Zap!

For my final post there will not be a poem, but rather the true story of how I was electrocuted today. Okay, so it was more like a few small zaps by an electric current but still I think that it qualifies.

Once upon a time, you know, this morning I was trying to think of a topic for the letter Z. I stared at the blinking cursor. It was no use. I would have to try again later.

A second later My daughter yelled at me from the kitchen, "Mommy, Noah just threw his rice all over the floor!" Oh great, I would have to sweep the floor. Z was really going to have to wait now.

Sweeping the floor was proving no use. The rice was sticking to the broom and to the floor. I would actually have to get down on my knees with a dishcloth and wipe it off the tile that way.

As I went to rinse off my dishcloth something really weird happened. I thought my hand had curiously fallen asleep under the water. I removed my hand from the water and it was still a bit tingly. I tried to get the blood flow back going and went to finish rinsing my dishcloth. This time the moment I put my hand in the water the tingling began again. I asked my mom to come over and put her hand in. Nothing. I put my hand in. Something. While the water was still running I set my hand on the metal of the sink. Something again. Nothing for Mom.

Then the light bulb. Duh! There was and electric current running through the water in the sink. I was barefooted. Mom had on rubber soled shoes. My husband had a further enlightenment and unplugged the garbage disposal. Now this is the part that really annoyed me. The hubby turned on the water and told me to put MY hand back in it. After having been shocked more times than I have told you here he asks ME to put my hand back in the water to test. I told him to do it. He refused. I guess chivalry really IS dead.

And that's the story of how I was zapped by electricity this morning.

The End

Youth

Woven crowns of clover
The smell of grass and flowers
Rolling down the hills
I've spent my youthful hours
playing in the fields
Where dandelions grow
Where that time has gone
No one can really know

Forcefully walking windward
Just to prove I can
Ring-around-the-rosy
Friends all holding hands
Laughter and our happy cries
Heard from blocks away
Wishing to get back
That joyfulness today

Jingly, tinkling ice cream truck
Queuing up in line
Biggest decision I could make
What flavor would be mine
Almost tangible childhood
Slipping far away
Remembering you is the greatest joy
That I could have today

X-cited

I'm not going to say too much today. X is a really tough letter and I'm cheating! But I AM excited about the new Harry Potter trailer. Some of you may know that I met a great deal of my online friends before I ever started blogging. These are some of my favorite people and also some of my favorite bloggers. I'm sure most of you know them as they are all in A-Z. Their blogs are:

http://coffeeringseverywhere.blogspot.com/

http://waterytart23.blogspot.com/

http://procrastinatewithtundiel.blogspot.com/

http://thegiraffabilityofdigressions.blogspot.com/

Anyway, I met all these lovely ladies on a Harry Potter fan site! If you didn't know that we all were Harry Potter fans you do now!

So get x-cited for Harry Potter with me! And also have a look at the trailer. July 15th! Squeeeeeeee!

Windows

I make windows
Staining the glass
Skewing the view
Four sides around the world
And four sides for every window

I make windows
Out of everything
And into nothing
Four sides around my eye
And four sides for every window

I make windows
By looking through one
Pressing a button
Four sides around my life
And four sides for every window

Voracity

Lying in wait for you to consume me
You devour my thoughts
Eat away at my mind
And my heart has nowhere to run
I feed on your hunger
And long for more
There is no escape from your voracity
No escape from mine

Under the Weather

I actually meant to do something better for U today. Unfortunately, I feel like I've been hit by a ton of bricks. Sorry. :-(

Thanks

Since I have had such a busy day I am going to make this short and sweet. I figured I should take this opportunity to say thanks to everyone who has started to read or follow my blog this month. Thanks. I appreciate everyone who has taken the time to read my ridiculous and my honest tries and even my craptastic attempts at writing.

To everyone who started reading last year in April, thank you all for coming back or sticking around. I know I have been a poor excuse for a regular blogger.

As always thanks to my lovely friends and family who began reading my blog to begin with. Without them I may have given up blogging altogether.

Stick around for the rest of the month folks. There are still six more letters in the alphabet.

T coming soon

Look for my T post tonight. Busy busy day!

Snails

Shells all over and I'm holding one
Curled in a spiral waiting
Waiting 'till it thinks I'm gone
I'm patient for it to emerge
Slowly it slimily slides on my palm
Leaving it's trail of goo behind
I touch one eye and it slinks back in
I touch the other; it does the same
I smile at my fun with my slippery friends
Until my big brother brings salt

Rain

Scorched earth calls out
Wearied plants lift their arms
The cacti are withering
And still you are denied

The heat rises before my eyes
Distorting the distance
Leaving puddles of dust
And still you are denied

Calling for cloud cover
And wasting away
The storm brews in the distance
But still you are denied

Pressing together parched lips
My tongue sticks in my throat
The storm brews overhead
And still you are denied

The desert floor embraces me
Face upward to the skies
Your wetness from my lips
Has no longer been denied

Queen (and not of England)

I went with my sister-in-law on Sunday to a job that she does once a month. She goes to groom this Briard named Queen. I never met a better behaved dog! A briard is a French sheep dog. I think it's funny that the first thing I thought of when I saw her was this cartoon:



Wow, was she filthy when we first went over. I was amazed at the amount of hair on this rather large dog. I knew it was going to be quite a task for her to be groomed. Her are some before, during, and after the job photos.

Before

Now she gets a bath and her teeth brushed.

Finally, after almost 4 hours of work and lots of brushing, drying, and clipping she looks a new dog!

Precariously Placed Potions

Okay so there wasn't really a potion, but it sounds good.

Place your potion carefully
Upon a low and sturdy spot
Do not place it high
Do not place it hot

If I may suggest to you
Not to be really thick
And place that potion somewhere
Where it will firmly stick

For if you place it above a door
And I open that hinge be sure
Your potion may fall upon my toes
My anger will be pure

Be careful, thoughtless man
To place that cup down low
Or rest and be assured
To the doghouse you will go.

Okay so a little background on this silly little poem. Last night I was looking for something to make with dinner and decided to peek in the freezer for some frozen veggies. When I opened that freezer I got quite a surprise. Perched quite precariously on top of that refrigerator was a coffee cup that came crashing down. It broke right over top of my left big toe. I was NOT a happy camper. I would like to say that I forgive the husband for putting that cup there. My toe may not forgive him for a while though.

Order

I have a room full of things that are mine
I've spread them about as I please
A tornado and hurricane passing through in a line
Could not have made order like this

I bask in the glory of all of my things
Around me from one wall to the other
Oh, and the joy to my heart that it brings
To not have to clean up one bit

The door creaks open as I lie in my mess
A voice sternly tells me I'm wrong
I'd better clean up and do my best
Or be grounded for the rest of my life

I frown at the floor that is clear now
I've ordered all the order I can
I've cleaned it all up though I don't know how
All my things are put up in their places

I hate all this clean in my room
I've put all of my things somewhere
I think I may even have used a broom
That is all I have to share
It's all I dare share
Now get out of my room!

New

Because Saturday is kind of a busy day for my family, and I woke up to chaos that is still going on. I will leave you all with a project I just completed. It's NEW!

Money

I am your fear
And I am your comfort
Come drag yourself down at my whim
I influence nations
I starve hungry by absence
Feed fat by presence

I am your need
And I am your want
Come roll in the mud I've created
Rub your hands together
Smile crooked teeth
Pull the strings of death and destruction

Lazy

Listlessly lounging
I sleepily slur
I don't have ideas for today
I lie on my side
The noise around me a blur
As I drift off to sleep in this way

I dream I do nothing
And dumbly dream drivel
I'm lolling the day away
To lazily lie is my earthly heaven
Until the alarm
Wakes me early at seven.

Knees

Two wheels and no hands
Staring down the hill
Will I do it?
Take the dare
All the way down
Hands in the air

Feet on pedals
Push off with one
Hair flies back
An instant upon my seat
My bike wobbles
And I'm tumbling down

Off my bike and skidding
The pavement takes my skin
Picking myself up
And Oh, the pain I'm in!
The blood drips from my knees.

Jumping Rope

Under my feet
And over my head
And under and over again
A high place
A low place
I keep pace

My hair is high
When I am low
And low
When I am high
Shoes on pavement
Tap, slap, tap
Slap, tap, slap

I sing a song
to keep the beat
“Cinderella
Dressed up in yella”
Don’t trip up
Keep it up

Another rope
It’s double Dutch
Quicken my hops to steps
Trip and switch
Sing again
Turn again
Stop.

-Marjorie-

Image Makers

I have decided to deviate from my poetry and story posts to take a look at what photography and photographers are today. I mentioned the other day that photography has been used as an art form almost as long as it has been a technology. But what is photography today? Has it gained legitimacy as an art form? I think it has, and with all the new technologies that is even truer today than it has ever been.

Photographers are really no longer just photographers. They are image makers. Photoshop is viewed as an extension of the photographer's toolbox, and that is really something. To be able to capture an image, open it in Photoshop, and then make the image into anything the photographer wants it to be is absolutely amazing.

There are some that might argue that this is what makes digital photographers less legitimate than film photographers. I cry foul on that. An image can be captured any number of ways, and the way an image is captured determines the way it is processed. A film photographer might develop in their darkroom in a certain way. Likewise, a digital photographer will process in the way he/she sees fit for his/her image. The difference is the digital photographer has more creative freedom during the processing. There are even some photographers that use their photographs to make art, and there is next to no evidence that it was originally a photograph. That's cool!

In conclusion I want to say that I feel it is dangerous to put art in a box. People should feel free to create without having to explain why their art is legitimate. We don't have to like every kind of art nor do we have to look at art we don't like. We do have to allow creative freedom.

This original is much less impressive than after it has been processed in photoshop don't you think?

Hindsight

Wrap up in a blanket
for hindsight is cold
And life has given you plenty
Regrets that are memory
And the freeze that they give
Is so very empty

Where will you go
When you look so far back
At your wintry life sorrows
And your life's unfulfilled
Your dreams so far from your grasp
The present is no longer real

Therefore move forward
Stop backward glances
Come into the sun to bathe
Shed your old coat of frost
And the clothing of regret
For the future which is not yet lost.


-Marjorie-

Garry Winogrand

I guess it is sort of fitting that I am extremely tired this morning and don't want to go into a full length post. Last night I did a presentation in class on Garry Winogrand. He was a street photographer famous for his work in the 60s. This morning I have decided to acquaint you all with some of his work.

He loved to get out into the streets of New York with his 35mm camera and just snap photos. He also loved to snap photos at parties. He had an eye for the opportune moment. His tilted horizons and juxtaposition of unrelated elements set his work apart from other street photographers.

On a slight digression: Did you all know that photography has been an experimental art form almost since its invention in the 1830s? But it wasn't taught as art in schools until the 1970s. Up until that time it was taught in chemistry and science departments. Just to give you an idea of how long it took for photography as an art form to gain legitimacy.

Anyway... Here is some of Garry Winogrand's work.

The man himself

For more on Garry Winogrand you can read this article and many more.

http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-srv/photo/essays/vanRiper/030131.htm

Fantasy

The following is a work of fiction.

Fiona looked herself over in the full length mirror. She wore her favorite magenta blouse with her second favorite pencil skirt. She gave a little turn and looked to make sure her butt looked nice. It always did, but it never hurt to check. Besides admiring herself in the mirror was probably her favorite thing. She inspected her makeup. She knew just how accentuate her green eyes. Her beautiful full lips were understated. She knew she was every man’s fantasy.

She brushed her long blond hair one last time before heading out the door. She took the stairs down from her apartment. Fiona never neglected to do the right thing when it came to keeping up her looks, because she knew that was her one and only asset. She wished she were brainy or confident or had the gift of gab. Anything. She sometimes would have preferred to be pretty instead of beautiful and have other talents. What she really wanted was to stay gorgeous and have talents.

As she stepped out onto the street she noticed the eyes, the wandering eyes of the men and the glaring stares of the women. She walked down the street as though she didn’t notice as always. The sad truth was that though she liked her job and was reasonably educated she couldn’t help but wish there was more. She wanted more and didn’t know what that was. Things came pretty easily to the beautiful women, but for once she wanted to be noticed for something else. If there was something else.

She walked into work on time as usual. As she made her way to her desk she saw him. Her fantasy. Every woman’s fantasy more like. He was tall and handsome and had the kind of brains and common sense that turned everyone on (even other men, but in a different way).

Fiona started to panic a little as he headed her way. He started talking to her, but she was too caught up in her own thoughts to understand what it was he was saying. “I-I’m sorry. Could you repeat that?” She mentally shot herself in the head.

“Repeat what?” He gave a bit of an arrogant smirk.

“Um, what you just said. I wasn’t paying attention. Uh, sorry.”

“You mean when I asked you how you are and you gave me a blank stare?”

“Yeah, I guess.” She gave an embarrassed smile. Her cheeks were probably as red as beets.

“Well?”

“Well, what?”

“Hoow aaaare yoou?” He drew out his words like he was talking to someone who was mentally handicapped or a toddler.

“Oh, I’m fine. Just fine. Uh, I’ve got to get to work. See you , Fred!” She bolted to her desk and started frantically looking around for something to do. Jesus Christ, he must think I’m a beautiful dumb ass. A Bimbo. Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid. I AM an idiot.

From that point on Fiona determined that she would make it her goal to get Fred to notice that she was indeed NOT an idiot. That would be her new fantasy. A fantasy made real.

Evening

What a mysterious witch the lady is
That changes her face and colors her hair
Once golden and pale the blue of her gown
Blazes with color and then calms down
To a deep shade of night.

What wonders she works that mistress fair
That stains her lips red as she changes
And magically sets her dress afire
And the violent shades exchanges
For those that are twilight.

And darkening still her blue eyes bright
Turn swiftly into pinpoints of light
Her tresses have blackened and embers fade
As the mistress of night moves in
The maiden of day gives flight

-Marjorie-

Doodles

I decided to be a bit silly today and write a poem about my youngest child. Though I was going to find something more serious to write. I also thought about another character study. The truth is I'm too tired so a light-hearted, ridiculous poem it is! Enjoy.

Doodles
Markers and pens and pencils
The toddler finds them all
And shows his creativity
On the freshly painted wall

He colors on his skin
Plus on the couch and chair
If that isn't enough
He colors in his hair.

There's no end to the doodling
At dinner there's no doubt
He'll paint the table bright
With the food he's spread about

To destroy the house
Seems to be his only chore
Unless of course he's sleeping
And I'm off to clean some more

Concealment

The following is a work of fiction.

Cheryl had a secret. She wasn't going to tell a soul until the right time came. But how? Surely it would be a disappointment to some. To one person at least it would be devastating. To worry about that after all this time would be absolutely fruitless.

About a month ago she had gotten a major promotion. It was in Portland, Oregon. That meant relocation from her town in Virginia. She was ridiculously excited... and scared. After all, Chuck would not want to come with her. He wouldn't want to leave his son. Besides if she was this eager for the job and was determined to take it did she really love Chuck all that much anyway? Probably not as much as she should have.

While mulling all these things over in her head Cheryl failed to pay attention to where she was walking. She stepped right into a giant mud puddle. "Crap, crap, crap!" She cleaned herself off as best she could and continued to walk along to the bus stop.

What would she tell Chuck? She knew he would be crushed. Would he call her an ungrateful bitch? Would he cry? She actually would prefer to be called a bitch or any other name than have to deal with a man crying. Yuck!

She took the stairs to her second floor apartment. She was digging around in her purse for her keys when she heard the noise. It was Chuck's voice and a... woman? Cheryl opened the door slowly and quietly. She rounded the corner to the living room where she found Chuck and his ex wife on the couch. They were in a very compromising position indeed and having quite a lot of fun at it.

Cheryl almost laughed at the looks on their faces when she dropped her purse loudly. "Oh, don't let me interrupt you! Carry on. I'll be in the bedroom changing."

Chuck burst in after her completely naked and sputtering. "I can explain. Give me a minute. I'll-

"Don't trouble yourself, Charlie." She only ever called him Charlie when she was angry. This time there was a definite coldness to her manner. She knew that this was the perfect time. She was inwardly thanking him for giving her a reason to break up with him. "It looks like we both have been concealing things from one another. I think it's time we came clean."

The End

Broken

The following is a work of fiction.

Broken

Tick, tick , tick, tick. The clock on the wall beat in time with the twitches of the sleeping figure. The room was bare but for small, metal framed bed. The floor tiles were dingy and there was small barred window that sat high on the wall.

The eyelids of the sleeper moved rapidly. Behind the lids in the sleeper's brain an endless struggle raged. Is it real or isn't it? Am I or am I not?

The employees of the institution in which he now slept remembered the day he walked in and asked to be admitted. He seemed sane, but as time went on it was clear he was quite disturbed. Doctors speculated that a traumatic event had cause him to break and that he only had enough presence of mind to realize he needed help before he completely cracked up.

The truth was they had to keep him constantly sedated. A week after he checked himself into treatment he began to whimper and then to whine until blood curdling screams were tearing through the institution.

Was he insane? The doctors and nurses would have said that it was certain. OR somewhere was there a man in a suit holding down a red button. Was our sleeper being called to a place he didn't want to go to do things he didn't want to do. Was he broken? Or were these more delusions? You decide.




Image courtesy of google images