Snippets of Creative Writing

Snippets of Creative Writing

I’m getting behind on posting our

snippets of creative writing.

It’s because I’m so tired from editing

my first i-movie from the poem

After An April Rain,

The photo of the napping Buddha is in the movie

I hope it’ll soon be up in the Video Bar (above)

It has sound effects!!

Water, thunder, rain, crickets and birds!

Also, I’m impassioned, right now,

I mean--

stirred up emotionally,

 in turmoil

with sad feelings & consternation.

It’s all being resolved, thank goodness,

by putting it in a new song:

I Wish I Could’ve Been There.

Turning to my Keyboard

is better than

booze, sex, Jesus, or rock & roll!

The music has a swingy banjo rhythm

like Cat Stevens’ music.

(more about it later when it’s finally recorded)

So, now, I’ve already forgotten what reading

our words came from last week,

but I did write them down!

offering, satisfaction, attached, listen, magenta, floor

She wrote:

the offering was simple

a magenta flower

cupped in small hands

eyes locked on the

linoleum floor

I touched her wrist

and she trembled

in her worn cotton

“Listen, your Daddy’s singing”

she tilted her head

as she watched 

the blossoms

float from her fingers.

~~~

I wrote:

She lay on the floor listening

to their hushed voices outside --

her sister Margie and Jake

coming home from the Prom.

Jake’s murmur of fear and satisfaction,

and a startled, “Oh!”

Was he offering her an engagement ring?

Would he take her away -- this sister

to whom she was so attached?

~ ~ ~

And this week she read from 

Maya Angelou’s Inaugural Poem,

On The Pulse Of Morning:

We’d both watched the Inauguration

that morning-- from different states, 

-- different states indeed, in 1992 --

She’d gone out and bought a copy.

I’d read it the next Fourth of July in church.

driving, personal, bliss, courtly, verge, out

I wrote:

He left such a personal message

on my garbled answering machine.

Personal, yet courtly, it seemed--

something about

the bliss he’d felt

when we were driving out

to the lake . . . and how

he was on the verge of something . . .

~ ~ ~

She wrote:

bliss sat very still

on the verge, the edge,

the precipice

of going home

a personal choice

no driving need

but, in or out?

she did not know.

~ ~ ~

A hosta blossom from the garden

 to end with,

like a yummy dessert!

stay tuned . . .

~ ~ ~

The Farmer's Matket

The Farmer’s Market

I had to take a photo of these flowers.

Sent the smiling flower lady a copy

I took the Lady With Kale's email

and sent her this photo.

I asked the girls that were helping

in their booth to pose.

The next morning I made an arrangement

 of what I'd bought

The thin green onions are young leeks.

The mango came from Earth Fare.

Meanwhile back in my own backyard,

things aren't doing so hot,

unlike last year.

I've had one zucchini,

 some zinnias that were supposed to be red,

 and loads of

 horned tomato caterpillars.

I thought I pulled all of them off, but last weekend

I noticed the tomatoes were eaten up.

This is my new staking device

a net is tacked from the eaves to

the deck.

I call myself The Mother of Inventions

It's working well, still,

It's just the caterpillars overnight

decimated everything.

I squeezed 60 thin green young ones!

 A week after I'd picked all the big ones off!!

One more garden photo.

This is what a kudzu bloom

 or raceme looks like. 

They have a grapey smell.

No, here's one more.

This is from last year and I didn't have a blog.

Stay tuned . . .

~~~

LATE BLOOMER

Late Bloomer

Another Friday Writing Date.

Sharing our weekly joys and concerns.

She helps edit a poem I’ve written.

The House in Black & White. 

It’s much better, now.

The new book title is

Late Bloomer

this is my b & w photo for the cover.

She reads from a book of poems by Maya Angelou,

 so powerful.

We have both read I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings

leading to a discussion of how reading it

changed our lives,

like a tumbler in a secret lock falling quietly,

but heavily and surely into place,

and each of us

in our separate worlds then,

would never be the same.

We each picked three words from

Maya Angelou’s book for our writing exercise.

wonder, flash, bump, exposure, distant, inspiration

She wrote:

bump me

hear me

see me

no distant inspiration

no over exposure

simply the flash of storm

that anger reveals

I wrote:

She bumped into a young man

raising an umbrella

in a flash flood.

Their eyes met,

his noting wonder,

hers staying distant,

his needing inspiration,

hers feeling exposure.

---

She said, “You always write a story.”

I said, “We both wrote from our unconscious.”

stay tuned . . .

~ ~ ~

Writing On Fridays

Writing On Fridays

We met in RedClay Writing Your Memoirs workshop

began meeting on Fridays.

Writing Down the Bones

We process our lives,

 relishing tomato-goat-cheese-scallions soup,

a Prosciutto salad,

 time together.

She read a Robert Frost poem 

The Exposed Nest.

This led to a myriad of comments

as romantics, as Mothers, as nest builders.

I told my tale of being too near a nest

in the plum tree and being whomped in the head

this week by a Mother Brown Thrasher.

Such a protective instinctive force.

Stunned me.

We picked six words from the Robert Frost book

to write about:

quest, scorns, ripeness,relation, misty, human.

(We don’t have to use all the words.)

I wrote:

Who is it that scorns thorns

hacking his way on his quest?

Misty thoughts

patiently waiting

turn into ripeness.

The thorny bushes part

the mystery revealed.

---

She wrote:

Such a quest

scorns truth

seeks misty illusions

a ripeness merely soft

human tendrils

set among the shade of trees

imagining another green.

---

This is why we write on Fridays.

---

stay tuned . . .

---