The Sunday Whirl Submission: At Some Point Later

At Some Point Later

She has exerted more effort and summoned more strength than she knew she had in order to get to this point. She has decided to take a bath and is now sitting on the toilet seat. It cold against her naked skin, and she is staring into the mirror on the back of the door. Why are there so many stupid, fucking mirrors in this house? She listens to the water fill the tub and breathes in the steam.  Heavy limbs are lifted and moved to the water which is too hot and she is held in an embrace that makes her drowsy.  Maybe too quickly, she is asleep.

The man continues his day and works. There are more interactions with people, but he feels like the real him is hiding somewhere under his skin. He is under this man that everyone sees.  At some point he has given birth to a son that wears him like a costume and goes through his day for him.  He wonders how she is doing and thinks he should call her, but he will not. This costume, this mask lacks empathy and he cannot reach her, so he mourns alone while he carries on with his duties.

And here I am again, at the end of another moment, trying to root out a happy ending for my imaginary family. I write by candlelight with my netbook on my lap and the solution to their problem scurries beyond my reach.

Well, there is always next week.

heidi

written 2/19/13
Submitted to The Sunday Whirl

This is my second submission to The Sunday Whirl. It is continuing from last week's submission, One Moment in one Day. It may be interesting to see where this goes with the wordles from The Sunday Whirl. I copied the picture of this week's (almost last week's) words from Wordle 96. If you want to learn more click on the first link above. There are some cool submissions.

 

3WW Submission: Once Upon A Time There Was a Girl

Once Upon A Time There Was A Girl

A long time ago, there lived a miller with his daughter, a maiden.

She was quite lovely, but they were alone and this

Worried the miller. After much pondering he decided

That she should marry. But how to pick her groom?

He must be of means, not a beggar or a pauper or a robber,

But a gentleman, the first to come along…that seems valid.

So, he’s worried, but thinks that the first man in finery is a valid

Choice. Makes you wonder who will come to claim this maiden?

Soon she was promised to a suitor who sought to rob-her

Of her heart, but she did not like him. The reason was this

Whenever she saw him, she felt a secret horror. He was bad, her groom.

However, there was nothing she could do, it had been decided.

It would have been nice if her dad had asked her before he decided

To marry her off to a stranger or at least checked to see that the offer was valid.

Now she had to go to the center of the dark woods to visit her groom.

She scattered peas and lentils to mark her way, and walked all day, this maiden.

She reached a cottage with a bird at the door. “Turn back! This

Is a murder’s house,” the bird warned.  Her fiancé was a killer and robber.

He also ate people, and wanted to eat her, according to the old housekeeper of the robber.

The maiden found the old woman deep inside of the cottage. She was tired of the carnage. They decided

To flee. A plan was made. Our heroine hid behind a great hogshead and this

Was when she would discover if her trust in the old woman was valid.

Because right then the murders returned carrying a terrified young maiden

Who begged for her life. She drank wine until her heart burst, forced by the groom.

 The evil crew fought over her possessions, a ringed finger was flung next to the groom’s

Intended.  Quietly she fought the urge to heave up her lunch. She really hated this robber.

The old woman drugged them and soon the men slept. The girl vowed justice for the dead maiden.

The peas and lentils had sprouted and led the girl home and soon she had decided

How to fulfill her promise. She showed her father the proof. He agreed that it was quite valid.

Soon was her wedding day and at the feast what happened was this…

 The entire village was there, and each person told a tale of that or this.

She was quiet until her turn and then this story she told her Robber Bridegroom.

She said that she dreamt about peas and birds, old and young women, cannibals and valid

Proof of a terrible crime. She then showed a ringed finger to the robber.

He tried to escape. He lied and denied. He and his cohorts were guilty it was decided.

They were all executed for what they had done to many a young maiden.

And, here is the end of this story, a tale of a nasty bad robber,
A hastily accepted groom and a girl not asked before it was decided.
I think there’s a valid moral here: never fuck with a clever young maiden.

heidi
written 2/20/13 for and submitted to Three Word Wednesday

The words for this week's Three Word Wednesday. The words for this week were Heave, Ponder, and Valid. I have been wanting to write a sestina lately (it has been over 20 years) and I thought a word prompt would be a good place to start. My original intention was to use the three words as three of my sestina words, but that didn't work out. I have also read some poetry posts on some of your blogs that have used fairy tales in interesting ways, and I really wanted to do something with a fairy tale. So, as you can see, I sestina-ed The Robber Bridegroom. I apologize or the weird spacing, but I typed it in Word first and the cut and pasted and now it's wonky. It also automatically capitalized the first letter of each line and now I can't remember if that's what you're supposed to do...seriously, the last time I wrote one of these it was 20 years ago... and now Copacabana is playing in my head.

February 19, 1999

February 19, 1999

I don't know all the names he was called,
but I can imagine:
son
brother
uncle
friend.

What I know about his death is from
what I've read
what I've seen on tv.
Things
I won't
write
here.

So today, the anniversary of when
he died. I say a
prayer for him,
and his friends
and his family,
and for those who killed him.

And I pray for a better world
full of love
for all of us.

heidi
written 2/19/13 in memory of Billy Jack Gaither
submitted for dVerse Poet's Pub

Today marks a sad day in Alabama history.  I don't really have anything else to say except please check out the link above about him.

dVerse The Poet's Toolbox Submission: Repost of The River

The River

I stand in the river of
my actions and it drips,
drips, drips down and I
doubt if I was right, but
then I stop.

Because I know I was right,
right, right, and that I hav
                                          e
                                       don
                                     e no w
                                       ron
                                         g

                                         I
                                        sit
                                      and I
                                        thi
                                         n

                                         k
                                       and
                                       I lis
                                        ten
                                         t

                                         o
                                      my t
                                    hought
                                      s as
                                         t

                                        h
                                     ey d
                                     rip, d
                                       rip,
                                          d
                                       r
                                 ip, drip, drip,
                               drip, drip, drip,
                                   drip, drip,
                                        drip.



heidi
written 1990?
submitted for dVerse The Poet's Toolbox


I have been writing more than I am used to lately, so I am reposting a poem that I posted in the early days of this blog, but that I wrote when I was19 or 20. I loved playing with the way the words looked on the page. (I was also heavy into alliteration). I hope you are having a lovely Valentine's Day!

Also, please check out Break the Chain from One Billion Rising

Three Word Wednesday Submission: Wednesday Afternoon

Wednesday Afternoon

This afternoon, my sweet girl was anything but...
she went from silly to distraught to grumpy to...
all from the burden on being too hungry and too tired.

She has the cumbersome job of being five.
So much to learn. So much to do.
So many rules to follow.

At bathtime, she becomes defiant.
My desire to be a good parent is second to my
desire for a 10 minutes of quiet.

Dark thoughts creep in the side of my mind,
not morbid, but not happy either.
I am walking a tightrope.

"Aoife! I am getting very frustrated."
"Are you mad Mommy?"
"No."
"Are you sad?"
"No, but I have lost my sense of humor."
"I will help you find it, Mommy,
what does a kumor look like?"

The rampage of my impending bad mood stops then.

"I think you just found my kumor, baby.

Thank you."

heidi
written 2/13/13 for Three Word Wednesday

The words this week are Cumbersome, Morbid, and Rampage. No more to say as I am trying to get this submitted by the end of the day.

dVerse OpenLinkNight Submission: A Brief Conversation Between Two Social Workers

A Brief Conversation Between Two Social Workers

It was one of those days when Anna was wondering why she had decided to become a social worker.  Although, if she were honest with herself, she would have to admit that this problem was not only a social work problem. She also realized that she had hired Kim because Kim was thoughtful and took the Core Values seriously. However, Kim thought too much before acting. They had even addressed it in Kim's last evaluation. Of course, Anna did not write "You overthink shit, Kim" in the eval, but there was discussion of  "taking too much time to come to an appropriate decision." Maybe she had sugarcoated it. She was going to have to rectify that quickly.

"Kim, you overthink shit in a crisis."

"What? What are you talking about?"

"This is not the time to be considering the dignity and worth of the person..."

"Well, I think this could be argued as a social justice issue..."

"No! No arguing, Kim. Those are no longer oppressed and vulnerable people. They are no longer your clients. We cannot think of them as human being who have inherent dignity and worth. Those are motherfucking zombies, and what they want is to eat your brains. We are not going to let that happen, okay? You and Jake and I are going to secure the shit out of this place, and then we are going to figure out, quickly, how we are going to the hell out of here!"

Anna was aware that she was swearing too damn much. It was going to be a swearing kind of day.

heidi
drafted June 4, 2012

Submitted for dVerse OpenLinkNight: Week 83, which I hope is okay because it isn't poetry, but, with the exception of "how i met rachel" my posts over the last week have been damn depressing and I was in the mood for something funny. I also am very interested in critiques because I want to go a little further with this, but, it kind of ends for me here. I have left the few notes I wrote trying to get the story straight, and they are why I think that there is another story along these lines. Also it includes my favorite things, social workers and zombies. How kick ass would that story be?

Notes:
Zombies attacking social service office.
Client zombified.
Social Worker worries about ethical consequences of killing zombies (dignity and worth of the person).
Supervisor trying to help social worker through crisis while trying to not get brains eaten.

The Sunday Whirl Submission: One Moment in One Day

One Moment in One Day

She sits on the bed, looking through herself in the dresser mirror. She can see in the reflection the building chaos peeking from the dustruffle. There is a bottle still half full of coagulated, useless breastmilk. She thinks "I should feel something. Some thread of something." Yet, there was only a vast deep emptyness, a rut where her soul should be. Still not seeing herself, she looks in the mirror and knows that she should get up, bathe, cry, eat, do something, do anything, but mostly move. That doesn't happen.

Outside of this room, outside of this house, people court life. They go to work and complain about their jobs. They eat out and worry about their weight. They play ball with their kids and allow the sun to witness. They fuck and they make love. They laugh and they cry. There is an evershrinking number of them who think about this woman.

There is one man who does think about her. He journeys from the house into the open world and still lives a life. It is a dry, lonely, confusing life. He answers "fine" to the incidental "how are you?" He knows that he lies, and you know too, but, what are you supposed to do?

There are terms that describe what is going on. Terms as sad and tragic as dying coral and just as baffling. And, as we watch this sad tableau searching for the tiniest wisp of happiness, not seeing the plumes, there is a small guilty relief that it is not us.

And me, writing this sad story? I want to rewrite and make it all better. Think of something genius to help this family that I am overidentifying with, but that ending is not in me. Not that this is a rare occurance, often these things run away from me.

Maybe I can save them tomorrow.

heidi
written 02/11/13 for Wordle 95 of The Sunday Whirl .

This is my first attempt at this prompt, which I found through Whimseygizmo's Blog. Each week there is a word bank posted and you write using some or all of those words. I have been wanting to write more prose lately, and have had a heck of a time doing it. So, I used this opportunity to exercise those muscles. I also want to write something funny, but obviously did not do that today.  This week's words were: bathe, term, court, open, bottle, dry, coral, ball, plume, rare, incident, and thread. You can click on the links above for both blogs that I have mentioned here. Thanks to Brenda for the post and the opportunity. I look forward to next Sunday (and maybe something funny.)

dVerse Poetics: The Art of Letting Go Submission: Last Love Letter

Last Love Letter

My cousin was a year older.

He was the second grandchild.

He was the younger brother

I was the first granddaughter.
 

My cousin lived three hours away.

I saw him and his brother

only some weekends. Two or three a year.

He was a sweet, quiet baby.

 

 

When I was six, I wrote him love letters

on scrap paper.
 

When I was ten, he taught my brother

how to turn his eyelids inside out

that made me run screaming.

We played baseball with socks wrapped in electrical tape.
 

I privately competed against him.
 

He was a funny, reserved, young man.

He once wanted to be a store Santa

because young women liked to sit

in Santa's lap for a picture.
 

When I was twenty-six, he died.

and I forgot everything but the pain.

and a vigilante hummingbird.
 

I forgot his smile.

I forgot his laugh.

I forgot his wit.

I forgot his love for his nephew.
 

I forgot.
 

I would have traded anything to have

him back.

To hug him the last time I saw him.

To Tell Him I Loved Him.
 

And I cried

cried

cried

cried

cried
 

Tonight I found some pictures.
 

And I remembered:
 

How he was sweet

How he loved his nephew

How he was funny

His desire to be Santa

My notes

Baseball

The woods

Football

Hawaiian Punch

Hot Chocolate

Puddings

Hide and Seek

His eyelids

His smile

Him.
 

and i cried.
 

heidi

originally written:3/13/97


I am reposting this for the dVerse prompt Poetics: The Art of Letting Go. Claudia challenges us to write about the art of letting go, which made me think of this poem. Writing it after he died was a way for me to let go of the hope that he would return home and we would find out that his death was an elaborate hoax (although maybe not totally...I still sometimes think I see him on the street.) So, for my sweet Ronnie and for your consideration...

Kellie Elmore's Free Write Friday Submission: I Lie in My Bed

I Lie in My Bed

I lie in my bed
with you
to you
and then sleep whirls in.

I lie in my bed
and I dream
of a life without you
and of vague single happiness.

I lie in my bed
next to you
and the cold chills
my bare skin.

I lie in my bed
awake again and your stillness
conjures a siren's song with one rephrase
escape.

I lie in my bed
but the sheer curtains float
at my open window, blown from the winds of
a coming rain.

I lie in my bed
thumbing the opal on
my wedding ring
and I am trapped.

I lie in my bed
and the allure of leaving tortures me
as you wake and ask how I slept.
"Fine" I say

as I lie in my bed.

heidi
written 2/9/13 for http://kellieelmore.com/2013/02/08/fwf-free-write-friday-word-bank-5/

 Word Bank: Opal, Vague, Whirl, Dream, Sheer, Conjure, Bare, Allure

I really wanted to write a small short story with these words, but this is what came out. Hmm, funny how that happens. I'm not sure what I think about it yet. I live in fear of being melodramatic, especially when I write poetry. It is way too easy for me to go overboard, and ruin a good concept. Thanks for stopping by and I would love to hear from you.

Mining the Memory: dverse Poets Meeting the Bar submission: how i met rachel

how i met rachel

"Heads down," and Mrs. Tew
turned out the lights.

Full of the righteous ire of
the falsely accused six year old
I want to cry.

20 little girls sitting with their heads
on their desks.
The room is quiet.

I look at the desk next to me.
The new girl sits there.

She has very curly hair
in ponytails.

She is smiling at me and
she waves at me.

I don't want to be nice.
I don't want to make friends.
I want to be angry.
I want to be out of heads down.

I frown and turn my head the other way.

Not knowing
how soon we'd be friends
or just how much
I would love her.

heidi
written 2/7/13 for http://dversepoets.com/2013/02/07/mining-the-memory-dverse-poets-meeting-the-bar/

I realized as I wrote this that I never fully appreciate the people who will become the most important to me when I first meet them. I always seem to meet them grumpy. I have been wanting to write a poem about my friend Rachel and decided to use this prompt to give it a try. I am not sure what I think about it yet and welcome all (kind) constructive comments. Thanks for reading!