I am a writer, and I haven’t been writing except curriculum and proposals and not as much fun as my creative writing, so I’ve decided to give myself a 30 day challenge. I might use prompts; I might use pictures; I might just be silly, but my goal is to do some creative writing, even if it’s a little bit. I’m giving myself permission to write the worst Cr_ _…but at least I’m writing and getting my voice moving and working again. I have some books to finish!
Today’s prompt is BUMBLE. I am grateful to other sites who help a girl out.
“False notes are human. Why does everything have to be perfect? You know, perfection itself is imperfection.” Vladamir Horowitz
I found this beauty walking around a friend’s yard just “noticing” things…looking for things which brought me joy. When I first looked at it, I couldn’t believe how perfectly round this flower was! While other flowers were fading into fall, this dared to continue blossoming…I thought that was the metaphor…but when I returned inside the house and looked at the picture closer, I noticed the bugs bites in some of the petals and some pieces fading away….And then I knew the real metaphor is that we all have things chipping at us or imperfections that show, but our entire being is magnificent just as God made us, and we keep shining our beauty and living our best.
CHALLENGE: Look for joy in things you see today. Embrace their imperfection….OR find something interesting in something imperfect. Tell me about it!
Namaste my friends.
I’m not usually much of a soap box person…but in this season of love and joy, I’m going to challenge you to push past the word “tolerance.” It is a stage and a step…I get that. But to tolerate me is to put up with me…it’s inactive. It doesn’t require another person to take action…what would happen if you looked at me and accepted me faults and all…and a bit quirky…and then what if you could find something to appreciate about me? And maybe after that, what if you could see in me what God sees in me and hit Namaste kind of love?
Just sayin’….what if? If we all tried that even in our inner circles, wouldn’t the world be a little closer to peace? Just something to ponder…
I implore you. If you feel the calling, you MUST write. There are too many people who depend on you to share the gift you’ve been entrusted with. It’s vital.
Day before yesterday, I freaked about writing my dad’s story…What qualifies me to write it? How do I finish it when my dad can’t talk? Am I good enough?
There were so many questions and feelings of inadequacy. I reached out to my amazing writer friend, Bridget. She knows how to give a voice to others because she writes people’s stories. I knew she understood what it was like to reach a point of vagueness, or sheer terror, and feelings of inadequacy…and still she wrote on. She reminded me that if I didn’t write his story, then my dad truly would not have a voice, especially now that he can’t talk at all.
Today, I went to the nursing home and read my dad another chapter of his story….a story I know that has deep meaning for my daddy. I read it aloud to him, and he crumbled and cried. Was I looking to make him cry? No, of course not. But what this revealed to me was the power of hearing the voice of a vaulted man. This is a man who never showed emotion of any kind. This is a man who used alcohol to not feel pain…not feel emotion…in an era where men were to be invincible over any kind of vulnerability. When he cried, he showed me that he had been real and honest with me. When he cried, I knew he had heard his own voice out loud. When he cried, I knew I had captured the essence of what he was feeling. He had entrusted me with that part of him that revealed to himself he was human. I remember earlier this summer my dad had said, “You gave me my life back.” He needed me to be his voice. He desperately wanted to be a part of this world and to belong.
Lastly, when I left, I reminded him, “Daddy, you’ve done some great things in your life. You have left a legacy for your grand children and great grand children. I am proud of what you have accomplished. I am proud to be your daughter because you are honest and kind and good.” He mouthed the words thank you with some sounds, squeezed my hand tight fiercely and kissed me.
Yes, he made mistakes…some really bad mistakes in which he felt the deepest darkest shame. But the darkness had not defined him. As a writer, I got to reveal that the shame was only part of the story…that alcohol was the antagonist for a short time. But the real Ernest, the one who overcame the darkness had risen and become a victor in his own story. His reveal had provided a path for others.
This, my writer friends, is your mission, giving a voice to those whom can not speak or do not know how to speak. This is how we heal our world, one story at a time.
Poetry and food? Think about it. They are both guilty pleasures, so it stands to reason that they should definitely be in the same sentence. As I was doing my ponderings today, I thought what fun it would be to imagine these two together. So…first I did a list kind of poem of what would ‘color my palette” of food poetry.
Spicy Mexican food
thrills the tongue
lingering, but not sabotaging
teases enough to pant for another bite.
Icrecream
Creamy cold silk for ANY day.
soothes the throat
delights the taste buds
It’s very essence can shoot me back
to childhood
Big Red crème soda
Bubble gum delight
Fizzles and drizzles
Down my throat
For hot Texas days.
……MORE TO COME. It’s just the beginning!
And coffee…my magical treat for any day of the week gets its very own poetry style, An Ode
Oh coffee, of coffee
you’re wonderful stuff,
coffee oh coffee you
are wonderful stuff
you sooth me, move me, groove me.
Coffee snuggles with me and wraps its smooth brown blanket all around me, never wanting me to be cold. He’s a warm invitation and a smooooooth conversation. I can be myself with him. With him by my side, what else could I want?
(I realize it needs some work…but I’m putting it out there to let you know as Anne Lamott says, it’s okay to write the worst crap…it grows a great garden! The fact is…I’m writing! And you can too!)
WRITING PROMPT: What food would you write an Ode to? I can’t wait to read what you write!
Here is what an Ode is: The word ode derives from the Greek word meaning poem intended to be sung – in essence, singing praise. Odes use exaggerated language, taken to the extreme.
What ODES do to assist a Writer: Because Odes use extreme language, it allows a writer to overexaggerate and take things over the top…in other words, “LET GO.” Those who have trouble with their Inner Critic being too critical or get stifled in their writing can use an Ode to get out of the rut. It’s meant to be outrageous, even gaudy…and causes humor. Don’t we all need a chance to not take ourselves so seriously?
Let’s try this again! I think this would be super awesome to read your poetry and see your culinary talents…or at least through a family recipe in. We poets are usually creative in more than one area.
Okay my friends…I was inspired by a poem I read yesterday that involved the tastes of a place. And food brings about joyous memories with friends and families and those special people we love. So, here’s my challenge:
Write a poem about the tastes of YOUR place…and then maybe include one of your favorite recipes…it can be from that place your wrote about, or one of your favorite recipes…I think it would be really cool to gather recipes of places from around the world….Then I can wake up and say things like, I’d like to travel to Austrailia today or Georgia, and pull a recipe out and be reminded of you! Besides, my recipe box needs new tastes! ENJOY!
Though I live in Idaho now…my strongest memories of taste are from Texas…
I live poetry like a broken heart that walks a lost road through shattered dark that shrinks from receiving any more harm a creature of silent howls that sits and cuts its arms
I live poetry like a broken dream fractured in places hid deep to be seen collecting my parts from a rubbish heap pieces of me like a memory lay round waiting by my feet
I live poetry like a broken mind long twisted throat around it signed for a freedom that no words could make silently gnawing myself to flee this rope in old strands she frays me
I live poetry like a severed tongue incapable faltering screaming head throng vomiting to cease I run on hands and knees to reach that one place where all make sense to me
There I live poetry like I’ve come home I cross that line to find my own it’s where I belong with you mother nature at the heart of the rose
To live Poetry
Inhale the crisp brilliant air
filled with all things fiery and impassioned,
Nature, art, song, words
Pregnant with the seeds of
Love, peace,
possibility and hope
Inspiration oxygen
permeating my blood
and winding its way
through my physical body
deepening into the tissues
Of my soul.
Write it!
This is the beginning of a collaboration poem. How do you LIVE POETRY? It’s a quote I wrote that I want to live by. You can see the original post from July 9th, HERE.
Here are the contributing artists so far. Take as much time as you need and link back to me. I’d love to know how poets live!
You, who are full of the most delicious words, who have the gift of story and poetry, who use these delectable creatures every day. Give me your words! I promise to use them wisely. The groups I work with LOVE them! boondoggle, bamboozle, thingamajigger, whatchamacallit, swagger, bouffant…which reminds me. Below is a video which will trigger fun sound words right out of you! (G rated- You need this version because the teens’ faces say it all!)
– Bulbous Bouffant.
I use these words for my work in Poetry Therapy, a medium which assists others in healing.
I LOVE texture! I’m a curious girl who is a kinesthetic learner. I like to touch everything!!!…consequently I also like to make everything a musical instrument because I feel rhythm all over.
This week my daughter took me with her to a business conference. While she worked, I got to check out the hotel. There were some great textures! The first one is of some posts that framed an entrance to a restaurant. They were in the shape of a vase and made of wood…it was carved! And the second was a mirror that was framed in metal. Very cool mirror.
And the last one is something my dad made for me for my 25th birthday to remind me of all the people who loved me in Texas.
This weekend I wrote a quote (rewritten below). My intention was to create
a more purposeful life. If I LIVED poetry, what would that look like?
To live Poetry
Inhale the crisp brilliant air
filled with all things fiery and impassioned,
Nature, art, song, words
Pregnant with the seeds of
Love, peace,
possibility and hope
Inspiration oxygen
permeating my blood
and winding its way
through my physical body
deepening into the tissues
Of my soul.
Write it!
WRITING CHALLENGE: Now, it’s your turn! What would it look like if YOU LIVED POETRY?
It can be a poem or an essay, a quote, or a few words are two. How does it inspire you to look at life differently?
Just as in the past, I will post what you write and link it back to you. I can’t wait to hear what you say, because I know your words are magic. Don’t forget to tell your friends!
Writing Wings For You 