POETIC BLOOMINGS

POETIC BLOOMINGS is a Phoenix Rising Poetry Guild site established in May 2011 to nurture and inspire the creative spirit.

READ IT IN A MAGAZINE – PROMPT #95

… or a newspaper. Take the title of an article from the daily news or your favorite periodical and make it the title of your poem. Write a new poem. It need not relate to the original story. Identify the Title and publication from which it came. Your poem in black and white, to be read all over.

MARIE ELENA’S CLIP:

UNREHEARSED THIRST

A sip of water was fodder for ranting.  Slanting toward screwy, this hooey distracts from the facts, be they left or right.  Polite society allows a variety of thought, and we ought to connect and respect.  To be precise – fight nice.

© Copyright – Marie Elena Good – 2013

Marco Rubio’s Water-Bottle Moment, posted by :  http://www.newyorker.com/online/blogs/newsdesk/2013/02/marco-rubio-water-bottle-moment.html

WALT’S COLUMN:

AN ANGEL IN HIS POCKET

He walks in charmed steps,
blessed in life by the people
who have become the many threads
in the fabric of that life. He is assured
on the path he had chosen, no longer
frozen by fear and here for the long haul.
For above all else he is guided,
guarded by the presence of the one who
offered her heart and kept him whole.
Opening his eyes to his very soul,
making his rise as quick as a rocket,
compliments of the angel in his pocket!
 

© Copyright – Walter J. Wojtanik 2013

“An Angel In His Pocket” by Lee Jenkins / Sports Illustrated – December 4, 2009

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287 thoughts on “READ IT IN A MAGAZINE – PROMPT #95

  1. Good ones, both! I’m gonna have to think about this one. I never usually read magazines or newspapers.

  2. Ha! I didn’t have to think at all! I just remembered that I had a bunch of old Children’s Writer issues in my desk, and I ran across the perfect article!

    Not Quite a Child, Not Quite Grown

    I’m not a child anymore,
    But I don’t think I’m grown;
    I must be somewhere in between,
    But where? Someplace unknown.

    At times I feel like such a kid:
    Fairy tales entrance me,
    I love Winnie-the-Pooh, I still
    Have tantrums, no really!

    At other times I’m quite grown up:
    I help younger siblings,
    Drink coffee, clean the house for Mom,
    And babysit, and teach.

    So what’s the problem? Which am I?
    Am I fifteen or three?
    I think I’ll leave that up to God,
    He has a plan for me.

    I’ll be whatever He wants me
    To be, and grow up when He decides.

    “Not Quite a Child, Not Quite Grown” by Katherine Swarts/ Children’s Writer Magazine – November 2010

  3. Cotton Candy Cloud Hides Baby Black Hole

    The news
    outside the bubble
    of this atmospheric
    earthbound
    struggling,
    the hubble
    and hubbub
    of a long vision
    seen
    telescopically
    clear –
    baby black holes
    in the guise
    of cotton candy clouds
    floating serene
    in the color
    and blackness
    of space –
    the afterbirth of death
    and the universe
    spawning itself
    out of existence
    over and over
    again

    Cotton Candy Cloud Hides Baby Black Hole by Jason Major – Discovery News

    See the pic here on my blog -http://unevenstevencu.blogspot.com/

    or here at the article http://news.discovery.com/space/astronomy/is-there-a-black-hole-hiding-in-this-colorful-cloud-130215.htm

  4. Muddy Mule’s Owner Grateful

    It was raining, it was pouring
    While country folk were snoring
    And woke up to a pasture full of muck.
    Her mind went a little whirly,
    When mule owner Shirley,
    Realized Loretta Lou was good and stuck.

    Shirley pushed and shoved
    But the mule didn’t budge.
    Nothing left to do, but call 911.
    Help soon was on the way,
    The poor mule began to bray,
    Rescue of Loretta Lou had begun.

    The firemen with their muscle
    (Who all began to hustle),
    The veterinarian with his expertise
    And the back-hoe man,
    (Who had a skillful plan)
    Enabled the hapless mule’s release.

    Shirley didn’t begrudge her luck
    That Loretta Lou got stuck,
    But her heart was filled with gratefulness and glee,
    For the dispatcher and then
    All the able men
    Who successfully set her muddy mule free.

    Muddy Mule Owner’s Grateful, Shirley Ogle, Cortez Journal, 2/15/13

  5. Bill puts public at unacceptable risk

    My cousin’s uncle Bill had been a taxi driver
    in Calcutta, weaving diesel fumes into a
    dodgy EKG between the cattle, rickshaws
    and unending ribbon of humanity. His given
    name was Bakhtawar, which means good luck.

    To drive with him in Southgate
    was a last resort, only when the tubes
    had stopped for the night or the rain
    was coming down in stair rods stronger
    than a vindaloo and lager.

    Crushed between burlap and basmati
    in the back of his groaning Austin Maxi
    we held hands and closed our eyes,
    breathing strange incense as the
    elephant on the dashboard laughed.

    Bill puts public at unacceptable risk (Elkhart Truth, A4, Feb 17, 2013)

  6. Mine’s silly. Sorry.

    “Brazoria County woman sues Carnival over cruise conditions”

    Sewer/
    screwer
    living
    crew.
    I sue,
    you sue,
    me sue;
    who?
    Mishaps
    happen,
    just
    forgive.

    Read more: http://www.beaumontenterprise.com/news/houston-texas/houston/article/Brazoria-County-woman-sues-Carnival-over-cruise-4282461.php#ixzz2LAIlWAkU

  7. A NEW LEASE ON A COWBOY’S LIFE

    At a time in my life when a fella should pause
    From his labors and plan what’s the best
    To enjoy his retir’ment, my sister, a wider named Tess,
    All a sudden she passed. Lookin’ back, I was blessed.
    But the story ain’t over; it’s comin’ the morn
    An’ my nephew I reckon will move in for good.
    Now what t’make of this turn of events?
    I was walkin’ around like a man made o’ wood.

    Did I mention my nephew’s a handful to raise?
    “You’re my uncle,” he tells me, “no way you’re my dad.”
    “Well, then, par’n me! Z’actly what makes you so mad?”
    But he keeps hisself quiet, not tellin’ he’s scared
    An’ I tell ‘im t’ give an ear, listen t’ me.
    “All I want is t’ make you, boy, happy again.
    And your mama in heaven, what would she say
    If I failed in my mission? What would I do then?

    Been some years since my sister Tess’s gone an’ her boy
    Well, he worked out jus’ fine. Him an’ me in this place
    We been cowboys ever since: seems I never could face
    Not be working an’ take an old man’s retirement place
    On the porch on a summer day jus’ watchin’ grass grow.
    Me an’ Tommy, ya know we both keep ar’selves busy a tad.
    We been raisin’ the finest o’ horses in Oklahoma
    And that feller, Tess’s boy? Can ya b’lieve it? he calls me Dad!

    #

  8. Pingback: Find Your Stress Sweet Spot | Metaphors and Smiles

    • ~

      Find Your Stress Sweet Spot

      She’d cried and cursed through tears,

      she’d questioned and even detested reality.

      Reaching out with her words-

      to spill truth and justice

      for the sake of the lost, she’d tried

      but blind eyes won’t see

      and deaf ears won’t hear;

      her voice is hoarse,

      her heart is strained

      and dressed in this bitter stress

      she finally, grievously attempts to let it go.

      To rest in the sweet spot prepared for her,

      the one that reeks of peace…

      Somehow she’s still too angry to go there.

      ~
      Copyright © Hannah Gosselin and Metaphors and Smiles, 2011-13

      ~

      “Find Your Stress Sweet Spot,” from Fitness magazine suggests that a certain amount of stress is actually good for you that the small burst of adrenaline promotes better brain function sharpening our focus and that it improves our mental and physical performance. It also states that there’s a fine line between good stress and bad stress and that good stress can easily become chronic stress that can lead to many diseases.

      Funny, I’m home sick with a cold and not able to attend church today…(that’s not the funny part though), my sister brought me soup and a bag of a few things she’d been gathering for me, one of the items was this magazine article that we’d discussed awhile back. Before she arrived I had been sitting at my computer wondering what article I would choose and there she was at my door with the perfect one!! She doesn’t bring me articles often either, by the way.

      Meant to be? Serendipity?

      ~

      For more insight into the why behind this poem you may read, “Needlessly,” and “Aching,” (on my blog), if you’d like to.

  9. Great prompt!!

    Marie-your last line nails it!! Great write!

    Walt-makes me think about the fact that we each have two angels with us…a great poem with optimistic sentiments!!

    Warm smiles to everyone!

  10. CHINA CHILDREN

    They remind me of fragile potted plants
    waiting for spring – sitting there still
    and unattended on bare benches, naked
    blank faces staring into candlelight.
    Their backs straight, feet rooted to the floor
    under a long wooden table. A sturdy timber

    cut on a bright green summer day, sliced
    from a forgotten branch of antiquity, felled
    and now held together by the press
    of coughing chests against its old oaken
    planks. This long table holds centre place
    for these little ones, unwanted

    at birth, and left in colder
    but steadier hands.
    These frail potted plants – pressing stares
    of imaginary cakes on plates, want
    for lack of sustenance that they need.
    And as they gnaw on dried meat, all eyes

    observe the door opening on the creak
    of sore hinges, opened chills rushing
    in scurries of flurried snow across the floor.
    They know there’s no hiding from storms
    that rage like mortal sin
    beyond their cloistered walls.

    Title from article about China’s social care and orphanges. The Telegraph newspaper.

    (c) Misky 16/2/13

  11. Sealed from Public View

    There’s a smile on the outside,
    the part that you can see.
    There is crying on the inside,
    the hidden part of me.
    I’m youthful in appearance,
    you’d never know the pain.
    But when examined closely,
    one clearly sees the strain.
    A book judged by its cover?
    So come walk in my shoes.
    Appearance is deceiving.
    These are cliches we use.
    But things are deep within me.
    They’re sealed from public view.
    Try not to harshly judge me,
    and I will not judge you.

    Title: “Thousands of Butler crimes sealed from public view” article by Sheila McLaughlin in the Cincinnati Enquirer 2/17/2013

  12. Marie, I love your take, both on the title and on the event!

  13. Oh Walt. Would that we could all have an angel in our pockets as dear as this!

  14. DebiSwim on said:

    Trust

    Some seeds need coaxing.
    They learned not to trust
    Fickle tempered fits
    Of irrational
    Unseasonable blitz –
    now hot, now cold.

    Some souls need coaxing.
    They learned not to trust
    easy smiles, blank eyes
    broken promises
    and smooth, oily lies –
    I love only you.

    http://bdtonline.com/lifestyles/x1633474269/Some-seeds-need-coaxing-to-sprout

    Bluefield Daily Telegraph- Local Newspaper

  15. janeshlensky on said:

    Bunnies Invade Denver Airport, Nibble on Car Cables

    Monty Python’s killer rabbits
    may have set a toothy precedent
    for miscreant bunnies in the Rockies.
    Now air travelers in Denver
    find themselves confronted by
    hopping hordes of foo-foos
    who are drawn from the prairies
    surrounding the airport
    to recently parked cars’
    vehicular warmth. Once there,
    they stay around to chew the cables,
    pleasantly coated with soy-based oils,
    tasty table fare for any hare,
    in the absence of string cheese
    bread sticks or licorice twisters.

    “It’s not funny,” says one frequent flier
    whose cables were savaged by bunnies.
    “Something has to be done!”
    One solution allowed for the capture
    and removal of 100+ offenders per month
    who left quietly, but in trepidation
    having already replaced themselves
    several times over in typical bunny fashion.
    There is talk of fencing in parking areas,
    of putting predatory eyes in the skies
    with tall perches for hawks and eagles,
    those feathered feasters on furry vermin,
    and of coating car’s cables with coyote urine,
    eau de carnivore, s’il vous plait.

    “That stuff will keep anything away,” says
    one spokesman from a camping supply chain.
    “This could be a huge industry,”
    he says, his nose wriggling and
    his eyes shining like new pennies,
    forcing consumers to imagine
    collection centers with shiny
    coyote urinals made for a rush on
    this popular coyote coating.
    The Save the Cables campaign
    is taking donations to implement
    further study of bunny deterrents.

    (from Justin Ray’s article for NBCBayArea.com)

  16. BAD HAIR DAY

    not so much

    my brown straight hair
    does not mind the breeze
    that blows from those tall fixtures

    clean green energy
    is churned out daily
    by a long line of wind turbines

    no need for Don Quixote
    to go a-tilting today

    Source: http://www.therecord.com/living/article/888146–bad-hair-day-ottawa-wants-to-know-if-wind-turbines-may-be-to-blame

  17. Henrietta Choplin on said:

    Wow, Meg!!! Walt, sweet!!

  18. A Critique of Life in a Bell Jar

    She changed her name to Higginbottom, E.
    And, giggling, she raised a glass with friends
    to New York City and society
    where women meet sophisticated men.

    The fifties presupposed a social place;
    the ladder gained by climbing carefully.
    A woman had the vote but not the grace.
    To join man’s world, we had uncertainty.

    T’was brave to throw away the steno pad
    forsaking all her mother’s imbued schemes
    and grab the artist’s life she might have had
    but life is not so simple as it seems.

    And so she climbed into her safe cocoon
    Thrice turning up the gas to fill the room.

    (I just finished reading “The Bell Jar” by Sylvia Plath. I am not so impressed upon the first read, but the theme
    had truth as I lived through those years growing up in the fifties. I’m only 2 years younger than Plath. I am having trouble separating
    the book from its author and her actual life and her family’s influence upon her, etc. The book seemed to fall apart about midway for me,
    and perhaps that was her genius. Maybe that is exactly what she meant for the reader to feel- like one is losing their mind and things are “falling apart”.
    She tried to kill herself 3 times: once by drowning, once by taking pills after her return from NY in real life and finally, by turning on the gas in a London flat soon after publication of the book. It is sad that her only son committed suicide in recent years. )

    I wrote the above after reading this online book review:

    • Henrietta Choplin on said:

      … painful…

    • I sit here shaking my head for her, her son, the situation … and your rendition. You are mastering the sonnet, Jacqueline. You capture the subject with haunting accuracy, while maintaining exquisite phrasing. Masterfully penned.

      Wow.

      Marie Elena

    • She would have herself, I believe, loved your work and its reflection upon her. Very well written, Jacqueline.

    • Sad and poignant. Well written, Jacqueline.

    • I read her bio a few years ago and just purchased her complete works. It is hard to dig into her words when you know the ending.

    • sheryl kay oder on said:

      This is well done, Jacqueline. At first I sense joy, but that is so short lived and turns to despair. So sad.

    • DebiSwim on said:

      Beautifully done. With such an economy of words you sum up her life with such emotion. I am learning so much about poetry on this site – so many really outstanding poets here.

    • Jacqueline, I read each line of your sonnet so carefully.
      Your line “T’was brave to throw away the steno pad” really caught my attention as that object was a symbol of so much in the era. I remember that my mother learned the code of shorthand, enabling her to work in a legal office. Later, she coached my older sister as she struggled with mastering shorthand. Seems like a steno pad was always in the house. It was a key to some employment beyond nursing and teaching but, for the artists of word and paint, it would take a further step to achieve their dreams.
      Struggling beyond the times in which one lives can be a challenge. I think that is why MadMen has an appeal to people.
      Have you ever watched the movie “the Hours” with Nicole Kidman. You might find it interesting after reading The Bell Jar.
      Oops for the rambling…your sonnet inspired me to think!

  19. sheryl kay oder on said:

    You Lacked Clarity

    When you said I was the bane
    of your existence, what did you mean?
    Give me some examples.

    Does the food I cook
    make you sick?

    Did I step on your toes
    or kick you in the groin?

    When I asked you to take out the garbage
    did I curse at you?

    Am I so poorly dressed
    I am an embarrassment?

    Or are you simply frustrated
    with life and I am a handy target?

    Give me clarity or give me peace.

    Significant Living magazine
    January 2013
    Subtitle in Dave Says advice column

    I did not yet read it, so I have no idea if my poem is related or not.

    • You do a fantastic job of showing the pain caused by the lack of clarity, as happens so often in relationships and work. I love the emotion that you are so good at evoking with your poetry and this is a great example, Sheryl.

    • sheryl kay oder on said:

      Thank you, Linda and Marie. By the way, this is all made up. It is not a situation I faced.

      • Which actually makes it all the better. You really got into the head of one in that position very well, and expressed it meaningfully. Great job.

        Marie Elena

      • Henrietta Choplin on said:

        I am relieved that it is fictional!

        • sheryl kay oder on said:

          Henrietta, most of my poems are from experience, but it is good to place others’ experience into our poems as often as we can. We have all had frustrating emotional encounters, so at least that part of it I can understand, along with not being able to communicate as well as I would like. Fortunately, if anyone thinks I am the bane of their existence, they have kept quiet about it. 😉

          I looked at all the titles I found, picked one I thought I could use, and wrote about it. When I was reading the book of the first year, I loved this kind of prompt. I also love prompts of mimicking a poem we like or starting with a line of a poem in order to create a new poem. I think those exercises help get us out of our own skin rather than creating “confessional poetry.”

    • Great twist! Nicely done.

    • This is something I had to work on with my daughter. She was dealing with some stuff at school and taking it out on me. I finally got her to find better ways to let it out and help bring healing. Now she doesn’t take out her frustrations on others.

  20. “True . . . or true enough”

    A half-buttered roll and a swirling mug of joe,
    he smoothes his words along the torn vinyl cloth.
    thinking with a smile, half a lie is true enough.

    He can fool her once; he can fool her twice.

    Half a crinkled tissue in the warmth of her palm,
    a reading of the arch of his raised eyebrows,
    spells guilty in the reflection of her dish and spoon.

    He can fool her once but never twice.

    All the day through, he warbles like a crow
    thinking she is suffering from another monthly cold.

    ***.

    Michael Phillips
    Chicago Tribune February 17, 2013

  21. sheryl kay oder on said:

    J Lynn, all I can say is ,”Wow!” your descriptions add so much to the meaning.

  22. Tears for the Beautiful Game

    It’s the most watched sport
    Of any on the planet – when
    Every four years excitement
    Grows palpable in countries
    Around the globe, it’s because
    Of the world cup and it’s to see
    Teams square off to play
    Soccer or football depending
    Where you’re from, might
    Also govern how you speak
    Of this, the most beautiful game
    The sport played by more
    Teams and players than any
    Other on earth …

    So imagine – with the amount
    Of international involvement
    Implied simply by the sheer
    Numbers taking part in the sport
    How distressing to learn
    That the prevalent problem
    Facing the sport today?
    Not the crazy rioting fans
    Of years past – which was certainly
    Terrible and bad enough
    But finally resolved after much wrangling
    Fines, and jail time for offenders

    No, now—especially in Europe—
    It’s racism that has become a horrific and regular
    Occurrence in the world soccer league
    Rarely is a game held when the arena
    Isn’t filled with racist taunts from the stands
    Directed towards players of colour
    On the field—and so loudly—it’s often
    Impossible to hear the announcers

    Recently, during a game in Italy
    The highly regarded and strong contenders
    A.C.Milan, became so incensed at the racist comments
    Being hurtled at their players that they finally
    Marched, en masse, off the field, refusing to play
    Under those conditions—to their credit
    The team they were playing PR Patria
    Abruptly followed suit—it was the first time
    A soccer game was cancelled due to the racist
    heckling of fans.

    How absolutely appalling and tragic that this
    Feeling exists and that these fans find this
    An acceptable outlet for their bigotry
    Apparently it is not unusual for neo-Nazi
    Fans to show their displeasure with
    Heil Hitler salutes and other equally
    Abhorrent expressions against races of which
    They disapprove—and all of this is in the name of sports?

    Oh, the beautiful game—is this what was expected
    When you were created and offered to all
    the world as an inexpensive option, a game
    That all could play, that required little or no
    Equipment … a ball and shoes—sometimes not even
    Shoes—every child around the world is seen
    Kicking a soccer ball and without regard to colour
    Class, creed, or any other stipulation …
    Surely we can put this one thing back the way it’s
    Supposed to be—without prejudice—play the game.

    “Can Balotelli Make Italy Less Racist?” by Marcus Mabry Int’l Herald Tribune (The Global Edition of New York Times) plus “Soccer Racism Prompts Walkout, and Outrage” by Elisabetta Pololedo and Steven Erlanger-Jan.4/13 – New York Times)

  23. claudsy on said:

    I could have sworn I posted this here this morning. I know I posted it on site. But here goes anyway. Sorry about that.

    Going With the Flow

    An old phrase,
    With old meanings
    For those past forty;

    Tubing on the river,
    Watching summer skies
    Pass overhead with clouds;

    Living to another’s tune,
    The better to keep peace;

    Making no waves by
    Holding one’s own
    Opinion of world and life;

    Going with the flow
    Finds alternatives,
    Which make life quieter,
    Which works to maintain
    Quo’s status, forevermore.

  24. sheryl kay oder on said:

    Marie, I’m with you. Of course I have found it is good to take a deep breath before opening my mouth (or using my keyboard). I have often said something I had no business saying.

  25. Marie, I’m delighted by your use of “hooey!” Walt, I hope that angel is in your pocket…

    Here’s mine:

    “A Light Shines Into Darkness”

    Flicker, glimmer, glow… but shine?
    It hesitates, this light of mine.

    Into darkness? There I’m blind.
    Where burns the fire to stir my mind?

    The sparks that fly and flare and find
    The lamp to light, the wick to wind?

    Unseal my eyes, make bright the sign—
    One clear, sure, shining light that’s mine.

    (The Denver Post, 2/17/13, p. 1C, by John Meyer)

  26. Self-Inflicted

    Another day,
    Another headline
    Lamenting
    Another early exit,
    Another talent lost
    In the darkness
    Of addiction
    And mental instability,
    Another dreamer
    Chasing greatness
    On wax wings,
    Flying too close
    To the sun,
    Ending in
    Another crash landing.

    (Mindy McCready suicide: Reports say McCready dead from self-inflicted gunshot http://www.examiner.com/article/mindy-mccready-died-reports-say-mccready-committed-suicide)

  27. The First Americans

    Land was free wherever we camped,
    tales told by fire held back damp.
    In peace pipe smoke, tobacco tamped.
    No boots did tramp, no boots did tramp.

    White men came; they thought us savage,
    had their own ideas of marriage,
    which did not prevent their ravage.
    We disparaged, we disparaged.

    They herded us on parceled land
    in hopes we’d die out or disband.
    Their greed we failed to understand.
    They had is planned, they had it planned.

    We prevailed, came into our own.
    In all forms of culture, we are well known.
    Throughout the land, we’ve made our homes.
    We have not flown, we have not flown.

    Title of article from Smithsonian

  28. Space Rocks
    Hours apart
    Point to Danger
    ( Port Clinton “News-Herald” Mon. 18 Feb. 2013)

    Something up there doesn’t like us
    They have made that very clear
    They’re dropping big rocks down upon us
    Exploding far and near.

    Once we gazed up at the stars
    Twinkling in a friendly sky
    The friendship’s gone when rocks are tossed
    Our friendly sky no more – Good-bye!

  29. Fast, Easy, Fresh

    (Magazine Article Title)
    Source: Bonappetit Magazine – September 2011 p. 55

    By David De Jong

    She rode in on a palomino mare
    Castanet shells, festival fare
    Hand tooled saddle from Santé Fe
    Where she was she could not stay
    Trackin’ loot San Clemente Trust
    Trail behind still sheddin’ their dust

    Colt burned leather pulled from its sling
    She pulled the trigger made it sing
    Three sombreros lie on the ground
    Their hogs holstered, not even found
    She out gunned em put em to rest
    Three holes planted center each chest

    A bounty for death made lightin’ fast
    Not the first, prayin’ not the last
    She rode in refined and breezy
    Served her justice quick and easy
    Unencumbered, lead’s hot thresh
    She’d ride, soon-as her pal’ was fresh

  30. David: this is hilarious; fast, easy, fresh and funny… love it.

  31. Subatomic Calculations Indicate Finite Lifespan for Universe

    I’m okay with dying…

    When my body is wrinkled
    and filled with rusty spare parts;
    When I’ve read every drop of knowledge
    and what I can’t retain is leaking from my brain;
    When I’ve used all the words with eloquence
    and they just start falling out of sequence;
    When my eyes are dimmed
    and I can no longer be inspired by what I see.

    Until then…

    I’ll be living my life
    with all my own parts
    and having a knowledge feast
    on the words that adhere
    to the linguistic threads of my brain
    and enjoying the whiplash effect
    of visual acuity.

    Until then…

    I’ll be sowing the seeds
    floating on the winds of thoughts
    and circulating through time,
    hoping the best part of me
    has flown through the stars
    to distant galaxies
    before the sun expands.

    I’m okay with dying,
    when I’m done living.

    Subatomic calculations indicate finite lifespan for universe
    By Irene Klotz | Reuters – Tuesday, February 19, 2013 – Yahoo.com

  32. Henrietta Choplin on said:

    Beautiful, especially loved: “…I’ll be sowing the seeds/floating on the winds of thoughts…” !!

  33. Like Erin, I don’t read the press so I randomly trawled the internet and found this:

    Loss Puts End to Quest for Cup

    (from: 100 Mile House Fee Press, Ontario, Canada)

    she searched high and low
    with her puzzled brow furrowed
    where, oh, where can it be?
    she had looked nigh on everywhere

    she remembered having it the day before
    and she was sure she had put it away
    right after the ice-hockey match finished
    (or was it baseball? She never was a big sports fan)

    but now it was nowhere to be seen
    vanished! gone with the wind
    and the kettle had already boiled
    she wanted her cup of tea

    in her favourite cup it had to be
    in any other it just felt wrong
    so she started the search again
    although hope was fading fast

    finally she sat down exhausted
    drinking black tea from a mug
    she’d given up the quest
    she resigned herself to the fact

    not only was the cup missing
    but the situation had got worse
    its matching saucer was AWOL
    and the milk in the fridge was off

    Iain

  34. She Had It All

    Country singer dead at age thirty-seven.
    She sang like an angel, had the face of one, too.

    Dead by her own hand.

    Lost custody of her two sons to her estranged
    mom, her husband died a few months before
    in the same place her body lay, her court ordered
    rehab under way. Her home where she
    was reeked of waste. The headline:
    She Had It All.

  35. Henrietta Choplin on said:

    “How You Really Can Listen With Your Heart”

    I
    wonder
    if you will
    someday Feel it
    too…

    Stephen Harrod Buhner, THE SOUL/BODY CONNECTION, Your 2012 Guide to Spirituality & Health, A Publication of Spirituality and Health Magazine. 79-83. SPIRITUALITYHEALTH.COM

  36. Marjory M thompson on said:

    KITTEN and CAT
    By Marjory M Thompson

    When I come to be alone,
    should I get a cat?
    And would it be barn or alley
    or pedigree?
    A long or short haired
    bundle of life,
    a companion
    to fill part of my life.
    An independent spirit
    to teach us each to love.

    If I procured a kitten,
    I’d need to teach it house rules,
    its proper place to eat,
    identify her box,
    set limits on where to climb and claw.

    Would she be strictly an indoor being
    or one to roam outside?
    What of a collar and a leash?
    Should I let her have one baby litter
    or none at all?
    There are shots she’ll need.
    Oh, so much to think about.

    Would her bed set next to mine,
    Or nightly would she
    hop up to lie with me?
    [To later contest with any
    spouse I might acquire.]

    She would need a sunny perch
    in a south facing window
    for chilly winter days.
    Then quietly,
    IF
    I had a cat,
    we would grow old together
    – my cat and I.

    A Measure of Strength, Poems of Aging
    By Dorothy A. Regal
    2012, Other Mind Press, Bellingham, WA

  37. I hope I am not too late to the game.

    Thirteen Reasons Why

    I don’t believe in fairy tales. In fact, from an early age
    I realized that wolves don’t swallow people in one gulp
    and if they do you can’t cut it open and have little Red
    Riding Hood and her grandma step out completely intact.

    Yet, I tested those tales one by one and realized frogs
    are hard to catch and even harder to kiss and none of them
    ever turn into a Prince. And geese don’t lay golden eggs,
    even if you feed them the most golden kernels of corn.

    Not one gingerbread man ever sprang from our oven
    and those magic beans I planted didn’t even produce beans
    let alone a giant stalk spiraling up through the clouds
    to a magical land. Nor do magical talking mirrors exist.

    Every mirror I tried remained silent and only reflected
    the sad realization that even after three years of rejecting
    haircuts, my hair apparently wouldn’t reach Rapunzel length
    in my lifetime. Perhaps if I were cursed and slept 100 years
    I’d awaken to mile-long locks, but mom always woke me.

    I wanted to believe, as other kids did, but no fairy godmother
    ever answered my pleas or turned pumpkins into carriages.
    No rodents followed after me as I marched the darkened streets
    playing tunes on my flute. That mattress I put in the woods?
    The bear didn’t sleep on it, just shredded it to smithereens.

    And speaking of beds, when I didn’t feel that one tiny pea
    under my mattress I dumped a whole can and still didn’t notice
    a thing. My mother did, though, and was as angry as that wild bear.
    I lied and said that Esther, my imaginary friend, put them there.
    Unlike Pinocchio, my nose didn’t grow. These thirteen things

    proved that fairy tales were just a bunch of silliness thought up
    parents who needed to entertain their children with bedtimes stories
    and lull them to sleep with promises of living happily ever after.
    I never bought into all. Then you came along. The tales remain
    ridiculous, but happy-ever-afters suddenly seem a possibility.

    *Thirteen Reasons Why is a great teen novel by Jay Asher. I read it before giving it to my daughter. Of course, this prose poem has nothing to do wtih the content of that book but rather several other stories which we should all know.

    • Henrietta Choplin on said:

      AAAHAHAHA…. I LOVED THIS… Thank you for the early morning laughter!!! 😀 !!!

      • Glad to entertain you. I like to make people laugh. It’s good for your health. May be you blessed with health and happiness today. And whatever you do, forget kissing frogs. It just. Doesn’t. Work!

      • It’s funny how we can see poetry in a different light – the same words, but different mood. I don’t find this comical – I read it somberly, and it made the end bring a tear to my eyes.

        Brilliant, LInda. Just brilliant.

        Marie Elena

        • I hadn’t intended for it to be funny because I knew the first and last lines before I began writing. But I must admit, picturing a child doing some of these things might be a bit humorous (in hindsight…not if you are the mother who has to clean up smushed peas from a mattress or worry about hungry bears eating your child instead of porridge). I intended for it to be a different sort of love poem. I really didn’t believe in happy-ever-after until my husband came along. He changed everything.

    • oops…the lines copies over a bit strange. I guess because they are quite long.

      Also, a word is missing in the last stanza. By. It should say “silliness thought up BY parents”.

  38. Running behind… as usual. Just got around to posting this one… about 3 weeks late…? Oh well, better late than never, I guess. :-]

    One Quick Avalanche of Snow

    Your cold shoulder, the
    only clue that we two were over-
    burdened by distance, dis-
    connected at the heart.
    What had started so friendly,
    ending in a perfect storm;
    your warm front, aimed
    in another’s direction,
    leaving me still in a chill
    and wondering when
    did we drift a-
    part?

  39. Pingback: The World At Her Feet | echoes from the silence

  40. THE WORLD AT HER FEET

    She
    was
    broken,
    unsure if
    she would ever stand
    on her own two feet again, when
    along came the one who would help her discover who
    he knew (all along) she could be.
    No longer broken,
    she stands, the
    world at
    her
    feet.

    2013-03-23
    P. Wanken

    (“The World at Her Feet” by Jason Wheeler, featured in the April 2012 issue of Texas Monthly)

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