Sunday, October 24, 2010
Field of Dreams
Friday, October 22, 2010
Caribou
Community Dreaming
Thursday, October 21, 2010
Hazasad
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
A Weeded Yard
The Lachrymatory of Atropos
She sifts thru the yard sale table of
discarded whatnots and whozits,
long fingers searching intuitively.
They linger and finally settle on a miniature
blue bottle amidst the clutter.
She lifts it and peers at the sun
thru the silver chased glass.
It covers her hand in the impossible
cobalt light of a Chagall window.
She finds the beauty of it hopeless to resist.
The tiny bottle now riding in her pocket,
carefully wrapped in a tissue,
is not unknown to her although
she has not seen one as artfully made
as this in three hundred years.
The crude glass of those is nothing
compared to this tiny jewel.
She remembers placing them in countless
tombs with her beloveds over the millennia.
And so she will again.
Although this beloved wills no tomb,
no earthly reminder of his passing.
Nevertheless, she will collect the tears
she sheds for this love just as she has every other.
Stoppering them into this tiny bottle.
Her final offering to mortal love.
And when she is done,
she will cleave his thread.
She will weep no more.
And she will move on.
On a personal note. I am aware that too much Antiques Road Show and a love of mythology is a weird combo. I brought this piece of writing to my small group in October 2009. They HATED the piece. I mean, not just we don't like it or we don't get it. I mean straight up HATED IT! Too bad. I still like the idea of the Fate Atropos as an immortal human woman capable of love. What anguish does that cause to juxtapose love and duty for her.
Monday, October 18, 2010
Weird? Word!
Friday, October 15, 2010
Sorting It Out
Thursday, October 14, 2010
It's NaNoWriMo Time
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
Lords of Nature
Monday, October 11, 2010
A short list of things that make me happy for no apparent reason.....
Sunday, October 10, 2010
#15 Through the Curtains
Re-writing Herstory
Saturday, October 9, 2010
The Minions of Satan
Thursday, October 7, 2010
My Last Semester at WWfaC
The word “abracadabra” literally means “He has created as he has spoken” – manifestation according to the power of words.
Let me not pray to be sheltered from dangers but to be fearless in facing them. Let me not beg for the stilling of my pain, but for the heart to conquer it. Let me not look for allies in life's battlefield but to my own strength.- Rabindranath Tagore
By my third semester, I felt much more comfortable with how things operated at WWfaC. Mostly I trusted that every woman who heard my words would honor them. So I relentlessly attacked the work and wrote about everything. If it scared me in the least, it became that weeks topic for writing. Writing centered around piecing things back together, healing, Earth and bones.
It is a body of oral messages, announcements, prophecies, promulgations, recitals, histories, songs of praise, lamentations, etc., which are meant either to be uttered or at least read aloud, or chanted, or sung, or recited in a community convoked for the purpose of a living celebration. - Thomas Merton
A healthy state encourages many voices - and lots of listening. - Kathleen Sebelius
And this semester - that has yet to be decided. But I am in love with the new voices I hear. What more could I ask for?
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
Betelgeuse
I have written a lot about my belly - series of poems dedicated to it. I happen to like my belly. Always have Oh, I know it's not what ...
-
I have written a lot about my belly - series of poems dedicated to it. I happen to like my belly. Always have Oh, I know it's not what ...
-
This week I am reading Stephen King's On Writing . I don't know why it has taken me 10 years to get to it. I distinctly remember ...