Storytime 7: Pea or Oleander?

wildPeas

The girl and her pink pig walked away.
Wrapped in weeks of invisibility,
She followed.

Nourishment comes in many forms.
She craved the food of human contact.
Her eyes hungered to meet their own.
Her ears wanted for linguistic spice.
And, if truth be told,
her bones longed for tender embrace.

This promise of sustenance –
Was it pea or oleander?
Nourishment or poison?

She watched.
She would see.

2015 copyright

 Storytime is a series of entries that, together,
form an unfolding story.
Read each as an individual piece
or, start at the beginning (bottom)
and read up to the present installment.
Sign up to follow my blog
if you’d like to receive notices of additions.

Picture of wild peas is from LaPalma Island blog.

Poem: One River One Boat by Marjory Wentworth

M Wentworth

South Carolina’s Poet Laureate, Marjory Wentworth, wrote the poem “One River One Boat” exclusively to be read yesterday at our state governor’s inauguration. Unlike previous years, this year the inauguration committee decided not to include the poem citing time as the issue.

One River One Boat” deserves to be heard.  South Carolina’s US Congressman Jim Clyburn read it on the House floor yesterday and admitted it into congressional record. See a video of his comments and his reading of the poem here.

Another of my state’s citizens was moved to do her own reading of the poem. Brenda Peart. I hope you don’t mind my including a link to your reading here. 

Thank you Brenda, Thank you Rep. Clyburn. Thank you, Marjory.

I will get you started … please link and read through to the end:

One River, One Boat

I know there’s something better down the road.
— Elizabeth Alexander

Because our history is a knot
we try to unravel, while others
try to tighten it, we tire easily
and fray the cords that bind us.
The cord is a slow moving river,
spiraling across the land
in a succession of S’s,
splintering near the sea.

read on ….

My favorite poem of hers is Dancing Barefoot in Atlanta. You’ll find it, and others, on page 49 of UNdefined Magazine. There’s an article about her on page 43.

Find Marjory’s website here, with additional poetry, her blog, and her writing about being a writer.

Creating: Creating Machines

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“The lightning spark of thought generated in the solitary mind awakens its likeness in another mind.” – Thomas Carlyle

Sometimes, creating is an individual thing. A flash of inspiration hits us and we go with it. We call it ours. We take individual responsibility to grow it.

Sometimes, we create with a group. Inspiration may come to one or several of us. In the course of getting to know each other, learning the subject, setting the goals, organizing the issues, working through personal differences … in the course of all that, we learn to respect each other’s gifts and work-styles. We may also find that we spark each other in unique ways that don’t happen outside of the group.

This is when we may find that we aren’t creating what we think we are creating. We’re creating more. While we may or may not be creating solutions or something new, one thing we are bringing to life is a creating ‘machine’.

This machine is a team that brings its flashes and insights together in productive ways. The team may be particularly good at analysis, synthesis, idea generation, or something very specific to your endeavor or business. In this case, however, it’s the how that we focus on rather than the what:  the team brings more to the table together than apart.

Advertising agencies and other creative groups consciously try to foster these teams. It can be tricky work. Pay attention if such a thing should evolve for you. A unified creating machine is a rare and powerful gift that deserves to be treasured and protected.

How to do that? Just like you would your favorite plant: recognize it, acknowledge it, feed it. Give it the room it needs to evolve and grow, the air it needs to breathe. At times, it may require a little water, fertilizer, or pruning. And, when the time comes to reap the rewards, hold your personal celebration of Thanksgiving, because nothing feeds the next crop quite like gratitude for the current crop.

Gentle-people, start your engines! Let the creating begin.

2015 copyright

Boat Full Of Joy

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Silver haired girl
Copper headed boy
Sliding down the river in a boat full of joy.
She’s a little lunar,
He’s a bit’a sun,
They shone so bright you’d think they were one.

Lots of little fishies swimming round their feet.
Lots of pretty dragonflies stirring in the heat.
Lightning bugs all danced along
to the tunes they sang as they rambled on.

Silver haired girl
Copper headed boy
Said they’d never, ever leave their boat full of joy.
Each a little gentle
Each a little strong
They laughed and sang the whole day long.

Lyric: Hope Sky Love

He is fine
taking time
to get there.

Gotta dream
shootin’ steam.
Does she care?

Pull the night
off the light
on a dare.

Recognize
the prize.
It’s all fair.

Got a toy.
Make it go.
It’s a game.

Looking back
through the lens.
Time’s the same.

Think it’s new.
What a sly
little lie.

Walk your walk
through the talk
or you’re lame.

So, they look to the sky
and the puzzle breaks wide.
In the blink of an eye we are gone.
When they step will we trip
to get up off of it.
Hope is field –
grounded sound of love.

All is one.
Feel the force
lit anew.

Crack the seal.
Golden bloom,
fresh with dew.

If I felt
for your hand
would you know?

Recognize
the prize.
It’s for you.

 

All Rights Reserved

Storytime 6: Posey & the Pink Pig

baby pig on green grass

All night, walking.
Morning brought more.
The path
wandered through trees
sometimes dense,
sometimes not.
She walked until she met
two paths
criss-crossing.

There she heard a bit of
laughter;
preface for a little face
featuring freckles
on chocolate skin
bouncing brown braids
and a tight little hand holding a stick that pointed
at a bright pink pig.

It was rooting
off the side of the path,
moving into underbrush
until this girl
she would come to call Rosie,
said,

“No, Posy, get yourself back on that trail. Go on now.”

All Rights Reserved

 

 Storytime is a series of poems that, together, form an unfolding story.
Read each as an individual poem.
Or, start at the bottom (Storytime 1) and read up (to the present) for a story.
Sign up to follow my blog if you’d like to receive notices of additions.
Pig picture is from Farmgirl Fare.

Storytime 5: The Forest

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3:30 in the afternoon,
sun high,
she trudged through seaside forest;
a blessed canopy that kept her secret.

Humid.
Sweat rolled as
mosquitoes invaded
flapping sleeves
and grabbed at wet ankles.
Gnats threw themselves into the stickiness.
Slick itch and irritation a slight distraction
from deepening apprehension.

A lone cricket’s croak broke the whispering quiet with a rhythmic tattoo.
Hawks continued to draw a grand circle overhead to the south.
Was she getting any closer?

Regret welled up;
seeking relief from the tension.

2014 Copyright

 Storytime is a series of poems that, together, form an unfolding story.
Read each as an individual poem.
Or, start at the bottom (Storytime 1) and read up (to the present) for a story.
Sign up to follow my blog if you’d like to receive notices of additions.