Tag: Poetry

LAVENDER and BURNT TOAST

      By ROSEMARY LORD

“Lavender and burnt toast.” A book title? A recipe? Sounds intriguing.

I have racked my brain to figure what this was about. I had written this in a notebook of story ideas. But then I have a plethora of such notes, squiggles, post-its, unfinished paragraphs in multiple notebooks and single pages – of ideas that swirl around my head – spilling as hurried notes in these many notebooks. But, over the years, I have become a lot more organized. I have actual files – with labels!

            It took me back to Professor Randy Pausch’s gem of a book, The Last Lecture, which he undertook during the last months of his life after a terminal cancer diagnosis. It was about overcoming obstacles and seizing every moment. “Because,” he said, “time is all you have – and you may find one day that you have less than you think.”   

“Time must be explicitly managed, like money,” he observed. And “Ask yourself, are you spending your time on the right things?”  Most useful was, “You can always change your plan, but only if you have one.”

But the thing I remember most was his thoughts on being really, super organized. Randy’s wife was against having everything filed and alphabetized. She said it sounded way too compulsive. Randy responded, “Filing in alphabetical order is better than running around saying, “I know it was blue and I was eating something when I had it.” Sounds familiar. How often have I been heard to mutter, “…It was blue and I was eating something……” as I rummage through my boxes of writing files for some specific pages of an unfinished manuscript.

“It’s not where you start – it’s where you finish…” wrote Dorothy Fields, lyricist for the 1973 Tony Award winning Broadway musical Seesaw, which was based on the William Gibson play, Two for the Seesaw.  “…It’s not how you go, it’s how you land.”

I’m not so sure about that…I’ve always favored the maxim that it’s the journey that counts. It was Ralph Waldo Emerson who said, “Life is a journey, not a destination.”

            Do you ever look back at the journeys you have been on – or had thrust upon you? Journeys are adventures. Because it’s on those journeys that we discover exciting detours and encounter fascinating people.

Even if it’s literally a train, plane, bus or car journey we’re taking. Just think of people you met along the way, places you saw. This is, after all, where many of us writers find our inspiration. From the people and happenstances along the way.

We can see how things have never got back to the way they were, since the Covid lockdowns. So much changed. We’re in a different reality now. We were shut-ins. As writers, we had more time to ourselves to write during the shutdowns. But the regular writer gatherings and frequent workshops and writers’ conferences have been very slow to return. And they were such fun, where we caught up with fellow writers from across the world, met new writers, editors, experts and publishers, heard new ideas, discovered new talent. I’ve missed them. Zoom meetings are not the same.

Sometimes one feels like Sisyphus, earnestly toiling away to survive and thrive in this new world, dealing with the puddles that life frequently presents for us to jump over.    

In Greek Mythology, Sisyphus was condemned to an eternity of pushing a boulder up a mountain. Once he got to the top, the weight of the boulder forced it to start rolling down to the bottom, wherein he had to start again.  According to Albert Camus, the Greek gods felt that there is no more dreadful punishment than this futile and hopeless labor for Sisyphus. Hmmm. Sometimes life feels like that. Oh well. We soldier on, dealing with the adventures and challenges of our regular lives and balancing our writer’s goals and dreams.

Then, just when we least expect it, something magical happens. We discover a new author whose words inspire us to try something new, encourage us to take a leap of faith into the unknown. We hear a new piece of music or see a new painting that re-awakens that creative spark. We make a new friend or meet someone who has that missing piece of life’s jigsaw we have been trying to complete. We never know where or when that serendipity appears.

And with the freezing winter and endless rain we have all been living through, hopefully now in the rear-view mirror, Spring is just around the corner. So it really is the time to start thinking of planting new seeds. New plants. New crops. In our gardens, window-boxes and in our lives. Maybe something different this year. Read something different. Write something different. But most of all – time to make fresh plans for the year ahead, seek new ventures, add new goals to our To Do lists.

Whilst I try to remember what Lavender and burnt toast was all about….

Lessons From A Child Poet

by Miko Johnston

If you’ve read my biography, you know my earliest ambition was to become a poet. I began writing poems at age six, and continued until I discovered it wasn’t a mainstream career – I found no “help wanted” ads for poets in the New York Times classified section. Being a practical sort, I changed my goal, but I’ve been writing ever since.

I still remember the first poem I wrote. I actually sat down and evaluated it line by line, and found that I had good instincts about the process. I recalled how I’d spent time playing with the wording, the rhyming and the rhythm, which created imagery through words. I also found parallels with my current approach to writing.

Let me show you what I mean. The poem goes:

I went to the moon

One sunny afternoon

Where I saw a sight

That gave me a fright

A man from Mars

With green and purple scars

The poem rhymes because I felt at the time poems should rhyme. It has a rhythm as well, for the same reason.

The first two lines had come to me immediately. I liked the way they sounded, with a sing-song bounciness reminiscent of a good nursery rhyme. The sound of words, how they flow together and the rhythm they create when read, remains an important aspect of writing to me and something I always strive to attain. The lines also comprise the first third of the poem. They introduce the setting, the character, and launch the story, as a first act should.

I don’t specify how I got to the moon, whether I rocketed, incorporated some other form of transport, or jumped, but I don’t think it matters. Rather than fill in every detail, it leaves that to the reader’s imagination, which is still characteristic of my style

The next two lines bring in an element of tension through emotion, as well as the possibility of conflict arising from it. Fear can be very potent in motivating a character. These lines also comprise the middle of the poem, but the sudden change from the playful couplet that opens the poem grabs our attention. No sagging middle here, another goal in my writing.

The last two lines are, to me, the most interesting. Finding another “non-resident” on the moon is more curious than scary, which brings the poem back to the mood set in the opening. A good ending should always reference the beginning. I contemplated the Martian’s coloring for a long while. At least some of the scars had to be green, since that was all we knew about Martians in those days. I toyed with using red or blue for the second color – the rhythm would have matched better. Somehow it had to be purple, an uncommon color in the fifties, which made it exotic. And I decided I liked the hiccup effect it gave the rhythm, like going over a speed bump or pot hole. It jars you, which also fits the theme. It also leaves it to the reader to decide whether the Martian’s appearance was scary or humorous.

Is it a great poem? No, but come on, I was only six. If this were a story, it would be incomplete. I could have added more, but it does convey an image and an emotional response. I say it’s complete as is.

I don’t write much poetry anymore, except for an occasional musing on a subject or a haiku in a humorous vein. I like fitting an idea to a very specific and brief formula. I’ll share my favorite haiku with you:

FOR THE RECORD

                                                Born in thirty-three

                                                Celebrated forty-five

                                                In seventy-eight

The math works out, but finding the right title was critical, as much for this poem as for a novel

As I consider my very first attempt at writing with the benefit of more than a half century of hindsight, I can see the roots of my development as a writer of prose.

For those of you who write, do you remember the first piece you wrote? How would you trace your development as a writer from that piece to today?

Miko Johnston, a founding member of The Writers in Residence, is the author of the historical fiction series, “A Petal in the Wind”, as well as a contributor to several anthologies including the recently released “Whidbey Landmarks”. Miko lives in Washington (the big one) with her rocket scientist husband. Contact her at mikojohnstonauthor@gmail.com

A Thank-You Note That Led to Story

by Jackie Houchin

Do you like receiving a thank you note for some little thing you did (or even said)?  I recently received “three thank yous” via email (one was from my very well-trained, sweet granddaughter for a gift I sent).

It used to be something we would pound into our kids’s heads when they got birthday or Christmas gifts. “Write Aunt Dottie a thank you!”  “Tell grandma you loved her gift!” 

One boy at church ALWAYS wrote such sweet notes to me as his Sunday School or AWANA teacher. They were well thought out, and even used “bigger words” than I expected. Many had little drawings of something I might have given him. I would tell his mom that she sure trained him well, but she told me, “Oh, that’s his idea. I don’t say anything.”  Sadly he’s graduated out of my class now.  I miss his notes and illustrations.  (Yes, I’ve saved them.)

I enjoy writing thank you notes as well. I’m always surprised when someone I sent a card to exclaims “Oh, what a wonderful surprise! That was so nice of you!” Sometimes I send an email, and very occassionally a quick text message. But I enjoy writing out my thoughts on real-life cards. And since my granddaughter now has a little business* making greeting cards, I get to use all kinds of them. She’s the artist and designer.

I also write birthday and holiday cards . Dear Kerry!  Don’t make so many cute ones I just HAVE to buy and use!!

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Recently there was an article in our newspaper, The Epoch Times, January 26, 2022, titled “The Importance of Thank-You Notes”. I loved the sentiments and agreed with what was written.

This morning, February 25, 2022, there was a response in the form of letter in The Readers’ Turn section.  It is a wonderful story of one particular thank you.  Here it is (I hope it’s clear enough to read.)

As we here at The Writers In Residence are always encouraging our readers to WRITE, have any of you recently received something in the mail – snail, email, or text – that you could turn into a short story, essay, blog post, or even a poem? Ok, yes, even a utility bill that came. (Have you seen how Natural Gas prices have skyrocketed?? You could write a letter to the editor, or the company!! Haha.)

But I had something else in mind. Something creative. I recently got a snail mail letter from my sister who will be 89 next month. She is super spry physically and mentaly. She is now taking a writing class, and had to write a small piece from each of 30 prompts. She did it, and now she says her local newspaper wants to publish a few of them. Wow! Who knew? MY sister!!!

So… a thank you note that caught your attention, a birthday card, a GALentine’s Day card (yes, my granddaughter makes those!) or perhaps a mailing from a charity with a photo of a needy child, a disaster, or a pet who needs a home might spark a thought. Maybe even a gardening catalogue with seeds from an old variety of flowers that your grandma grew might inspire you to write a mini-memoir.

Go look through your mail. If you’ve got an idea now, let us know below. If it turns out nice, I might consider posting it in one of our GUEST BLOG spots this year. Just go do it! Write!

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*PacificPeachDesigns.com

Creating “Spine” Stories

If you are like me, you’ve never heard of a Spine Story (or Poem) before.  I hadn’t until I read Erica’s wonderful children’s blog “What Do We Do All Day?” about a Summer Literacy BINGO game.

In the game, some of the squares were titled; learn a new song, finish a crossword puzzle, read a book outside, listen to an audiobook, and write a comic strip. As the the kids do each thing, they cross off the square. Five in a row means a BINGO win.

The square that caught my eye  was, create a spine poem.

I’d never heard of a spine poem before so I clicked on a link to her page that explained them. Of course, if you’ve viewed the photos in this post, you will already know what one is. I call them stories instead of poems. A real challenge would be to do a Haiku poem in Spines.

I’ve yet to create one myself, but by the end of this post, I promise to put one together to share. Meanwhile, here are a few in Erica’s post.

(In case you can’t read the above Spines, they say “How to Write Poetry” “Brainstorm” “Where do You Get Your Ideas?” “All the world.”)

At the end of her blog on Spine Poems, she added a link to 100 Scope Notes which had a slew more of these poems/stories, titled “2013 Book Spine Poem Gallery”. There are other years of galleries available too. Lots of laughs and some really good Aligned Spines.

Okay, here are a few I tried. (haha) It was actually more fun than I thought. Once I’d done two, I saw many more possibilities!

Now it’s your turn.

Gather some of the books on your shelves or TBR stacks and try to create a few stories or poems?  I’d love to see a photo, or just write the titles in your comment below. Hey, you are very talented storysmiths. Let’s see what story you can tell… from your bookcase? Create a cool, scary, funny, mysterious, clever, or romantic “aligned spines” story.

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Erica’s Literacy Bingo page: https://www.whatdowedoallday.com/reading-bingo-for-kids/

Erica’s Spine Poetry page:  https://www.whatdowedoallday.com/spine-poetry-activity-for-kids/

100 Scope Notes Book Spine Galleries:  https://100scopenotes.com/2013/04/02/2013-book-spine-poem-gallery/

“A Cruel Blessing” a Ballad

by Jackie Houchin

                 I know this is an unusual post, but in this time of lock-down, I’ve not been able to focus on writing anything new. So I’m presenting this Ballad I wrote for a Creative Writing class at Glendale Community College. I’ve tried to publish it, but no one will take this many stanzas (27), although one of the lines is only ONE word. Can you find it?  And it’s less than 600 words. 

                This ballad is based on a real person I knew, a man who had Grand Mal epilepsy.  

 

“A Cruel Blessing”

 

In olden days, the ancient Land

Of Ararat became

The birthplace of a first born son—

So beautiful, but lame.

 

The lameness was inside of him,

A sleeping fiend, unseen,

That would attack and seize him fast

Once he became a teen.

 

But now, the babe lay peacefully

Against his mother’s breast,

And drank her nectar, white and rich,

And safely took his rest.

 

They double blessed and named the boy

Vartan and Victory.

Then sprinkled him with holy oil

To seal his destiny.

 

A close-knit tribe, his kin instilled

Within their growing child,

A pride of place, and heritage,

A name kept undefiled.

 

The father taught Vartan to war,

Retaliate, defend,

And laid in Victory the love

Of truth, and God and friend.

 

The mother gave him nourishment

To make him strong of limb.

Likewise, the food for soul and mind

She gently forced within.

 

Then on their son they placed this grave

Responsibility,

“The future of this clan does rest

On your integrity.”

 

Relentlessly the clock of months

Ticked thirteen times around.

Vartan approached his manhood proud,

A prince as yet uncrowned.

 

But on his honored day there struck

A death – so fresh, so raw.

The gruesome end of one most dear

Was what young Vartan saw.

 

Then deep within the boy-man’s frame

An aura and a flash

Preceded tremors, shakes and quakes,

A weakness, then a crash.

 

Like frozen forms the family

Around the crumpled lad

Took in with shock and fright the sight,

And wailed, “Our son is mad!”

 

They mourned the loss of hopes and dreams,

(As well, the one so dear),

And wake became a vigil grim;

A sick bed and a bier.

 

Vartan lay still as death that night;

The other’s corpse quite close.

At dawn they lowered bones below,

But Victory arose!

 

A celebration wild with joy

Then met the rising son.

They dared to hope that only once

The dreadful foe had won.

 

Forgotten soon the grievous curse

As manly, Vartan grew.

A wanton woman caught his eye,

Then taught him all she knew.

 

But in the rush of ecstasy

The pleasures turned to pains.

He screamed, convulsed, then toppled down

Amidst a dozen stains.

 

In shame they found the fallen oak

And slowly hauled him home.

Beside the hearth, he warmed and woke

With kin, but all alone.

 

A disciplined and structured life

He thought would bring release.

Vartan desired glory bright,

But Victory sought peace.

 

So in the frozen, northern wastes

A soldier he became.

And hardship burned the dross from him;

A cruel and thorough flame.

 

But still, in light-less days he fell

A victim to his plight.

And so there came to dwell in him

A darkness more than night.

 

A disciplined and structured life—

This time, a different kind;

In solitude and quietness

Release he’d surely find.

 

So to the Church, went Victory.

He knelt, and prayed and read.

Now sixty months of sanity

Have eased his tortured head.

 

A Holy Man, a Prophet true

Is what he’s meant to be.

For holy oil had marked him thus,

And sealed his destiny.

 

Now from the monastery, he

Speaks out the Truth he’s learned,

And prays forgiveness from his kin

For hopes and dreams he’s spurned.

 

For from Vartan no seed will flow

To populate the clan,

And to defend the name and place

There’s no one who will stand.

 

But, praise! The sleeping fiend has fled—

It dared not seize a priest!

So God and Church held Vartan in…

And Victory released.

Vartan 2

Vartan woman

Vartan 3

Vartan monestary

 

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