness - Joseph Conrad
92 The Little Prince - Antoine De Saint-Exupery
93 The Wasp Factory - Iain Banks
94 Watership Down - Richard Adams
95 A Confederacy of Dunces - John Kennedy Toole
96 A Town Like Alice - Nevil Shute
97 The Three Musketeers - Alexandre Dumas
98 Hamlet - William Shakespeare
99 Charlie and the Chocolate Factory - Roald Dahl
100 Les Miserables - Victor Hugo


Not too shabby and now I have a list of books to read next!

Book Bath

Three-Minute Fiction - Round Five

Yes.. I entered again. This time the Judge is Michael Cunningham, author of The Hours and A Home at the End of the World. His requirements were that we begin with the sentence "Some people swore that the house was haunted." and end with "Nothing was ever the same again after that."

Here's my entry.

CONQUERED

Some people swore that the house was haunted. I didn’t care about that. I thought it was beautiful. Falling porches, shutters hanging by a hinge, white paint long since rained away. It sparked my imagination. It made me wonder who had lived there. What had they left behind -- in between the floor boards -- hidden in secret cubbies in the walls?

I had to know. So I committed my first crime at the age of 13. I trespassed, army crawling under the barbed wire and sneaking up the front walk while my little brother waited by the road. No amount of coercion could convince him to come with me. He was afraid of the ghosts. He asked me not to go, but not as heartily as he might have. I thought he felt sibling pride because I was so daring.

When I got to the door, I turned and waved. I didn’t notice that he had wondered dangerously close to the road. As I turned and pushed the door, I barely heard his squeaky, terrified voice asking me to come back. It wasn’t funny anymore. He didn’t want to be left alone.

The door gave way, screeching as its base dragged the floorboards. I stepped into the former great hall, like an explorer onto a new continent, I imagined. The staircase, partially missing, twisted up to the second floor in front of me. Two large rooms flanked the high-ceilinged hall. On the right, an old fireplace, ringed by ornately-carved tiles, held court in an otherwise empty sitting room. To the left, a single arm chair, its color and pattern obscured by dirt, sat in the middle of the former dining room. Beyond the stairs, stretched a dark hallway and at the end another door. Certainly behind that door lay all the mysteries the house was waiting to offer up. I moved down the hall, my mind on fire with excitement. I heard no noise from outside, only the boards beneath my feet and my loudly spinning thoughts.

The door was missing its knob. I pushed. It wouldn’t budge. I put my hand in the hole where the knob should have been and pulled once, twice, harder a third time. The door came out of its socket with a crack. I couldn’t hold its weight. It fell heavily on top of me, knocking the wind from me and showering me with dirt and filth.

Terror filled my heart and the fearless explorer was reduced to a 13 year-old girl. I choked on dust as I sucked for breathe and struggled to squirm out from under the offending door. When I was free, I didn’t pause to look into the room that had only moments before been my personal King Solomon’s Mine. I ran for it.

Still wheezing, I cleared the hallway, jumped the threshold and sprinted up the walk toward the road. I didn’t see Tim, but I couldn’t stop -- the ghosts were hard at my heels. I threw myself to the ground and crawled under the barbed-wire fence.

I stood, brushed at my clothes, wiped my face with my sleeve and looked around. “Tim.” I called, sure he had wandered into the bushes somewhere. “Tim!” I called louder and with twisting worry. “TIM!” I ran along the road. The fear I felt under the door a fraction of the fear now growing ever larger in my screaming brain. “TIM!!” On the other side of the road, I found the blood stain. Nothing was ever the same again after that.


Follow the link to read some of the judges favorites. He has not yet picked a winner. (Fingerscrossed!)
http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=105660765

The Truth

Adeline was 78 years old before she understood. And, boy, was she mad.

Jesus, I know you're not accustomed to being spoken to this way, but you're about to get an earful. And you can't run like Billy used to, cause you're everywhere. So sit down and take your medicine.

You are in trouble, Mister. Would you like to tell me why you made me wait until my knees won't bend, my eyes won't see and my body is a roadmap of wrinkles to figure this out? This little nugget, I could have used when I was 24 with three babes under three, thank you very much. This smidgeon of information that would have come in handy when I caught Andy rolling in the barn with that Schmidts girl. Might you have whispered in my ear when my Alan got colon cancer and we lost the farm?

I've spent my whole entire life worrying. Worrying myself awake at night. Worrying so that my breath came too fast and my fingers tingled. Worrying and fretting out loud until my husband was ready for his early grave.
And now...now, you show me the truth. A truth that might have made all the difference.

No matter what, everything is going to be okay.

Make a wish

I need a big one.
I'm talkin' deep breath, eyes closed,
Lips pursed...BLOW! (Big one.)

Afraid

This fear sits along
My collarbone; its slimey
black toes grip my heart

The Cancer Day

Today is the day that my mom told me she has cancer. Cancer! Seriously? CANCER?!?! I didn't cry... at first. I was MAD. I'm still mad. How DARE this thing grow on my mother and make her sick. I'll teach it to mess with us. I want to take a cleaver to it, Lizzie Borden style, except mom says it doesn't hurt right now and that would most definitely hurt. No, she said no fighting yet, we just have to wait. WAIT?!?! Wait for her first appointment with the specialist. Wait for the specialist to decide what to do. Wait for them to cut off the offending tumor. Wait for the tests to tell us if the tumor has sent assassins into other parts of her body. Wait for them to give her the treatments that will sap her strength, take her beautiful hair and steal the fight from her. And then I'll give her all my fight. And will we fight. FIGHT, FIGHT, FIGHT! That thing will RUE the day it chose to grow on a Lee. And remission will be our triumph and a long, long, happy, healthy, LIFE. Did I mention LONG? I can't do without her. This is the only possible outcome. You higher powers better be listening. I'm not taking no for an answer.


P.S. I don't intend to fight fair.

A story to tell

Conflict

America
Stands between them
Arms outstretched
Hands on their hearts
Beneath beats anger
Inside each chest
For the other
Never-changing
Churning
Mindless
Hatred

How can we hope
To understand these conflicts
How can we make
Them see the other side
Peace at a price
They are unwilling to pay
If they must
Stop the pulsing
Churning
Replicating
Hatred

Goddess

Always after me
My face, my voice, my body
Am I a goddess?

Magpie to the Morning

By Neko Case

Magpie comes a calling
Drops a marble from the sky
Tin roof sounds alarm
And wake up child
Let this be a warning says the magpie to the morning
Don't let this fading summer pass you by
Don't let this fading summer pass you by

Black hands held so high
The vulture wheels and dives
Something on the thermals
Yanked his chain
Smelled your boring apex
Rotting on the train tracks
He laughed under his breath
Because you thought that you could outrun sorrow
Take your own advice
Thunder and lightening gets you rain
Run an airtight mission, a Cousteau expedition
To find a diamond at the bottom of the drain
A diamond at the bottom of the drain

Hear the mocking bird sing
In the middle of the night
All of his songs are stolen so he hides
Stole them out from whiporwills
Screaming car alarms
He sings them for you special
He knows you're afraid of the dark
Come on sorrow
Take your own advice
Hide under the bed
Turn out the light
Stars this night in the sky are ringing out
You can almost hear them saying
"Close your eyes now kid"
"Close your eyes now kid"

Morning is too far lit
They are waiting
Waiting
They are waiting

Tuesday

They said they'd be nice
If I gave them my twinkie
I guess this is nice.

Thirsty

There has been no rain
For three whole weeks together
All living things thirst

The Part That's Torn

The flag on flagpole hill
Is in three pieces now
The man that pulled it up and down
Is underneath the ground
The wind caught tiny tears
And pulled them to the core
But no one's there to care anymore

The explanation letter
That just did not explain
The reason for the falling out of
Love and in again
With another woman who
Just happened to be near
Is in sixteen pieces floating in the air

Mind and body ready
To take the burden on
He traveled to the battlefield
Became a loaded gun
Three brutal tours complete
His body battered, worn
His dreams like waking nightmares, endless war

Sweet Irony

Mr. Evans

Mr. Evans favorite fantasy was the one where there's a knock at his door. Young, prim men in suits and ascots inform him that he is the last heir of a Welsh line of royalty and he must return to Wales to claim his inheritance and the family castle. He boards an ocean liner. His is a first class cabin. They disembark in Cardiff, spending the night in a plush, expensive hotel. The next day they travel by coach through wide, green countryside to an enormous white stone castle.

He is escorted inside to be greeted by his household staff who call him Sir, and sometimes Milord. They bring his coffee in bed at 8:00, lemonade on the terrace at 11:00, tea at 3:00 in the study, French wine in the formal dining room at 6:00, brandy in the men's lounge at 7:00 and a nightcap at 10:00 just before bed. A vivid fantasy life is the only way to survive the factory.

Clank-clank-whine - "Your coffee, Sir. Would you like your daily newspaper?"
Press-pop-push - "Your lemonade, Milord. Will you be taking your midday turn in the garden?"
Clack-lackity-clack - "Your tea, Sir. Would you prefer roast or lamb for supper today?"

Clank-clank-whine - "Your wine, Milord. The roast is prepared with potatoes au gratin. May I serve you?"
Press-pop-push - "Your brandy, Sir. May I light the candles in the chandelier for you?"
Clack-lackity-clack - "Your nightcap, Sir. May I help you on with your nightclothes?"

Clank-clank-whine - "Your coffee, Sir. Are you feeling well?"
Press-pop-push - "Your lemonade, Milord. Would you like to read you mail?"
Clack-lackity-clack - "Your tea, Sir. Would you prefer spotted dick or cod for supper today?"

Clank-clank-whine - "Your wine, Milord. The cod fried just as you like it. May I serve you?"
Press-pop-push - "Your brandy, Sir. Would you like to put your feet up on the devan?"
Clack-lackity-clack - "Your nightcap, Sir. May I bring you anything else?"

Only Singed

I would have done it
I could have done it
I would have taken your hand
And led you right out of hell
But you turned your back on me
You made me walk out of hell without you
Fire licking at my heels
And now you dance amid the flames
Laughing, ignoring the burn
Certain you're only singed.

I don't know why...

Sometimes you just need a little pig in galoshes.
Doncha just wanna jump in a puddle with him?

Cookie, cookie, cookie, cookie...

Do you remember
When Cookie Monster ate all
Of Ernie's cookies?

That crazed blue puppet
Gulped them down. How the crumbs flew!
And how I laughed.

But what of my kids?
What will make them laugh like that?
Cartoons scare me now.

Is it possible
That thirty years ago was
A much simpler time?

Attagirl

She never knew why they teased her, only that they did and always had. She was used to it. But the new girl, knees curled up under her green corduroy jumper, crouched in the corner, hiding tears with pigtails - she didn't seem to understand.

"Can I sit with you?"

Tear-filled eyes looked up squinting in fear and then opened in hope as they saw the sweet face of the speaker. "Okay."

"I brought my favorite book, well at least my favorite book right now. Today its Peter Pan. Have you read it?"

"No."

"Do you want to read it with me?"

"Yes."

"I love how it begins... 'All children, except one, grow up.'"

The Hardest Thing

The Escape

The jaunty whistling grew louder like a nearing train. And just as deadly, she thought as he burst into the kitchen.

"I bought Heather a hat!" His face was blazing, his barrel-chest puffed out in pride as he presented the crumpled and dirty white hat to the room. Arlene could smell the tell-tale sickly-sweet scent wafting in waves from his mouth, clothes and skin.

Here we go.

"Bill, did you spend your paycheck on that hat? I need to buy diapers and milk." Time slowed as the words left her mouth. She felt her skin try to crawl inside to avoid the torrent she knew would come.

His eyes squinted nearly shut and his face turned the purple color she had come to dread. He threw the hat emphatically to the floor and raised the hand that had held it.

"Arlene, I swear to Gawd, can't you just let me enjoy one single thing?" His hand stayed aloft as he stomped on the hat.

"There! Now we don't have diapers, don't have milk and Heather don't have a new hat. You happy?"

Heather's timid face peered around the doorway. Arlene stepped back and to her left to bring Bill's gaze from her eldest daughter. "Is there any money left?"

The hand landed. Arlene fell against the sink with a thud. It had happened so many times before, she thought she shouldn't be surprised anymore, but everytime it hurt the same.

"No! There's no money left, banshee! Maybe if you ever did any work there would be!"

There's no money. I'll have to go empty-handed. So be it. "Of course, dear, you're right. Go put your feet up, I'll fix dinner."

"Damn straight you will and get me a gawddamn beer while you're at it.

After he downed his beer and a double-serving of boxed macaroni and cheese with hotdog pieces, Bill fell loudly to sleep. Not, however, before he could yell to Arlene that his dinner tasted like the ass-end of a skunk.

Arlene fed Allison, Hattie, Katie and Paul, got them cleaned up and put to bed, all the while aware of his rhythmic snoring. They were so quiet on nights like these. They seemed to know that to be a normal loud and enthusiastic child would be to invite danger, so they were silent and subdued. Thank god for that.

She told Heather the plan in a whisper as she packed two suitcases.

"All I need you to do is watch Bill. I ground up a pill and put it in his beer to make his sleep. Just watch him while I get the others into the car."

"What do I do if he wakes up?"

"I don't think he'll wake up, honey. Take this suitcase. Be very quiet. I'll bring down Allison and Paul first. I can trust them to stay in the car while I go get the others. Take that suitcase and get in the car after I bring Katie. Then I'll run back for Hattie and we'll go."

Heather held the suitcase but didn't move. Arlene knelt in front of her daughter and took her small shoulders in the palms of her hands.

"Baby, if he wakes we'll tell him that Allison and Paul have a fever and need to go to the doctor, we didn't want to wake him, so we thought we'd take them along. But he won't wake up. This time we'll get away and he'll never touch you ever again."

Arlene turned back to her silent packing. Heather watched her for a minute, then spoke again, softly. "What will it be like at the shelter?"

Arlene felt tears coming. "I don't know, baby. Probly loud. Probly horrible, but better than here. I promise to figure this all out. I promise no more stepdads. I'm so so sorry. I'll make it up to you. But right now we just have to escape. Can you be strong and help me?"

"Yes, momma. Don't worry."

Arlene closed the suitcase and latched it with a small click. She touched her battered cheek gently, thinking the bruise may help her plead her case at the shelter. She turned to Heather.

"Okay. We're ready. Go on, my brave soldier girl. Take up your post."

Manifesto of Encouragement

I didn't write this, but it is giving me hope and I want to pass it on to my loved ones.
From: http://whitehottruth.com/white-hot/the-manifesto-of-encouragement/

Right now:

- There are Tibetan Buddhist monks in a temple in the Himalayas endlessly reciting mantras for the cessation of your suffering and for the flourishing of your happiness.

- Someone you haven't met yet is already dreaming of adoring you.

- Someone is writing a book that you will read in the next two years that will change how you look at life.

- Nuns in the Alps are in endless vigil, praying for the Holy Spirit to alight the hearts of all of God's children.

- A farmer is looking at his organic crops and whispering, "nourish them."

- Someone wants to kiss you, to hold you, to make tea for you. Someone is willing to lend you money, wants to know what your favourite food is, and treat you to a movie. Someone in your orbit has something immensely valuable to give you -- for free.

- Something is being invented this year that will change how your generation lives, communicates, heals and passes on.

- The next great song is being rehearsed.

- Thousands of people are in yoga classes right now intentionally sending light out from their heart chakras and wrapping it around the earth.

- Millions of children are assuming that everything is amazing and will always be that way.

- Someone is in profound pain, and a few months from now, they'll be thriving like never before. They just can't see it from where they're at.

- Someone who is craving to be partnered, to be acknowledged, to ARRIVE, will get precisely what they want -- and even more. And because that gift will be so fantastical in it's reach and sweetness, it will quite magically alter their memory of angsty longing and render it all "So worth the wait."

- Someone has recently cracked open their joyous, genuine nature because they did the hard work of hauling years of oppression off of their psyche -- this luminous juju is floating in the ether, and is accessible to you.

- Someone just this second wished for world peace, in earnest.

- Someone is fighting the fight so that you don't have to.

- Some civil servant is making sure that you get your mail, and your garbage is picked up, that the trains are running on time, and that you are generally safe. Someone is dedicating their days to protecting your civil liberties and clean drinking water.

- Someone is regaining their sanity. Someone is coming back from the dead. Someone is genuinely forgiving the seemingly unforgivable. Someone is curing the incurable.

You. Me. Some. One. Now.

51%

Words of wisdom from my younger brother, Ben.

"The key to being a good man is trying really, really hard to be a good human being and accomplishing it at least 51% of the time."

You're hitting something more like 81%, for sure. Thanks, Bro.

Greater than the Sum

What does it take to protect a heart?
Box it in bubble wrap and carry it upright.
Call it by an alias and keep its location secret.
Defend it from outsiders with weapons and cunning.
Cloister it jealously and idolize it.
Do all this and more to preserve it
And it will still be broken.

The heart is not a substance I recognize
But I know now it was not created to be kept whole
It must be filled, broken, repaired and filled again
Each time stronger. Each time greater than the sum of its broken parts.
The pain, though acute, is a side-effect of its miraculous power to heal and grow.
So, open the box; call it by its name; let the outsiders in.
Grab it from its altar and bravely run toward the sun.

If only it were so easy...

Mother

The subtle art of her slow-motion lunge;
Softly catching the child
At the most precarious moment,
Without pause in her speech
Without thought.
In that instant she is all instinct.
Her movement a force
Like a primeval spirit
That she channels unconsciously
Through her cultured presence.

Closer than you think...

Gamble

Dark deeply red
Crushing
I see my chest from the inside out
empty, wet

The cards were on the table
I laid down my heart
Yes, as you suspect,
I lost it

Besties

My best friend and me
We don't like it when mom calls,
"Time to come in now!"

Time

It drinks down my life in huge gulping drags and when I look in the fridge, the milk is always just about empty.
It rolls down the road at super high speeds and when I check the tank, the gas is always just about gone.
It climbs the stairs two-by-two to the very top and when I stop, my heart is racing and I can't catch my breath.
When I get to the bottom again, doubled over, hands on knees, gasping--its back in the fridge.

Then, just when I think I've reached the edge of the edge--the milk, the gas, and my breath gone--I realize
It sure tastes good, the speed is exhilirating and the view is simply and heart-wrenchingly beautiful.

Something Speaks

Quiet birdsong and breeze
Sliding soft through the trees
The perfection of tranquil solitude

Here in this misty hollow
My mind slows to the shallow
Pulse of the forest's reflex energy

Something speaks
Not with words
A perception
I know inside.

Something speaks
To my soul
In abstract
Avoiding focus.

Something speaks
That is not
For me to understand
But to accept.

Something speaks
And I know
That alone here
I am not alone.

The fog is deepening.
Times makes no effort to move.
Roan Mountain folds itself around me.

God is here, peace is here
Seeping through every sense.
When I depart I will carry it with me.

Something speaks
Not with words
A perception
I know inside.

Something speaks
To my soul
In abstract
Avoiding focus.

Something speaks
That is not
For me to understand
But to accept.

Something speaks
And I know
That alone here
I am not alone.

Peer Pressure

Mama said, "Careful!"
"Girl, keep them dress and shoes clean
For supper tonight."

Broad Street Busker

Seven years and seven days
He played the street called Broad each day
And waited for the tinkling sound
Of change the passers threw his way.
He sang until his throat was sore.
He played until his fingers bled
Then went back to his alley home
Laid down his head and said this prayer.

"Lord, thank you for my day of song
And thank you for the change I won.
Please be with those who could not hear
Embarrassed by the clothes I wear.
They do not have the heart to see
The joy I find in being me.
And even in this alley way
Beside the refuse of the day
I know with my guitar at hand
I'll never be a lonely man.
But they who walk my street undone
By bosses, meetings, money lost and won
They fight as I did in Vietnam
But don't know the toll its taking.
Please keep my alley safe and dry.
Please keep my throat and fingers spry.
Be with the wife I left behind
I love her still, you know my mind."

Today the busker's raspy song
Is missing here on 4th and Broad.
The police have not discovered yet
But I know that he must be dead.
He knew his place and role to play.
He never missed a single day.
He chose life dirty, loud and free.
He was the happiest man in Tennessee.

They did not have the heart to see
The joy he found in being free.
I know with his guitar at hand
He never was a lonely man.

A Poem I Love

One Art

The art of losing isn't hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.

--Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident
the art of losing's not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.

By Elizabeth Bishop, 1922

Of her work, Robert Lowell remarked, "Elizabeth Bishop is the contemporary poet that I admire most ... There's a beautiful completeness to all of Bishop's poetry. I don't think anyone alive has a better eye than she had: The eye that sees things and the mind behind the eye that remembers."

A Sevenling for My Mom

She loves three things the best:
The beach, the palm,
A calm sea on which to snorkle.

She hates navy blue,
the taste and smell of popcorn,
And muscle aches.

...And she gave birth to me.


The sevenling is a poem of seven lines inspired by the form of
this much-translated short verse by Anna Akhmatova (1889 - 1966).

He loved three things alone:
White peacocks, evensong,
Old maps of America.

He hated children crying,
And raspberry jam with his tea,
And womanish hysteria.

... And he married me.

Favorite Last Lines

Looking at great first lines made me want to research great last lines. Here are some classics. What are youre favorites?

A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens
"It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done; it is a far, far better rest that I go to than I have ever known."

The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald
"So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past."

Romeo and Juliet by William Shakespeare
"Go hence, to have more talk of these sad things;
Some shall be pardoned, and some punished;
For never was a story of more woe
Than this of Juliet and her Romeo."

Stan's Decision

Celia loved the feeling of the weightless heat all around her, but she didn't know how she had ended up in the tub. She heard footsteps on the wood floor in the bedroom and turned to see Stan walk through the bathroom door in his undershirt and suspenders. She loved the way he looked in his undershirt and suspenders, his hair slick and black with gel.

"Did I drink too much again?" She cringed up at him from the tub.

"Yes."

"I'm sorry."

"I know."

She looked at her bright red toenails sticking up from the suds at the other end of the tub. She wiggled them to be sure they were hers.

"Did I make a scene?"

"Yes."

"Oh, Mary Mother... I'm sorry."

Stan shrugged and headed back out the door.

Celia scrambled to her feet.

"Stan."

He turned. Water ran in rivulets down her body. She didn't speak right away. He waited, looking down. He knew she wanted him to look at her naked, to feel desire.

She cocked a hip.

"Could you be a doll and get a girl a night cap?"

Stan's sad eyes flashed to Celia's face. Only then did Celia see the open suitcase on the bed behind him. Her languid smile turned to a grimace of disbelief.

"You're leaving me?!"

She stepped angrily out of the tub toward him. Her foot touched the ground for only a second before it slid on the wet floor unbalanced by the alcohol. She fell in a heap back into the tub, splashing water over the sides, drenching the walls and floor. She sputtered up, gasping for breath. She rubbed her eyes and looked for Stan. He was still standing motionless as water spread toward his wingtips.

Celia slapped the water with both hands in frustration.

"You're such a coward...," She began, but Stan turned, left the bathroom and shut the door behind him. He'd heard that speech before.

Favorite First Lines

REALSIMPLE magazine asked "What is your favorite first line of a novel" and here are some of the responses they received. What is your favorite first line?

Charlotte's Web by E.B. White
"'Where's Papa going with that ax?,' said Fern to her mother as they were setting the table for breakfast."

Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas by Hunter S. Thompson
"We were somewhere around Barstow on the edge of the desert when the drugs began to take hold."

Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen
"It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife."

The Secret Garden by Hodgson Burnett
"When Mary Lennox was sent to Misselthwaite Manor to live with her uncle everybody said she was the most disagreeable-looking child ever seen. It was true, too."

Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov
"Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins. My sin, my soul. Lo-lee-ta: the tip of the tongue taking a trip of three steps down the palate to tap, at three, on the teeth. Lo. Lee. Ta."

Curfew

Pete hid behind the broken fence, breathing in the darkness. Fear made his nerves sing and every sensation on his skin was like an electric shock; the grass under his fingertips as he knelt, the material tight against his knees. He knew they had seen him. He couldn't hear them from where he hid. They would be searching, quietly, calmly. They would find him eventually, why rush? How had he let it get so late? Annie. Oh, Annie Maddox. He would never see her again. Good reason to go, he guessed. If he had pulled away from her arms when he ought, would he be on his cot dreaming of her now? Who can say. These days, he might have been charged for trespassing in her sector just as easily as for breaking curfew. These days, any reason was a good reason to "detain" a Peg. He tried to slow his breathing and think about escape but his thoughts settled on Annie. Annie didn't care that he was Peg. When they met none of that mattered. It wasn't so long ago. Back then their sector schools had still co-mingled. Annie helped him up after the Lander bullies beat him. She brushed his leg. He could still feel her fingers knock the gravel from his bloodied knees. He heard soft male voices and a shuffle through the weeds. They would have dogs. It was only a matter of time. Barking. The dogs had smelled him. Barking, getting louder. He couldn't fight it, he stood and ran. Shouting. SHOUTING. One more breathe of darkness.

Back in Blog!

10 Totally Random Haikus to Celebrate My Return to the Blogosphere

ONE
It seemed like a good
Idea at the time,
Now its just itchy.

TWO
Twenty nine again?
You have a way of aging
Backwards, patent it.

THREE
I ate it but then
After chewing and swallowing
I regretted it.

FOUR
Days in Hawaii
Feel like mere minutes in time
Here a mere minute
Feels like an eternity.

FIVE
Ahh, the subtle sound
Of my ukulele song,
A bit out of tune.
(The girl in 12E hates me.)

SIX
Chocolate icing
On chocolate chip cupcakes
Chocouphoria.

SEVEN
Bright yellow pollen
On my car, in my nose, and
on my clothes. AahChoo!

EIGHT
Black sky rolls creeping
Across my 8th story view.
Forboding, silent.

NINE
Ben Franklin tells me
"Oh, stop your belly-aching."
And, of course, he's right.

TEN
Already its May.
Where have the days gone down the
Endless stream of time?

Deep Blue

Deep blue; the water and sky
The distance white where the waves break over the reef
Sunlight giving way to starlight
I look north to where the pivot centers
The horizon in endless slow motion, almost imperceivable.

Stay and witness infinity with me.
So long since the first axis spin.
So long since the first crashing wave.
So long since my atoms and these were one;
Still one in the recognition of the whole.
Great beauty around and within.
Water and sky and we are a part
Of the deep, deep blue.

Sea Glass Beach

Kauai

Each morning she walks
the sea glass beach, collecting
blue, green and turquoise
glass to sell to the lady
in the big pink pearls
who uses them to steal from
the silly tourists

Unconditional

(Photocredit: Silence by Jason Theikle)



What would a woman be without her friends?
Oh, the cliffs I might have jumped from.
Oh, the relationships I might have destroyed.
He is distant. He surely hates me.
No. He’s a man. Chill, the heck, out.
Talk to me, my love. He needs a break.

What would a woman be without her friends?
Oh, the self I have despised for so many unforgiven sins.
Oh, the love I have denied for so many unforgiven wrongs.
I am ugly. My mother said so.
No. She didn't. She loves you more than you love yourself.
Unconditionally.

What would a woman be without her friends?
Oh, the blood that might have made me tremble.
Oh, the lack of blood that scares the more.
I might have lost her. I might have created her.
No. You are fine. All is as it was meant to be.
Be calm. Patience and faith, my love.

What would a woman be without her friends?
Oh, the desperation and the joy of it.
Oh, the exhaustion and the pique of it.
Still. Sister. Still.
All is well.

Accountable

I know that I'm not supposed to...but I am posting today because I just uploaded my flash fiction piece to the NPR Three-Minute Fiction contest - Round 4. The challenge in Round 4 was not to write about a picture (like in Round 3, see previous entry below) but to write an original piece of fiction with less than 600 words containing the words: Plant, Trick, Fly and Button, in any tense, usage or conjugation. Here's my attempt!!

Accountable

“Is this a trick? You can’t be serious!” I tried to chuckle but terror was growing in my stomach and sounded in my voice.

A man in a dark gray suit stepped between the goons looming on either side of me. I didn’t recognize his face or his voice as he said again, “Sir, you have to come with us.”

I planted my feet wide, crossing my arms. “I won’t be going anywhere with you,” I tried to sound firm, though it was quite clear that I wasn’t going to be given a choice.

The gray-suited man nodded and the goons’ hands were on me. I was forced roughly into the dull aluminum interior of the black van and shoved onto my knees. One of the thugs held my hands tightly behind my back. As we pulled away, I glimpsed my coffee mug standing ridiculously alone on the top of my white BMW.

The van flew out of the parking garage like an action film stunt, four wheels off the ground, heedless of traffic on all sides. I felt every excruciating bump hammer my kneecaps and reverberate up my skeleton. The pain only intensified the thoughts screaming in my head.

I’m not blindfolded. Shouldn’t I be blindfolded? As if this breach of kidnapping etiquette was somehow indicative of something.

Verboten

It is a sad, sad thing, but my newest writing class teacher has asked that her students not blog during the 6 weeks that we are in her class. She wants all of our writing effort to go into our coursework. So...I'll see you in 6 weeks with new inspiration and new material.

Thank you for reading!!!