Wednesday June 8th, 2011

The exercise:

Today's word: even.

The Canucks got thumped again tonight, so we're all even at 2-2 now. They're certainly not interested in making this easy on themselves, or their fans.

Mine:

You done me wrong
For far too long.
I'm done with that -
Time to attack,
Time to be free,
Time to be me.

My gun is cocked,
You're looking shocked -
Didn't you know
Your verbal blows,
Your clenched fist kiss,
Would end like this?

10 Comments:

Greg said...

Can't we say that they're building dramatic tension, and giving you all the excitement you can handle? And didn't they have a score-line like this early on in this Cup? They can come back, I'm sure of it!
Love the rhythm of your poem, and the way the short lines cause the reader to speed up, right up to the last line and its sudden finish. And yeah, who brings fists to a gunfight?

Even
The builder heard the sound of a foot tapping.
Again.
He didn't look up, didn't turn his head, and especially didn't sigh even though he very much wanted to.
"Is there a problem?" he said, not quite sounded as civil as he wanted to. He laid another brick, and squinted at it.
"I don't think that it's quite even," said a prissy, squeaky voice. It still surprised the builder when he heard it; he expected someone so... ovoid to have a much deeper voice. "In fact, I'm very worried that it might not be."
Now the builder did sigh, and looked around him. Finding his spirit level he set it on the top of the wall and pointed at the little yellow bubble, evenly caught between the bars.
"That says it's level," he said flatly.
"Yes but--"
"No buts! No buts, Humpty! This is physics we're talking about here, not what you think when you look at it from some funny angle." The builder knew he was shouting, but after three days, he'd had enough.
"...That's Mr. Dumpty to you," said Humpty, sniffing. "And you're not the one going to be sitting on it, so I think I have a right to worry!"

motherinToronto said...

Wasn't sure whether I wanted to retrace steps on the bad hair cut incident or this. I thought I'd go with this instead.

EVEN

“What’s on the itinerary for tonight?” Angie fidgeted with her fishnet stockings while surveying the room for wherever she had left her stiletto heels.

“Wheels.” Goat grunted while focusing on the videogame’s recon mission. She nodded deciding that this should be an interesting venture. Whenever she didn’t know what Goat meant, it seemed to invariably end up being an interesting evening. Monday nights were usually more difficult to keep herself occupied.

That night, Goat parked up outside of a dealership from the side of the road. Angie hopped out following him to the trunk as he pulled out jacks, a lug nut wrench and bricks. “Wheels?” She questioned. The rest of the guys had smoked too much gunja and passed back out promptly after Angie had insisted on her vegetarian Indian curry take-out. So it was just the two of them out here.

“Wheels.” Goat confirmed around the cigarette hanging out of his mouth. He proceeded to confidently jack a show car onto the bricks and remove the wheels. People rolled by slowly in their cars to watch, but Goat carried a confident air about him. Strangers seemingly assumed that he had a right to be doing this as he didn’t seem in the least bit concerned by their presence. It wasn’t until she was helping him put the wheels into the backseat of the car and in the trunk that she considered her image was probably on their camera’s. She blushed and hurried to pack up and get into the front passenger seat.

“So... you meant wheels.” Angie exclaimed under her breath as they drove away. Goat commented by way of explanation: "Now we're even." She didn’t really understand what he meant or why he (and by proxy of her presence, she) had done this. She hoped there had been a good reason.



Marc: Good expression of reaching breaking point.

Greg: LOL, poor Humpty!

morganna said...

This just popped into my head -- fairly typical of me trying to make something :)

Measure twice, cut once
For the third time in a row
Are they even yet?

Prodigal Bun said...

Left, right, left... right. No.
Left-right, left, right-left. No.
Left, right, left, right, yes! left-right - Argh!

Deep breath, slow down.

Left. Right. Left. Right. Left Right.

Yes!

Prodigal Bun said...

Ugh, typo on the penultimate line: There should be a "." before the final "Right".

motherinToronto said...

Prodigal Bun - At least yours was succint. Mine is just way too long.

Heather said...

He shot through the gym doors as quickly as he was allowed. Once his shoes touched the hard brown earth and he was freed of the constraints of indoor school rules, he took off as fast as his legs could take him. He ran across the hopscotch boards and four square boxes to the sidewalk. Following it past the playground, the soccer field, and the preschool park, he turned to his right. The grass jumped up to tickle his ankles and the wind rustled his hair.

He ran on. The field met with the dirt path that aggressively cut across it and his feet turned kicking up gritty sand. Through the woods he ran, emerging only to leave the dirt path for the concrete one. Slowly, he gained ground. Step by step, he drew nearer his goal. He rounded another corner and could see the finish line. The orange cones marked the end of the race and the joy of claiming his prize.

I looked into his happy eyes as he approached. A smile spread across my face and I pounded my hands together. He didn't smile in return. Instead, his focus seemed to fall to to the ground only to be trampled by dozens of other runners. He stumbled to a stop, turned and took two steps back. Bending over, he picked up his escaped shoe and tried to put it back on quickly.

Two steps later, he stopped again to retrieve his shoe. I gestured for him to come over. Carrying his shoe, he hobbled over as quickly as he could. Looking at it, I wondered if there was anything I could do. The metal buckle and velcro extension had snapped off. The shoe was irreparable, but somehow it needed to be salvaged if I wanted to restore his hope of finishing the race.

Thinking quickly, I pulled the clip out of my hair. It fell in my face obscuring my view. Helping him put his foot in the shoe, I pulled the loose strap tight and fastened it to the tongue before securely tucking the other end of the clip between the wall of his shoe and his foot. Even though it wasn't as great as Macgyver could have done --no duct tape-- I was confident it would hold long enough for him to cross the finish line.

Marc said...

Greg - it'll all be worth it, as long as they end up winning :P

Great twist on an old tale :)

Mother in T.O. - those are two intriguing characters. I wouldn't mind hearing more from them.

Morganna - haha, that sounds like my attempts to make things too :)

Prodigal Bun - welcome to the blog, and no worries about the typo! After all, it's just practice :)

Heather - I like how you made use of the prompt (as usual). I found myself looking for the connection at first, then I just got lost in the story.

And then when it arrived I almost missed it :)

Aaron said...

I wrote this because writing felt really good today and I'm sharing it because why not?
“You think this makes us even?” I whisper into the sky. Ever since I was a child, I have believed in the good lord my shepherd. My mom had always insisted that he maintained a balance in all our lives so that through duality we could know the depths and heights of life.
“There has to be pain and suffering in world or all the good wouldn’t be as good.” She would tell me when I worried over homeless people shuffling down the street. “It’s all part of God’s plan for everything. We have money so we can give it to those in need.” Reaching into her purse and pulling out a single dollar bill. “God bless you, sir,” she said smiling into his dull eyes.
I stare into the dull gray sky wondering about the balance. If I am to suffer now who is prospering? If I am prosperous now who is suffering? I see an oak tree to my left and I approach it. Looking up at its awesome gnarls and limbs, I sit against its ancient body and recline my head. Looking at the sky through a mesh of leaves, I feel no peace.
"We all die someday."

Marc said...

Aaron - mmm, I love those days when writing feels good. Thanks for sharing :)