Wednesday, April 29, 2009

Writing Prompt....Is life getting better or worse as you get older?

This little writing prompt caught my eye and I went past it, then came back to it, then went past it again.

So here I am back with it. I must be wanting to address it, huh? LOL.

I don't know about it being "better or worse", but it is decidedly more intense.

I attribute part of that to my wildly flutuating hormones, and partly to the people who add drama to my life.

I sometimes wish to be left alone and frequently daydream about leaving with no forwarding address, but then, I realize how utterly lost I would be. I would surely find someone else to worry about, some stranger. Because that is how I am. (Plus I would miss these misfits of mine. ) Because the other part of the equation is that I am a person who gives a damn. I can't turn it off, get over it, fageddaboutit, move on, put it on the back burner or blow it off.

As my darling husband so sweetly pointed out the other day, I'm like a bulldog when I get on to something. I don't think it was intended as a "dis". He was just being honest and I know it, too. I am also a "fixer". So combine "fixer" with "bulldog" and add in the variable of "equally stubborn children" and you get a volitile compound. (Ok, I know you didn't sign up for a chemistry lesson, I just thought was kinda cute.)

As I get older, I have noticed I am more critical and I don't like that. I have become cynical and jaded and I have a new tendency to gossip. I find I don't have time to volunteer. My world revolves around, well, my world.

As I get older, I insist on time for myself and my writing and exercise (even tho I can still BS myself out of it) . My weight loss has given me new energy and endurance, yet I have less tolerance of other people's shortcomings.

As I get older, my skin is dryer, my hair is getting grayer, my eyes are getting foggy, my memory is getting crappy and If something doesn't hurt when I wake up, I make sure and check my pulse.

As I get older, world events piss me off more and I get even more confused about politics. I never really understood all of that but now it's so complicated I don't even try.

As I get older, I realize the importance of a lifetime of learning and growing in all directions.

As I get older learning and growing are very difficult.

As I get older I feel my time clock ticking and a vague sense of urgency.

But Im glad to be older, glad that I am here and healthy, and to have a family. That is alot more than alot of people have.

As i get older, I realize that is all that really matters.

Tuesday, April 28, 2009

A little poetry 4u..

A Haiku for you:

Bone tired soul weary.

Wrought iron will worn thin, rusted.

Rotting and wretched.

Formless Freeform Fateful furp:

Lions, my lions,

strong and yellow eyed killers

maned and muscled

soft with claws to catch

maws of death

The color of grass.

Wednesday, April 22, 2009

A Luc Bat (vietnamese poetry)


In this darkness, I lie

if a shadow can, cry aloud

to mock the reaper's shroud

folly to be so proud, so wrong.

To disregard your song

I knew it all along, you see,

For it lived deep within me

My heart held the key, to unlock

the ever ticking clock

and to my utter shock, I died.

Tuesday, April 14, 2009

Soul Armor

The head knows the truth, yet this heart will not hear it,
truth laid bare for any who would look.
A veil o'er the eye,
a fog clouds the brain
what the heart
wants to see is
the reality.
A mask hides the face
of a person unknown
emerging as points
razor sharp.
Ripping the fabric
draped as certainty
of what is thought to be true,
into shreds of grief for
who I thought to be you.

Second go round in creative writing workshop

Our newest writing group is called the Daffodil Series, in honor of spring and it is an all women group, this time. Our leader predicted it would change the flavor of the group's writing, and it truly has. I am enjoying it immensely and am learning alot about writing styles and most of all LISTENING to others readings and being able to process it and have an intellegent comment, even though sometimes I seem to misunderstand the content, I think, but I am developing my ear.

Last meeting, the topic of "mother" came up several times during the session. I wonder if has to do with Mother's day coming up or we have a pregnant member, or if most of us are mothers. Whatever it is, it started out predictibly enough, with the writing prompt...."mother, is..." and the writings spanned from deep feelings of anger, sadness and joy, appreciation, awe and sorrow. Dr. Freud (or was it Jung?) could have used us as his control group, because "mother" seems to have shaped us in ways unimaginable.
I find that fascinating.

I never gave it much thought, unless I say something that she used to say, or if I find myself interrogating my children, as she used to. She knew what I was going to do before I did. Many times she was already where I was sneaking off to, parked and waiting to tell me to turn my ass around and just go back home. I never knew how she did this. My mom was just my mom. I don't think I ever really saw her as an indivdual, as I insist that my kids view me. I tell them frequently that I have a life and I intend to live it. My mom never said that to me.

I always viewed her as an adversary or something to avoid being like. I really wasn't a nice person growing up, I have discovered. I felt justified at the time, but I was very selfish in retrospect.

Of course, she is dead now, and hind sight is 20/20 as they say. I wish I had more time with her. We were good friends the last few years of her life, I got a small glimmer of the real person she was, not just the mom because, at last, I was paying attention.

Well, is what I wrote...

Mother, I wish I had been a better daughter.
Mother, my questions are endless
Not enough knowledge I sought
Not enough answers I heard.
Without knowing,
How should I proceed?

Mother, my life is on the edge
Which way should I turn?
Toward comfort and the familiar?
Or the wild and unknown
at this halfway mark,
at this milestone?

Mother, my journey is rocky
So many expectations,
How do I work with this?
Where do I fit in?

Monday, April 6, 2009

Stuff about me

My favorite word is..BRAWP..try it! Just say it out loud...You gotta emphasize the Br and the P..Your lips sort have to of flap around. My family "brawps" when something is funny, but not funny enough to warrant a full throttle belly bustin' laff.

My Least favorite word....."Nurrrrrse" said with a waver in the middle immediately followed by "I need a bedpan" or even worse, "I needed a bedpan, but couldn't find my call light."

Nasty teeth turn me off.

My favorite sound is John Hiatt's songs.

I hate heart monitor alarms and Iv pump alarms.

My favorite curse word is Bitch...but you gotta say it with your lips flapped out for the B and a drawl in there, and emphasize the ITCH part. Like Bitch Please.

I wanna be a writer.

I definately do NOT wanna be a Gastrointestinal Research Nurse.

When I get to heaven, I want God to say, "Girl, you crack me UP."


Silently watching the world, I, the ancient sentinel, ever unmoving
see my world green, winter and die, then return to green again.
As I remain... Ever-Green.
Rare lichen nestle my skin
and at my feet, soft green moss and deep shade.
Deep silence.
Countless seasons pass, yet I am ageless.
My deep roots are tangled with the family that stands next to me.
And so entangled, when one falls so may the others who cling to it.
Generations of children and I, standing closely together as one.
Little ones that grow along in the canopy, rooting into my great wooden body.
And we are watching, we will endure.
Time is all we have.