To Scrap, Collage or Poem Later…

I'm always open to any prompts people are willing to share.  I love all ideas/suggestions, so if you have one, leave it.  :)

Poems about:

• Suicide Dogs of Overtoun House Bridge (from Nat Geo’s Wild Case Files)
• Red Rain in India (from Nat Geo’s Wild Case Files)
• Dreams of Coney Island
• Big Time Wrestling (braided narrative)
• Catacombs in Italy
• Stockholm Taxi (a phrase to use)
• Snow Frogs
• Write about standing on a balcony with someone you’ve read about in the paper. (Big Tent Poetry Prompt)
• Write about getting undressed somewhere besides the bedroom or bathroom. (Big Tent Poetry prompt)
• Pantoum of Questions (Rachel McKibbens prompt)

Scrap:

• Little Mister’s awful-bad cold 
• Packing Jessica
• Renovations upstairs
• layout inspired by “hope”
• Quote from Quote-me.org:  “It is a risk to love.  What if it doesn’t work out?  Ah, but what if it does?”  Peter McWilliams
• Quote from Quote-me.org:  “Justice is what love looks like in public.” Dr. Cornel West
• Books I’m reading
• Stack of thesis materials ready for mailing
• Recycled hybrid project
• Printer tray
• Easter egg coloring
• Matt’s upcoming birthday

Collage:

• Suicide dogs
• Coney Island
• Friendship board

I think that will keep me quite busy for awhile.  LOL

Fall haiku?

Beware the voodoo
that breathes in trees, bewitching
dreams from orange to red.

CHASIN DUST BUNNEHS DISLODGD BY TEH LADDR DURIN YET ANOTHR HOME IMPROOVEMENT PROJECT

U paint me
crazy into teh cornr.
Mah whiskers tippd
wif
Japanees Fern: not
as peaceful as it soundz.
Teh Mt. Dew green
wallz glow into
teh hall
assuring us dat teh paint
marketers dupd u again.

**Photo of Lamont used with permission of Martha Hughes http://dragonflyphotography.etsy.com/

LOLCAT Poem

DAWGS ‘ROLL OVAR’, SCRATCH, CHASE BALLS
AN DON’T SWEAT TEH SMALL
STUFF CUZ THEY DON’T SWEAT.


I RULE TEH BAKYARD JUNGLE.


MAH PREDATORY SKILLS RIVAL
PAYDAI LOANZ AN CREDIT
CARD INTEREST RATEZ.
IM FIERCE.


MICE?
TREMBLE
AS I MAK MAH WAI
DOWN TEH PATH WER TEH GRAS
PARTS, WELL-
WORN BY TEH BLACK PADZ
OV MAH FEROSHUS PAWS.


RAWR


--Giacomo
http://readwritepoem.org/groups/lolcat-poetry

Postcard Poetry: August 1

The Postman Likes

to scan funky postcards

the smell of stamps on a
sunny morning

to stomp on it first.

To keep things simple and dark.

To think of himself as quietly
sexy

to tell stories about jumbo
lump crab cake cookoffs

to go about his business the old-
fashioned way

three words: brown paper wrapper

to see you smile.

Push

Push.
Push.
I've changed my mind.
I don't want to do this.
You have to.
Push.
Tears fall as she enters my world with a wail.

Twenty years and twenty days
spun around a semi-circle
to a difficult place
where letting go is expected
but bittersweet.

Now in a mountain cow-town where
she's sprouted wings, and
I'm supposed to return empty-nested:
I struggle. Not because I want
to keep her from her destiny,
but because I may not know my own.

After my biggest role -
playing mom for half my years
plus two - who am I?
It is time for new discoveries
and paths for each of us.

I stand in her postage stamp
kitchen wanting to help.
I open my mouth to speak
but gape like the open cupboard doors
and swallow my advice so
she will forge ahead.

Push.
Push.
I've changed my mind.
I don't want to do this.
You have to
let go… tears fall and
for a moment I unfurl
as I leave, having delivered
her to her own world.

I busted this draft out during my lunch today. I'm sure I will make some changes, but this is it for now. This was another suggested topic from Read Write Poem. Check it out and see what everyone else did as well.

Writing

I've determined that the last three months sucked the life out of me as far as my writing is concerned. I haven't been doing any writing for fun, and not even as much as I needed to do for actual requirements.

Being the head of a writing group, it makes me feel tremendously guilty at times. But... on the flip side, I had the wonderful opportunity to have Beth (a member from the group) step up to lead a mini-workshop on writing outside of the box. She gave us a great exercise and some time (along with the pressure) to write.

This is what I came up with as a rough rough rough draft.

Watching

Inside a brown house on
Bumpalump Road
catch a blonde glimpse
through darkened
window glass.
Hair painted
soft-boiled yellow
smelling of sunshine,
ponytail bobbed
moved by the invisible beat
of kitchen music.
Twitterpated chatter
clatters over
a lumbering
pile of dishes stacked
miles high
and wide
double-sinked.
Scrawny pale arms
- elbows deep -
springboard into suds.
Bubbles soap
the air with
ivory scent while
dishes submerge
with a bloop.
She discusses her day
over a rush of water.
Her smile cures cancer.