The exercise:
A four line poem about: the journey.
The power was out from 8:30 this morning until a bit after noon. The fireplace did its best to keep us warm, but it was a struggle.
Looks like we'll be getting started on constructing the new greenhouse tomorrow morning. I expect it'll be mostly leveling the ground and getting the foundation ready, but it'll be good to get going with it.
Mine:
Here is where I am,
There is where I want to be,
And between the two
There's so much for me to see.
9 comments:
The way you present those facts I now expect that the greenhouse is a way of keeping you warm when the power is out. Which I guess it could be, if it's sunny out :)
Heh, now your poem evokes the essence of wanderlust! And it's something I'd agree with too, even if where I want to be changes as soon as I get there!
The journey
She prayed to the old Gods for a journey;
Two days later, business took her out of state.
She heard on the radio that the war had started,
And that journeying ever on was now her fate.
Marc, dunno how the weather was down your way, but Kelowna was roasting at 7 above today. could it be... spring?
now that i've said it, there will be snow tomorrow. i am sorry.
mine
Through trees and tombs,
Caverns and cathedrals,
My wanderlust has taken me
Through the sights and sounds of the ages.
ditto greg
the journey...
it's not about the destination,
it's about the journey
but in her estimation
she'd rather not get there on a guerney
Power outage - yuk - we had a short one preceeded by a boom and bright green flash of light - happened twice - I didn't know if I should expect Dementors or Superman...
The Journey
She traveled to her home to keep the children safe.
Little did she know her own journey was to start.
The bombs began dropping, the children herded to the shelter.
In search for a toy she watched her world bow apart as he body and her soul followed her heart.
Hey I know what that is all about, Nova Scotia is the land of the power outages. Thankfully we had none for awhile. Plus eight here yesterday and some pretty serious raining. Sounds like spring to me, or is that just a continuation of our so called winter?
The Journey
Earplugs and eye patches on the airplane,
Texting and twitter in the taxi to my hotel.
Sleeping pills and vodka for the time change.
Paris is great this time of the year let me be your guide.
Oh no, I hadn't realized so many of you were that far north. I feel a tad guilty posting this now. But I can only imagine a life containing snow, never falls here. If it's any consulation we get sunburns and hurricanes.
<>
Happily working in the vegetable gardens today,
When a flock of sea birds flew gracefully over head.
To the gulf coast beaches they will make their way,
In west central Florida near our modest farmstead.
@ Cathryn - Wand at the ready. Gather a heaping supply of chocolate! STAT!
Montana is pretty north(as far as the US goes anyway) but our winter in my town has been mild. Today was the first ungodly warm since last October though: 60. Shouldn't get quite that warm again this week but spring is definitely coming early.
Kind of a busy and unexpected weekend; I had intended to write on a couple of the prompts from earlier in the week but only ended up having time to write my submission for an annual local progressive story called "Foolish Words". It's written over a couple months, then presented at a local coffee shop on April Fools Day. This year it's sort of a murder mystery theme. Pretty fun so far. I guess I'll post my part even though it won't make too much sense at the moment, then after it's all online, I'll post the link here. The whole thing makes me think of Protagonize which I have contemplated joining in on a few times. : )
She watched as he and Silas left the study, having just decided it would be very helpful to try retracing Augie’s last steps through the house. Involuntarily, pieces of that fateful night in Vegas over two years ago replayed in her mind. Their unexpected poolside meeting. Drinks shared along with secret thoughts. The subtle suggestion that led back to his room, the other members of their party long asleep. She remembered the can of spray cheese poised above her and a shiver of pleasure ran the length of her body. Several hours later, while showering, the plan had begun to form, the move of each piece complicated but attainable.
A sudden raising of voices shook her from her reverie. Tiny and Ms. Jackson were at it again. He gestured wildly at her and she exploded into hysterical sobs, her face still puffy from the previous outburst. Drewessa rolled her eyes and tuned them out as best she could. Since stepping on the boat, they had been trying to one up each other on the mournful tragedy their lives had recently become. Ms. Jackson let out a stumbling deluge of names all beginning with ‘stupid’ and now Tiny was crying as well. Each loudly pouted their way to opposite windows and seemed to have completely forgotten that Augie was no longer alive.
Drewessa settled onto a painfully overstuffed green velvet chair and began to file her nails. Of course, she suspected everyone but her precious Reggie. It certainly could have been Garverick, who was seated at Augie’s desk and attempting to appear nonchalant as he rummaged through drawers and stacks of papers no doubt in search of those ridiculous photos. Who was stupid enough to upload anything sensitive to Facebook anyway? Perhaps he had confronted Augie, who had refused to tell him where they were and his temper, so carefully concealed at every press conference and Senate session, had Mr. Hyded out of him.
Plus, there was something suspicious about Tiny and Ms. Jackson. In spite of their bizarre, ongoing pissing contest, she had the feeling they were more familiar with each other than they let on. On Friday evening as she unpacked, she had seen the petite redhead sneak out to the courtyard, take a paper from beneath a potted begonia, and slip another back under. Later, Tiny had excused himself briefly during dinner and came back railing about being wronged by the media, which set Ms. Jackson off again.
Suddenly, a deafening clang of metal, as if pots and pans were raining from the ceiling, came from down the hall.
The Journey
A simple step begins the day
You're up, you're off, you're on your way.
The final step ends at your door,
You've scarce sat down and now crave more.
Greg - neat little poem, almost feels like the beginning of a tale.
JorJack - it hit 17 this afternoon in the sunshine. I could get used to that.
I got a nice, wistful, meditative feeling from your poem.
Writebite - hah, I say ditto to your poem :)
Cathryn - either way, I'd say it's wise to stay indoors for a little while after that...
That's a painfully powerful poem.
Iron Bess - haha, I'm not sure your guide would be the best idea... but then again, she might get you into some proper adventures.
Krystin - sounds like a wonderfully peaceful scene :)
H.N. - that's very cool! I'd love to see the full version once it's available :)
GZ - lovely rhythm, makes for a fun poem to read aloud.
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