Hypnotize me as you will.
My mind is out of reach
Like water leaves a lake until
It runs upon some beach.
It wants that sand on solid land.
It’s carried back from shore
To circle and not understand
Why it does not need more.
Linked to Saturday’s Image Write #8 hosted by Bekkie Sanchez.
The animated GIF of shapes and colors is by Bekkie Sanchez. See other animation mandalas and kaleidoscopes by her on Google+.
HeyLookAWriterFellow has announced the First Annual Sully Award for Excellence in Writerishness on March 21st. I saw the announcement of the award on Jane Dougherty’s blog. To enter you have to announce the Sully Award in your blog (which I am doing now) and you have to enter a piece of prose under 200 words in the comment section of his blog (which I plan to do shortly).
Check it out. You might like it.
Here’s my entry, written long ago. It is three chapters from an imaginary book that I dream of calling Georgette’s Songs.
Chapter M: At the Roqetscienski’s Backyard Party
“What’s Robert telling those kids, Martha?”
By the swing set, they could hear Robert’s voice rise, “…and then there was a BIG BANG!”
“Oh. He’s telling them his version of the creation of the universe.”
When the kids settled, he leaned in toward them and whispered, “And God said, ‘Oops.'”
Chapter M + 1: Another Way the Universe Might Have Started
Kathy’s six-year-old Billy sat by her. She whispered, “What was that crazy Dr. Roqetscientski telling you by the swing set?”
Billy shook his head and giggled.
“You can tell me.”
Billy refused.
“Whisper it in my ear.”
Billy spoke into her ear, “He said God pooped out the universe.”
Chapter M + 2: Still Another Way the Universe Might Have Started
“Robert Roqetscienski told your son that God pooped out the universe.”
“No! Even Robert’s not that stupid. Billy probably misunderstood.”
“You need to talk to your son.” Kathy told her husband.
“Hell, I don’t know how it started.”
Before bed, Billy’s father reasoned, “It might have been only a fart.”
My monsters have me cornered.
There’s nothing I can do,
But they’re so jumbly juicy
My teeth would gnaw them, too.
I’d like one buttered up to bite
While thinking thoughts real deep
So people think the stuff I write
Need not put them to sleep.
Oh, sure, I do get sleepy,
But they are getting near.
Monsters, monsters everywhere!
I’m cornered. They are here.
Linked to dVerse Open Link Night hosted by Grace.
For a future collection of nonsense called “Monsters, Monsters Everywhere and Not a Bite to Eat”.
Photo: “Fenced In or Out” by the author.
I’d rather be up here somewhere
Than in that river rushing on,
Dissolving tears without a care
And draining hope till it has gone.
With hope removed, sent off to sea,
The body stumbles far behind,
Soon mindless without misery,
A plaything for some nymph to find.
Linked to dVerse Poetics hosted by Paul Dear with the theme “The River”.
This meal is a myth of partial perspectives. In one, my head peaks over the table and tries to pull the dough of the apple strudel to make sure some of it stretches over the edge proving that the dough was perfectly kneaded. In another I am taller placing apple slices carefully side by side. In a later one I help my mother knead the dough and my father peel and slice the apples while my siblings sprinkle on raisins.
In all of these there is the common perspective of the fork cutting a warm slice of apple strudel on a plate with ice cream. After having children of my own I understand how they must have enjoyed watching us help make and then eat this dessert which, as far as I can remember, was the meal.
After many years my sisters and I tried to make that meal for them one holiday afternoon when we were all together again since it was not something they did anymore, while there was still time. We read our mother’s handwritten recipe card and she explained what parts we could ignore and what we needed to add that she did not clearly write down. We could not get the dough as large as any of us remembered it being. We realized that none of us were as picky as we used to be with how apple slices should be placed. In the end, it tasted OK without reaching the level of mythic perfection we expected, but we think they enjoyed watching us try.
CHILDREN’S TINY HANDS
SPRING WARMS MEMORIES AGAIN
PARENTS WATCHING ON
Linked to dVerse Haibun Monday hosted by Toni Spencer.
Like colored Easter eggs placed in their nest
These houses built about the hills
Are perfect paintings of an inner best
We cannot see except for these bright frills.
We trust that thrills felt deeper do exist
And there’s no reason not to think they do.
Beneath the painted lips are hearts. When kissed
They warm projecting peace through winters, too.
Linked to Saturday’s Image Write #7 hosted by Bekkie Sanchez featuring a photograph by Gary Lo.
White, white, white and snowy bright
The snowscape piled high last night.
Winter wrapped its evening show
With spread-on-thick, wet, wondrous snow.
Today will bounce reflected light
From sad-cloud gray to spot-on white.
Linked to dVerse Meeting the Bar Impressionism hosted by Björn.
Linked to crow’s March 2017 Open Mic.
Photo by the author
This ride’s worth a half hour wait.
Even longer, so don’t hesitate.
Thirty seconds of hell
Then a heavenly spell
Back in line, “Yes! The park’s open late!”
Linked to dVerse Poetics hosted by Lillian with amusement park as a prompt.
Photo by the author.
We are perspectives on what’s real.
We’re the ones who see it.
Anticipating what we’ll feel
While wintery fears conceal it.
Although it isn’t spring here yet,
Our fresh, green dreams will grow
And should despair let us forget–
Bright blooms somewhere will show.
Linked to dVerse Quadrille hosted by Kim from Writing in North Norfolk using “spring” as a prompt.
Photo: “Bright Blooms” by the author at the Chicago Botanic Garden.
Most people are blessed with incorrigible ignorance. They don’t see the lion under the table. They don’t see the goblins in their chicken houses. They don’t even have a chicken house and so they can’t see the devil in his details.
I tell them. They laugh. I tell them again. They say they’ll lock me up. I tell them, “If you lock me up who will protect you from the fairy kingdom?” They lock me up. That’s exactly what I wanted them to do. The last line of defense had collapsed. It’s safer right here. By nightfall someone else can worry about those goblins.
There once was a dragon who knew
That damsel’s effectively through
With her knight on his horse.
They had run off, of course,
Since there’s nothing now either can do.
Linked to Saturday’s Image Write #6 hosted by Bekkie Sanchez and featuring Jacek Yerka.
Linked to imaginary garden with real toads Title-Tale hosted by Magaly featuring Goblinproofing One’s Chicken Coop: And Other Practical Advice in Our Campaign Against the Fairy Kingdom by Reginald Bakeley.
Part of the Confessional Poetry of Imaginary People series.
Poetry, Short Prose and Walking 