My Scattered Stones

I found a poem while googling my blog. It is called My Scattered Stones by Mary Anne.

Happy Thanksgiving

Let's see.

I'm cooking this year. A small turkey (18 pounds) and a small ham for my beloved. Beloved is changing the strings on his acoustic guitar--at last!

Parent/teacher conferences came and went. Youngest is the one struggling this year. I have some ideas about his learning style. He is kinetic/hands on so I'm thinking that the whole lecturing/repitition thing is boring and in his mind useless and impractical. Not an excuse though. We'll see.

My brother and sister in law are driving down from the northside this year for the first time. We always have holidays at their house because it's more than twice the size of ours and it was also convenient for their older daughters to leave and go with their friends. Older daughters are married and one is out of state; they're spending holidays with their new in-laws.

I have not been writing at all, not here or anywhere else. I'll have to start this week. Term paper is due in about a week and a half; it's not a big deal. School is going well.

For all my Multiply friends, have a wonderful Thanksgiving!

The Little Engine that could

I wonder if all writers are like that. If other writers feel the need to write about not writing. It seems a little perverse.

I use writing to process my life. So many times what I write is conversational and not well done. It doesn't matter to me, but apparently since I am writing publicly it should.

I joined National Novel Writing Month with every intention of losing. I tried outlining and didn't do it. I am not against outlining as some people are, but life got in the way. I understand that this is just another excuse in a long list but I have allowed things to get into the way of my writing.

There. That's not a cop-out; that's truth.

My children are watching a movie while I am in the quiet room of the library. I will bravely face my 400 words. I will tell myself that I can do this and it doesn't have to be completed in November if I don't want to. I will talk kindly to myself because that is how I would talk to another writer.

I know I can. I know I can.

Where in the world is...

I'm adjusting to school and so are the kids. Things are easing into a routine. I will be trying to write a little next week.

United Friends Challenge # 178

Caffeinatedjo's Challenge

Write a poem, any style, in which you describe yourself.

You must include a metaphor, a simile, alliteration, and onomatopoeia.

Metaphor: A word or phrase used to have a completely different meaning. Example: Edgar Allen Poe's "The Raven" being a constant reminder of his loss and not truly a raven.

Simile: An expression that compares one thing to another using 'like' or 'as'. Example: The milk tasted like pickles.

Alliteration: Starting three or more words with the same sound. Example: The crazy crackling crops.

Onomatopoeia: A word imitating a sound. Example: 'buzz', 'moo' and 'beep'

Fallen from the Tree

I was an apple,

And fell close to the tree.

But I rolled

And tried to get away.

To be loosed.

To be free.

But the apple is never free from the seed inside.

Thnking that it was love,

I shackled myself to my only--

the only one who understood me

The only one who would ever love me--

as a work animal led by its nose,

its hooves weighed down by muck and mud.

The seeds inside tried to grow,

But like a withered winter willow,

They lay dormant

As love died and parted.

Like an abandoned fruit in the middle of a field,

I ached through each day at a time.

But spring came.

It always does.

My Gardener picked me up

And saw something that I could not see.

He planted me by streams of living water.

He tended to me and watched me grow.

He kept the weeds at bay

and supported me when the rains came.

The seasons came and went.

And love came again

And I found I could grow together

and be bound with another

and weather the tippytapping of rain on our leaves

And the cracklecrunch of snow in the night.

More season passed and 3 apples fell

From our branches.

And still, I look to my Gardener

and my life's partner.

The apples don't fall far.

My fruit, Our fruit

Fallen from the tree.

Copyright 2009 All Rights Reserved

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Three Word Wednesday 082609

Training Wheels

I made him wear a helmet. I don't care; there will be no skull fracture if I can help it.

We bought him one of those push bicycles but he wouldn't pedal. We tried everything. He liked tricycles at other people's homes but outgrew them before we could purchase one.

We bought him a bike with training wheels. He outgrew it.

We bought him a larger bike with training wheels, but when we took the training wheels off, he still couldn't do it.

It all has to do with upper body weakness and low muscle tone. I read that's part of my son's diagnosis. What that has to do with autism or asperger's syndrome, I'll never know.

We gave up on it or rather, we let it go. My husband and I had tried our best and if he couldn't ride a bike, so be it. There are so many more worse things in life than that.

But that sunny afternoon, my husband called me from our side door and let the screen slam shut. I hate that noise and so does he, so I ran out; my husband does not let a screen door slam for nothing.

I walked to our front sidewalk and there he was. In fifth grade, yes, but riding without training wheels and beaming.

How many prayers had gone up for that small childhood milestone. My husband and I watched him pedal past us and felt a couple of fears lift off our shoulders and vanish.


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Carry on Tuesday # 15

Your prompt for Tuesday August 25th

Instead of an opening passage, the prompt this week is a line from verse two of Annabel Lee by Edgar Allan Poe.

Please feel free to change the first word to, for example, he, she or they.
'
(We) loved with a love that was more than love
.
Use all or part of it at the start or somewhere within your poem or prose.

Mothers Truth

a Haiku

Tiny hands touch soft

a love that was more than love

Slipping away soon

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