Poetry Prompts to Perk You Up! 2

Oh heck! Who am I kidding?! I am desperate to show off... So here are the rest of the poems...!

I Won’t

I will read the book that sits on my desk,

I will do the dishes promptly,

I will remember to get the groceries,

I will not forget the milk again, meanwhile.

I will smile at my child,

I will mean it.

I will not stare at the mirror,

And wonder where she went… I miss her.

I will stop picking at forgotten friends in forgotten memories,

I will forget the friends I forgot.

I will ignore the pain of those memories.

I will forget my singing voice,

I will sing to remember I can’t.

I will stop now…

I will make dinner.

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Where The Lost Go…

The keys dropped onto the table

Something was wrong

It had been right that morning.

The table had been bare when she left,

Except for the half-drunk coffee,

And the ring left by a wet coffee mug.

Where are the coasters?

Why was it so quiet?

The shower is usually running at this time.

Where are the kids?

And why is the television not on?

Why is the bedroom door closed?

It seems so Final.

Where are the shoes?

Who was in the closet?

(And the baseball bat is missing).

His clothes are missing…

He left one of his socks behind,

(She saw the little white dots where,

She spent an entire Sunday afternoon,

Mending his clothes… buttons, tears, holes for toes to peek out).

The lounge was gone…

He loved it.

His cologne was missing…

His smell was gone

He was gone…

---------------------------

The bar round the corner was always open…

The keys on the table were picked up... again.

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Air-Conditioned Offices

Outside it is 40 degrees

Sunlight glares off everything

Car windshields, reading glasses, display windows,

My nose.

Switch on the stove,

And it just got hotter.

Steam does something for your skin,

But that doesn’t help the knot in your brain.

Sweat can run down any way it wants,

But it flows into your eyes.

And salt always stings.

The shower can wash the sting away,

But the sun is more persistent.

More scalding than warm…

I could use a cool drink.

I don’t; I have a reason.

You could leave all this behind,

And step in to the office,

Where swinging doors let in the cool breeze,

Of recycled carbon dioxide.

I don’t care, it’s cool inside; freezing cold…

I’m glad I didn’t take that cool drink!

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It Was My Idea

It was a bad idea,

To look her in the eye,

To pick up the hint,

To return the touch.

 

It was a bad idea,

To shake that hand,

To tell the secret,

To loan him the money.

 

It was a bad idea,

To buy those flowers,

To unlock the door,

To see what I saw.

 

It was a bad idea…

To introduce them.

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Beware of Signs

Do not trespass here,

There is nothing to see.

Keep to the bright side of the street,

Don’t stare at the dark side.

Beware of low-hanging grief,

Hard metal can knock you out cold.

Watch out for the poison envy,

It can turn you blue… or green.

This coffee is scalding hot,

Do not spill on self.

Do not speak,

It is too revealing.

Flush after use,

No one wants to see your past.

Keep It Simple, Stupid,

I am seeing others too.

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You are Back?

Out of Sight,

Out of Mind.

When you left,

I didn’t die.

Work was tough,

Pay was good.

We can live.

You should leave.

Close the door,

Don’t look back.

Note to self :

Do Not Cry.

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Poetry Prompts to Perk You Up!

There was a time, long ago (at least that's how it seems), when I used to write poetry.

And I was told I was good...by published and popular poets, no less.

And then, life

happened. And I was too busy living it to write about it. Sometime, in the silence of the kitchen, with just the sizzle of sauteing vegetables in the background, the memories would come creeping back - of all those poetry workshops and those pages of poetry stashed away in some forgotten shelf. And I would wonder if I could even write poetry anymore, whether my mind was still unfettered and potent enough to put thoughts to words.

It was then that I came across this wonderful blog on writing (Thank you Google Reader...I love you!). It's called PoeWar.com, and written by a brilliant writer called John Hewitt. The most fascinating thing about his blog is the 30 Poems in 30 Days series. The writer gives the readers creative prompts, and also writes his own poem based on the prompt. And I tell you, the prompts are really innovative! It certainly helped shake up some very sleepy and demotivated gray cells in my upper chamber!! So, I took the plunge, and wrote some poems of my own. Whether I was any good, remains to be seen! Tell me what you think...

Here's the first one...

Patterns

The pattern does not matter,

As long as it is how it is

To the very end.

Color in the dotted lines,

And be done with it.

You don’t have to replace spots with lines,

It is not normal, they said.

Just do it, follow the pattern.

Make it look like you know how,

Like your mother taught you right.

Follow the pattern,

And you’ll be alright.

I’m Not.

--- Jane Hamilton

...and another one for good measure...

Secret

I have a secret,

A part of me I willingly forget.

Then I remember, and loathe it.

My secret festers,

Guilt buzzes around it in dark clouds,

Settling briefly on little white incidents that led to it -

The thing that I will not speak about.

Sometimes, it smells.

Intrudes the little tunnels that lead

To gray cells, and dark thoughts,

Every time I gasp for breath,

When a kind word is offered,

Kindness I don’t deserve.

I look away, “Look, there’s a nice spot!”

Walk away, hold hands with Happiness,

Cover the secret with a smile… Forget.

But, it wafts back, now and then,

To cloud a picture-perfect view,

With the Secret.

--- Jane Hamilton

Growing Pains on Mother’s Day

"The moment a child is born, the mother is also born.  She never existed before.  The woman existed, but the mother, never.  A mother is something absolutely new". ~ Rajneesh


I doubt my mother would agree with that. Let alone my grandmother. You see, I grew up in a society where every woman is expected to have motherhood, wifeliness (is that a word?), docility, and kitchen and household skills the day she is born. All other skills were taught. Motherhood was always left to good woman sense. My mother showed me how to do the dishes, wash clothes, clean floors, boil rice, do the laundry, make the bed, and vacuum under the sofa. She never once talked about how to bring up a child. She probably thought I should learn that through observation, or that it should come by instinct. Now, my sister and I were brought up just like my brother was – equal opportunities, equal freedom, and equal couch space in front of the TV. All of us were expected to put our own dirty plates into the wash basin; none of us were expected to clean them. Basically, I didn't know motherhood from Adam (or is that Eve?).


Suddenly I was 24, I got married. Within 7 months I had a baby! Mothers often make the joke, "My daughter is herself a baby, and she has another baby now!" That is not funny, and I kid you Not. Motherhood was not born with me, I swear. It was born with my daughter. My motherhood is not yet 2 years old. I have motherhood tantrums that equal my daughter's child hood tantrums. I am still learning the ropes. I die a little when women gasp that I forgot to wipe the chocolate off my 2-year-old's dirty shirt. This is all coming over in a very bad way, but I hope mothers out there understand what I mean – Motherhood is difficult.


The only thing that came long before the motherhood is the love for my child. That love was born when we first found out I was pregnant. That love grew with every new cell added to my daughter's being. That love will continue to grow forever. Everything I do for her, I do out of that love. I cannot be the best mother in the world. I may not turn out the plumpest, cutest, most intelligent, ultra-achieving child in the universe, but I can nurture a friendly, humane, intelligent, hard-working, empowered spirit in my little girl. I can introduce her to the best in the world and in herself. I can grow along with my daughter to be the best mother I can be.


With every growth spurt of my motherhood, I realize that my mother is still growing. I also realize how much my mother has must have grown, and how fast, with the least amount of help, bringing up three little children, in a foreign land. Every growing pains I have makes me grateful to my mother, who had the same pains but never let them show. Mom, I love you. I hope 25 years hence, Debbie feels I am half as good as you. That will be my true reward.


Happy Mother's Day Mom, and all growing Mothers of the world.

The Finish Line

I have never run many races in my life so far, whether rat or otherwise. So I do not have any 'record-breaking' memories to choose from when I think of a finish line. What comes to mind, though, is a 'Rabbit Race' we kids ran, back when we were in grade three, and the world was a rainbow. Apparently, I was on the other (more rainy) side of the mountain...whatever.

Anyway, our teacher, a wonderfully sweet lady with a beautiful singing voice gave us our instructions to run the race (but not in the form of a song). She should have sung it, maybe then everyone would have listened....I digress.

Anyway, during rehearsals (yeah, we used to have dry runs, many, in fact), the teacher said that little containers of mango juice (my favorite kind) would be placed on chairs at the start line and each one of us (dressed as rabbits - rabbit ears made from pink chart paper, socks on our palms for paws, and socks on our feet for, well, rabbit feet..duh), had to drink up all, she said All... the juice as fast as we can, and run (no, hop) to the finish line. Sure, that's easy, right?

Anyway, (Gosh, I sound like Ellen Degeneres), the big day arrived, and we lined up for the race, every little girl with paper ears, sock paws and hopping rabbit feet. Our teacher blew the whistle and everyone hopped to the juice containers, picked them up, started sipping (so far so good), and...dropped the containers and ran....Hey wait! You guys are supposed to Finish the drink, and then run. I was following instructions and the others were finishing the race... where do I come from, anyway, gaaawd! No prizes for guessing what position I finished in at that race. My mom still has a picture of me at that race - lopsided rabbit rabbit ears covering half an eye, drink in hand, and a "What The..." expression on my face!

I look at the winners of that race now, and I wonder if they still have the head start - cool jobs, cooler hairdos, parties, pets, apartments and travel photos - while I try to not to burn breakfast, then force-feed it to my daughter Debbie, and get to work on time.

And then I turn around and look at her toothy grin and the love in her eyes, and I think, well, Mama Rabbit's going to sip this one in, moment by moment, before the next race catches up... We got time to sip the juices, smell the roses .... The finish line can wait.

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This is my entry to the "WriteAway" contest over at Scribbit for the month of January, 2009. Check out the contest and give it a go. She has great prizes every time around!

Pride and Prejudice!

My computer crashed! How timely is that?! I mean, I have to submit my MPhil. thesis at the end of June, and here's my computer showing attitude! AAaaarrrgh! I took four days off, and got my husband to help out with Debbie and the chores while I worked on my thesis. He even did some of the typing work for me. And then, Sunday morning I open a blank file where Chapter 3 used to be.....!

I mean, I saved the file and everything. I think it's about time we got rid of that computer (It's as old as the hills!) My husband just won't do it...I don't know if it has emotional value for him (he just tried to throw out Debbie's favourite book last weekend because it was dogeared! I just don't know what makes these men tick...). Maybe, he has some distant hope in the computer's human-like will power to make one last Herculean effort. I tell you, the whole deal is as nonsensical as that last sentence. Anyway, that's my husband and his computer!

So yesterday we just gave the entire chapter to be typed at a DTP centre, where they will type your stuff out and save it for a minimal amount of money. That works for me, I tell you.

I don't have to deal with the typing work along with all the other stuff that's driving me crazy around here.

Debbie is beginning to stand without support for a few seconds nowadays. Her best yet is 10 seconds! She is really excited about it...but unfortunately has inherited the family trait of letting the excitement get out of control!

She now walks around the entire house (with support) and pulls down anything, and I mean anything she can reach. She pulled down on herself the entire pile of xeroxed secondary source material I had collected for my thesis! She managed to eat a few words too!

One day, I found her dutifully chewing her way through the headphones! That cost a lot of money and she was brunching on it!

Then there's the books, face cream tubes, underwear (my husband left the drawers open again!), stationary, TV remote, clothes (right off the hangers) etc., etc...

She is getting her fourth teeth and it's driving her crazy..She has recently developed a craving for my fingers. I would be sitting there, absorbed in my work, and she would sneak up to me, grab one of my fingers and dig her teeth right in! Gosh, I should probably introduce her to hotdogs, or maybe they have already been introduced and she just misses them!

When she cannot get at my fingers, she goes for my hair! Yep! That's what I said, my hair! She likes to pull really hard at one strand at a time and put me through excruciating pain while she claps her hands in absolute delight! Oh yeah, just for the record, she has learnt to clap her hands to music or when she is happy!

See what I mean? Here I was, narrating my unfortunate accidents and the torture I suffer at the hands of my 10 month old daughter. Yet, I can't resist bragging about her achievements. I guess that's what parents are like. So proud of their children. Makes me think of my own parents and the sacrifices they made for me. Every time I excelled in school or at art or music, they would be so full of pride and would talk about it to relatives and neighbours for so many days! Failure on my part, at the same time, would send them to the depths of disappointment that was worse than the sadness I felt at my failure. Parents practically live for us, and love us with a love so pure that it is only lesser than God's love for us.

I have wonderful parents, let me tell you. At the most unexpected of moments this fact hits me and I feel a rush of gratitude and my eyes fill up with tears. I regret to say that I rarely express this gratitude properly to my parents.

I guess that's why we have Father's Day and Mother's Day, a day on the calendar when the whole world is telling you "this is your day to go and tell you mom or dad that you love them, that they are special and that you are happy and successful and they had a large part to play in forming this success and happiness". Just tell them that you love them.

Happy Father's Day in Advance to all the fathers in the world!