… 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 Ian Crouch: 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
POETIC BLOOMINGS 
Responses
Good ones, both! I’m gonna have to think about this one. I never usually read magazines or newspapers.
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
Love it, Erin! Do I remember this from before? Or perhaps a similar one?
Marie Elena
Thanks, Marie! I wrote kind of a similar one for the children’s poetry prompt, but not the same one. Glad you liked it though!
Well, I guess it’s not that similar, but it’s the same exact form.
I love this and Erin, sadly…or not, (for me anyway), this feeling doesn’t go away…but I may be “special,” like that!! Ha ha!
Great poem! 🙂
Erin, such a lovely, truthful poem. I agree with Hannah, and I hope, too, that the child in you will still be there in fifty years… especially the non-tantrummy parts! (Although the tantrummy parts don’t entirely disappear for many of us, either, tho hopefully we don’t act them out any longer.. )
And I was thinking the same thing as Hannah and K. No matter how old I get, I still feel part child and part grown. Great poem.
Oh, Right On…. me too!! 😀
Thanks, all! I’m kinda hoping this feeling won’t go away. I like being a kid…and watching Peter Pan. 😉 But I also like being an adult…well, almost adult. I’m teaching some of my friends’ kids the piano these days and babysitting them. It’s SUPER fun!!
You’re in some special times right now, Erin, times to cherish…which, I find is true of every new season of life!! Exciting and congrats on the piano lessons and baby-sitting!! 🙂
Thanks! I’ve known them all my life and they’re such sweet kids. It’s such a joy to teach them and be with them!
:)!
The article seems perfect for you and your poem did it proud.
Thanks, Jane! It was actually about 8th graders, but it still seemed perfect. 😉
Erin, I’m sixty-eight and I still have that struggle. Of course we all want to stay childlike and not childish. Well expressed.
Thank you, Sheryl!
You may still be a child from the perspective of age, but you have wisdom beyond your years. Very well-written poem, Erin! And there’s nothing wrong with holding onto a bit of the fun of being a kid, Winnie the Pooh is awesome!
Thank you much, Mary! And yes, he is awesome…so is Peter Pan! 😀
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
Hey there, Uneven Steven! SO good to see you here! Excellent poem on an interesting topic. Astronomy intrigues me to no end, especially since my son took an interest in it and tells me all sorts of incredible facts and theories.
Marie Elena
Yes, I agree with Meg!!
LOVE the ethereal descriptions of this galactic wonder! Nicely done Uneven Steven!!
The wonder of the actual discovery is mirrored in the wonderful words of your poem Steven. Awesome, both!
“the afterbirth of death
and the universe
spawning itself
out of existence
over and over
again”
My, that’s some imagery – really like it.
Great imagery, US, to lead us to the cradle of a bouncing baby black hole 😉
I love how your imagery keeps us wondering.
This poem would sound great if spoken.
A beautifully written poem, I just love when science and poetry collide!
I had great fun reading your poem. It tickles the tongue!
`afterbirth of death’ – Great poem.
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
Aww! Poor Loretta Lou! And what a darling name for a mule. 😀 Cute piece, Viv … love the fun feel to the rhythm you used.
Hope you are feeling well again. We sure do miss you when you are gone!
Marie Elena
Thanks, Marie, but I think you’re a little confused. That’s okay. I hope Viv is feeling better, too.
Oh my goodness! How in the world …
Sorry Connie. I don’t know what made me think you were Viv. 😉
Marie Elena
Poor mule-but so funny.
Great relay of a colorful event, Connie!!
What a treasure, Connie. If only this had been the actual article, I think Loretta Lou and Shirley would be famous indeed!
!! 😀
The rhyming galloped along so nicely while poor Loretta Lou remained a “stuck”-in the mud. Fun one, Connie!
Connie, this poem is a story told so well.
Haha. I loved reading this Connie. 🙂
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)
Your details drew me right in…your last stanza especially…love the laughing elephant and the strange incense, Andrew!!
Oh, me too!!
Wonderful images, and such a clever, creative twisting of the original title! I like this.
The superb divergence in concept alone had me laughing, but your perfect words put me right there in the streets dodging out of the way!
Your cleverness knows no bounds, Mr. Kreider! 😀
Marie Elena
the details are a hoot, Andrew. That’s some rain. Great as always.
I’m applauding the laughing elephant on the dashboard. ! ! !
The elephant on the dashboard made me laugh, too. I love your surprising take on that title. 😉
Such a fun poem!
Excellent! I want one of those elephants! So much better than a Churchill dog. 😀
awesome poem, Andrew. I love the wording, the visuals, the ending lines. Great work this week.
Great tale, Andrew!
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
I might add: Be a survivor, not a victim!
Yes, agreed…so many are “sue-happy.” Worded well Laurie!
Silly, maybe, but it makes a great point!
Right on point Laurie. I am afraid, without the benefit of your more reasoned vision, that I would have difficulty getting over such an event. I can put up with much, but filth and disease, not so much.
I like that: “… just forgive.” !
SPOT ON, LAURIE. Short, punchy, well put.
Marie Elena
I like it, Laurie.
Oh, what a joy, Laurie.
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!
#
Your language mannerisms are very believable and your characters, too…Sal, this was a great read. Thank you!!
I love this Salvatore. You pulled off this difficult style flawlessly. And I loved the story, so beautifully told. My own brother-in-law took in his nephew after his sister’s death as described in your piece. However, he was only 25 at the time and the boy 8. There is no one I admire more, and their story worked out very much like this one. Truth in art.
Lovely story, Salvatore…
I have a soft spot for poems that flawlessly tell a complete story, in “voice,” cadence, and rhyme. WOW. BRAVO, SAL!
Marie Elena
I just say amen to what Linda said.
[…] Poetic Bloomings-READ IT IN A MAGAZINE – PROMPT #95 […]
~
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.
I love “… and dressed in this bitter stress…” Great image and great rhythm and sound of the words there!
Thank you, Katie, I’m so glad you liked this!!
Me, too.
“Somehow she’s still too angry to go there.” Such sweet, sad truth in this. Great topic and wonderful poem Hannah.
Such kind words, Linda, thank you.
I firmly believe that there are no “coincidental happenings” in life… I do hope that she finds Peace… <3!!
Thank you, Hen…I appreciate you! 🙂
And I, you. 🙂
Sweet serendipity for my sweet friend! Hannah, you’re such a love, and your work always, always shows your heart.
Wisdom gleaned and appreciated here.
❤
Marie Elena
This touches my heart, Marie, you always know how to make someone feel loved and special…thank you for that and more. <3's
Beautiful, Hannah! I do know the feeling and I’m still praying for you. ❤
Thank you so much, Erin. ♥
Hannah, this a an excellent description of anger and grief over any kind of loss.
Sheryl, thank you so much for your words.
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!
And to you Hannah!!
🙂 Thank you!
🙂 !!
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
“…pressing stares/ of imaginary cakes on plates… ” Wonderful line, and a strong, evocative poem!
Yes. That phrase particularly struck me as well.
Misk, this is an amazing piece, written (as Kate says) evocatively. You somehow manage to make this deeply distressing topic speak fully through your short poem. Wow.
Marie Elena
Thanks Kate and Marie. 🙂
“left in colder
but steadier hands.”
Wow. Very powerful poem, Misky.
Beautiful poem. I can see their faces and feel their sadness through your words.
Thanks, Debi. 🙂
Thanks, Linda.
My heart hurts for them…
Aaaah. Sorry. 😦
Misky, this poem has a lot of heart and insight. Wonderful.
Thank you! I’m glad that you liked it, Jane.
Wow, Misk!!
I can’t remember what I said on your blog, but this is well expressed, Misky.
Thanks Sheryl and Jlynn.
😀 Thanks. x
nice detail and wording
Upsetting, but written beautifully.
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
Linda, your poem is true for most of us. I hope I think of it when I am tempted to a quick, thoughtless judgment.
Hear, hear. And VERY strongly written, Linda.
Marie Elena
Thank you both.
“…A book judged by its cover…” yes… painfully true…
Indeed, Hen.
Linda, this is an amazing poem! And so true!
Thank you. And yes, very true.
good one, Linda.
🙂
Linda, this is such a poignant description of us all when we place walls of protection around ourselves. Hopefully those walls can soon fall down.
I hope you are right!
I LOVE this, Linda. I think most of us feel this way. Everyone has their scars and hidden pains. Therefore, we shouldn’t judge others. We don’t know what they are dealing with.
Marie, I love your take, both on the title and on the event!
Oh Walt. Would that we could all have an angel in our pockets as dear as this!
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
Beautiful, sad, and true, Debi. Sadly, it’s the “smooth, oily lies”.
Yeah, too many of us have heard them…
😦
Such a creative take on the article, Debi. Beautifully written!
Marie Elena
Thank you
This is beautiful and very well written!
Sad, but well said, Debi.
Oh, Debi, those smooth oily lies! Wonderful poem.
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)
YES! Well chosen, and well written… and “eau de carnivore, s’il vous plait” is a hoot.
I remember reading about this. Your take is very funny – love it.
:D!!
Oh my goodness! Let’s just say I’d rather read my news from Jane Shlensky any day of the week. Pat yourself on the back, Miss Jane! 😀
Marie Elena
My house is ruled by a rabbit, so when my husband and I originally read the article, we could identify. Even without the tastiness, bunnies will chew through any available wire or cable. I loved your “tail” so much that I had to share it with him, and, although he doesn’t even read my poems, he loved yours. “Typical bunny fashion” indeed. You have captured it wonderfully in typical Jane fashion!
Thanks, Bunny Lovers everywhere. Squirrels chewed my husband’s car cables–expensive! He called them ‘poofy miscreants’ 😉
Ha! This is hilarious! I’d take this over Monty Python almost all the time! 😀
I love the Save the Cables campaign. ;-). I’m glad the bunnies in our yard are kinder than that.
Is it possible that you might write the newspaper I read for now on … 😀
Who knew? Rabbits are frequent sights in our community. I had no idea of their non-botanical tastes!:)
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
😀 … Love that first stanza!!
Thanks, Henrietta!
Oh my goodness … such an interesting topic. Great poeming resulted from it, eh? 😉
Marie Elena
Thanks so much, Marie Elena! Great that you and Walt provide such great prompts.:)
As an aside, is Ohio home to the “eh” like we are known for in Ontario? Could your state and my province be “twin ehs”???
Hahaha! No, but we are close enough to the Canadian border that we are “exposed” on a regular basis. 😉 Plus, we have Canadians at the University of Toledo (where I work), and my ex-boss is Canadian. Love it, eh?
Marie Elena
A delight, Patricia. Even if true, small price to pay!
Ugh, I wish that we’re true about mine! It’s so thick and gets so frizzy that I have to flat iron it pretty much everyday, and use anti-friz stuff for it. Nice poem, Patricia!
Hee, hee, when you are older you will love its fullness!! 🙂 !!
That’s what I tell my daughter who inherited natural curl from her Dad!
Erin, thanks. I agree with Henrietta but realize it can be frustrating!
Nice, clean, and vivid! (And given the poem it follows, I keep reading the title as “Bad Hare Day… ” ;D )
So funny:)
I live in the middle of one of the many wind farms that have sprung up in the last few years and can relate to this one. Very nicely done!
Thanks for the comment, Mary. How do you find living near the windmills? Would be very interested in knowing if you drop by my blog for a comment.:)
Wow, Meg!!! Walt, sweet!!
Patricia, you made me see your hair blowing in the wind. I love your last two lines, “no need for Don Quixote to go a-tilting today”
thanks so much, sheryl! These windmills always remind me of the legend he was!
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:
… 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.
This is well done, Jacqueline. At first I sense joy, but that is so short lived and turns to despair. So sad.
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.
Thanks, Debi and everyone for your kind remarks re my sonnet about Sylvia. I’m working on it…I figure if you throw enough sonnets against the wall, one of them will eventually stick, lol…
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!
Well done, Jacqueline!
I wrote the above after reading this online book review: Source: http://www.pajiba.com/book_reviews/book-review-the-bell-jar-by-sylvia-plath.php
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.
Well said, Linda. I agree 100%.
Marie Elena
I so agree!
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
I am relieved that it is fictional!
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.”
Yes, absolutely!! Thank you, Sheryl, I Love your work!! 🙂
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.
“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
So much stated in the imagery you draw. You amaze me.
Marie Elena
I agree with Marie on this one. AMAZING!!!
😦
This is wonderful–all the precise, perfect details, like the reflection of her dish and spoon, and the neat balancing of the two points of view. Very cool.
Thank you so much K8e.
Brilliant from start to finish. It drew me in and I felt like I was in the midst of this scene.
OH, wow. This is excellent.
Thank you, Linda and Misk and Marie and Erin.
Love this, jlynn.
J Lynn, all I can say is ,”Wow!” your descriptions add so much to the meaning.
Thanks, Sheryl.
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)
This is the first I’m heaing of this, Sharon. Disgusting. Good for these two teams that walked off the field. Isn’t it hard to believe the crowd pushed it to that point? Again I say, disgusting.
Thanks for this piece, and for bringing this to my attention.
Marie Elena
Had not heard of this either, Sharon. It is important to know about racism wherever it exists.
Wow! I hate, hate racism! Why did they have to push it that far? It sickens me. I’m so glad those two teams both walked away. That’s what the fans get! Nicely penned, Sharon! I hadn’t heard this either. Thanks for sharing!
Sad, but true… and it doesn’t just happen “over there”…
Excellent work, here, Sein, describing in verse what occurred.
It is great the two teams walked off the field, but would have been ever greater had all the people against racism stood up and followed them.
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.
I’ll be back tomorrow/Tuesday for commenting. Ran out of time for everything today.
Sometimes it is good to “go with the flow”. Unfortunately, I’m not one of those people who can do it easily. I have to have things my own way…sadly. Nice poem, Clauds! I really like it!
Thanks, Erin. I’m glad you enjoyed it. I like to go with the flow as well; at least, most of the time.
I hear ya, Clauds!!
🙂 Thanks, Hen.
🙂
Interesting … I never thought of that phrase as having “old meanings for those past forty.” I’m usually a “go with the flow” type of person, until my heart tells my mouth that I MUST speak up. Then I let loose. 😉 Great poem, Clauds!
Marie Elena
Thanks, Marie. Glad you liked it.
Nice take on the multiple meaning of “go with the flow,” Claudsy!
Thanks, Kate. Funny how we use the same words for so many different uses.
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.
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)
This is beautiful, Kate! I love “unseal my eyes, make bright the sign…” Lovely!
Thankee, Erin!
Your ‘light’ also makes a lovely ‘sound’…
Love the flow of this!!
fun alliterations and rhymes.
Thanks, Jacqueline and Henrietta and jlynn!
As usual, our k8e314’s words flow flawlessly. Bravo!
Marie Marie
Mwah!
Mwah!
This is beautiful with perfect rhyming and lines that flow.
What a lovely poem!
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)
Such sadness…
You’re so right Erin, it’s a sad tale that keeps being repeated again and again. It can certainly make you pause when you think about all the tremendously talented people that self-destruct and what could have been accomplished if their stories had a happier ending.
Sooo very Sad… addiction has no respect for a person… 😦 !!
“on wax wings, flying too close to the sun” – what a great line. Yes, this is so sad, and you captured it perfectly.
Marie Elena
This is so sad … you’ve expressed the waste and tragedy well Mary; it’s beyond belief almost that someone so young and talented should just throw it all away or at least feel the need to give it all up – it makes my heart ache in ways I can’t express
Early exits are hard to accept. Nicely penned.
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
Oh, Beautiful!
Thanks, Hen!
I use the term “powerful” so often, but it really does fit here, Sara. Well done.
Marie Elena
Thanks, Marie!
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!
Love this!
Marian: As if tornadoes and hurricanes were not bad enough, now we have to worry about rocks. But your poem, somehow, made me smile the way you described the situation in such a breezy way…
Exactly, Jacqueline! Marian, I wondered if someone would write about this. Nice job!
Marie Elena
Ha, ha, ha… yes, loved the breeziness!
Kind of disconcerting, isn’t it!
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
Amusing and brilliantly penned!
Marie Elena
Thanks
I love how you used the title of a cooking article and came up with this totally unrelated tale. The rhyming doesn’t seem forced and the tale leaves me with a smile.
I had the same thought as Linda. Enjoyed reading it!
Thanks
Very cool, David!
David: this is hilarious; fast, easy, fresh and funny… love it.
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
Michelle, this is an amazing piece. I hope you are looking for a “home” for it.
Marie Elena
Mik, this poem totally rocks! Great work.
I won’t be surprised if you get a bloom this week.
Your final line could be the title of another poem (or even a song.) Beautiful lines.
This screams, PUBLISH ME, Michelle.
Beautiful, especially loved: “…I’ll be sowing the seeds/floating on the winds of thoughts…” !!
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
Oh, don’t you just hate it when you can’t find your favorite cup? ! 🙂
Thanks Hen 🙂
How awesome that this topic can spark such brilliance! 😀 Great work, Iain!
Marie Elena
Thanks so much Marie
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.
Such a tragedy!! It hurts to see what addiction can do to even the most “successful” people… 😦 !
So sad. Judy, you bring up a hugely important point in this efficiantly and emotionally penned piece: She had it all. Makes you rethink “all,” doesn’t it.
Marie Elena
“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
Hi, Hen – Good to be enjoying you neat poem. M
M!! Thank you! I have been thinking about you lately! It’s good to hear from you!!
I always get so much out of your little snippets, Hen. 🙂
Marie Elena
Oh, thank you, Meg — I can be a bit quirky at times 🙂 !!
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
Aww… Lovely, M!
Find a cat mag that takes poetry, and send this in! NICE!
Marie Elena
So sweet, Marjory!
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.
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!
:D, I definitely read this as a Mom who has a daughter who is quite a storyteller…
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.
Part of the beauty of poetry – each reader/hearer takes away what it says to THEM.
Marie Elena
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”.
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?
And I forgot to give credit to the title:
“One Quick Avalanche of Snow” – front page headline on Sunday Republican – Feb 10, 2013
[…] for Poetic Bloomings Prompt #95: Read It In A Magazine (We were to use the title of an article at the title for our poem; I chose “The World at Her […]
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)