The Clock is Ticking

Bustling about
One foot in front of the other, in front of the other,
infrontoftheother, infrontoftheother.

The world spinning me into madness,
being pulled in a dozen directions would be easier
than what I'm doing all day long.

In a blink, open the door,
step into the simple life with you.
Where breathing is enough.

The random prompt generator over at Poetry Thursday when I visited this morning said "combustible." Instantly, I'm getting images and pricks on my arms (that synaesthesia thing again). Obviously, the initial images run to flames and danger.

But, then...the leftovers of last night's dream win out. It wasn't remotely hot and steamy, or even PG-13. It was decidedly PG, bordering on G. But it struck, mid-dream, and lasting into the morning, a mild "combustion" feeling inside.

So, though there is not poetry here, today. There may well be some later.

I did find something interesting this morning, to share...

PoetryKits

Interesting stuff there. Enjoy.

Check out Poetry Thursday for some other poetic offerings.

We both fall into this trap.

um...ok...

Something (unexpected...unpleasant...)
happens
and rather than deal with it head-on

um...ok...

And then one of us prattles on explaining,
while the other sits in silence.

um...ok...

(For other offerings, check out this weeks posts at Poetry Thursday.)

A literary description of or commentary on a visual work of art.

Hehe..this'll be fun. I immediately thought of this piece. Frankly, it's bothered me for years and years.

And so...here's what I think, after God knows how many years of existence, the red dot has to say.

Yes, I'm a dot.
Yes, I'm aware that I'm a big, red dot.
No, I don't "mean" anything.
Well, not really.
But I'm sure you've read some sort of
"deep, inner meaning"
in my roundness.
No, I don't want to know what it is.

Hehe...I had too much fun with this!

**Pardon me whilst I stretch a bit. I'm a little out of practice again. Dang it, I need to write more--well, write more here, as opposed to there. (I know, I know, that makes no sense, but it sorta does, doesn't it?)

The prompt at Poetry Thursday this week is "the body knows." What does the body know, you ask? Well, all kinds of things. This morning, it happens to know quite well that I was out until 1 this morning. Quite well.

But that's not what's on my mind. Sticking to my "theme of the year," here is what my body knows, this morning. This one's even titled, and I rarely ever do that.

Because of a look...

Beating heart ceases, briefly,
then rushes to catch back up.
Full-body flush,
the color rising just before the heat.
Twinges of dancing in my toes
My eyes go wet, not quite welling.


Hm..that felt rusty. I'll have to get back to writing/blogging on a more regular basis.

For other body-knowledge, check out Poetry Thursday.

I'm not sure who this poem is about. There's a couple of front-runners.

In a situation I thought
improbable
(because I've learned 'impossible' is a laughable word)
I've fought so hard lately to be
practical.
Lock it all away,
Tell no one of pain, of joy.
Then, He surprised me.

Could be a faith issue. It's altered in the last few months. Went through some rocky stuff that surprised me--by both the suddenness and how deeply my heart was affected. I know my faith, which has been pretty strong for a long while now, deepened.

Could be about The Man. We've wandered back to each other again. It's so much nicer this time--we smile more, touch more, and are more at ease with each other. I thought I was happy and at peace with him before, but I don't think I really knew what that felt like. I do now.

To read some other inspired poetry, check out Poetry Thursday.

Um..2 weeks ago (or something like that), the prompt offered over at Poetry Thursday was a meme. Since I didn't get around to doing it then, and I'm up at 6:30 on a DAY OFF, I'll do it now (apparently, I have time!).

Works well since this week's prompt seems to basically be a "do what you want" kind of week.


1. The first poem I remember reading/hearing/reacting to was... Shel Silverstein's "Boa Constrictor." (Find it here) I think this was the first time that I'd realized how words paint pictures and that, as that wasn't enough!, they tasted in my mouth.

2. I was forced to memorize (name of poem) in school and... Gosh, we must have been deprived at our school. I honestly can't remember ever having to memorize a poem. I remember reciting "The Fog" (Sandburg) and then doing an art project on it and writing our own "fog-like" poem, though.

3. I read/don't read poetry because... I do read poetry because it relaxes me. But I also subscribe to the notion that to write good poetry/prose/grocery lists/whatever, a person must read those things voraciously.

4. A poem I'm likely to think about when asked about a favorite poem is... Wow, Emily Dickinson comes to mind. I imagine it would be cheating to say "all of it," huh? Well, call me a cheater. It wouldn't be the first time!

5. I write/don't write poetry, but... I do write poetry, but I wish I wrote more of it.

6. My experience with reading poetry differs from my experience with reading other types of literature... It feeds my mild A.D.D. quite well--I can finish a piece and do my thinking before my wanders again. But, too, phrasing and line breaks make sense in my mind. It's how I think.

7. I find poetry... Delicious. I devour it, and sometimes bleed it. Poetry is in every step of my life, kind of like my faith.

8. The last time I heard poetry... A few days ago. One of my students read his pieces to me.

9. I think poetry is like... Visual perception through one's heart. No, not everyone feels poetry intensely, but you can't deny that it evokes the visceral.

For other answers to this meme, visit Poetry Thursday.

Over at Poetry Thursday this week, the prompt is about talking walls. Specifically, what would walls say if they could talk. It's pretty interesting, if you think about it. Maybe a little frightening, too.

They'd say "MY GOD WOMAN, RUN!!!!"

No, really. I try not to listen to the walls, it's enough that I talk to myself, I don't need the walls to talk to.

Since I've been conspicuously not writing much lately, I was pleasantly surprised to be able to run with two (count 'em 2!) poems this week.

Hodge podge of tastes,
feelings,
words,
Soaked into the walls.
Do I dare ask what they know?

And...

Intimidation

New construction
No voices to fill the silence.
Untouched by
squeals of delight
and four-letter words of anger.
"First impressions are everything"
even to the walls.

For more talking walls, visit Poetry Thursday

I wasn't crazy about the prompt for Poetry Thursday this week.
this week's (completely and totally optional) idea -- attend a reading

I've been to readings, even participated in a couple with the creative group that I used to sponsor at work. I enjoy them (not the smoke-filled bar, everybody snapping, variety. Just a simple coffeehouse appreciation gathering). I think they're important.

I wish I could find decent ones in my immediate area, but that might require more people be literate. Oo..yeah, sorry. That wasn't very nice. Pardon me, I'm writing this LOOONG before my coffee has kicked in. Of course, we'd also have to have a decent place to have them, somehow those places never last around here.

I will do this, I will visit some readings in the weeks/months to come. Now that I don't ever work weekends, I can certainly manage this without being a bear the next morning.

So..even though I haven't really, really written for this prompt..I did do this:

Texas Poetry Calendar Hosted at Poetz.com, it certainly can't be an exhaustive listing, but a really nice place to start.

Houston Poetry Fest It's passed for this year, but there's some info on the First Friday Readings.

I know there are others, this is just where I'm starting.

Last week's Poetry Thursday prompt was about lies. I could insert one here and give a fabulous excuse as to why I'm just now getting around to writing on it. Truth is, I got lazy last week and didn't even look. And aliens abducted me. No really..they did. *grin*

Anyway, in the description for the 'day of posting' (Poetry Thursday: the dog ate it and other lies), one line caught me. I've been walking around with it for 2 days now, knowing something's brewing.

Dana wrote "But I write to get at the truth."

Whoa. Yeah, that's part of why I write, that and cartharsis. I write to keep from exploding and to ease my body. I write to cope, to come to terms or understanding with the pain and the joy that happens in my life. (I might be a little too analytical about myself.) Truth happens, somehow, but it's never the main goal.

So, after brewing for a couple days, here's where I wound up.

The truth is Words set me free.
The truth is I am Nothing
without them.
The truth is what makes the Page
is the Lie.
The truth is Honesty is
Colored
Covered
in roses, Thorns and all
So that I may find the Beauty.

Hm...okay. After rereading that...I need to chill a bit. Literally--I need to relax. I just got all angsty (by my own estimation). Oh well. it happens.

Oh..and my title come from my favorite 'attributed to Mark Twain" quote.

Check out last week's Poetry Thursday: the dog ate it and other lies for more thoughts on lies, and the people who tell them.

I love geese, from a distance. These guys look like they're waiting on something. I got all excited when this picture popped up today. It's the total opposite of how I'm feeling this week. (I know, I know..makes little sense.)

This week, I'm feeling overwhelmed, emotionally. Work's not a problem, neither is home stuff. But, the personal stuff is all over the place. Some is beautiful, some is messy. Some(one) is a beautiful mess.

Expectant.
A good bet something's out there.

Safety in numbers--
another good bet.


For other poetry snapshots, check out this week's Poetry Thursday.


Oh! And the picture came from here.

I love words. Always have. But obviously, as a writer, that makes sense, right?

On of my favorite pieces of poetry is from Emily Dickinson.

Tell all the Truth but tell it slant---
Success in Circuit lies
Too bright for our infirm Delight
The Truth's superb surprise
As Lightening to the Children eased
With explanation kind
The Truth must dazzle gradually
Or every man be blind---

Isn't this the truth? Oh man..just caught what I said.

She did 'dazzle gradually' didn't she. Took a few lines to get to her point, wonder if that was planned?

Hm..I'll be coming back to this. I know I wrote a poem years ago after first reading this one. If I can't find it, I'll just redo it...I'll be back!

For more thoughts on words, check out Poetry Thursday this week.

I've been AWOL for a couple of weeks. Well, maybe MIA. Life got in the way again, and my writing took a hit. Unfortunately. But, when it came down to choosing between getting a couple of hours of much-needed sleep and writing, sleep will win every time.

But, I should be getting back to this stuff soon. Sleep isn't being elusive anymore--for a variety of reasons.

So, over at Poetry Thursday, the theme this week was 'avoidance.' Particularly, it's poetry that we avoid--poets, time periods, genres, whatever. We all have things we avoid--I tend to avoid Chaucer, because, frankly, it hurts my head. I avoid Poe because all the poetry that was taught in my English classes was his dark stuff, similar to his dark short stories. I adore his short stories, I hate his dark poetry. I realize that not all of his poetry is dark, but what I was introduced to is, and I just won't read the rest of it.

I also avoid rhyming poetry. Ugh. I realize that to follow a particular rhyming pattern is much more difficult than to just write, but I feel so stifled when asked to rhyme. Like I'm being boxed in. And I'm claustrophobic.

So, I've no poetry to share this week...still recuperating from some other things and the creative juices are focussed there...just wanted to share.

To see more on the poetry we avoid, visit Poetry Thursday.

The prompt at Poetry Thursday this week was about bringing synaesthesia into poetry. In short, synaesthesia is a neurological condition in which the senses are coupled--so that one a person's perception of something with one sense is always connected with another sense. Hm..I'm not sure I got that down clearly. Check out this 'article.'

Anyway, I really thought I could run with this one. I read a book this summer called Blue Cats and Chartreuse Kittens which was about synaesthesia, particularly one woman's experience. It's fascinating.

I played with stuff all week..all week. I honestly think I've got a touch of synaesthesia, so I thought this would be so much easier for me than it has been. I think I'm just too focused on some other things that are distinctly not poetic this week.

So, I'm thinking about my writing. It's gotten better, more prolific the last few months. I thank the creative writing blogs and prompts that I've run across for inspiring me. I also attribute it to the people who have positively commented on what I have dared to post--wow, it's amazing what a little ego-stroking will inspire. Of course, at least some of the blame for my recent surge of writing can be placed on The Man--happiness will do that to a girl, you know?

But this post is supposed to be about synaesthesia. Allegedly. In thinking of my writing...one thing comes to mind.

When I write, really write, I feel the words on my skin. But I feel the words long before I "get" them. It's like static electricity. You know, when you get that little bit of a tingle on your skin and the hairs on your arm stand up a little bit--that feeling the kids giggle about when you do the balloon trick. It's how I know something's cooking, something's stirring.

When the words come, it's more intense. You know the feeling of the electricity in the air during a lightning storm? When the air is charged and you get the feeling that lightning could literally strike at any second, right near you? You can hear and feel the buzz and almost taste something a little coppery in the air. (Well, I can). I get that feeling when the words come at me. Sometimes, it's easy, like a slow-building rain storm. Other times, it's like it hits me...like those huge crashes of thunder your aren't expecting and shake the house, setting you off-balance for just a few seconds. Sometimes those nearly violent ones are God-sends, other times I want to run and hide.


For other thoughts about synaesthesia, visit this week's Poetry Thursday: a feast of the senses

Okay, so this week, I'm cheating a bit..again. (I call it cheating if I never manage a poem for the prompt.) I wrote the post here last week, in a response to a conversation I had with someone important to me.




For other offerings about a poet's voice, check out Poetry Thursday.

The Poetry Thursday prompt this week was "blue." I danced around it all week. I thought about the implied meanings in the color blue---sadness, calm (well, some shades), water, sky.

I looked at the sky Wednesday night and thought about how it perfectly matched the color my brother's eyes--this amazing midnight blue crayon color. He has this stained glass look to his eyes, but all in midnight blue.

I thought about my own emotions, and how I can't remember ever thinking of any one of them as anything but a shade of blue. From periwinkle to midnight to electric to cadet (yes, I know my crayon box very well).

I looked around my house, at all the blue in my furniture and decorations, and how, though I love other colors more than blue, blue is the one I seek for comfort.

So, I got around to this. I've never titled a poem before, but this one I thought needed something.

All My World

Needing the world to stop~~navy
Looking for escape~~wild blue yonder
Creature comforts...connection with my family~~midnight
What I feel with him~~blue violet
Day in, day out drudgery~~cadet
At peace~~robin's egg

Check out the colors I mentioned, and others at the Crayola site.

For more blue poetry, visit Poetry Thursday.

Music is essential in my life. A song brings back everything--memories, perspective, smiles, pain. When asked if I'd rather give up my sight or my hearing (if I had to choose), I pick sight every time. I know I could get by, and though it would hurt to not physically see the people I love, I think I'd be driven insane if I couldn't hear music. Oh, and the voices of the people I love, of course.

That's why I love music ring tones. I like having a fun thought of the person attached to the ringer when he or she calls. For my mother, I hear Merle Haggard's "Mama Tried." It used to be Ozzy's "Mama, I'm ComingHome." Teehee...my mother finds Ozzy deplorable.

For The Man, I have Christina Aguilera's new one "Ain't No Other Man." Early last Saturday, he sent me a text. I woke to his song, crying before I registered I was awake. It was the first time in just over a week he'd contacted me. I'd thought he was gone and I'd been sick with hurting. When the music started, my heart caught and I couldn't pick up the phone.

Phone rings--rockin' beat
wakes me, brings on tears. Release.
Sobbing, but hope springs.

You couldn't know. 'Ain't
no other man' hurt like you.
Better loving, now.

We're better now..still testing waters, tasting at love. But it's so much better this week.


The prompt this week for One Deep Breath was about the sound of music. Read more offerings here.

I wrote this earlier in the summer, when I looked at my summer schedule and realized I had exactly 11 days I hadn't scheduled anything on. For those of you that don't know, I'm a public school librarian. I'm not required to work all summer long, or even into the summer. Until this year, I did make it a point to go in every couple of weeks and sort the mail (which piles high in a week's time). This summer, I taught 2 sessions of summer school speech, went on a trip for church, visited the various and sundry doctors, and was at school quite a few days going over the renovation work in my library. I'd actually scheduled away my whole summer break.

Tick....tick....tick.....
goes the clock.
Ain't there supposed to be a 'tock' somewhere?
Seems like I learned that once
before.
But who has time to listen for it?

My other blog is "The Clock is Ticking." I tell people that I don't mean that clock--the one my mother claims should be getting louder for me by now. And really, I don't. I mean time is passing. And I've been letting it race by while I've packed my days. "Downtime is wasted time."

It's only been in the six weeks or so that I've been selfish with my time. I blame it on The Man (who, if you're following our story--which I'll admit I don't keep updated well--is back in the picture. Thank God.). Never before have I found myself sitting still, when I knew I had other things that needed doing.

I catch myself listening for the tock.

For other thoughts and ideas on the idea of time, visit Poetry Thursday.

Hmm...I don't know how much I like that particular title. It just feels to me like my writing is always in the rough. My words come at me in a wild attack. Sometimes they hurt---like the utterly angry things I wrote this weekend about The Man (note to self--screw men. No, really, screw 'em all. Who the hell needs 'em?). Sometimes, they bowl me over in a rush of love and laughter, like when The WonderDog barrels down the stairs into my arms. On the rarest of occasions, they whisper-step up to me and calm me. I love words.

Over at Poetry Thursday, the prompt this week is whatever you want. I've never liked open-ended assignments. Even when it comes to writing. Give me some guidelines--a page, theme, single word or idea I'm supposed to state or allude to...HELP! Don't just throw me to the wolves---um...out into the wild. Hm.

But here is what I want to share. My new friend Jason is quickly becoming one of my favorite people. He's even stepped up the last few days and given me an ear, a shoulder...whatever. A few weeks ago he shared some of his writing with me. One of them sent images to attack me. The opening lines are:

Clutching the broken fragments of glass
I bleed through my scattered faces

I could see it. The whole poem, stretched out in a black and white photograph before me. I loved it. The image I had in my head took my breath away, captured so many things. I wrote and told him he needed to illustrate some of his poetry with his original photographs (which are beautiful). I do wish he would.

I've requested permission to share the whole poem, should he give it, I'll update this post. It's...ugh...amazing.

UPDATE: Mere minutes after the initial posting of this, permission came through. Bless you, Jason.

(no title)

Clutching the broken fragments of glass
I bleed through my scattered faces
a handful of eyes looking back at me -
more imposing than the pair I so recently destroyed.
It was a weakness, a panic,
a fear of my own self-worth.
I could have turned out the light
or simply walked away, but
I stayed to fight.
I chose to kill,
and now my reflection
sits back and laughs
as I soak in defeat.

Music has been a huge part of my life. It's a refuge for me, an escape, and to some extent a magic elixir. It's brought on much needed tears, and chased them away.

This week's Poetry Thursday prompt was about songs. As silly as it sounds in my head--songs really do sing to us. Rather than write about any one particular song, I thought I'd share with you the soundtrack for my life right now. (Each of these links points to the video. Sorry they're a bit convoluted. The javascript links didn't want to work.)

Rascal Flatts - Bless The Broken Road
Okay, so I've been down some rough roads the last several years. Life's very sweet these days and I'm feeling so happy and blessed. Obviously, this has a lot to do with The Man right now. We've both been down some less than stellar roads in our lives. But it's smoothing out.

Pussycat Dolls - Buttons F/ Snoop Dogg
I'm really lovin' this song right now. It's H-O-T. (geez..I just said that, huh? Ugh. I've been around high school boys too long). Honestly, though, I wish I was this brave sometimes (read "not shy"). And I wouldn't be hurt one bit if I had the body of any one of those girls.

Rob Thomas - Ever The Same
This one is about R--my closest friend the last few years. Out of necessity, our relationship has changed. I don't think either of us is very happy about it. But, we'll always be important to the other. This song reminds me of that.

Christina Aguilera - Ain't No Other Man
This the ringtone on my cell for The Man. Teehee. (Please let me know if this young love crap gets sickening)

Hoobastank - If I Were You
I'm not really sure what it is about Hoobastank's song that gets me. I really like it though. Makes me think about all the things I should be doing--like appreciating some things more.

Panic! At The Disco - I Write Sins Not Tragedies
I'm not a huge Panic fan, but I like this one. The video's fabulous, visually, but I love the line "I'd chime in with a "Haven't you people ever heard of closing the g** damn door?!" There's a life lesson if I ever heard one.

Dixie Chicks - Not Ready To Make Nice
I think the jist here for me is that I'm tired of backing down and playing along. I've not been selfish with myself often enough. I've probably pissed a few people off, but oh well.

LeAnn Rimes - Something's Gotta Give
This is my life for the last couple of years. Except for the cat named Jake. *wink*

Pink - Stupid Girls
I work in a high school. It's not the girls who have good heads on their shoulders that worry me. It's the "stupid" ones.

Nickelback - Far Away
Warm fuzzies

Switchfoot - Stars
In this whole 'discovering' myself phase I'm in, this song reminds me of my place in the mystery of the world.

Gretchen Wilson - California Girls
Remember, it's okay to be yourself. Especially if that self is a little bit redneck. *wink*

For more Poetry Thursday offerings this week, click here.