The Goods

It’s day 11 (actually it’s day 12, but I’m a slacker and have fallen behind) of the 30 Day Poetry Challenge, and guess what? When they said it would be a “challenge,” turns out they meant that it would be challenging.

Who knew!

Originally I intended not to spend any more than 5 to 10 minutes on these posts, but as they have progressively grown more challenging, I have been inclined to rise to the challenge. Which looks like me putting my forehead in my hand and grinding my teeth whilst I attempt to be clever and creative and Grand Canyon deep. I’m not sure if I have succeeded, but I am loving these prompts and I wanted to share today’s with you.

 

Happy Saturday/Sunday, friends!

 

Day 11 – Write a list poem.

vintage_housewife_cook

Tips and suggestions for the handling and dispensing of virtues and other savories

~

Store kindness and mercy in reliable tupperware (nothing worse than stale charity)

Prepare and deliver intentions on the same day (possibly doesn’t age well)

Place humor at eye level and within arm’s reach (perspectives will clarify or conceal)

Poke theories and assumptions with a sharp truth (might still be gooey in the center)

Launder patience and keep folded in the linen closet (this will behoove you when unexpected guests arrive)

Begin each day with a bowl gratitude (otherwise you will forget to eat it)

Measure responsibilities for each day only (tomorrow is finicky and fickle)

If not on your person, peace should be kept somewhere safe and secret (I assure you this is for everyone’s benefit)

Rinse, rinse, rinse (rinsing is key to avoiding moods and attitudes gone bad)

Only serve opinions when the harvest is ripe (when in doubt, give it one more day)

Wisdom will keep for ages (but if you don’t share it then people will be none the wiser)

Wait twenty minutes before serving hurt feelings (additionally, running emotions beneath cool water reduces the risk of future cuts)

Look at all insights beneath a magnifying glass (this helps determine if they’re genuine or fake)

Be certain to monitor good deeds (they can spoil)

Generosity is like a tree: give it lots of water and plenty of sunshine and it will produce the sweetest fruit

Grace (give it prodigiously, and don’t be embarrassed to take some for yourself)

April Fool’s Erasure Poetry

You will never believe it!!! Last night I was visited by a benevolent ogre who turned out to be a distant uncle on my father’s side (twice removed) and he bequeathed me a BILLION dollars, so Michael, Bella and I are moving to our own island in Figi! WOOOOO!

Eh? Didn’t fool you? Oh, you’re too smart. ;-)

 

erasure

April 1st marks the beginning of National Poetry Month, and in the spirit of April Fool’s Day, Silver Birch Press opened their arms for submissions. But not just any submissions. Have you ever heard of Erasure Poetry? I had not until I came across their blog. It’s an interesting concept in which certain words are blacked out or otherwise obscured in order to create a new piece of poetry. Whatever is not blacked out is the poem. I’m in between novels at the moment and thought this the perfect project (distraction) for the day.

These were the requirements:

- interpret “April Fool’s Day” as you will: humor, trickery, thoughts on the day. Then, using a book of your choice, locate page 41 to create an erasure poem.

As a prompt, here are definitions of “fool”:

Noun: A person who acts unwisely; a silly person.

Verb: Trick or deceive.

Adjective: Foolish or silly.

So. Let me just tell you . . . it was WAY harder than it sounded. I admit to initially sort of smirking at the task, thinking Oh yeah, I can do this. Gonna write me the best erasure poem there ever was. (Six hours laterI spent the entire day absorbed in this task; and that was simply creating the poem within the poem. Editing it took another 3 days, a LOT of photocopies, a few choice words, and a tremendously steady hand. I’m convinced I missed my calling as a brain surgeon. Can’t teach that. No, not really. Because I’m pretty sure they expect you to pass Algebra before they let touch brains, and personally I would rather metaphorically mess with people’s heads. Gently, of course. But it IS good thing I wasn’t weaning off coffee that week. Blacking out the words was time consuming and extremely tedious, but after all was said and done, I had some poems I liked. AND — I received word this morning that my poem made it in to the line up! They chose the one I liked least, but that’s okay. I’m honored they selected it. Thank you, Silver Birch Press!

If you’d like to read my poem, as well as some other incredibly lovely and creative pieces, then I’ve left you the link there at the bottom.

Misdirection

 

Happy April Fool’s Day, everyone! Stay silly!

 

~ Cara

 

 

 

What? Who? Me?

Blog of the Year Award 6 star jpeg

Kim, over at silentlyheardonce.wordpress.com, surprised me a week or so ago by presenting me with this very unexpected award. Kim writes lovely poetry, born of a passionate soul. She writes honestly and openly, sharing her thoughts without fear. Also, she supports her followers by consistently re-blogging their material. Her blog is one I enjoy on many occasion. Just do it. Go visit her, and tell her I said hello, please.

When I say I don’t feel worthy of accepting this award, it is not an act of self-deprecation, but truly a sense of genuine unworthiness. This is because, as of late, I have neither engaged in blogging, nor have I been diligent in reading very many blogs. Some of you will know my plate is a bit full right now, and some days I have just enough energy to smile and remind myself that God is Good. He is Good and His will is divine.

That said, I am astoundingly honored, Kim, so thank you!

From the creators of the award:

The ‘rules’ for this award are simple:

1 Select the blog(s) you think deserve the ‘Blog of the Year 2012’ Award.

2 Write a blog post and tell us about the blog(s) you have chosen – there’s no minimum or maximum number of blogs required – and ‘present’ them with their award.

3 Please include a link back to this page ‘Blog of the Year 2012’ Award –http://thethoughtpalette.co.uk/our-awards/blog-of-the-year-2012-award/ and include these ‘rules’ in your post (please don’t alter the rules or the badges!).

4 Let the blog(s) you have chosen know that you have given them this award and share the ‘rules’ with them.

5 You can now also join our Facebook group – click ‘like’ on this page ‘Blog of the Year 2012’ Award Facebook group and then you can share your blog with an even wider audience.

6 As a winner of the award – please add a link back to the blog that presented you with the award – and then proudly display the award on your blog and sidebar … and start collecting stars…!

You will find all of the info plus the Awards with 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 & 6 stars upon them here

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Sunday Played Her Best

Tossing and turning isn’t so good unless you’re a pancake or a sunflower.

And even church is subject to a schedule. So with that

a change of plans was in order, because I wasn’t about to let time get away with another easy cantrip.

Foggy ears and ringing eyes, I would see twice as well, hear sounds amusing and unsung.

It took a moment or seventeen, but I first caught her tune on the whir of the washing machine.

Ah-rhum-rhum-rhum Ah-rhum-ahrum-ahrum Ah-rhum-rhum-rhum.

Vibrations danced on my bones, turning them a way I hadn’t thought of in a while but should have.

They remembered

the highlights, but had forgotten the whole story, whittled it down to something gauzy and fair, and just a little smug.

A break in the motion brought my heart up fast: Lhul-Roo-Klunk.

A tremor, a tremble, a trombone — that’s where I felt her next: in the mustache

of the man playing brass crowns, and Little Walter’s sensational cup. Play, Walter, play

and take me on a journey of blues and jazz, and all that punchy pizazz. I could never be as cool as you, but my toes don’t know that, so we won’t tell ‘em.

I smiled at them; them like children who haven’t any idea their clothes are on inside out.

And backward.

The telephone rang: R-rwaaring-R-rwaaring-R-rawaaring.

. . . . . and I really was surprised to find her there. She sang for a little while

until she finally tired of being ignored. Then she talked to that Voice, but I stopped listening after that because she had already hung up.

I couldn’t blame her.

Swish, swish, swish–plink! He stood over that club, determined as beets

to make air soar and grass stick. Air was in some mood today and rerouted his plans; to Tibet, I think.

He smiled about it.

And of all the sounds I heard, all of Sunday’s finest playing in my ear,

it was your smile, sweet dear, majestic man, that I longed most to hear.

Wordy Wednesday

Dancing Boots

 

If I looked up too quickly, I knew it would be over.

And so I closed my eyes, squeezed them till I saw stars — or maybe I really did.

Toes pointed inward, my feet moved in sloppy ovals,

dancing.

Faster and faster to the music in my head.

 

On lavender’s pigment and nimbus’ laugh, I twirled, moving my arms up and down to see if I might fly.

Pink tulle tickled my thighs and bright blue boots slicked with rain carried me

upward and honest.

I liked honest; she smelled good.

Smiling until my cheeks throbbed for mercy, I spun.

I spun. I spun. I spin.

Try as you might, you could not stop me from spinning; for even the earth decided at that moment to go stagnant and still and stuffy,

I would remain in motion. My delicious ankles

like centrifuges, turning this body, lithe and nimble,

into sun’s gleam, into cat’s purr, into tree’s whisper.

And my boots so, so blue . . . can you see them? They almost tasted melancholy.

Almost,

but not quite.

Because blue is just blue even if love does not requite.

Press on and laugh.

There was never a foe to defeat laughter. She is cynosure;

an intoxicating fragrance given freely, without barter.

I make her mine. All mine.

Her and those boots, they belong to me. And if you could be brave,

your boots will know.