Mag #46 - Riding

Riding:
Black leather gloves
Wrap around my fingers
My fingers wrap around the reins
I am drawn to the dangerous, dark horse
On top and in control of all
That power beneath me
Oh, the thrill of
Riding

I have used the Rictameter form here, which is composed of 9 lines. The lines have a set number of syllables, 2-4-6-8-10-8-6-4-2, and the first and last word are the same.

Sunday Scribblings #257 - Manifesto

Presto: Manifesto

My manifesto for 2010 was this blog. It was actually inspired by watching Julie and Julia at my sister-in-law’s Christmas-ish gathering. The goal was a poem a week – 50 poems by year’s end (two weeks off). I have both kept and broken that resolution. There were times when I only had one entry in a month. But looking back I have written 51 new poems this year. And maybe 52, if I can come up with something now, so watch below:

Twenty-eleven
Write more, love more and give more-
My manifesto

For me that is a successful resolution! Yay me!

Merry Christmas!


I heard the bells on Christmas Day.
Their old familiar carols play.
And wild and sweet the words repeat.
Of peace on earth goodwill to men.
-Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Thank you all for reading and commenting - you're great!

Winter Solstice

On the first day of winter,
the earth awakens to the cold touch of itself.
Snow knows no other recourse except
this falling, this sudden letting go...

-Laura Lush

Dark December - Sunday Scribblings #246

This is a poem I wrote awhile back, but it fits today's topic for Sunday Scribblings, so here it is:


Dark December

In her holy dance
Earth turns away,
From light
From warmth
From life

With each inspiration
Of cold, sharp air
Our lungs ache

Visible breath,
Ghost at our lips,
Dissipates
Leaving jewels of condensation
On all it touches

The austere landscape
Is covered by
A night sky
Of extravagant beauty.
Hung with precious diamonds
Pulsing with joy

As we run
Tears freeze in our eyes
Cold burns our ears
We taste darkness;
No light
No warmth
No life

Yet this is the dark of hope-
The cold that sets the bulbs-
The death that brings forth resurrection-

What are we running from?
Grace surrounds us.

Come Away - Octain,

Ok, I'm trying another new poetic form. This one was invented by Luke Prater from http://lukepraterswordsalad.wordpress.com/2010/12/14/breathe/ The form is called an Octain, and is 8 lines with iambac tetrameter (that's 8 syllables, four units of unstressed, stressed) or trochaic tetrameter (that's 8 syllables, four units of stressed, unstressed per line) and the rhyme scheme is rather intricate:
A
B
B

A
C/C (an internal rhyme)
A

B
C

I used the iambic tetrameter, but..er...with a little lattitude. If you read both, you will notice they are exatly the same except for the placement of two words in the final line. Note what a big change in meaning that little change in typing makes. 

#1
Oh, won’t you come away with me?
Just take my hand and squeeze it tight
We’ll jump a train; we'll ride all night

Your life is locked – I have the key
The paradox is fortune knocks
At times when we are least ready

But in your heart you know it’s right
Oh, won’t you come away with me?

#2
Oh, won’t you come away with me
Just take my hand and squeeze it tight
We’ll jump a train; we'll ride all night

Your life is locked – I have the key
The paradox is fortune knocks
At times when we are least ready

But in your heart you know I’m right
Oh, you won’t come away with me.

Just a final observation: When writing in any very structured format, I feel less in control of what comes out of my pen (or keyboard). Sometimes the poem I end up with surprises me, which can be fun! Thank you Luke.
Also linked to One Stop Poetry just click the title.

Mag #45a (as in again)

Ok, I couldn't resist that last Magpie take on the pic; I'm obviously counting on God having a sense of humor. She must, just look at congress...but I digress. Here is a slightly more serious take on the it.



It is the light
Within the temple
Shining out
Which is the
Source
Of
Miraculous beauty

Mag #45

Hey everyone - it's a GIRL!

Sunday Scribblings - Limits

Limits:
When do I reach
The line I dare not cross
Teetering on the edge - will I
Risk it all and fall into the abyss
Or will I pull back from the ledge
Just in time to live a
Smaller life of
Limits

I need to give credit here. I came across the information on this poetic form called Rictameter at a blog called Wordsalad by Luke Prater which can be found here:
http://lukepraterswordsalad.wordpress.com/2010/10/21/let-me/
He explains it as well, but the format is dictated by the number of syllables per line: 2-4-6-8-10-8-6-4-2 and the first and last lines are the same. Thanks Luke.

Potluck Poetry #14 - The Chess Game

This is one I wrote earlier, but I'm doing a rerun for Potluck. My first Petrarchan sonnet.

Set up the board and choose a side - you're white
And I am black. Let's start this game of chess.
So as your pawn moves out I must confess,
My mind grows dim, although my eyes shine bright,
And then I send my troops in to the fight.
I look and plan and move then feel the stress,
Of knowing I will soon be in a mess,
And I'm unable to avoid this plight.
You are superior to me by far,
Your nimble brain is way ahead of mine
In planning moves so far across the board.
Confused, I'm falling like a shooting star;
You calculate, and wear a hapless guise,
Then pierce my king through with your mighty sword.

First Snow

Last night we had a blizzard here in western Wisconsin. The entire state was advised not to travel, so we sat inside all cozy and warm watching the snow swirl and listening to the wind wail. This morning we awoke to about a foot of snow glistening in the bright morning sun. I have always felt this time of year approaching the solstice is special, whether you observe the return of the Son or the Sun. And it also brings to mind one of my favorite witer quotes:


I am younger each year at the first snow. When I see it, suddenly, in the air, all little and white and moving; then I am in love again and very young and I believe everything. - Anne Sexton

Wild Ride - Magpie Tales #44

We start at the top -
One great push
And we’re off!
Gathering momentum
We sail through
A chaos of cold
With the rope
Twisted ‘round your frozen fingers
My feet push
One way then another
Steering together
Through crazy twists and turns
Over wild bumps and humps
Until the end when we fall apart
Breathless and laughing
---
Darling, let’s go again!

Bedtime Stories - Jingle Poetry Potluck

Somewhere out in Nowhere Land a songbird waits for me,
And sings of things that never were, and that will never be.
I’m smitten with the music that he warbles sweet and clear.
He’s in the treetops high above, and yet he sounds so near;
And if I close my eyes and rest
I feel wings flutter in my chest
And magic places far away in space and time seem near,
Like they’re more real than my home, and what’s around me here.

Princes bright and dragons bold fight battles round my bed,
And giant ogres want to grind my bones to make their bread.
Witches cackle, donkeys bray and cats wear leather boots,
Children run through forests, and play tunes on magic flutes.
Then knights and trolls and goats come out to skip across the floor,
And Irish women selling clams clap hands and call for more.
So bears and pigs and wolves join paws and dance ‘round in a ring,
And mermaids swim up to the shore to hear the sirens sing.
Old men grow young, and strong and straight,
Whilst black birds argue and debate.

And it does not seem strange to me; I do not feel perplexed.
I shake my head and laugh and wait, to see what happens next.
Then the moon smiles down at me and asks me to come swim.
The stars agree. ”The air is fine,” they say, ”so come on in.”
I dip my toe into the sky, and it does feel just right
And so I close my eyes and dive head-long in to the night.

Mag #43

Kiss me quick
Before someone
Answers the door

Sunday Scribblings #243 - Antidote

Sometimes the antidote for all the complex concerns of modern of modern life is a little foolishness. With that in mind:

How can I find
An Antidote
When I don't even know
The Dote?

Poetry Potluck - Nature: Plants, Creatures, the Cosmos

Phases of the Moon

I have been out with the full moon,
Out among the revelers:
We dance and sing-
Cavorting beasties
On a microscope slide,
Bright and shining;

The sounds of clinking glasses,
And Laughter –
Silly, flirtatious and hearty-
Fill my head with ‘other’
It is great fun.

But now, as the moon wanes
And empties itself of light,
I too, shed the lights of society.
Donned to impress, attract,
The glittering mask,
Of my social self,
Is left at the door
To the party.

I run into new-moon dark,
No longer held by the
Bright silver circle of society
But free to explore the vast heavens,
I delve deep
Into the spaces between
The stars

The moon does not diminish,
When no longer circumscribed
By sun’s reflected light.
Matter mingles with spirit,
Flows out
Into the night-
And so do I.

Mag #42 - The Victor

Empty loving cup
Bitter reminder of a
Hollow victory

Then Winter - Poetry Potluck

This is one I wrote some time ago. It's a cold, misty day today, which feels just right for this. I also think it fits, sort of, into the poetry potluck category.


Then Winter

Trees stand cold as iron;
Mist, like tattered souls
Wraps ‘round limbs,
Blows through branches,
Gathers and swirls
Thick in one spot
Above the pond.

From the center rises
A ghost-pale woman,
Hair and eyes grey like smoke.
She whisks off
In a great hurry;
Translucent robes
Stream out behind.
She is bone-cold
And world weary
There is anguish in her eyes -
No ‘rest in peace’ for her.

She is wind,
Blue-grey and icy,
Chasing autumn south,
Making way for winter,
Frost at her heels.
She must rush
Or it will encase her
In a brittle, crystalline statue of herself -
Then winter…winter.

A Lunch Alone

This one just sort of came to me what I was trying to write something else.

A Lunch Alone

I sit at the Formica counter
Battered, and somewhat worse for wear
The sticky menu
Holds evidence of meals past,
Grease from the #3 special
(3 eggs, 3 sausages, and hash browns)
And syrup from a short stack

What do I want?
I stare into my cup of coffee
Old and bitter,
Its surface sheen glistening
Like an oil slick
Under the fluorescent lights
I lean my elbows on the counter
Waiting
For someone to take my order

The voices all around me
Cannot pierce
The invisible barrier
I have erected around myself
To keep out the messy world
Of human interactions
So I am able to sit
Amongst all the people
In this crowded diner
And have
A lunch
Alone

Mag #41

The patina of age
Cannot hide the fact that
The eleventh hour
Has come
Waiting
Has not served us well
Poised
Here on the edge
Of too late
We melt
We burn

While
Bleak old men scurry through dark
Musty corridors
Trailing papers in their
Wake
As the clock
Strikes

Poetry Potluck - Moods, Feelings and Emotions

Here is my offering for Poetry Potluck. Just fyi, the HD I quote in the poem is Hilda Doolittle, a wonderful American poet. She was an ex-pat, and I believe the line of hers below refers to England at the time of WWII.


Empty

Some days
The words don’t come
And the rain does
As HD said
Inspiration stalks us
Through gloom
But she is not always a good tracker
And the page remains
As empty as
My heart

Sunday Scribblings #241 - Bright Idea

My bright idea is actually dark. The dark of the night sky to be precise. I love the stars and the night sky. This is a piece I actually wrote awhile ago, but I think it can fit into the bright idea category. I live out in the country and got tired of not being able to see the stars from my yard because of the bright yard light that is standard issue from the power company. Then finally I called and made them take it down. Here is my offering:

Starry Night

When I lie awake,
And sleep won’t come
I walk out the door
Into the inky, blue-black sky
Of 3:00 AM
And look up
To find the stars
In their places.

Not far off
I hear the roar and swish
Of Highway 8.
Who is behind
The head lights that
Slice the night?
The baker
Speeds to work;
Soon her sweet rolls will
Will be taken
All over town.
A semi carries
Crates of round, red apples
In from Washington.
I hear them in the dark,
And look up to the sky
Where Orion greets me.

I’m told
Those in
Tokyo,
London,
New York
Can not see the stars
For the garish, sodium lights
We set between
Ourselves and the heavens.
And so the insomniac in Tokyo
Can take no comfort
From Perseus;
Ursa does not wink
At the nocturnal Londoner;
And Polaris
Cannot guide
The wanderer through New York

Darkness and light
Must be together
To be seen,
Felt,
Known.
To have
The jewel-bright lights
We must also admit
The dark
And when we shut out the dark,
Or medicate it away,
We are trading
The beautiful
Heaven-full of stars
For a puny night-light
Of our own
Design.

And so I call
The utility company-
And tell them
To take their light
From my yard,
So When I lie awake
And sleep won’t come,
For thinking of you,
I walk out the door
Into the inky, blue-black sky
Of 3:00 AM
And look up
To find the stars
In their places.

Mag # 40

After the party

She carelessly set aside

The trappings of her

Disguise

Potluck Poetry #9 - Buildings, Landmarks, Monuments

This is one of those poems that isn't finished yet. If it wasn't for the Potluck I would probably just let this one sit on the desk for awhile. I can't decide if I want to go with the strong meter at the start, or go blank, ditto with the rhyme. I haven't even settled on a title yet! So, if anyone has (gentle) suggestions please let me know. Thanks!

The Fortress

We are builders,
All
Who struggle every day
Stacking stones around ourselves
The fortress must hold strong
Whether to protect our overflowing treasure
Or hide the barren rooms, once full
We must guard against those
Who dare come too near
The risk is so great
The cost so dear
So you will understand
Why I can not
Let you
In

Sunday Scribblings #240 - Friction

Here is a quick little post for the writing prompt 'friction'

He left her wondering:
Is this true love
Or merely friction?

Six Word Saturdays

I have just stumbled across another cute little weekly writing prompt called Six Word Saturday. One writes six words, with or without a picture to tell about one's life at the moment, or in general. So, even though it's Sunday, here are my six words:

Fuzzy with details...how many words?

Mag # 39

The chicken looked at me
Imperiously
And said
Don’t try to distract me
With that
‘Sky is falling’ shit -
Those are my babies
Scrambled on your plate
Barbarian!

Potluck Poetry #8 - Halloween

Here is a charming little Haiku for Potluck Poetry just past the nick of time! Darn. Oh well...here it is anyway:

Halloween

Zombies roam the night
I have my heart in my mouth-
Oh no, must be yours!

Juxtaprocrastination

Today's word is juxtaposition.

The living and the dead
Together
Compose our world
Naturally

Actually today's word is procrastinate, which is what I'm doing now. Bad, bad me! Back to work.

Another Favorite Quote:

Inspiration stalks us through gloom. -HD, Trilogy

#239 - Intense, Sunday Scribblings

I had trouble coming up with something for the prompt 'intense.' Guess I was feeling more lacksidasical. I started toying with it first, word-play:
Intense/ In tents/ In tenths/ In tent city
But I think I have finally come up with a rather intense little poem:


Ember eyes burning
Bitter hands clenching

Screaming:
So close
I smell tunafishsandwich
From lunch

Screaming:
So loud
I can’t hear a word

Screaming:
Uncontrollably
The words pour out
I can’t stop

Quotation re: poets

Poets are not afraid to drown. -Janet Frame

I don't know quite what this means, or why I am so drawn to it. Any ideas?

Magpie Tales #38

She entered the cemetery,
And ran a finger
Casually
Along the top of a tombestone
As she passed.

The chill night air
Blew back her short red dress,
Blew through her long red hair,
As she lifted her face
To the full moon
And smiled.

She stepped over
A tipped and broken headstone.
Stopped at the next,
A pristine marker,
And sat
Her shapely bottom down.

She pulled off her heels,
Stood
Throwing the shoes aside
And danced.

Poetry Potluck, love

I just found something called Poetry Potluck. Their writing prompt for this week is 'Love and Romance.' It actually made me think of a poem I already wrote...for Sunday Scribblings, so here is that one and another. :o)

Love
It strikes like a bolt of lightening
Out of the blue;
And we are left,
Wondering where to hide the bodies.


Let’s Pretend

Let’s pretend then, you and I
That we have wings and we can fly
Fast and far and wide and high
Up to the sun; all through the sky.

Let’s pretend then, you and me
That we can live beneath the sea
We’ll swim and float and wander free
And meet with octopi for tea.

Let’s pretend then, me and you
That we can love when the moon is new
Under the stars, in the cool, wet dew
And never doubt, or be untrue.
You won’t hurt me, I won’t hurt you.

Yes, let’s pretend….

Sunday Scribblings #238 - Curious

The Sunday Scribblings writing prompt 'Curious' made me think of The Olde Curiosity Shoppe, how curiosity killed the cat and how, for Alice, things got 'curiouser and curiouser.' Then, in a sutiably playful mood, I started thinking of things that made me curious, made me wonder:


Did you ever wonder
‘Bout when the world was new?
Or how to build a storm cloud
Using only frowns and dew?

And how do plants remember
To flower every spring
Do they consult a calendar?
Or tie a knot with string?

And what goes on inside that egg
Before the bird breaks free?
I’d use feathers, love and duct tape
If it was up to me

And Sun remembers every day
Just when to set and rise
What sort of watch does he possess
To carry through the skies?

So many curiosities
Are all around us here,
Some great and grand, some humble -
I wonder… don’t you, Dear?

Autumn

One more autumn picture for now.

I live in the middle of nowhere, and this time of year especially, it's a lovely place to be!

Cascade Poem

Somewhere out there in the blosisphere I read about cascade poems. I don't remember where or any other specifics, but the form is that each line of the first stanze is used as the final line in each of the following stanzas. So, the form would be
A
B
C

a
b
A

c
d
B

e
f
C

So, here is my rough draft of that form...a bit more difficult than I thought it would be. I'll try to do some editing after sleeping on it for a night or two.

Cascade Poem

While walking along the path today,
And watching the dancing leaves,
I somehow lost my way

I watched the dappled sunshine fall
In abstract patterns at my feet
While walking along the path today

Beneath my feet the path diverged;
I paused, feeling the wind on my face
And watching the dancing leaves

With the day coming to a close
And purple shadows growing long,
I somehow lost my way

Welcome Traveler

Not terribly happy with this, but evidence that I am trying to write. Um...I just finished reading The Hobbit and...well, maybe that has a little bit of influence on what I'm writing today.

Welcome Traveler

Won’t you stay
For a crust and a cup?
Have a seat,
Have a sup
My hearth is warm
Outside it’s cold
Come on inside
That’s not too bold
Won’t you stay
For a cup and a crust
Is this true love
Or merely lust?
Either way
Come, stay

Something to Consider:

I found this quote on another blog, and am not quite sure what proper blogger etiquette is regarding using a quote found elsewhere. But this is so intriguing I feel compelled to place it here:

Poets are not afraid to drown. Janet Frame

Sunday Scribbling: Harvest

This week the writing prompt is 'harvest.' I could talk about pumpkins and corn and wheat, but why do that when I can wax morose?

In the autumn
I gather my sorrows
Until the field is empty
Exhausted
I wipe my forehead
With the back of my hand
And look at the stubble
All around me
I smell dirt and
Barrenness

My shoulders stoop
Under the weight
Of my bitter harvest.
Downcast,
I draw no comfort
From the thought that
Come spring
I will once again
Sew my field
With regret

Autumn haiku

Here is a haiku. Pretty simple, but I like the play on words.


Oh the autumn leaves
Such extravagant beauty
As the autumn leaves

Here is a little sonnet for October:

October

October skies are smiling down on me,
And golden birch leaves counterpoint the space
With dapples against lapis lazuli;
The sun’s indulgent rays caress my face.
The earth reacts with bird and beast and tree-
Both blood and sap respond with changing pace.

At night October’s skies are clear and cold.
As evening falls the temperature does too,
And frosty fingers reach out to enfold
Each branch and blade and rock in frozen dew.
His winds displace and chase away the old
To leave a barren palette for the new.

So are these days more precious to the heart
For knowing they will all too soon depart?

Fear of Intimacy

It's a great morning! It's Friday! I have no pressing responsibilities and no place I have to be until Sunday. I'm thinking in iambic meter :o)
It's one of those georgeous fall days in the Midwest - sun shining, leaves turning. I have a cup of good, strong coffee at hand, Emma at my feet and life is generally good; so naturally this inspires me to write a 'downer' poem, lol. Go figure.


You frighten me
My guard is up
I’m not letting you in

I pull my fears
Around me close,
Just like a second skin

And there you sit,
Smug smile in place,
Assured that you will win

You pour a glass
For each of us
-Always how you begin…

We thrust and parry
Back and forth;
I can't help it, I grin

That’s close enough,
Arm’s length for you.
Let’s just enjoy our gin

Entreatingly
You look at me;
Resolve starts wearing thin

My fears recede
As you advance -
My head now starts to spin

Then I decide
It’s worth the risk
And finally let you in.

Empty

Here is a little offering. The lines, "Inspiration stalks us/ through gloom" are from HD's Trilogy. It's an amazing piece. I just went back and read it again, and it leaves me awed. HD you rock!

Empty

Some days
The words don't come
And the rain does
As HD said
Inspiration stalks us
Through gloom
But she is not always a good tracker
And the page remains
As empty as
My heart

Sunday Scribblings #234 - Love

Love

It strikes like a bolt of lightening
Out of the blue;
And we are left,
Wondering where to hide the bodies

Random Question:

Why does Oktoberfest in LaCrosse start in September???
Am I the only one who thinks that's odd? Just wondering.

Autumn

It isn't officially autumn for a couple days, but it feels and looks and smells like fall in Wisconsin today. This is a poem I wrote awhile ago that I still like. I think it describes September in Wisconsin pretty well.

September

September is the turning time.
As Monarchs move to warmer lands
They foreshadow
Flashing, falling leaves
Of Autumn’s cloak.

She empties her cupboards
Feeding us left-over summer,
Grown limp and wilted
Towards the end,
Making room for fresh fall days
And mellow nights.

She is generous with her garden.
Treasure lies buried in potato hills,
Round, red raspberries bejewel bushes,
And golden mums heap
Beyond the wildest dreams of Midas.

September gives us faith.
There is enough;
We can move past the point
Where light and shadow
Balance on the fulcrum
Of autumnal equinox.

Then scarlet Sumacs
Wave good bye to Summer
And beckon Autumn, “Come.”

Emma

This all started through procrastination. This morning when I couldn't sleep I was looking at Sunday Scribblings, thinking I'll get in there early and do their weekly writing prompt. Well, this week's word is 'Treatment' and nothing much stirred in the 'little grey cells.' Soooo I decided to look at last week's word, since I didn't then, when last week's word was this week's (got that? good, glad one of us does). So, last week the writing prompt was 'Wait' and I looked at a few other people's peices on waiting, and started thinking about it. And then I started thinking about things worth waiting for.
And then Emma, my 12-year-old, Chocolate Lab-bat cross, who can tell time, comes to me, wagging and expectant at 6:42 AM. Meal times for Emma are 7:00 AM and 5:00 PM, but she lives in hope. She lives in hope that I will ignore the curse of the digital time read out at the lower right corner of my computer screen and just FEED HER! So I caress her head, scratch her ear, look into those lovely brown eyes - and melt. For Emma the wait is over. And my procrastination, which has led to musings on waiting has led finally to a little poem about hope!

Emma sits
Beside the dish
Hoping
I will forget
That meal time is
At 7:00
Hoping
At 6:42.
But I do not forget -
I relent

Prose Poem - Tracking

I think with some work this could be a good one:

Tracking

This morning
I open the door
Step out
And push through
The new-fallen snow.
It’s already tracked
By deer, and rabbit and squirrel.
I follow their tracks
Through the yard,
Across the garden
And into the field.

Tracks are clues,
Tell-tale signs;
And what do my tracks
Reveal?
Where have I been
And what have I done?
Can you tell?

From the right perspective,
And with enough distance,
We can see
Our tracks form patterns,
Both intricate and haphazard.
They meet and mingle
With the tracks of others,
And those points
Of intersection
Are the most alarming
And lovely
Of all.

Belated Thanks

I would also like to thank my nagging sister-in-law, Flash, for afore mentioned nagging!

Back Again/ Bach Again

Well, here we are again (that's me speaking to my tape worm). I have given myself 40 lashes with the proverbial wet noodle, and am back for another go.
It's August...the second half of August...speeding toward September! Yikes! It's funny how time works. It's tricky. Stretching out when you have nothing to do, and then suddenly racing by when you're busy and not looking. I came across a funny quote, "I try to take one day at a time, but occasionally several days gang up and attack me at once." -Jennifer Unlimited.

So, here is a poem that has nothing to do with time, but with the feelings of isolation or connectedness. Go figure...

Connect

Morning light angles across the room
Bright and harsh
Showing every fingerprint and dust mote,
Intensifying the blue of the bowl
And the yellow of the buttercups,
Warming the back of my hand,
As it moves across the page,
Filling up the blank space.

Birdsong comes in the window;
Sound does not travel through a vacuum,
And we are not separate, discrete, alone
Like stepping stones in a pond.
Look below the water,
Beneath the surface,
The stones may turn out to be
Ridges of one big rock formation,
High points.

And so today,
I have this sunshine
And a very old block of crumbly cheddar
And the small, smooth stone
Surrounded by water
But underneath, a part of something larger
As I fill the blank page

I'm Baaaaack!

Ack! What ever made me think I (or my life) was interesting enough to do a blog??? Big mistake! And, I've been away for so long I forgot my password, and how to get in here!

Haiku

Adventure over;
Prodigal child, head hung low,
I make my way back

Ok, I haven't written here in ages. Guilt. Lashings with wet noodles.
Now...out in the real world, the biggest thing happening in my life, I guess, is that Kate, my beautiful daughter, is in Mexico for the summer. She is learning that she still has a lot to learn about understanding the Spanish language, and is taking classes there for the next 9 weeks.
The other biggest thing is that Mike, my amazing son, graduated. From college. No, I'm not really that old. Yes, that's my story and I'm sticking to it. And...yes, he will be moving back home. At least for a little while.
So, here is a sonnet that has nothing to do with any of that :o)


Light and Shadow

The sun comes out and beams his smile at me
And I return his grin in Cheshire style
The light shines down on everything I see
Exposing every detail without guile
And while I know this lovely light to be
Beneficent, I am not in denial
The lovely silver moon’s what I prefer.
The softer sister who inhabits night
Who’s lesser light is striking, yet demure
She lets the shadows coexist with light,
Yet keeps her place among the stars secure.
Together light and shadow make the whole
Just like confused impulses of my soul.

November poems in May O.o

Well, it's a beautiful May day; warm, sunny. Things are starting to bloom. I have been digging in the garden, planting flowers. I used sun glasses and sunscreen. So, what am I inspired to write about?
This:

November Inside and Out

Because the skies are steely-cold and bare
I hunch my shoulders, hug myself, and sigh.
November's underside can bring despair
When muted greys form land and lake and sky.
The geese forsake this damp and dreary place
They're harbingers of darker times ahead.
In honking tatters, flapping out through space
As wistfully, I watch and lose my thread
Of thought. I drag my eyes back to the page
Where half-formed words and longings hide from me,
Not yet mature, but in a dormant stage
My mind, my words reflecting all I see.
This is the season to prepare the ground
So later buried treasures may be found

(Now with this one, I'm not quite happy with the phrase 'not yet mature' because if I am comparing my thoughts to things in November that doesn't fit. In November the natural world is decaying and dying, coming to the end of it's cycle rather than immature. So...that's something to think about. I'm pretty happy with the rest of it though, I even have a line break in the middle of the part about losing the thread of my thought.)

And here's another:

Untitled

Observe-
How lovely the leaves
As they die
Brilliant reds and yellows
Nature takes a lavish curtain call
But lest we forget,
The show is not for us,
Though by grace
We are allowed to watch
Anyway

Yup, that's a pretty good example of my logical thought process
(or lack thereof).

BP Traveling Show

So, it’s been so long since I wrote anything here that I forgot my password. As I jumped through the hoops to enable a new password (I have obviously done something wrong, as it has taken 47 minutes at this point) I have gone from impatience to anger to frustration to irony. Oh well.
Now, I don’t generally do political/current event commentary poems, but with the recent British Petroleum oil spill I make an exception. I have been through a string of emotions from surprise to impatience to anger to disbelief to anger to more disbelief. But I’ll spare you the ranting, and leave this little comparison that recently popped to mind.

BP Traveling Show

Do a little dance
Some fancy foot work
Tip your hat
Twirl around
Watch closely everyone…
Nothing up my sleeve –
Now you see it,
Now you don’t
And now for the old soft shoe,
As the band plays on…
Exit, stage right.

Shadows Fall

Um....I have been away from this so long I forgot my password! So, vacation, computer in the shop (for 12 DAYS!!!), um...the dog ate my homework.... Ok, so much for the litany of excuses. Anyway, here is a happy little piece (not really):

Shadows Fall

Shadows fall
Across my path,
Sharp spring winds
Remind me of winter's bite,
And the sky remains hidden
Behind grey clouds.
The threat is there
But I weep alone

Old Stuff

So, here it is mid-March, which is not to be confused with Middlemarch - a rather formidable read at least for me). So, I feel compelled to say Beware the Ides of March! But not compelled to say, or write, much else. For that reason I'm going to post a poem about March that I wrote a couple years ago and still like.


March teases us with glimpses of spring,
Toying with our affections;
One day all sunshine and smiles
The next, throwing a snowy snit.
Or she can be mysterious,
Shrouding herself in fog.
Buds and grasses green
At times, in spite of her.

We see the sins winter has hidden
Now laid bare before us:
November's leavings,
With the floatsam and jetsam
Of our own humanity
The first flies buzz, sun-drunk
Reminding us there are advantages
To the dead time.

The frozen ground softenes;
A few brave Snowdrops
Shoulder their way through.
Resurrection is hard work.

Secrets

I have been thinking about secrets lately. The good and the bad of them. And when does a secret change from some lovely, hidden gem into poison? For it seems they become radioactive... Now it brings to mind a foreign bit trapped deep under the skin, that causes infection. The area grows sore to the touch, full of puss. Then finally it bursts, and only after it has been thoroughly cleaned out and open to the air and sunlight, does healing begin.
But of course, there are lovely secrets too...precious little things that make us feel special or confident or loved. And then too, there is the fall-out after a secret has been told....
Well, here is a first little poem about secrets.

Secret Keeper

Secret keeper
Secret maker
Secret giver
Secret taker
Who do you tell your secrets to?
Do you drop a hint, leave a clue?
Is your silence golden?
Or are you beholdin’
to someone you’ve shared with
someone you’ve cared with
someone who’s helped to ease you mind
someone who's understanding and kind,
for what we all seem to want
is a true and trusted confidante
but I thought the keeper of your secret key
was a job you would entrust to me

Wise Words

Soooo....here's what a couple pretty impressive guys said about poetry:


A poet's work is to name the unnamable, to point at frauds, to take sides, start arguments, shape the world, and stop it going to sleep. - Salman Rushdie


The best theories are poetic creations. -Stephen Hawking

Free Verse Poem #2

Free Verse Poem #2

There is this lovely house
I drive past every day
So cozy and inviting -
Yard and garden neatly tended.
I thought of the joy
Within those walls,
And envied that family
Just a little.
Until one day
Driving by with a friend
I saw a FOR SALE sign
In that well-kept yard.
My friend just
Shook her head
‘So sad’ she said
I looked perplexed
And then she said,
‘Oh, didn’t you hear?
He beat his wife to death
With a garden spade.’

Free verse poem #1

So, February is over. It's March. The short poem/short month idea didn't pan out so well. This month I'm just going to try to write a lot. A lot of poems. So far I have two poems which I'm not terribly pleased with, but maybe by the end of the month, if I keep it up, there will be a few that I like. So, here is the first... I actually wanted to talk about appearance vs. reality, but it ended up a little off kilter in both poems. Still, maybe the next one will come closer to the mark.

Pretty as a Picture?

From the outside
Looking in
We make a pretty picture -
One could almost say
A work of art.
But all that’s seen
From that vantage point
(From the outside
Looking in)
Is a flat, varnished finish;
No one can see
What’s beneath the surface
Or the way the colors
Have run and separated -
Not so much a masterpiece
As a failed still-life.

Weddings and Funerals

So here is something really dumb that I did last weekend:

We had a busy weekend coming up. An out of town wedding, Tom's cousin's daughter was going to be married in Madison and we were going to stay overnight at a nearby hotel. Before going though we had a wake to attend Friday night. It was a man who we barely knew, who lived a few miles down the road from us - which counts as a neighbor out here in the middle of nowhere. Also, his grandson is a good friend of our son. So, on Friday I shop for groceries and pick up, so things are ready for the house sitter, who is actually needed to care for the dog, not the house, but is still referred to as a house sitter (or as Derek). Also, I am so organized that I buy cards for the upcoming events ahead, instead of detouring to pick one up on the way to each event. So, Friday night, I sign the first card and stuff money in the envelope in the parking lot of the funeral parlor, just before walking in. (I can't be totally organized, you know!) We go in, meet, greet, extend our sympathies and head home to pack. The next morning we leave for the wedding at the crack of 11:00 AM. We still get there in time to check into the hotel first, where we meet a cousin of Tom's and his wife (aka Scutter and Mary Kay). So, by mutual concent they ride to the wedding with us. Once again in the parking lot right before the service, I sign the card and stuff money in the envelope. Just as I stick the card in I notice on the front it says 'With Deepest Sympathy'
I show Tom. He very helpfully screams, 'You're the one who filled out the cards!' Yes dear. (so glad he reminded me that this is totally MY FAULT) So, now as I'm trying to remember just what the other card said (something like 'As You Begin Your New Life?) Mary Kay sees the card and begins to cackle. Then we are all laughing, but inside I die a little. Tom suggests we send a card from home, and no one will ever know the difference. Good plan, until we walk in and say hi to the father of the bride, Emma. (No, it's not a really hip and liberal family, Emma is a very misguided nickname for 'John'. Anyway, before we even say hi, Mary Kay blares loud enough for everyone in the county to hear, "Tell him about the card!" Well, what can I do? I can think of several options but only one that's not a felony, so I tell the whole story. We laugh until we cry. By the end of the evening every guest at the wedding knows, and I'm wondering if there is an equivalent of a witness protection program for people who commit stupid,social blunders. And, I'm also thinking about how to apologize to the people on the funeral end of this debacle.
Back home the next afternoon I call the widow, Mary, to explain and apologize profusely. She is so nice about it; laughs then says she doesn't remember seeing any wedding cards. But she is just going to write thank you cards this afternoon, and will let me know when she comes across my card. About 90 seconds later I get a call back from Mary. She tells me I sent her a very nice SYMPATHY card. So, good news - bad news. I didn't screw up both events this weekend, but I confessed for no reason. Here I could have had one person not realize what a disorganized nut-job I am. Oh well. Of course, the real mystery is: What happened to the wedding card? I have two theories on this.
1. When I picked up the sympathy card I accidentally grabbed two, and there is still a wedding card floating around somewhere in the depths of my purse, or
2. The wedding card I bought actually changed on a molecular level, and transformed into a sympathy card - which, I believe, does not bode well for that marriage!

Ok, lots of silly stuff, not a lot of paragraphs, and no poetry! The next entry here will be a poem - I promise!

Random Comments

Random Comments:

The problem with pushing the envelope too much is that eventually the envelope rips, and then you are left with a torn envelope, which is not much use to anyone.

Only in Wisconsin is 38F/4C temp. considered appropriate weather to go outside without a coat!

If what I thought up is a good idea, is what you thought of a good yourdea?

A favorite quote of mine:
Sometimes I've believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast. -Lewis Carroll

'Lyrics' Poem

So, Flash, my sister-in-law, set me a challenge - to make a poem from lyrics of different songs. It sounded pretty fun, until I started thinking about all the different songs, and wondering how to narrow down the choices to a managable number. I hemmed and hawed and agonized over it long enough, that she decided to give me a helping hand. About a week ago we met for dinner, where she produced a large envelope with the words 'Mission Impossible' scrawled across it. Even though she warned me that the contents would self destruct upon opening, I looked inside. There I found a CD and printed lyrics of 18 songs she had chosen for me. So, with that in mind I went home, listened and read and pondered. Then I chose a bunch of other songs and wrote the poem that follows.

(Note to Flash: I am currently working on a poem based on your songs, and will post that soon :o) I can't do things the normal way, after all!)

Clarification: I used lyrics verbatim, with the exception of anything in parenthesis. Usually these are pronouns or articles that I have changed for agreement, etc.

Lyrics Poem #1

Shoeless I go through life
Spinning in (my) emptiness
(But) I don't regret a thing

I've been living in a sea of anarchy
Beneath the pale moonlight
And there's such a lot of world to see

On shooting stars
(I) sailed (a)cross the wilderness,
Touching things that say do not touch

The tolling of the iron bell
Calls the faithful to their knees
With dark foregodings

Tell me when will I learn to resist
Wanting things
When the stars are bright

Somehow it seems colder now-
I spoke too soon
And how much did it cost?

I want to go back to
Believeing in everything
And knowing nothing at all

Men are a mystery
Even to themselves
But in my life, I love you more...

(Mixed up lyrics from Floyd, Beetles, Cheryl Crow, Maroon 5, Incubus and The Olympics, Evanescence, Jethro Tull)

Sunday Scribblings - Message

Some weeks earlier in my parsuings I found a site called Sunday Scribblings.
Basically they give a word for anyone who chooses to write about each week. There are also a number of people who participate and have links there and I have decided to do so as well. Below is my first Sunday Scribbling using their writing prompt 'MESSAGE'

My Message

Touching and intimate
between us two
Pressing close,
Transfer of energy and warmth
From my fingers to your skin -
But here's the rub:
I am not clear
And you misunderstand
My massage

So, I couldn't resist...had to go for the cheap play on words - the mixing up of 'message' and 'massage'.
Emblamatic of how words, actions and intentions between two people can be misunderstood.

Winter Haikus #1-3

Have been reading Julie & Julia, and realized right off that it's quite different from the movie that inspired me to start this blog. I am fast coming to the realization that even though her blog was wildly popular, mine will differ from Julie Powell's in several important ways. For starters, I will not be writing about the condition of my uterus, ovum or any other details from my gynecological exams (she does in the book, see pages 5 and 6, just fyi). Another difference is that mine will have the word f*** markedly less. I'm not a linguistic prude or anything, it's just that I think use of that word decreases with the addition of children into one's life. And if you checked out pages 5-6 of J&J out of curiosity from the above reference, you will know that she didn't have children - at least when she wrote that. Of course there will also be less food, which is a shame, because when writing about cooking there are all kinds of terrible, embarrassing and highly entertaining accidents to write about. Whereas, when reporting on messing up the cadence of a line of iambic pentementer is much more difficult to make it sound interesting. But, be that as it may, I press on.

Here are a few haikus to start things off.
(Quick reminder: haiku is a 3 line poem with 5 syllables in the first and third lines and 7 in the second)

Haiku #1

Bright hanging dagger
Sparkling as it threatens
The icicle falls

Haiku #2

Soft, gentle water
Expanding as it freezes
Overcomes hard steel

Haiku #3

Cold, white, sparkling
Rests the snow beneath my feet
Crunching with each step

And yes, this is Wisconsin in winter - brrrrrr!

February - Short Stuff & Haiku

Wow - January is over! I have now completed 1/12th of my resolution. (which reminds me, 5 out of 4 people don't understand fractions - but I digress) I have written a little bit of poetry, and a whole lot of rambling, random (another r-word would be good here...) rubbish! That's the word. So, now I am faced with February, a difficult little month - at least in Wisconsin. So, for February, as it is a short month, maybe short, little poems. You know, couplets, haikus, maybe even limricks. But they are so short, it's gotta be more than one per week. Maybe several, or a couple shorties and one other poem of any kind. (But don't hold your breath for another sonnet - oof!)

So, this is not new, but here is the best haiku I think I have ever written:
(but as haiku is not a big part of my life, that's not saying a lot O.o)

The bowl of my life
Sits empty on the sideboard
A decoration

Not an overly cheerful little ditty, but I like it.

Sonnet #4 - The Chess Game

So here is sonnet #4, a Petrarchan one this time. This is my first, and was more difficult. I don't quite like the way it flows (or doesn't flow, actually) - but hey, it's DONE!

Sonnet #4

Set up the board and choose a side - you're white
And I am black. Let's start this game of chess.
So as your pawn moves out I must confess,
My mind grows dim, although my eyes shine bright,
And then I send my troops in to the fight.
I look and plan and move then feel the stress,
Of knowing I will soon be in a mess,
And I'm unable to avoid this plight.
You are superior to me by far,
Your nimble brain is way ahead of mine
In planning moves so far across the board.
Confused, I'm falling like a shooting star;
You calculate, and wear a hapless guise,
Then pierce my king through with your mighty sword.

Songs/Dreams/Bad Dolls

So I do not yet have a poem made up of song lyrics. Since I brilliantly reasoned out that song lyrics basically ARE poems I decided this could easily get very 'schmaltzy.' So, in going over different songs I realized two things:
#1. I still start waaay too many sentences with the word 'so.'

#2. I need to put some kind of twist on this.

#3. It's kinda fun to combine titles into songs-that-should-never-be-written-titles. Here are just a couple:


-I Want to Hold Your Orange Nickers (from I Want to Hold Your Hand, Beatles and The Power of Orange Nickers, Tori Amos)

-I Love You a Bushel and a Peck, a Bushel and a Peck and a Hug Around the Cape Horn (that old song we all sang as kids, and Valpariso, Sting)

-It's Like Thunder, it's Like Lightening, Electric Avenue (Knock on Wood and Electric Avenue)

Do you have one?


And now for something totally different! (as Monty Python would say)

So, the other night I woke up from a dream laughing. Really. You know how sometimes you make a joke in a dream, but then when you wake up and think about it, it actually makes no sense? Well, maybe that's just me. But this time my dream joke was still funny (at least to me) after I woke. I was imagining bad toys, and had a list of 3 or 4. Unfortunately, or maybe fortunately, I can only remember this one:

In the category Toys that Should Never Be Made is the paper doll that is an emo Barbie called:
Cut and Paste and Cut Barbie

Random Acts of Kindness, or Kind of Randomness

So, on Thursday I took up a challenge by a 'friend' on Facebook to do a random act of kindness to someone I don't know, and to re-post the challenge as my status. (I realize I have taken up several challenges, ie poem from song lyrics, with nothing to show for it to date, but...I digress). So, here I am thinking there will be this huge, random wave of goodness on the way; but I have to say the whole thing was a bit underwhelming. I think I was the only one who responded to him, and only one person responded to me saying, 'I do that all the time anyway, and it's no big deal.' To which I thought, 'well, I do nice stuff every day too, or most days....'
But writing that back just seemed wrong. So instead I write it here. lol

So, I put myself into helpful, kind, good-Samaritan mode and set out with my daughter to pick up an odd assortment of groceries, household products and a really-belated Christmas present. I figured there would be loads of chances for random do-gooding, but the opportunities were surprisingly scarce. Then as we were about to leave the mall parking lot I saw the car in front of us had its lights on, and the driver was still sitting there. So, I helpfully and randomly, through a combination of shouts and gestures, communicated to him that his lights were still on.

Now, it's just a little thing, and I'm feeling mildly dissatisified, that that deed was not good enough to count. All the way through the next store, nothing. Then I saw my chance. I'm standing in line at a self-check register and the woman checking herself out - er...checking her purchases out - in front of me is having trouble. Turns out she has mistakenly chosen the Spanish language option and she doesn't speak Spanish. Neither do I, but what the hell; I'm gonna help! I quickly realize that the way I can be most helpful is to get a store employee to come over and reset the thing. Which I did...then moved to a different register. After all, my daughter's sweet and sour chicken from the deli was getting cold. Good-ish deed #2?

So, as we're leaving this large parking lot, another parked car has it's lights on (it was one of those grey, gloomy Wisconsin winter days, when one puts one's lights on to be seen, rather than to see). No driver in the car, so I call the store and report it, then drive off. Well, I guess I can count this as #3. As my daughter is taking the first bite from her container of chicken I see there is an old guy at the stop light with a sign begging for food. I tell Kate, 'Look. Maybe you should give him your chicken.' Being a basically good and decent and guilt-ridden middle class American she does. So, do I count this as good deed #4? Really, that was Kate's good deed. And, come to think of it I mostly just got other people to do good. I mean, I didn't translate the Spanish, or announce the headlights or give up my chicken. I'm more of a 'good deed facilitator' rather than good deed doer.

Anyway...at least some kind of good stuff got done. But, no tidal wave...more like a leaky faucet.

Sonnet #3 - Time

Ack - It's Saturday! How did it get this far into the week? I am a horrible manager of time (and most other things, come to think of it...but that's another story). So, today I have a story about time, and what a very odd, unpredictible thing it is...written mostly in the van on the way to Sandy's (I wasn't driving, whew) while the radio was on!

Sonnet #3

I wonder how it works - the time I mean
I just know it's a mystsery to me,
And probably that I will never glean
How time can be so vast, and yet so wee.

The boring things can make time last so long
It's pace is imperceptible at best,
But pleasant times go by just like a song
A bird might sing while feathering its nest.

And longer times can race or creep by too
As suddenly we take a backward glance
At years gone by and feel a little blue
And wish that we cuold have another chance.

If only we could know before they're past
To savor all these bits and make them last

alt. ending:

So Einstein's theory turns out to be true
Time's relative for me - is it for you?

'Oh what a tangled web we weave... ' How cool is this? It's a spider web covered with hoarfrost spun on the outside of the barn. If I was any kind of writer this should inspire a bucket-ful of poems, but...well...er... ok, I'm working on it!

Song Lyrics

Pointed Comment:

So, I'm going to take up the challenge from Flash, and create a poem made up entirely of song lyrics. To that end I have been looking up and reading lots of song lyrics in my spare time (and by spare time I mean the past 45 minutes). And, it's surprising just how insipid a lot of lyrics to really good songs are - or at least songs I really like - when you separate them from the music! So, with my writing prowess I'm thinking I should start writing song lyrics! I mean honestly, I can be as insipid and anyone! Really!

The Challenge

So, Flash (sister-in-law and instigator) has challenged me to write a poem from pieced together song lyrics. I'm officially saying that I accept the challenge, and...er...well...am now going to start looking up lyrics! (and wishing I would not have posted this until after the piece was finished!)

sonnet #2

Ok, here it is. It is finished, but I'm not particularly happy with it. And I have two (or three) alternative endings; not sure which to go with. I'll put them both down, think about it, and eventually choose one...or else make up something totally different. My biggest fear with this one is that it says nothing new, or in a new or different way, and is simply a big puddle of syrup. And I don't just want to create a puddle of pity. Oh well, here goes:

Sonnet #2

I lie awake at night and wonder why
The Earth revolves so slowly and so true,
The stars stay in their places in the sky,
And I know I can always count on you.

We know our fate: to be taxed and to die,
This is for sure, although it might be cruel,
The comfort I took was how you would try
To make me feel just like a chreished jewel.

And that's the way the world had worked for me,
So just imagine how I must have felt,
When you said that you needed to be free:
The stars began to fall, the earth to melt.

So now I lay awake and wonder why
My feelings for you still refuse to die.

Or....... alternate ending:

So now I know the stars and Earth and you
Can waver, wobble, fall and be untrue. (-or, Can waver, wobble, fall without a clue)

Status Update:
Week: 2
Day: 7
# of hours spent thinking about blog: 9 (approximately)
# of people I have told about blog: 2
# of blogs for the week: 1 (this is #2)
# of poems for the week: 0
Level of panic: High
Likelihood of posting sonnet before midnight tonight: High
Likelihood of misspelling 'likelihood': High

Pointed Observation:
The second week of any resolution is the tough one; the one that separates the men from the boys. (So, if that's the case, what am I doing here? lol)

Random Observation:
If you are over 30 and still say, 'AWESOME!!!' frequently, it's not as cool as you think. I know it's an opinion thing, but trust me, I'm quite confident I'm right.

The World Out There (snow shoeing & writing prompts)

Well, today was...hmmm, maybe that's the end of my sentence. This was not a terribly productive, creative or remarkable day. I did get a chance to go snow shoeing for a little while before the sun went down. I trudged around on the top of the ridge on our property. I have to make myself stop and really look - I am so saturated with the beauty of this place I forget. The snow, with a trillion sparkling specks flashing in the late afternoon sun. Crisp white snow, thin blue sky, and soft grey-brown trees all create this place I call home. Ok, I'm crap that that descriptive writing stuff, but here's something interesting: There were tracks all over... turkey, deer, and coyote. So that's mildly interesting, but one set of tracks went diagonally across the field, and then just stopped. Just stopped. They are shmeared and mussed, so can't be identified for sure, but I figure they must be from a turkey. And it only now occurs to me that it would be much more impressive if I had a picture of that, but hey...I'm just learning!

I have also peeked around a bit and found that there are LOTS of other people out there doing this! What's wrong with all of you? So, I have stumbled across several sites that give writing prompts. Here are a couple of them:

http://threewordwednesday.wordpress.com/

http://sundayscribblings.blogspot.com/

Sonnet #1

Ok - here is the first sonnet of January! Whew (wipes back of had across forehead). Thank you Flash for suggesting only one per week! There are a couple things I'm not quite satisified with yet, but I'll let is sit for awhile, then noodle with it ('noodle with' is a very highbrow literary term, don't let it scare you, lol).
So without further ado, here goes:

Sonnet #1

Today I clean and organize and sort.
Three piles: to keep, or throw or give away.
Place like with like, is my silent retort,
It's best deciding quickly, don't delay.
Though there are heaps of stuff, I feel a sense
Of true accomplishment as I progress.
The burden lifted from me is immense,
The chaos wanes, then I declare success.
So outside me looks good, and order reigns,
But inside, my emotions are a mess-
All jumbled, cluttered, causing me great pains
I'm really at a loss, I must confess.
I've neatly dealt with my environment,
But can't get my emotions to relent.

As I said, there are a few rough edges...but it's a start!

January = sonnet/ dog vs. cat

January Poems:
So, I decided to concentrate on one type of poem, or maybe one theme per, month and it's time to decide what the first of the poems will be. I think I should start out with lots of structure, since I so desperately need structure and discipline in my writing. With that in mind I will concentrate on sonnets this first month.

Quick Review:
A sonnet is a poem 14 lines long, with a set rhyme scheme and meter. The meter is iambic pentameter, which is basically 5 units per line, with each unit made up of an unstressed syllable followed by a stressed syllable. For example: Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? (W. Shakespeare)
For the rhyme scheme there are two basic types, Shakespearen and Petrarchan.
Here is a nice, clear explanation: http://www.poetrypreviews.com/poets/sonnet.html

Totally Random and Unrelated Thought: Dogs vs. Cats
Just something to think about...Female cats are referred to as 'queens' while female dogs are 'bitches.' That's why I want to come back in my next life as a cat! Besides that, dogs have to learn tricks, walk on a leash, go to the bathroom outside and sometimes wear demeaning clothes someone else chooses for them. Cats on the other hand do not. Their main duties are to look inscrutible, snooze in the sunlight and choose which, if any, mere mortals to bestow their affections on. So yes, while I love both, I would prefer to be a cat!

So, first sonnet soon to follow!

First Post

I'm starting a blog - a poetry blog. I have no idea if this will be of interest to anyone but me, but it will at least get me writing and thinking about poetry. I didn't think much of blogs until I saw the movie Julie and Julia, and it suddenly seemed brilliant - or if not brilliant at least a good idea to try.

So I was thinking of a different type of poem each month, and do a poem a day (5 days/week), but Flash, my much geekier and more realistic sister-in-law, suggested one poem per week. Of course the one per week would be more polished; five poems per week would be very rough, and then maybe I would take one or two days each month to fiddle with them, to come up with a few more finished poems. But, being the agreeable (see: lazy) person that I am, I have decided to go with her suggestion of a poem per week.

So, this blog is one of my New Year's resolutions. Another resolution I made is to not throw food at people. This will be made easier if I keep my next resolution, to eat and (most especially) drink less. Then I round out this little orgy of self-improvment with: exercise more (which should not be too difficult , as my current activity level is about equal to that of a couch cushion - unless one counts respiration). So here it is, 1:41 PM on the first Sunday of the new year, and already I have blogged, and consumed no alcohol today. Woo hoo! Ok, enough of that; I don't want this to turn into Bridget Jones' diary, with # of cigs smoked and units of alcohol consumed, etc.

Note to Self: (and anyone else who may read this, I suppose) I seem to start sentences with the word 'so' quite a bit. Let's see how that works as I keep writing.

Now I'm going to dig up some info. on poetry, and try to learn, or re-learn, something about it. Then I will follow with the first poem of the year!