Jun 23

Una Carta Cada Mes (A Letter Every Month)

There was a promise and a purpose. Of course it was all part of the plan so that neither of them would fall victim to the harsh realities of what splits relationships apart in this world: time and distance are the real devils of losing touch. Even with all the technology and instant communication.
Jun 23

Proud to Be



I wrote it on a flag.
His flag that flew from here to Florida and then home
With him.
I will miss you more than I even know yet,
I wrote.
 My blue permanent maker letters
Bled into the white nylon stripes.
Yes, I filled two of them;
Wordiness runs in my genes, in my ink,
And apparently on nylon, too.

I skipped the red stripe so that my message matched everyone else's.
May 24

Two ukiaH I Found Today

Back then, before I knew you        
The sky was brighter                      
Frogs hummed louder in the night.
 
{ } ~ { } ~ { } ~ { } ~ { } ~ { } ~ { } ~ { } ~ { } ~ { } ~ { } ~ { } ~ { } ~ { } ~ { } ~ { } ~ { }
 
Addressed to a silent one       
With lobes small, folds great   
Do you feel their infrasounds?
May 20

Quadratic Formula Poem

Quadratic Formula Poem

X marks the spot,
Where,
If you pessimistically encounter a bee,
You should contribute something to it’s existence,
Or, perhaps,
Take the same something.

I’ve heard,
You know,
That bees,
On their birthdaays,
Appreciate a gift that is square in shape,
But rooted in thoughtfulness.

Yes,
A gift containing bubbles or bobbles or babbles or blubber,
Nibbles or cobbles or pebbles or rubber,
From which you have removed a quadruplet of aces.
This,
My dear friends,
Is how to cover your bases.

Go,
Enter every best-birthday-gift-for-a-bee competition.
I promise,
You’ll be boasting first places.


Author's note: the spelling of "birthdaay" is intentional
#Nature9
#NatureNine
Dec 19

Need




Sometimes I fear that others don't need me
The same way I need them.

They don't
breathe the gentle space of conversation.
They don't... pursue the overcrowded couch, a reunion of overlapping knees and adjacent thighs, to rekindle their flickering flame.
They don't
jokingly say that they were born into the wrong culture in a not-so-joking way, because their chest aches for good friend hugs, more frequent piggy backs, and heads on shoulders in the dark.
Dec 17

Everyone's Six-Word Stories: COW 2017

Here are all of the Six-Word Stories written collectively by the writers who attended YWP's Celebration of Writing (COW) on November 11th, 2017 at Vermont College of Fine Arts in Burlington.

As I said with the exquisite corpse stories, these make great prompts, so feel free write off of them!

Again, I am including photos with several of the stories. I created another interactive story explorer contraption. Click on those words or find it here: https://docs.google.com/presentation/d/1W0rb7EmGgK3eJGMinGLHSx8p2Hded4zFp7J41urf5pU/edit?usp=sharing

Enjoy,
Janet

-----------

I truly know nothing at all.
 
Showing [Snowing?] outside and in my soul.
 

Everyone's Exquisite Corpse Stories: COW 2017

These are all of the Exquisite Corpse Stories written collectively by the writers who attended YWP's Celebration of Writing (COW) on November 11th, 2017 at Vermont College of Fine Arts in Burlington.

I highly encourage you to use these stories as prompts and finish them or write building off of them.

Because so much is lost in the translation of handwriting to typed text, I have included photographs of several of the stories and created what I call an interactive story explorer contraption. I encourage you to visit it and explore these stories as they are arranged on the paper.
Dec 14

Peace and Rage

Peace.
There are pieces of peace scattered across the hills,
thrown in corners with abandoned spider webs
and forgotten for decades.

Those pieces of peace do not deteriorate.
They only wait.
Patiently.

Observant eyes and carefully attuned ears can pick them out,
track them down,
gently pick them up
and blow the cobwebs away.
Returning happiness, laughter,
sunlight, trees,
companions to the world.

Peace reincarnated piece by piece.



Rage is red like a ruby.
It burns through everything in its way,
trailing hot coals and lifeless ashes in its wake.

Rage.
Four letters are weighed down by so much emotion.
   Clenched fists/  gritted teeth/  furrowed brows/  tight face.
Rage bubbles up inside me
like water boiling over the edges of the pot,
spilling and leaping from its rim, to fizz,
hiss and spit
on the burner below.
Dec 13

Telephone

Nov 25

My heart beats so

My heart beats so forcefully
When I write of the poem I wrote
And when the caterpillar takes bites
Out of the juicy leaf.

Do you love me?
And, can God be a sort-of-real thing only when we want?
Or, can bubbles last forever?
Neverpopping --- the way I wish friendship could be.

My memories of you disappear.
Washed down the drain.
The table in front of us melts.
Leaving sadness and sorrow to be best friends.






#COW2017
Form: three four-line stanzas. The first stanza begins with "If," the second with "Then," and the third with "Therefore." (I have taken out the if, then, therefore.) A prompt given by Karin Gottshall at COW2017.
Nov 21

Fence

[Photo Credit: YWP Photo Library, photo by Grace Safford] Taken from Challenge

I wonder why there is a fence here. Is it to keep me out? To keep something else in? To keep me in and them out? Why must we be separated? What is the point, the purpose of this barrier? Is it a necessity?
Nov 21

In Love (MadCap: Non-Magnetic Poetry)

Purpose under milk. I'm a kid in love for the longer stegosaurus.


#COW2017
Nov 21

Details (MadCap: Non-Magnetic Poetry)


Sticking talent where stories might embrace details.
Fighting Words
Protected
America.
Responsibility.
Feminists.
A moment in the sun.
The story of Dandruff.







#COW2017
Nov 21

Silvi (MadCap: Character Bowl)

Silvi, 32, a card shark. Always looking for the hustle.

Tonight, she can be found in the small club downtown, wearing blue stilettoes and an ivory evening dress, a patterned shawl draped over her shoulders and Foofoo sitting on the booth seat next to her.

Her little dog, the kind that fits in a purse, the kind that some people call a "purse rat," his name was Foofoo. Yes. Cringe. But, really, we should feel sorry for Foofoo.

He never understood what this "hustle" was that Silvi was always looking for. She carried him around in her blinged-out, overpriced, leopard print hand bag and ruffled up his little head saying "Foofoo, there's the hustle. I see it. We're almost there..... Mama's gonna her her hustle."
Oct 27

Road Creatures

There are so many creatures on the road this fall. They scare me quite often when I am driving. It is startling to suddenly catch sight of a little thing inching across the road, fluttering from spot to spot above the blacktop, or scurrying in zig zags on its tiny little nonexistent paws. My heart inside seizes, signaling my reflexes that soon they might be needed. And then, all at once, just as abruptly as it came, the tightness splits off and the warning disperses. Before me, remains. The curled, dried leaves as they stick to the road, taunting and stooging, their spirits aglow.