If These Walls Could Talk . . .

Caplica Czaszek in southwestern Poland

First Class Reading and Writing Room ~ USS Titanic

The Inside of a Confession Booth

 

Just for fun

Pick a picture and tell me what it would say.  No word limit.  Easy peasy.

~ Mama Zen

Dear Past, Dear Future

Genealogical Tree: To Trace and Preserve a Family History

for Five or More Generations (Library of Congress)

Think about your ancestors.  Think about your future descendants. Write a letter to either or both.  Word count is wide open.

The House That Built You

I know they say you can't go home again.
I just had to come back one last time.
Ma'am I know you don't know me from Adam.
But these hand-prints on the front steps are mine . . .

Today, I want you to tell us about the house that built you.  It doesn't have to be an actual house; it can be a school house, a house of worship, a tree-house . . . any place from your younger years that has special meaning to you now.  Use as many words as you like.

Happy Poetry Month!

Flash Fiction 55

Hey!

Step Away From Your Kid's Halloween Candy!

Write A 55 And Save Your Thighs!

Disclaimer: For best results, participants write a set of 55 words (prose or poetry) each month. Results may vary.  Ask your doctor if 55s are right for you.

Flash Fiction 55

Got exactly 55 words of prose or poetry that you're just dying to share? Well, you've come to the right place.  Flash me; it's 55 time!

Personal Challenge With Mama Zen

Just after she finished blowing us all away with her personal challenge write, Margaret Bednar passed the challenge baton to me.  My mission: find a painting or portrait of a woman and let her speak to me (offer advice, comment on my life, engage in conversation, etc.).  I looked at a lot of beautiful  paintings, but it was a portrait of a young Virginia Woolf that spoke to me.

Virginia Woolf

Sweet Briar

I'm rooted

in a sweet briar climb;

it's twining my thighs

and thorning.

Weighted

by stones in my sleeve

and language 

lost to rust.

Christened 

by apple rain

and the sweet, wet rot

of the river.

Drowning

to wash 

the mud from my eyes;

I see too much.

Collaboration - Susie Clevenger And Mama Zen

image via Pinterest

When Susie and I first began working on our collaboration, I think that we were both a little unsure.  Should we go with a form of some kind?  A theme?  We tentatively exchanged a few ideas, but it just wasn't happening.  That is, until we got out of our own way and let the words connect themselves . . . and us.

MY JOURNAL

My journal is a notebook

abandoned by my mother

when she forgot how to write.

For some reason I am on a journey

to find myself within the lines

she could never fill

with will

or pills

or prayers to her own mother's vicious God.

Empty begat Empty

and didn't spare the rod.

 image via Pinterest

A Toad's Favo(u)rite: The Raven

Image via Pinterest

I have a confession.  When I was young, I thought that Edgar Allan Poe was waaaay too corny for my coolness.  No, really, it's true.  The Tell-Tale Heart and Lenore left me completely unimpressed.  Annabel Lee?  Meh.  And, memorizing The Raven?  I hated every minute of that exercise.

But, you know what?  Thirty years later, I can still drop lines from The Raven.  And, that's certainly not due to my fabulous memory.

No, the credit for The Raven's stranglehold on my brain must go entirely to Mr. Poe.  His use of rhyme makes the lines flow and follow as naturally as night follows day.  The flawless meter gives the piece a beat so strong that you can practically dance to it.  And, the best alliteration EVER adds to the feel of rushing movement that sweeps the reader along.  Plus, hey, it's creepy!  The Raven is a poetic earworm, and you can't help but remember it.

So, yeah, I hated The Raven when I was kid.  Now, I just hate that I'll never write anything that compares to it.

The Raven

ONCE upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,—
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
"'T is some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door;	5
Only this and nothing more."
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow;—vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow—sorrow for the lost Lenore,	10
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore:
Nameless here for evermore.
And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me—filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating	15
"'T is some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door,
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door:
This it is and nothing more."
Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
"Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;	20
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you"—here I opened wide the door:—
Darkness there and nothing more.
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,	25
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore?"
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Lenore:"
Merely this and nothing more.	30
Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
"Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore;
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore:	35
'T is the wind and nothing more."
Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore.
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door,	40
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door:
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,—
"Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no craven,	45
Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore:
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning—little relevancy bore;	50
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door,
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as "Nevermore."
But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only	55
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered, not a feather then he fluttered,
Till I scarcely more than muttered,—"Other friends have flown before;
On the morrow he will leave me, as my Hopes have flown before."
Then the bird said, "Nevermore."	60
Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
"Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore:
Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore	65
Of 'Never—nevermore.'
But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore,	70
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking "Nevermore."
This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining	75
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamplight gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er
She shall press, ah, nevermore!
Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.	80
"Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee—by these angels he hath sent thee
Respite—respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!"
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore."
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil! prophet still, if bird or devil!	85
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted—
On this home by Horror haunted—tell me truly, I implore:
Is there—is there balm in Gilead?—tell me—tell me, I implore!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."	90
"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil—prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us, by that God we both adore,
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore:
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore!"	95
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
"Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!" I shrieked, upstarting:
"Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken! quit the bust above my door!	100
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,	105
And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor:
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted—nevermore!

The Sunday Mini-Challenge : Lune

Hello to all the Toads and Pond Dwellers!   

On April 25, 2013 at 21:57, we will see a full moon.   So, I think it is timely that the poetry form we tackle today is called Lune, which is French for “moon”.  In mathematics, the lune is a shape that is similar to a crescent moon.

© picture by MamaZen

This 3-line poem has been called the American haiku and has two variations:   

Robert Kelly Lune:

Robert Kelly, an American poet,  invented the Lune poetry form.  He felt that adhering to the strict form of Japanese haiku (5-7-5 syllables) in English creates a different poem than the Japanese intention. He invented the Lune to remove these differences, and the only requirement is the 5-3-5 syllables. There are no other rules i.e. no need for a cutting word or punctuation.    Rhymes are fine; subject matter is wide open. 

In his book, Lunes, Robert Kelly has a short foreward:

Lunes are small poems that spend half their lives in darkness & half in light.  Each lune has thirteen syllables one for each month of the moon’s year. 

a minute ago

that tree was

still full of blackbirds

~0~

is this form too short

love alone

makes do with less

Jack Collom Lune:

Jack Collom created his version by accident.  He was, "beginning to work with schoolchildren when he misremembered Kelly's idea as a count of 3/5/3 words, rather than syllables." In doing so, he created a new variation of the Lune. As a happy coincidence, this variation made it easier for kids to create Lunes, since words are easier to count than syllables.

Here is one from Kim Nelson:

Tucson's winter moon

peaks down at desert life

chilling deepest night

In writing the lune poem, be guided that the intention is to make the minimal reverberate to the maximum.  Each lune is a separate poem.

So, our challenge today is to write a new lune poem either using the following:

Kelly Lune -Three lines containing a syllabic count of 5-3-5 (thirteen syllables).

Collom Lune -Three lines containing a word count of 3-5-3 (eleven words).

This can be a single lune or a series of interlocking lunes.  

I look forward to your words.   Happy Sunday to all ~ 

Grace (aka Heaven)

True Originals Apply to No One: an interview

Greetings Garden Dwellers!

This week I continue to explore the world of publishing.  Some of those in our midst have struck out to put their work into a printed product: a bound and decorated object called “books”, and I am here to share those experiences with you all. 

Today I present a very special brain snack:  an interview with not one but three Toads whose latest book is so new, the ink has barely dried!  Our very own Fireblossom, Mama Zen, and Hedgewitch have published a book of poems, and they were kind enough to answer some of my questions about the publishing process.  Scroll downward to learn how they came together, let Fireblossom do what she does best (formatting?), and ended up with a book of their own..... 

Izy:  The three of you have very separate styles, what drove your decision to collaborate and conjure forth a book?

FB:  Kelli goosed me about getting something together to try to get it published, and I had the idea of doing something together. It means more to me because we are all in it, than a solo effort would have. 

HW: First of all, the credit for this project really should go to Shay and Kelli, as being published comes on my list of enthusiasms somewhere between learning how to do sculptures from clothes-dryer lint and being nibbled to death by ducks. As far as why do this together, other than  being online friends, for me, it was primarily that we just seem to understand and relate to each other's poetry on a real and primal level. Neither Kelli nor Shay has ever gotten any of my poems wrong--and their poetry always seems to strike a chord in me that just instinctually hits me where I live (not to mention, makes me say "I wish I'd written that')

MZ: Honestly, it just kind of occurred to me one day that we could.  And, it sounded like fun.

Shay Caroline (a.k.a. Fireblossom)

Izy:  Tell me a bit about what it was like to collaborate with other poets?  How did you arrive at a cohesive theme, tone, etc.?

FB: It was easy because we each have our own separate sections. I was the one to bang out the manuscript, so I chose my own poems, Kelli asked me to help with choosing hers, and Joy chose her own and sent me the doc by email. Then we all had some typos and what-have-you to clean up, and there it was. It was Joy's idea to do the cascade poems at the end.

HW:  Shay was the driving force behind this project as far as my motivation was concerned, and she kept us between the lines by making it very simple and clear-cut: we each were going to put so many poems in the collection, and we had so many days to assemble them for her to transcribe. She helped me out with a list of her favorites of mine, and I mentioned some of my favorites of hers, but our final choices were personal. She also really made this happen by having a stringent deadline. If I'd had more time to dither, my part probably would have taken years to get done, if ever.

MZ: The book is definitely a collaboration, but it's presented as three distinct voices.  We each had our own section to play with.  That format lent itself to ease of design and pretty much eliminated the need for any hair pulling. 

Izy:  Did you each get input on what the other was including?  Did you help revise and improve each other's work?

FB: No one revised anyone else's work. I think that's a boundary none of us would presume to cross. However, there *was* input about which poems to include. I helped Kelli choose her poems, Joy made some suggestions for me, including "Mission" and "House Of Wax", and I urged Joy to include "Hedgerider's Lament."

MZ: Hmmm . . . let me just sit for a moment and imagine myself trying to revise one of Hedge's poems . . . not gonna happen! On the other hand, without Shay, I would still be thumbing through my poems and trying to make selections.

Izy:  The title is (I am assuming) your three birth signs....what is the significance of the title in relation to the poems?  

FB:  Yes, our sun signs. Kelli came up with that. I think our signs show in our writing. 

HW: While I'm not a foamy, New Age-y devotee of astrology, I have found it a useful and interesting way of looking at personalities over the years, and I do think there is some relationship between our signs and our styles--in my  case, I know I draw on the historical poets and on traditional forms a lot more, as well as being drawn to the dark side of things. (Edgar Allen Poe was a Capricorn, after all.)

MZ: The title seemed to fit the theme of three views and three voices.

Izy: How did you decide on the order of the poems, the layout and design?  Did one of you take this on or was it a group effort?

FB: Blame me for that, entirely. It was partly just a matter of what arrangement would fit the most poems in, in a pleasing way. Also, I tried not to put poems together that didn't mesh well together. Joy did give me her design for the three sections her poems are divided into, and I chose the sequence within each section.  I paid particular attention to the first and last poem for each poet. 

HW:  Shay, along with doing all the other hard work, made the final decisions on things, but we each made our own selections. Being the Capricorn in the group, I did choose to group my part of the book into three themed sections, and to do it I used three of my blog tags, which is how I associate my poems in my head. I had a section called Witchlight (love poems) one called Casting the Runes, (for my poems about myth and so forth), and finally a group of assorted form poems I tagged Dancing Doll. We also discussed including poems of different  lengths--short medium and long--and breaking up the book that way as well for variety, so you'll find you aren't reading page after page of long poems all lumped together.

MZ: Shay gets all the credit for anything related to manuscript design.  The woman is a machine!

Joy Ann Jones( a.k.a Hedgewitch)

Izy:  What have initial reactions been to the book, and now that the book is out there, what are your plans to promote the work?  Are you going to do readings, etc. I know a guy who sells tamales from the trunk of his car at night clubs.  He makes a killing and may be looking to get into the book selling biz.....?

FB: I think it may be too soon for reactions, but people have certainly been very positive about the fact that there *is* a book. Marian at ALL CAPS promoted us on Twitter and Facebook and at Real Toads. All of us have promoted the book on our blogs. I do readings very occasionally, and if I do one, I'll take some copies along. 

HW:  I'll do readings when I am personally asked by Sean Bean, Viggo Mortenson or President Obama. But I could use a good tamale.

MZ: So far, people have been really positive and excited for us. 

Izy: You are published under the ALL CAPS imprint, a collective which helps authors self publish their work, why did you make the decision to self-publish?  Shay, you've previously published, how did you find this experience to work in contrast to working with a conventional poetry press?

FB: Fuck a bunch of leaving it to editors who want what they want for any of a million reasons. Our work is strong, it deserves to see print and be read, and this is how it got done. I'm pleased as can be with the whole thing. My girl Emily Dickinson had her poetry maimed by editors for decades; men who thought they knew how to improve the little lady's work. Please. Finally, her work is available as she intended it, and it's so much stronger that way. I took a lesson from that. 

When I was submitting to magazines and all of that, one had to go through these gatekeepers, each with their own biases and needs and egos. I think my writing is as good as anyone's. Anyone's. I don't need someone to stamp their approval on it, or change it or tell me how I ought to have done it. My feeling is that Kelli and Joy are true originals and they need apply to no one. Here is our work. It's fucking fantastic. It needs to be out there and available. Personally, I couldn't care less about compiling some list of publications or bonafides. The work is the thing.

MZ: Self-publishing has become a viable option, particularly for poets.  We have a strong, vibrant community, we support each other; why shouldn't we work together to get our work out there?

Izy:  What were some of the obstacles you faced?

FB: Oy! Figuring out how to make the book look nice, get the poems to fit nicely where i wanted them, and to navigate all the steps necessary to create the finished book. It wasn't easy. There were times when I was fit to be tied, trying to figure it all out, but Marian had a knack of always having the wise word when I needed it, and the book got made. I'm very proud of it and very proud of *us*. 

HW: The hardest part for me was picking between my poem children--rejecting some and elevating others as a mother should never have to do, and I only hope they forgive me for playing favorites. 

MZ: Talking Shay off the ledge when the formatting wasn't going well?  I'm kidding, but Shay really was the point woman on the grunt work.  I think that she did a tremendous job, and I can't thank her enough.

Kelli Simpson (a.k.a. Mama Zen)

Izy:  What were some of the rewards of the writing/ publishing process?

FB: To me, writing something worthwhile is its own reward, but the rewards of this book, for me, have been to see each of our sets of poems all in one place, looking good, something that can be held in the hands and enjoyed and kept and shared. That's just such a kick.

I used to have all these unwieldy bookmarks on my computer for both of my co-authors' poems that I liked the best, but now they are all together. I love that. And mine too! 

For differing reasons, it has seemed unlikely that any of the three of us would ever be sitting here with a book of our poetry in our hands. It just thrills me silly that now that's been made real, against some daunting odds. All of us quit writing for years at a time. It would be criminal if Kelli and Joy had remained silent. I think that the opportunities of blogging and self-publishing were critical to all three of us picking up our pens again.

HW: The biggest reward for me is knowing we've accomplished something tangible, being able to hold a real book in one's hand and say--hey, my poetry is in here. That, and  hearing all the kind words, encouragement and support from others, especially our fellow poets.

MZ:  The writing is its own reward.  Always.  Still, holding a book of your work in your hands is an undeniable thrill.

Izy:  How long did it take you to put the work together?

FB: It happened pretty fast.

HW: You mean, besides a lifetime of agonizing or ecstatic experiences distilled into verbal expression through long soul-searching and peripatetic inspiration in the wee hours of insomniac months and years? 

Actually, about 24 hours, because I was late to the party and the last one to get organized, so I raced through my blog on the fly, cutting and pasting like a fiend. This was a good thing , as I said earlier, or  I would probably have spent months agonizing, re-writing and over-editing everything. 

MZ:  It didn't take long at all!

Izy:  Where can I get my hands on a copy?

FB:  Amazon.com!

MZ: We're on Amazon.  And, I have a couple of copies sitting here on my desk.  Call me; I'll hook you up!


Get your mitts on your own copy of Gemini/Scorprio/Capricorn  here

The Sunday Mini-Challenge

This weekend's stanza format is taken from my reading of Paul Laurence Dunbar, who first wrote the line: "I know why the caged bird sings!" in his poem Sympathy. He also devised an interesting 7 line stanza, used in the poem Melancholia, which relies on a syllable count and rhyme scheme, and this is the form we will focus on today.

© Mama Zen

The opening stanza of Melancholia gives the model for the structure of subsequent stanzas:

Silently without my window,  (a)   8 syllables
Tapping gently at the pane,  (b)   7 syllables 
Falls the rain.  (b)   3 syllables
Through the trees sighs the breeze (Internal rhyme c / c) 6 syllables
Like a soul in pain.  (b)   5 syllables
Here alone I sit and weep;  (d)   7 syllables
Thought hath banished sleep.  (d)   5 syllables

The meter is trochaic but I mention this only for the purists.

© Ellen Wilson

October, as it is experienced in the Northern Hemisphere, always strikes me as being a month of paradoxes: the give of the harvest and the take of Fall; a sinister festival of the dead in All Hallows' Eve, which is followed immediately by a day of celebration for the Hallowed Saints. Of course, there is the unsettled sense of change which occurs as life instinctively prepares for Winter.

© Isadora Gruye

I have selected several photos for our further inspiration that are in keeping with the many moods of October. The photographers are members or followers (or friends) of Real Toads, who freely share their work here with us. Please remember to acknowledge the name of the photographer whose work you display on your blog.

© Teresa Perin

For those who would like to try the stanza form and would like another example, I have republished a poem on Skywriting that I wrote in 2009 (back when I first started writing, I often purloined forms). However, I fully intend to make a second attempt at it this weekend.  For those who prefer the Free Verse option, please focus on an October theme, or a photograph from this post.

© H.J. Clark

The Sunday Challenge is posted on Saturday at noon CST to allow extra time for the form challenge.  Please provide a link on your blog back to Real Toads.  We stipulate that only poems written for this challenge may be added to the Mr Linky.  Management reserves the right to remove unrelated links, but invites you to share a poem of your choice on Open Link Monday.