The Match

photo by udijw

Fireblossom wrote a poem for me. (I won a contest posted on her blog. It was grueling...144 questions--gross!--each one requiring copius amounts of research. Whew! I'm glad it's over now.)

I am going to print the poem and hang it up in my writing space, which is still under construction. (So yes, Shay, I am going to "pick the blooms" but certainly your name will be on what I hang as well. Anyone who knows my writing knows I could not write a poem like that one...)

For those who don't follow Fireblossom's blog, I'm providing a link.  (It's written about writing...Don't we all need inspiration at times?) Check out the poem here.

And thanks again, Shay...

A Slip and a Lie...a Pool Poem

        Although I hardly ever post poetry, I am today, and for several reasons.One, I got sucked in by a hilarious comment Brian Miller made on Fireblossom's blog, which made me want to a check out his blog. He has a poetry blog, was featuring poems about pools---any kind of pools--and I thought...why not?

      Secondly (and finally), this poem came about in an interesting fashion. I was trying to write a prose piece about when I fell off the side of the high diving board and broke my arm (a true story). The memoir (written in indented paragraphs) just would not work.

      So, I switched the genre, and it flowed out...

      Let this be a lesson, if it's one you have yet to learn: if at first you don't succeed, after you've tried and tried and tried again...try another genre!

      (And if you're still awake, here's the poem:)

photo by shanleigh 1973

A Slip and a Lie

slipping

defying the sandpaper grip
like a thread through a needle
I slipped
slid under the handrails
fell off
the high dive
half on the concrete
(my arm, stranded)
the other half in water
submerged

rising to the surface
one arm useless, damaged
two eyes searching, afraid

looking for someone who
was
not
there

(the lifeguard’s chair was empty)

all along the edges
stood skinny swimmers
layers of water slid off their browned bodies
their knees knocking together
in the cool summer breeze
and their tongues loose at both ends

my swan dive
(done for them)
ended up breaking a wing
suddenly he appeared…
a savior in a Speedo
lifted me up
rescued me

(the absent lifeguard—
never really absent—
had dived off his tower
cutting through the water
the instant
I slipped off the side of the board)

my head down
and refusing to take a bow
I left
left the diving tank
my feet propelled me away from the catastrophe
my arm dangled useless at my side

as I walked toward the exit
I spotted a few kids
(strangers to me)
who missed my fall
the graceless fall
my loss of face

huddled together
shards of frozen Milky Ways
formed brown trails down their chins
as the chocolate melted in their mouths
I slid into their circle
and became one of them
…just for an instant

I cloaked myself under the pretense of a spectator
instead of what I truly was
just a few moments ago—
the featured performer

“did you see what some girl did
in the diving tank” I asked
and left
wrapped up in my beach towel
and my lie

The Sisterhood

             Currently I have a couple of projects going. One is a story about an almost-feral cat we took in...The other is a revising project.

              And then there is the lawyer in North Carolina...He knew one of my heroes---a player in the Negro leagues---and apparently I am going to have to stalk him to get any information.

              Many of my blogging friends juggle a dozen or more projects at any given time. So the degree to which I walk the walk is probably pathetic. But for me, it's progress.

              A couple of days ago, Donna wrote a post about a forgotten word, and her eyes immediately lit on one of the definitions:  sisters of the quill.  The bloggers who commented fell in love with the idea of a community of hardworking writers, a support system for schriveners...

               And thus the Sisters of the Quill award was born...



created by http://donnasbookpubl,blogspot.com/

                  After reading Linda O'Connell's post today (April 8), I was struck (again) with how often I think of the blogging writers I follow as "local." There are times I think, 'We could have lunch and I could get some feedback,' or I contemplate whether I will see a particular writer at an event. Unfortunately (for me) some of them live in Minnesota or Georgia or Arizona or...In fact, in some cases, I have no idea where they live. And that's okay.

                   Because, after all, if we're writers, we're kindred spirits. There is a connecting thread that binds us to each other. (kinda like handcuffs)

                    Donna passed on this award to several writers. She made her proclamation:  Spread the sisterhood!  Give the award to deserving writers, to women whose talent needs to be recognized.  And since I enjoy going to the fence and "chatting" with my blogging friends, I am going to pass the award to out-of-town writers who regularly wow me...

                         Katie at Katie Gates Writes           

                         Lisa Ricard Claro at Writing in the Buff

                         Janel at  her post

                         OJ Gonzalez and her blog

                         Shay and her poetry                          

                         C. Hope Clark  and  her blog



(I would also pass it onto to Pearl and her blog, but she don't do no stinkin' awards---she's too  busy ministering to bus riders and unemployed cats.)

                     So...the sisterhood is spreading.  Keep it growing...And keep on writing.


               
                         



            

If They're White, They Ain't Right (And Darn It Again, Fireblossom!)

        I've started choosing my friends more carefully.  I mean, I'm at the age where I should pick and choose with more discrimination.  Sometimes my friends are unkind.  Sometimes they do damage. In fact, the friends I have chosen in the past have been cruel and cunning.

        So from now on, I am choosing my friends by their color. And I'm only looking for friends who are brown. Because my white friends have helped me make a mess of my life.

         My mantra has become what I titled this post:  "White ain't right!"

         Now don't get me wrong.  The white friends from my past have not abandoned me. On the contrary, they have stuck by me through thick and through...well, they've refused to leave.  In most cases, that would be admirable. But not in my case. Because I would like for them to go away, yet they continue to hang around. These friends think they are a comfort for me, a buffer against the rest of the world. What they don't know is they are making things worse for me... 

         In January I went to my first Overeaters Anonymous meeting. I'm not a religious person, so I was skeptical. I hate to ask for help from anybody, so I had my eyes all stubbornly squinted up. And I have so far avoided selling Amway/becoming a scrapbooking zombie/ending up in an auditorium full of people chanting "See it! Believe it! Achieve it!" so I was sure that I would not fit in.

       But after that first meeting, I went back the next week, and the week after that and the week after that. And it seems to work, even with a heathen like me.

       I won't go into the specifics---because it would not interest anyone (and perhaps this whole post is boring to you)---but I have started to avoid foods that are white.  And they have indeed been "friends" for decades...

photo by Wasabi Bratwurst

                  Mashed potatoes...With butter or gravy.  I used to make a meal out of mashed potatoes.  It wasn't that I ate a whole potful of them, but there were many occasions when I would eat nothing but a serving (or two) of mashed potatoes.

                  White bread, like yeast rolls and King's Hawaiian Bread...Bread and pasta---my favorite things in the world.  And although I have never liked white bread like Wonder Bread (just a bunch of air, in my opinion), I love homemade white bread and any kind of noodles or pasta.

photo by Tornado Chaser

                What I've discovered is my body takes in white bread/rice/potatoes and converts it into my all-time favorite food group:  Sugar.  Because along with compulsively and impulsively eating bread and potatoes, I was also out-of-control with chocolate and other desserts.  And the more I eat, the more I want to eat.

               Now most people can eat a couple of chocolate chip cookies and they're fine.  The majority of folks can eat a croissant and they're satisfied. I'm not like that. One is too much and 6 or 7 or 8 cookies is not enough...

              So I'm slowly changing the way I look at food.  I plan what I eat every day.  I've discovered that fried sweet potatoes and onions are delicious. I'm taking pleasure in eating whole grain breads. And I'm trying to be mindful when it comes to food.

photo of Ezekiel Bread by traui
This is a whole grain bread, has no sugar, and can be
found at Dierbergs (in the freezer section in the "health food" aisle)
but it's cheaper at Trader Joe's. (Keep it in your freezer.)

             So when I say, "No, thanks," to some dessert, when I bring my own lunch to a meeting and it looks weird, when I avoid the crackers and dip at a get-together, it's because I'm trying to change my way of thinking.

           And all my white "friends" who---millions of times---I've turned to in the past:  I don't want you around no more....   

And to those who have not found Fireblossom's blog...Check out her poem "An Edifying Fable" posted today.  It was prompted by the photo at another site. You have to page down to find the picture prompt challenge...