I didn't make much time for writing on Saturday. Between working, watching curling, and shoveling, I just didn't have much time. I was lucky to snatch these lines while in the car:
Dirty snow covers the signs.
Light on a flag captures my eyes.
Slivers of a silvery moon hide in the skies.
Can I make it a haiku?
Winter Ride
Gray snow covers signs
Lighted flags capture my eyes
Silvers slice the skies
2009-03-01
Writing Journal (Day Three)
I'm not promising anything good with these poem-a-day's. I'm going to extend the challenge to give the poems titles, which is something I've always struggled with. Echoing my previous statement, I'm not promising anything good with these titles.
I've always liked the sounds of curling, especially in a traditional rink setting. So while I was on my break, I tried to tune out the jazz and focus on the memory of the sounds.
Good Game
Echoes of the evening shouts
Sink into the clean white sheets.
The scratches and the gliding
Are hardly heard
Beneath the hurries and the hards.
The stones across the pebbled ice
Are soothing to the soul.
Cheers arise as the
Click of a take-out fills the air.
I've always liked the sounds of curling, especially in a traditional rink setting. So while I was on my break, I tried to tune out the jazz and focus on the memory of the sounds.
Good Game
Echoes of the evening shouts
Sink into the clean white sheets.
The scratches and the gliding
Are hardly heard
Beneath the hurries and the hards.
The stones across the pebbled ice
Are soothing to the soul.
Cheers arise as the
Click of a take-out fills the air.
2009-02-26
Writing Journal (Day Two)
Not that yesterday's was any good, but today's will likely be worse, since I don't have all day to tinker with inspiration.
I started off this morning with a self-indulgent bit before work, fully intending to finish it while on break. But when I got to break, I found a voicemail from my mom and a text from my sister saying that Sgt. Daniel Thompson, a guy I graduated high school with, was killed in Afghanistan on Tuesday. (See story here.)
Naturally, I scrapped the first one and started one with the intent to memorialize him. Except it sounded like a hundred other poems that had been written. I scrapped that one, too, and wound up with this one.
_____________________________
Prayer for Daniel
The cuts on my hand
Seem like nothing compared to
The life your friends lost.
The extra bread he gave
Does not console me,
For I need little consoling.
I have but one simple memory of you:
In our eleventh year of school,
You showed me a poem
Written for your girlfriend.
The toothy grin you gave me
When I told you it was good
Will soon be buried under stars, stripes, and sand.
May you find peace on the other side,
For you did not find it here.
May those you loved behind
Carry your voice and smile in their hearts.
You will meet them in the hustle and the bustle
Of the Resurrection morn.
I pray that that is not the last you'll see of them.
I started off this morning with a self-indulgent bit before work, fully intending to finish it while on break. But when I got to break, I found a voicemail from my mom and a text from my sister saying that Sgt. Daniel Thompson, a guy I graduated high school with, was killed in Afghanistan on Tuesday. (See story here.)
Naturally, I scrapped the first one and started one with the intent to memorialize him. Except it sounded like a hundred other poems that had been written. I scrapped that one, too, and wound up with this one.
_____________________________
Prayer for Daniel
The cuts on my hand
Seem like nothing compared to
The life your friends lost.
The extra bread he gave
Does not console me,
For I need little consoling.
I have but one simple memory of you:
In our eleventh year of school,
You showed me a poem
Written for your girlfriend.
The toothy grin you gave me
When I told you it was good
Will soon be buried under stars, stripes, and sand.
May you find peace on the other side,
For you did not find it here.
May those you loved behind
Carry your voice and smile in their hearts.
You will meet them in the hustle and the bustle
Of the Resurrection morn.
I pray that that is not the last you'll see of them.
2009-02-25
Writing Journal (Day One)
Today's poem is inspired by something I almost said in a message to a friend. I was suggesting she show up somewhere just as the event was starting and used the phrase "the edge of time." The message I sent actually used the phrase "barely on time."
I opened up the windows in the living room and busted out a pencil and notebook for this one. I prefer doing poetry on paper rather than keyboard (it's the opposite for prose, though). Give myself some natural light and a comfy place to rest.
Then came the walk to the grocery store for breakfast/snacks and milk. Saw a man picking up large branches that had been buried under the snow and saw a couple of cute little girls each going into the store with their respective parents.
Then came the bike ride, where I came up with the ending of the poem.
____________________________
The Edge of Time
The edge of time,
It stands to reason,
I sthe abysmal leap
Into the season.
The ray of hope
Is clouded over.
No light now shines
On this four-leaf clover.
Breaking earth
From all that matters,
Soon enough,
This ice will shatter.
Glory wins,
Then glory fades.
The brightest sun
Shines through the shades.
I opened up the windows in the living room and busted out a pencil and notebook for this one. I prefer doing poetry on paper rather than keyboard (it's the opposite for prose, though). Give myself some natural light and a comfy place to rest.
Then came the walk to the grocery store for breakfast/snacks and milk. Saw a man picking up large branches that had been buried under the snow and saw a couple of cute little girls each going into the store with their respective parents.
Then came the bike ride, where I came up with the ending of the poem.
____________________________
The Edge of Time
The edge of time,
It stands to reason,
I sthe abysmal leap
Into the season.
The ray of hope
Is clouded over.
No light now shines
On this four-leaf clover.
Breaking earth
From all that matters,
Soon enough,
This ice will shatter.
Glory wins,
Then glory fades.
The brightest sun
Shines through the shades.
2009-02-20
Lenten Writing Challenge
I just saw an event today on facebook challenging/suggesting current members of WREN to write 40 Poems or 40 pages in 40 days. So...starting Feb. 25 (that's this coming Wednesday), I'm going to participate.
I'll most likely be starting off with poems, seeing as all of the fiction I want to work on is trapped on Lucy. So close and yet so far...
Wish me luck. I'll be posting the results of the challenge here, under the title "Lenten Writing Challenge."
I'll most likely be starting off with poems, seeing as all of the fiction I want to work on is trapped on Lucy. So close and yet so far...
Wish me luck. I'll be posting the results of the challenge here, under the title "Lenten Writing Challenge."
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