Two Poetic Twists on a Theme & Your Monday Fortune Cookie, 1/27/14

Cold hands -- warm heart (or poor circulation)

SNARKY REPONSE: So do cold feet -- hot buns?


At MarsCon, I attended a Poetry workshop where the moderator, Adele Gardner, invited us to write some poetry playing with the con's fairy tale theme. Here are what I came up with:

Point of Departure

Before stepping between, she pauses to breathe,

a golden girl in pinafore with eyes of tempest blue.

Fingers splayed to reach, to push, to pull,

she breaks the liminal boundary, icy as sorrow,

fleeting as fog on a wintry morning.

A step away from a world dark with memories,

a step forward into a vista of unknowns,

she arrives, safe but not sound, here and yet still there.

Beyond the looking glass, she begins to seek her ending.

Queen's Gambit

So simple, yet so right.

With dew drops lingering bright on crimson skin,

the unsuspected vessel of my assured victory.

A single bite is all that's required.

Tart sweetness to be relished until

the body learns what the eyes did not perceive.

Rose red lips will part to gasp,

to frame a question unasked,

release a final breath in a sigh.

Innocence once more felled by naivete,

How simple, yes, how right.

The fruit of innocence bears the seed of death.

If you'd like to share something of your own in the comments, I'd be thrilled to see and read it. If you'd like to share your thoughts about my words, I'll try to be equally thrilled to read them (depending on the tone LOL).

Kisses, poetry, and your Monday Fortune Cookie, 8/5/13

KISS IS NOT A KISS WITHOUT THE HEART.

SNARKY RESPONSE: No, a kiss is not a kiss without the lips, the hands, the arms.

Kiss is not a kiss without the heart.

Why don't I ever get fortunes like this when I go to the local restaurant? Aome of the fortunes I've been receiving lately have been so bland as to require salt and pepper.

One piece of advice that writers receive is to read, and not just in their chosen genre. Well, I would add reading other mediums - poetry, plays, lyrics, essays. I've been attending local poetry open mics and the variety of styles, themes, and presentations have been inspiring on many levels.

Another piece of writing advice is to write tight, and poetry is a perfect example of that advice. The trick is not quantity but quality. If you want to learn how to tighten your writing, read or listen to poetry.

All this pondering and listening to poetry has led, inevitably, to my attempting some poetry of my own. On facebook, I've "liked" several art pages, and when the image inspires, I write a story snippet. Now, I've even begun a few poetry snippets. Here's one image and the poem snippet it inspired.

Artwork by Tzviatko Kinchev

She turns aside to deflect his glance,

hair blowing forward to shadow her face.

Artful or artless,

the movement captures him,

holds him hostage.

Her hand, fingers long, nails short,

reaches blindly to curl around his hand,

lying supine against his thigh.

Her dark gaze slides up his arm to linger

in the curve of his throat,

then rises to meet his waiting stare.

"Hot out today, isn't it?"

Three Minutes, Winter, & Monday Fortune Cookie 5/6/13

A FEELING IS AN IDEA WITH ROOTS

SNARKY RESPONSE:  And dislodging a bad one can be similar to getting a root canal.

FIRST THIS NEWS FLASH:  NPR announced on Saturday, their new Three-Minute Fiction Contest writing prompt - Write a short piece of fiction (600 words or less) in which a character finds something he or she has no intention of returning. Deadline is midnight on Sunday, May 12th.

Actually, I thought this fortune and NPR's newest Three-Minute Fiction Contest were kinda sympatico with my recent efforts with random writing prompts. I don't know if I'll have time to attempt this round, but I'm thinking about it.

I found this prompt and got the feeling my response to this prompt would work best as free verse. Perhaps attending all the Open Mikes and rubbing elbows with some of the Richmond Poets has begun to rub off on me. They're so friendly and giving of their words and encouragement that I felt open to making an attempt. I hope they're not laughing or cringing too much.

Thank you, Writers Write

Winter is everything except silent.

Clear away summer's exuberant song and reveal

the subtle underscore of life less full.

Overhead, limbs, leaf-free, liberated,

creak and click with each brush of wind.

Breath becomes part of the soundscape

above footsteps audible on frost-stiffened grass

or salt-strewn paths.

Brittle cracks of ice,

soft drops of melt,

hushed fall of snow.

Water in winter shifts form and texture,

each with its own unique soundtrack.

Birdcalls split the air with sharp edges,

winter flight a soft whoosh of wings through air.

Solitary flight sounds as clear as summer's flock

amplified by absence, fuller in empty skies.

Soft, hard. Loud, hushed.

Winter is everything except silent.