The exercise:
Today's starter is: under attack.
Mine:
I'm sitting on an uncomfortable bench (aren't they all though? I've yet to meet one that isn't) outside the building I'm taking my lunch break from, trying to write. The sun is high, white clouds dot the sky, conditions are nearly perfect. Nearly, but not quite.
You see, I'm under attack.
In the five minutes I've been sitting, shifting and squirming here, no less than eight inchworms have descended from the tree branches above and landed either on or beside me.
Okay, I'm inside now. I love nature and all that good crap but I have my limits. An inchworm rappelling onto my nose is well beyond them.
It's probably for the best that I left when I did - that squirrel in the grass ten feet from my unforgiving seat was probably their backup. Inchworms - annoying but manageable; squirrels - those bastards will mess you up.
Update: I just found one sneaking around on my backpack. I think we all know what this means - they sent an agent to follow me home so that they could get me in my sleep. Not this time you creepy, crawly cowards. Not this time.
Monday September 29th, 2008
The exercise:
Just to show that I do read the news every now and again, today's starter is: financial free fall.
Mine:
Finances are free falling
Government comes a calling
Got to save those big spenders
They must keep being lenders
Don't worry about granny
Just dump her on her fanny
Why even spare her a dime
When being poor is a crime?
Just to show that I do read the news every now and again, today's starter is: financial free fall.
Mine:
Finances are free falling
Government comes a calling
Got to save those big spenders
They must keep being lenders
Don't worry about granny
Just dump her on her fanny
Why even spare her a dime
When being poor is a crime?
Sunday September 28th, 2008
The exercise:
Today's starter is: the glider.
Mine:
Old becomes new
Sun welcomes dew
Air rushing past
Feet pushing fast
Ride Glider ride
Glide Rider glide
Warm glowing air
Wild flowing hair
Dark shoeless feet
Heart's careless beat
Ride Glider ride
Glide Rider glide
Day becomes night
Wood welcomes light
Sleep under stars
No wonder scars
Ride Glider ride
Glide Rider glide
Long dreamless sleep
Time's seamless leap
Yes forgets no
Joy regrets woe
Ride Glider ride
Glide Rider glide
Today's starter is: the glider.
Mine:
Old becomes new
Sun welcomes dew
Air rushing past
Feet pushing fast
Ride Glider ride
Glide Rider glide
Warm glowing air
Wild flowing hair
Dark shoeless feet
Heart's careless beat
Ride Glider ride
Glide Rider glide
Day becomes night
Wood welcomes light
Sleep under stars
No wonder scars
Ride Glider ride
Glide Rider glide
Long dreamless sleep
Time's seamless leap
Yes forgets no
Joy regrets woe
Ride Glider ride
Glide Rider glide
Saturday September 27th, 2008
The exercise:
In honor of post number 111, this week's four line poem topic is: the number one.
Mine:
One can be lonely
Or bliss flowering;
The one and only
Or empowering
In honor of post number 111, this week's four line poem topic is: the number one.
Mine:
One can be lonely
Or bliss flowering;
The one and only
Or empowering
Friday September 26th, 2008
The exercise:
Def Poetry Jam Friday brings you a video originally aired in 2005 but only uploaded last week: Ratsack's Free The Toes.
Mine:
What a fantastically imaginative way to proclaim that high heels are ridiculous. They are not sexy, they just look uncomfortable and unnatural.
Do you know what the least sexy thing I've ever seen is? An otherwise attractive woman walking down the street, struggling to maintain her balance, as she teeter tottered along on what appeared to be ten inch heels. I suspect now that they were closer to five inches, but the image is pretty well seared into my head.
Did she think she was increasing her sex appeal? Are there men out there that actually found her hotter because of those silly shoes? If so... are they really worth impressing?
I won't even get started on women who wear jeans with high heels... just... no. Seriously, stop.
I'll leave you with another Ratsack video from a smaller venue.
Def Poetry Jam Friday brings you a video originally aired in 2005 but only uploaded last week: Ratsack's Free The Toes.
Mine:
What a fantastically imaginative way to proclaim that high heels are ridiculous. They are not sexy, they just look uncomfortable and unnatural.
Do you know what the least sexy thing I've ever seen is? An otherwise attractive woman walking down the street, struggling to maintain her balance, as she teeter tottered along on what appeared to be ten inch heels. I suspect now that they were closer to five inches, but the image is pretty well seared into my head.
Did she think she was increasing her sex appeal? Are there men out there that actually found her hotter because of those silly shoes? If so... are they really worth impressing?
I won't even get started on women who wear jeans with high heels... just... no. Seriously, stop.
I'll leave you with another Ratsack video from a smaller venue.
Thursday September 25th, 2008
The exercise:
I was watching Jeopardy tonight and decided to use whatever the Final Jeopardy category was as the starter. Thus: island chains.
Mine:
Old man Enki sat motionless in his rocking chair, feet planted firmly on the rotting wooden beams of his front porch. He watched the young men stroll past his home without a glance in his direction, too caught up in themselves to notice a relic like him.
Pushing down with his toes, Enki brought the rocking chair back into action. The miniature islands on the chain around his neck clinked softly against each other, as they always did; slowly, surely rubbing the paint off of each other.
There was Mykonos, where he had met his first wife when he was too young to know better; Jersey, the island that took his right arm in the boating accident; and Vanuatu, his only son's burial ground.
Memories, so many memories, clinked rhythmically together, as Enki rocked back and forth, back and forth, until he saw the sun fall below the horizon for the final time. He closed his eyes, rested his chin softly on his chest and drifted away, the waves of time carrying him home.
I was watching Jeopardy tonight and decided to use whatever the Final Jeopardy category was as the starter. Thus: island chains.
Mine:
Old man Enki sat motionless in his rocking chair, feet planted firmly on the rotting wooden beams of his front porch. He watched the young men stroll past his home without a glance in his direction, too caught up in themselves to notice a relic like him.
Pushing down with his toes, Enki brought the rocking chair back into action. The miniature islands on the chain around his neck clinked softly against each other, as they always did; slowly, surely rubbing the paint off of each other.
There was Mykonos, where he had met his first wife when he was too young to know better; Jersey, the island that took his right arm in the boating accident; and Vanuatu, his only son's burial ground.
Memories, so many memories, clinked rhythmically together, as Enki rocked back and forth, back and forth, until he saw the sun fall below the horizon for the final time. He closed his eyes, rested his chin softly on his chest and drifted away, the waves of time carrying him home.
Wednesday September 24th, 2008
The exercise:
Today's starter is: shadow figures.
Mine:
The candle light draws a wavering cartoon figure on the walls, larger than life. His nose is too small for his head, his hair is unkempt and one arm is pointing straight up, a single finger extending upwards.
He will never be drawn exactly this way again, this version will pass from existence with a single breath. I try to memorize his shape, his bearing, knowing that I will be the first, last, and only witness to his life.
I give him a silent salute and gently usher him off the walls and into the uncertain history of memory.
Today's starter is: shadow figures.
Mine:
The candle light draws a wavering cartoon figure on the walls, larger than life. His nose is too small for his head, his hair is unkempt and one arm is pointing straight up, a single finger extending upwards.
He will never be drawn exactly this way again, this version will pass from existence with a single breath. I try to memorize his shape, his bearing, knowing that I will be the first, last, and only witness to his life.
I give him a silent salute and gently usher him off the walls and into the uncertain history of memory.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)