Friday, September 11, 2009
Where in the world is...
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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Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Three Word Wednesday 082609
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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Tuesday, August 25, 2009
Carry on Tuesday # 15
'
(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
Saturday, August 22, 2009
Sunday Scribblings # 177
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Seasons of Adult
My birthday is in September and I am officially what I consider to be old. I have 3 school aged kids and as I've mentioned I'm going back to school starting Monday the 24th.
I'll be attending night school so I am going to assume that there will be a lot of older adults there compared to younger ones. We are all adults but we are in such different seasons.
When I was young, everything was new and I could afford to be slightly reckless. At least that is what I thought. I made some foolish choices. I dated and married the first person who I was ever serious with, knowing that this man was troubled. I alienated my friends an
d my parents; I chose this and was encouraged to do so too. True, I was on my own and working, but I had no sense at the start. I had plenty of sense by the time I divorced.
I was alone for a time and then met my current husband. We enjoyed being double income no kids, we had children and life swirled around us as our babies became toddlers became preschoolers became grade schoolers.
My season of adult was not what I had imagined it would be when I was a child. But again, it's better than I thought it would be too. True, there are many who would judge my life right now as boring and meaningless, as we wrap our lives around our church and our children.
But what I have found in this season is the ability to look at small things and be amazed. When my children were small they would see things new, like the grass, bugs, flowers, colors. I would get to see things new through them and I enjoyed them more than when I was young. They are older now, my youngest is in third grade, but I was given that gift of wonder. I still get excited about the first butterfly in the garden and the coccoon that's attached to our hillybilly golf set. I watch for the meteors and saw nothing but the beautiful moon between the trees of our yard.
And I have found myself sitting outside in the early morning with a cup of coffee, listening to the birds and thinking, "This is amazing." I shoved aside thoughts of my father doing the same thing, but then, he also had that gift of wonder.
I hope that I'll be able to pass that on too.
Friday, August 21, 2009
Pumping Your Muse 081509
Write a story based on a man or woman obsessed and carrying a flyswatter.
~~~~
"10-4, Karen. I'm at the door now. Over." Pete heard the dispatcher reply and the comforting buzz of other officers in the two way strapped to his shoulder. He knocked on wooden part of the screen door. It looked weathered and original to the woodframe house. In spite of the overgrown bushes, the porch was immaculate. He looked through the gray sheers of the bay window and saw a shadow moving toward the door.
The front door opened and the woman stood with a flyswatter in her hand. It had a white, metal handle with a blue plastic screen that was torn and frayed in the middle.
"Hi, Deb. What seems to be the matter?" Pete looked with concern at the woman staring back at him through the screen. "May I come in?"
The woman pushed the door open and as if on cue, began to cry. The front room was immaculate and inviting; not a lamp or coffee table book was out of place. She sat down on her couch, held her head with one and sobbed. The other hand clutched the swatter white-knuckled.
Pete left her and walked into the kitchen. The cabinets were dangling loose on their hinges, the window was cracked like a windshield. Floors, the counters, the stove and refrigerator were as spotless as the rest of house. As he grabbed a paper towel, he heard a buzz. He noticed a black fly and watched it land, black on the white stove top.
"Deb, that's quite a fly you got in your kitchen. Do you know it circled around me twice? Here." Pete handed her the papertowel and sat on the matching chair opposite the sofa. Deb looked up in horror, wiped her face and stood up.
"Pete, you have to get out of here. Now. Leave. They know you now." Deb ran to the door as she looked toward her kitchen.
"Deb, come on, hon. You can talk to me. We've known each other since high school. You're friends with my wife. It's ok. I'm your friend." He walked to go outside but kept his eyes focused on her.
"Pete, please. Come outside. Please. Outside." Deb whispered hoarsely and wiped her nose. She kept her gaze at the kitchen and opened the door. She walked out but kept never looked at Pete. He walked past her and immediately she shut the door behind them.
"They're here, Pete. It's not a fly. It's--" Deb grabbed his upper arms, the flyswatter near her face. He gently freed himself from her grip.
"Put that thing down, Deb; it's right by my face. Come on. I'll take you over to Dunkin Donut and get you a cup of coffee."
"It doesn't kill them. No. A machine can't be killed, Pete. It disables the ship for a minute so you can get a hammer and crush them. It's the only way. What are we going to do, Pete? We have to call the National Guard. They're here. There are so many."
"Deb. I'm going to call Jim and see if he can get off work a little early. Geez, you're not even dressed. Why don't you throw something on and we'll go. Come on, Deb."
She opened the screen door and stood between the doors as she looked through the window in her door. "Pete, I know it's gonna sound crazy, but you have to listen to me. It's not a fly at all. It's a ship. I've gotten 20 of them. I stun the ships with this flyswatter. I thought they were flies, Pete. I thought I'd hit 'em and that would be the end. They'd just fly circles around you over and over. When you sleep, you can hear them." Her voice deepened. Her eyes looked old and tired. "If you stun them, you can smash them, Pete. But there's always two to take their place."
He took her by the arm and led her to the adirondack chair on her tidy porch.
"Deb. Honey, Caroline has been going through moods like this. It comes with the age. I'll get you the name of her doctor. Since she's been on that bio-identical pill, she's back to her old self, ok? In the meantime, how about I go in and get that little fly for you."
For a moment, he thought that Deb would come at him, but she just stared. She rose up, wiped her nose one more time and straightened her back.
"I'll do it, Pete. Just come in with me and watch."
"Officer Brennan, do you copy?" The operator sounded loud and sane.
"10-4, Karen."
"Pete, Joe's requesting you over on Clifton Park Ave. "
"10-2, Karen. I'll be done here in a sec."
"10-2, Pete." The only other person in the room with any sense clicked off with a button. Pete was moved with pity and sorrow at his friend's delusions. He followed her back in the house and straight to the kitchen.
Deb's flyswatter was up in the air as she ran in her kitchen screaming.
The black fly sat on the white stove top. Deb approached it and smashed the blue net hard on top.
"No more problems, Deb, see--"
"Wait for it."
They stood for a couple of minutes. When Pete would object, Deb would raise her hand to silence him. Out of pity and respect, he waited but nothing more happened.
"Deb, come on. I'm going to call Jim right now. This isn't good. Does he know what's going on?"
Deb began to cry. "Look, Pete. Look at it. I hit it square on. It should be dead. And look. No wings." The black fly quivered and fly directly at Deb. She screamed and swung, but missed. It landed high on the ceiling and then flew at her again, this time land on her hand. She flung it away from herself and it flew out of their sight for a moment. Her hand had begun to swell.
"Deb, let me get you some ice."
"No. No. We have to get them first. Pete, grab the hammer. By the dishwasher, in the drawer."
Pete sighed and got the hammer as the fly circled around his head. He brushed it away with his hand but it came back.
"It is pretty agressive." Pete watched her run around the room and chase the little black speck. She smashed the swatter on the cabinets, then the counter, then back to the cabinets. She was getting more frustrated and hysterical when she finally got nailed it near her phone. Deb grabbed the hammer out of his hand and smashed the fly violently and repeatedly.
Pete took the hammer from her as she stared at it and panted.
"Flies don't bleed, Pete. Flies aren't oily when you kill them. Look, Pete. It's metal. You have to go now. They know you." Pete examined it and tried not to laugh at her face. It was flat as a nailhead with a little bit of liquid that oozed near. Surely a fly has body fluid.
"Deb, come on. Get dressed and you come over. Call Jim and he can pick you up from our house. Ok?"
"Pete--"
"Deb, please do not argue with me or I'm going to have to call the paramedics. Do you understand? Take a shower. I have another call and I'll come back. You can have a nice visit with Caroline. Get the doctor's business card. You'll see. I'll give you some time to get ready. Ok?" He looked at her and saw she was ready to cry. "Deb, do you understand?"
"I do, Pete. Please. You have to go. They know you now."
"Ok. I'll be back shortly. Get cleaned up. Caroline will be glad to see you. Karen," Pete said as he walked out the door. "10-2, do you copy?"
"10-2, Pete. Proceed to Clifton Park. I'll patch in Joe." The dispatcher signed off with a couple of staticky clicks and he descended the porch stairs. For the sake of their friendship, he would not say too much about Deb on the report.
"Pete, 10-2, do you copy?"
Pete got into his car and closed the door. There was a fly that buzzed around his head. He didn't
remember them being in there when he got out of the car.
"10-2, Joe. What's up?"
"Can you give me a hand? I have a resident who's pretty disruptive. Says the black flies are alien spaceships. It must be a full moon." The officer on the radio paused for a moment and said, "Now they're bothering me."
"I know what you--" Pete swatted his fly and got it with his newpaper. He opened his window and shook it off. When he looked at the paper, it was clean. "I know what you mean. 10-2, I'll be there shortly." He pulled the car away and noticed ablack fly perched on his paper.
Copyright 2009 All Rights Reserved
http://pymprompts.blogspot.com/2009/08/flyswatter-prompt.html
It's pretty sad when I've been thinking about what to write using this particular prompt.
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
Three Word Wednesday 081909
Graceful Riot of Decay
The gray sky cheers me
as I walk through fallen leaves.
Transition to dormancy
amid the season of wait.
Even my breath mists
like small clouds rushing past me.
I look to the gray above
and find the graceful riot suspended above.
Colors true
and fragile as they fall.
Copyright 2009 All Rights Reserved
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