December 2012

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08 December 2012

The prompts were:
1. Wait, who is in…
2. Where am I?
3. I forgot it at my…

Begin writing
Wait, What does it say about a man who is in pursuit of stuff for the bulk of his adult live?
Perhaps not tangible but, stuff nonetheless.

Wait, What does it say about a woman who is in servitude for the bulk of her adult life?
Perhaps not in chains, but in servitude nonetheless.

Wait, What does it say about a man who prides himself on his ability to communicate but, cannot tell his children that he loves them?

Wait, What does it say aobut a woman who knows what is right, who knows what is true but, cannot convey it to her family?

Wait, What does it say about a man and a woman; a couple, if you will, who fall in love, endure one another for years, and then fall in love again … and again?

Is it possible to reduce all things profound to the skeletal and still have them be understood?  Does the paring of words make what remains stronger? cleaner? more direct?

I do not research my poems. So, where do they come from? They come from life… They come from living… They come from love… They come from loving….
They come from you!

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 Where am I?  I am in the auditorium of Santa Cruz High School.  The room is darkened but a spotlight illuminates the reader, standing at the lectern on the stage.  She is a reader, not a speaker.  She is but one in a long line of readers interpreting the words penned by the one we are remembering tonight.  There are speakers too.  Family members.  Michelle and Pablo dusting off a few memories to share.
I thought about how Pablo, Jacob and Ann were insistent that Bradly attend tonight.  Adrienne was especially fond of Bradly and loved to watch him get on the bus in the morning.  She loved to ask him, what was new… What he had been up to and he loved to answer her questions because she truly listened.
“I didn’t even know she was famous until after she died,” he confided to us on the way out to the car after the event.  “She was just my friend.”
Time is up. Put down your writing implements and step away from the paper.

15 December 2012

The prompts were:
1. To whom it may concern.  I think I’ve lost my way.
2. Only worry in the world… Is the tide gonna reach my chair?
3. I won’t dance – don’t ask me.

Begin writing
Picking my way carefully down the cliff I arrived, unscathed on the beach.  A narrow spit of sand and rock that would not be there at high tide.  I made my way to the rocks and started looking in the tide pools to investigate the creatures that might be stranded and look for treasures that might be found.  There was the usual assortment of anemones and star fish.  One of the larger steep sided bowls contained an assortment of finned creatures.  Not being a fisherman I was unable to name a single one and none of them looked large enough to eat, so I let them be.  There was a good sized sea cucumber in the next pool but it did not look very appetizing either.  I kept looking.
After  a little less than an hour I had studied all the pools and found no treasures or anything out of the ordinary.  “Oh well, guess I’ll move on then.”  I headed back to the cliff to start my ascent.  Something shiny was rolling up and down on the sand – moving to and fro with the water and it rolled onto the beach.  “Gotta go check this out then.”
There it was,  the beachcomber’s holy grail.  A clear bottle with a cork stopper – rolled inside, I could see there was a note.
Rescuing my treasure, I plopped down on the sand.  Careful not to break the bottle, I uncorked it and used a small twig of driftwood to fish out the note and unrolled it.  To Whom it May Concern,” it read, ” I think I’ve lost my way. I was not expecting to see ice this thick.  I must have drifted further north than I thought was possible.”
There was more writing, or at least there had been, but a some point saltwater must have entered the bottle and all that remained were smudges and smears.
Who was the note from? When was the note written? Where was the bottle set adrift? How far had it traveled? Ice?  Probably was not tossed in the vicinity of the central California coastline where I now stood.
Time is up. Put down your writing implements and step away from the paper.

29 December 2012

The prompts were:
1. On the drop of a snot
2. I told you, never come in here any more
3. Old man take a look at my life
4. But times make you bolder

Begin writing
It was dark, very dark.  My mouth was so dry it was stuck shut.  There was a loud ringing permeating everything.  The ringing was omnipresent.  It was tangible.  I peeled my eyes open and suddenly it wasn’t dark anymore.  Time sped up to warp speed.  The lights were blazing – the sun was blazing – the ringing was not really ringing at all.  But, the phone was off the hook and making that noise.  You know that noise.  That sharp stacatto, drone designed by Alexander Graham Bell to be so obnoxious that no one will ever leave their phone off the hook.
I hung up the phone and started the long crawl to the kitchen – Root Beer would be great.
My stomach hurts.  I look down, is that a napkin taped to my belly?”  Peel it off. “Is that a tattoo?  How did that happen? She is a cutie though; and almost life size, I gotta lose some weight.”
“What a night.  I hope I had fun.” Copious amounts of coffee, a shower, and about a dozen aspirin help.  “What time is it? Four PM. God, I need breakfast.” Good thing the diner is just downstairs.
Taking a seat at my normal booth I wave at Naomi. She glares at me and picks up a knife.  Pointing it a me she starts moving slowly in my direction, “I told you never to come in here again.  Stand up, back slowly towards the door and leave!  Keep your hands where I can see them.”
“Naomi, what’s wrong?”
“What’s  wrong? WHAT’S WRONG? Artie,” she yells back to the kitchen, “call the cops… now.”
Discretion is the better part of valor. At least that’s what I’ve always been told.  I stand, put my hands in the air and head for the door.  Maybe I didn’t have as much fun as I had hoped.  I gotta find out who gave me this tattoo.  I don’t remember being in a tattoo parlor since I was a sailor and went to Hong Kong.  I think this cutie was newer than that though.
Time is up. Put down your writing implements and step away from the paper.