Case of the blahs

I think I overexerted myself already this week. I need to learn to pace my writing and my reading other blogs.  I really want to participate in 3WW today, but I can't think of anything to write. There's not a time limit, so maybe tomorrow. Besides, I need to finish my daughter's Princess Aurora costume for school tomorrow and I should probably clean the kitchen. Blah! It feels like graduate school.

Talk to you later,

heidi

Random Late Night Post Recapping My Tweets About Motherhood

Things I tweeted about motherhood when I first joined Twitter.

Tweets

2yr-old's unspoken battlecry~I'm in charge~is only left unsaid b/c~he hasn't figured out how 2 put those words together~yet. h. #micropoetry

Watching them play~sun streams~illuminates skin golden~highlights their curls~I'm mesmerized by love~shit r those plastic bags? h. #poem

6am and my sweeties are up~climbing all over me~mommy, i'm so hungry~i give them my ipod with cartoons playing~guilty sleep for me. h. #poem

Watching my girl walk 2 her class~is watching my baby grow up&away~&a terrible joy stops my breath 1 moment as I rejoice and mourn. h #poem

Quietwarmdarkness~silence felt likea quilt~smalldrowsy boy~fights sleep w/closedeyes~a longsound~trumpeting~whiteteeth shine~Mommy I pooted.

I could watch you dance all day ~ except that I want to join in. #micropoetry

Sometimes~I look at you~&myinsides tighten so~I can't breathe~&I don't care~because rightthen~loving you~ismore important~than breathing. h.

Dear Aoife~You're the reason~poets and lyricists~rhyme "girl" with "world". h. #micropoetry

OMG~courtesyflush(cf)~publicrestroom~cf~pottytraining~cf~thesmell~cf~nextstall~cf~"mommyitstinks"~cf~whywon'tucourtesyflush! h. #micropoetry

No nap for me~but the grumpy is long gone~a sweet baby boy curled in my lap~dreaming~and bringing me peace. h. #micropoetry

Old me~slept late~stretched across bed~sometimes with a fella~New me~6:30& awake w/a Mommy I sirsty~& a pull on my hair. h. #micropoetry

What my son tells me in his sleep~I don't want any vegetables~if it weren't cottoneyejoe~hot dogs~Daddy, go to the park~ he has no secrets.

My sweet girl~with her happy smile &~ her bright curls~brings joy to~everyone who lets her~why do I get so frustrated? h. #worldpoetryday

Their eyes well up~the big tears roll down their cheeks~their bottom lips poke out~my heart melts~all I want is to hold them close. h. #poem

Parenting 101~when his heinie becomes ticklish~cleaning poo gets tricky~it's time the little man learned about the toilet. h. #micropoetry

Homemade juice pops~dripping down little hands~making faces sticky~cooling us all~hot southern days. h. #micropoetry

Grumpy mommy~trying to stay mad ~wanting to play on phone~2 yr old sings"Funplex"~&4 yr old dances~I'm losing this battle. h. #micropoetry

My son at two~sings~talks~laughs~My daughter at two~so quiet~so unresponsive~except when she laughed. h. #micropoetry

Trying to dim his light~will not make hers shine more~it will just dim his~Look again~recognize hers~already blazes bright. h. #micropoetry

I come home~she runs up to me and~with a hug says~I'm a zombie~aaarrrrrrr~kiss my brains!~My daughter~my joy. h. #micropoetry

The joy of parenting~the mad dash~complete the project~due tomorrow~that you found out about this evening. h. #micropoetry

My heart ~ no longer my own ~ is now carried around in your tiny hand. h. #micropoetry

The joy of parenting~I get to say~"please don't lick my face with~chewed up cheese cracker in your mouth." h. #micropoetry ?

Lazy day ~ blowing off housework ~ hanging with my toddler~ he sweetly holds my hand to his face ~"pick my nose Mommy." h. #micropoetry

The joy of parenting means~I laugh w/my children when they sneeze long gangly snot-worms out their noses~Although I gag too. h. #micropoetry

Conversation at bedtime: I'm a zombie aarrrrrrrr!~Raspberry my tummy!~Go to sleep Baby Jaguar.~ I love my little girl. h. #micropoetry

My sweet baby what do you want for breakfast ~ hotdogs ~ lunch ~ hotdogs ~ supper ~ hotdogs~ todo buy stock in OscarMeyer. h. #micropoetry

Free Write Friday Submission: Fly Away

Credit: Richard Baxter
Free Write Friday 2/15/13



 

Fly Away


She has hidden in the old house
clutching her dolly
praying for a magic that will save her.

Outside, he looks for her.
He didn't see her run into the house.
He reeks of the beer he used to try to forget his troubles.

She is little for her age and underfed.
She has been her own caregiver
and she is too young to raise a child.

He didn't start out a bad man,
or a drunk man
and he does not know what he is supposed to do with her.

She is praying for escape
squeezing her tiny eyes shut
wishing she could fly away.

He hears the sounds of birds
and looks up.
They form a dark cloud and are flying towards the old house.

She is exerting all of her strength, hoping.
She does not notice the sounds or the dark, or the motion
as the birds circle, and then lift, the house.

He watches the house fly away and
crushes his beer can with the hand holding it
and never notices.

She feels a breeze and opens her eyes.
She sees the birds.
They have saved her.

He vomits on the street.
He calls the cops, and becomes a
suspect in her missing person case.

A far way away, the birds unceremoniously
drop the house onto the grey ground.
They fly away.

He is interrogated, suspected and
she is gone. Eventually, he is released.
Her case goes cold.

She is not in Munchkinland, or Oz, or even
Kansas. But she feels free, and as she looks at the
dark skies around her, she feels safe.

heidi
written 2/25/13 for Kellie Elmore's Free Write Friday prompt for 2/15/13

Click here to listen on Chirbit

This is a late submission. I discovered some cool prompts and decided I want to do them all, so it has taken me this long to get to this one. Check out Kellie's site  by clicking on the link about to find out about her Free Write Friday and to read some cool submissions. I have to admit that with this prompt (write a response to the picture about) I kept thinking about The Wizard of Oz, but I couldn't come up with anything. Last night, I was looking at this picture again and focused on the birds rather than the house, and that's when the idea hit me.  I hope you like it!

There was also an interesting discussion on the dVerse blog Pretzels and Bullfights post about commenting. I am happy to get comments (not spam) and critiques. If the critique is long or complicated, or you're too shy to post it publicly, please feel free to email me . I would love to hear from you.

The Sunday Whirl Submission: The Final Moment

Wordle 97

The Final Moment

The woman is alone in her house, alone in her bathtub. The water was hot and she is in a deep, deep sleep. She has hoarded all of the pain pills after her C-section, and now the pieces are melted in her body. With a seeming patience, they are slowing her down. For the first time in a long, long time, there is some hint of a smile on her lips, and no tears waiting in her eyes. She gave a fleeting worry about the man who loves her and is also sad, but he is away, farther away than just work, and so the thought of him leaves quickly. Instead of a note, she left the dirty, discarded baby bottle on the bathroom counter. Slowly, the water in her tub begins to turn cold.

The man is at work. For a moment he feels a sharp pain in his chest, stealing his breath. He thinks "I'm having a heart attack." But, the pain passes and the moment is gone and his discipline tells him that there is work to be done. He tries to call her at lunch but the phone just rings and rings, and he leaves a message. He worries a bit and calls a neighbor to ask her to check in, but it is the neighbor's grocery day, and she is already in the supermarket gazing at the food labels. She says she will check when she gets home, but, while looking at produce, the school calls and her little boy has fallen off of the monkey bars and needs to go to the emergency room. She is a human being and a parent, and has all of the limits associated with these two titles. She forgets all about the man and the woman and leaves her cart standing as she rushes out of the store. At that moment, she is heroic, but she is the heroine of a different tale. However, he doesn't know this and returns to his work, eats a Snickers bar in the afternoon, and in the evening, gets ready to go home. If this were a time of prophets, maybe he would have had a more concrete warning, but, if this were the time of prophets, he would probably ignore it.

And here I am, still writing this, becoming less optimistic that I can spin this into something happy. I am just a fly on the wall of this story. How is it that when I write, the characters take control of the story and do what they want? I have seem similar questions, and if I have seen the answer, I don't remember it. I wish that there was something sublime to all of this. I do think that there is one more moment that we need to see, a post-moment moment.


heidi
written for The Sunday Whirl Wordle 97

This is the third part of a story that I have made from the weekly wordles since I started participating in the prompts. The first one is One Moment in One Day and the second is At Some Point Later. You can go to them from here by clicking on the titles here, or in the side bar. I am glad that I paid attention to the comments from the One Moment in One Day and didn't stop there, although this story makes me sad.

Mag 157 Submission: The Trouble with Tribbles

Venus de Milo with Drawers, 1936, Salvador Dali

 

 

 

The Trouble with Tribbles

...is that they get into everything.


heidi
written: 2/24/13 for The Mag 157


Yeah, it's cheap and I went there, but it was honestly the first thing that popped into my head. (More Tribbles here!) Happy Sunday morning y'all! The submission are really good this week. Head over and read some!

Mag 156 Prompt: Bubbles Popping

Wind of History by Jacek Yerka

The Mag 156 (I missed the Linky)

**I am linking this to the dVerse Poetics prompt for 4/13/13. It's a short story rather than a poem, but I worked like crazy on this and it got no love. If you are visiting through dVerse and would rather read a poem about monsters, please click Nightmares.**

I usually save my comments for the end of my posts, but there are some things I wanted to tell you before you read this. I am using a writing prompt from Magpie Tales (The Mag 156). We are to write about this really cool picture.  I am a huge fan of those old radio programs, and this picture reminded me of an episode of Lights Out called The Dark. I decided that I wanted to write a version of  The Dark for this prompt. An extra warning though, this is a gross story. If you would like to listen to the original, you can find a streaming source by clicking this link Lights Out: The Dark (This link will take you to the Old Time Radio Internet Archive. The episode I am using is #19 on the play list.*)


Bubbles Popping

Finally, there was some sign of human life. Dorothy and Nora had been driving the deserted countryside lost for hours. They had made a lovely picnic on the shore, but had missed a turn somewhere on the way home.  As twilight began to settle around them, Dorothy saw tire tracks off the side of the road. Up a hill, she saw the house.

"Nora, turn right here."

Nora turned the car and they were jostled by the bumpy hill.

"Slow down Nora!"

"I thought you liked bumpy rides," Nora said, but she complied and eased the car over the hills and the holes of the yard up to the house.

"I really have to go to the bathroom." It was true, Dorothy really did have to pee and she hated going outside. She hoped that the house would have someone friendly and some sort of facilities.  Almost before Nora had stopped the car Dorothy had jumped out and hurried to the door.

"You can stop dancing, I'm sure they will let you in." Nora joined Dorothy at the door and was adjusting her hat. Dorothy knocked on the door and it opened a bit. She stuck her head inside and choked on the damp smell of decay.

"Hello?" Nora called out from behind her. She pushed the door open further and then wrapped her arm around Dorothy and guided her in. "Is anyone here? We're lost and my friend here needs to use your powder room."

There were no lights on inside the house, only the dim light that streamed in from the windows.  "It smells like a barrel of rotten apples in here." Dorothy looked over at Nora and saw her crinkling her nose. Dorothy stopped choking and her eyes adjusted to the gloom. Past Nora, she saw the old woman staring at them from the corner.

"Nora..." Dorothy nodded her head towards the old woman. Nora looked over and saw her.

"Oh, I am sorry. I have forgotten my manners, but you see, we have been driving a long time and we are lost and tired. My name is Nora, and this is my friend Dorothy. I hope you don't mind, but the door was open..."

The old woman just stared at them. Her chin was almost touching her chest and she was looking up at them. She clutched a dirty rag doll to her breast and she her mouth was moving slightly like she was muttering, but there was no noise.

"Nora, let's just go." Dorothy no longer had to go to the bathroom, and if the urge came back she would gladly pee on the side of the road in front of God and everybody, but she suddenly needed to leave this house.

"Are you ill?" Nora let go of Dorothy and started to walk towards the old woman. "Do you need some help?"

"Nora, I think she's okay like she is, please, I think we need to just leave."

Nora reached out and touched the old woman's hand, "Can I..."

"AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!" The old woman leaned up and was screaming in Nora's face. Nora stumbled back and fell on a small table breaking it, as the woman shoved her and ran out of the room laughing a high, shrieking laughter.

Dorothy ran over to Nora and tried to help her up. "Oh Nora, are you okay? Please let's go now."

"Okay, I ...oh! ouch!" Nora could not stand up. Glistening, dark blood ran through her torn stocking and down her leg. Dorothy removed he scarf and dabbed at the blood. There was a long cut down Nora's leg with a large splinter of wood embedded in her calf.

"Nora, you're hurt and I can't stay here, Nora. I'm going to wrap this up and  carry you to the car and then we are leaving. When we are away from here, I will stop and get that wood out, but we are leaving first." As she talked, Dorothy wrapped the leg in her scarf. She tied it tight and a door opened near them.

A soft, frail light fell into the room. There was the old woman again, watching, holding a candle. Behind her there was a wet smooshing sound and a muffled moaning.

"This crazy old crone is going to kill us," Dorothy muttered as she locked her gaze with the old woman. Then the old woman stepped to the side, and Dorothy saw what  was on the floor next to the door.  Her brain could not make sense of what she saw. It was man-shaped, but it was a mushy, bloody, undulating mess. The darkness of the house seemed to swirl behind him. There were what looked like pockets of meat on the floor next to him, attached by slimy stands.

"Oh, those as his insides. He's been turned inside out. How..." Dorothy peed. She never noticed. She was crying and never noticed. Nora was yelling at her, and she never noticed. She just saw him as he began to make sense. She stood there staring at this man as a long, bloody limb reached out to her. It was his hand. He gurgled and then died.

That's when she heard the laughter. Dorothy looked at the old woman. She was looking down at the mess that had once been a man, holding the doll towards him, and laughing. The laughter turned to screaming and then laughing again. The swirling darkness seemed to move from him to her. It whirled around her hand holding the doll. It crept up her arm. Screaming now, she shook her arm and tried to move. The darkness wrapped around her greedily.  Dorothy saw her hold the doll close to her and then the old woman was turned inside out. It sounded like someone slurping the last bits of an egg creme from a glass. 

She felt a sharp pain and her head swiveled to the right.

"Get out of here!" Nora was standing on one leg yelling in her face. Dorothy wrapped her arm around Nora's side and started to move towards the door. She felt a chill around her ankles and she tried to run. The feeling was sticky like taffy and cold like ice. It pulsed up her body and she was suddenly face to face with Nora. They were bound tightly together by the sticky cold. They no longer look like two separate people.

A sound echos through the house, a wet, slurping sound. It does sound very much like the remnants of an egg creme resisting the suction of the straw. The slurping is wet and somewhat drowned out by the sounds of two women in pain. Then there is one soft, moist thump. It is a sound similar to dropping raw ground beef, reserved for this evening's supper, on the hard, cold floor.  Finally, there is a muffled whimper and a muffled sob, and the sound of blood bubbles popping.

There were no signs of human life.



heidi
completed (maybe) 2/24/13




*(If you are a Bill Cosby fan, you may have heard his routine about being scared of a radio program where a chicken heart terrorizes the world. This is the same series, just a different episode. For the Cosby fans, Chicken Heart is #9, and here is a youtube audio of Cosby's routine.)


Does anyone else find editing hard online? I think I need to start printing these out to do my edits. Maybe it's my age...

Mag 155 Submission: Untouched

artwork by Joseph Lorusso


Untouched

The woman sits across the cafe from the couple.
They don't see her although the three of them are the only patrons there.
He cannot keep his eyes or hands off the girl.

The woman twists her wedding band around her finger
not touching her tea, not touching anything
except for the gold on her finger that only takes warmth from her.

The boy has started kissing the girl, running his hand up her leg,
under her skirt. She kisses him back and holds him closer.
He pulls out his hand and wraps his arm around her back.

The woman knew this passion and obliviousness in her youth,
but never with her husband. Her husband is a sweet decent man who
never touches her, never embraces her, never initiates...

A tear is born and the woman knows that she is the Mrs. Roper in this
episode of "Three's Company" and she needs to get away from this couple.
She lays down her money and leaves the tea, like so much in her life,
untouched.

heidi
written 2/19/2013 for Magpie Tales

This is a late submission, but I really like this picture. I was torn between this and something erotic and steamy (and maybe a little porny), but this is what I wrote instead. It is my first submission to Magpie Tales, or The Mag, but I plan on coming back. For these prompts, a picture is posted and then you write in response to that picture. 

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.