mynewplace: (I hear banjos!)



I am a longtime student of piano

Enthralled by those who can play.

Thus I willingly wade through Schubert

Until my ears are stopped with notes.


In which I hear what I came for )

Post time!

Oct. 20th, 2008 05:00 pm
mynewplace: (another 2 cents)

A symphony of Schubert

Eventually disintegrates

To background music

For great ponderances

Such as

“How did that woman get here?

In which my mind wanders around the stage  )
mynewplace: (Default)

I am not impressed with this piece of poetry.
edit:  I'm putting it behind a cut. It's too long.


Stopping Along the Way  )I know that poetry is very much a personal taste issue.  And for some reason, while I like the subject and story in the poem, I'm turned off by it's length, the number of words used (which seem excessive to me) and I'm not crazy about the style.  But it bothers me that this bothers me, because this is very similar to MY style.  I do try to be condensed and get the most use from each word. And I do try to avoid extensive length, and starting sentences at the end of a line.  For some reason that gripes my ass. 

So I'm posting a poem I don't really like, because ...  Well I don't know why. 
mynewplace: (wildchild)

My daughter was given an assignment in school, to write her own "Where I'm From" poem in the style of George Ella Lyons.  Sound familiar?  Here's my concoction.

And here is hers.  I'm terribly proud of her.

Where I’m From
By, Scarlett Chapman
I am from ballet slippers and black berries,
Trees and video games,
 My grandmother’s garden,
I am from board games and gifted classes
I am from the rhododendrons outside my grandmother’s house
The Sugar Maple
Whom I loved
That was cut down
I’m from candy bars and spaghetti
(not together of course)
From Anita and Jeffery
I’m from the Pops
And the gossipers
From Stop reading!  And Read your book!
I’m from Charleston and my hiding place behind the rhododendrons
And commercials I can recite from memory
I’m from pizza and the sound of my mother’s voice
From Kassie (sister), Taylor (cousin), and Zoe (Long)
From the great grandfather
I lost to a stroke
And the father of my father that my father found dead under an overturned tractor
I am from Little Bear and Peter Rabbit 
From kittens I’ve had and cats that play fetch
From Spongebob and Oddparents
 From scrapbooking and reading
I am from all these things here
And many, many other things that take up too much room
That’s where I am from
mynewplace: (my guy)

Another in the style of The Spoon River Anthology.  Brent suggested this one, and it's taken me quite a while to write it. Once I started googling, the words became clear.


My name is Elizabeth Reed
Has been and always will be
In some form or another
I have been Esther
And Sarah and Carrie
I am a doctor
An author – a storyteller
A Teacher of teachers
But merely a vessel.
I have gained such knowledge in my lives
When I was married to an evil man in Crawford County.
I sang on the way to my hanging
The first and only woman to swing
In Illinois, because I served my evil man
Sassafras tea, with a little arsenic.
Last time Dickey Betts merely called me Elizabeth Reed.
Honored in soaring music, which I hear from time to time
AsRose Hill is blanketed with the beautiful strains
Of the tune that bears my name.
You see they laid Duane here in seventy-one
Now a tall, hard man wanders the rows
And as he nears them
A glorious golden thread fills the ether-world
Spidering toward every source of music within range
Spirits rise, join in
And the web vibrates
With the music of their souls.
Sometimes I wonder if the tall man can hear it
But mostly I just lie here
And bask in the glow of recognition.
Waiting for the next
Elizabeth Reed.


mynewplace: (Default)

My yahoo poetry group provided this prompt last Friday and I have very much enjoyed filling in the blanks and learning about myself.

Thus I am posting it here, and inviting each of you to give it a shot. You certainly don't have to be a writer or poet to complete this meme! It's a lot of fun, so give it a shot and maybe even post the results on your own journal. Or just share them here in comments.

"If you don't know where you're from, you'll have a hard time saying where you're going." Wendell Berry

There are many quotes in the literary world implying we need to understand our roots in order to recognize our place in the world. George Ella Lyons wrote a poem entitled, Where I’m From (you can read the poem here: http://www.carts. org/staff_ poem2.html). A template to prod your own poetic license follows.
“Where I'm From”
I am from _______ (specific ordinary item), from _______ (product name) and _______.
I am from the _______ (home description. .. adjective, adjective, sensory detail).
I am from the _______ (plant, flower, natural item), the _______ (plant, flower, natural detail)
I am from _______ (family tradition) and _______ (family trait), from _______ (name of family member) and _______ (another family name) and _______ (family name).
I am from the _______ (description of family tendency) and _______ (another one).
From _______ (something you were told as a child) and _______ (another).
I am from (representation of religion, or lack of it). Further description.
I'm from _______ (place of birth and family ancestry), _______ (two food items representing your family).
From the _______ (specific family story about a specific person and detail), the _______ (another detail, and the _______ (another detail about another family member).
I am from _______ (location of family pictures, mementos, archives and several more lines indicating their worth).

My personal concoction.... )
mynewplace: (bitch please)
I'm a post-ho today.  Don't care.  Here's another one, spawned by inspired use of the word "ruinous".

Love must be painful
Ruinous and wrong.
You will be battered
Bruised and broken.
Your heart in pieces
Like some song
That makes you roll your eyes
And change the station. 
You don’t learn
Without mistakes.
You must be loved badly 
To love well.


May. 21st, 2008 04:02 pm
mynewplace: (Default)
Wrapped my foot in an ace bandage today.  I still couldn't get it in my tennis shoe, but it has stretched out my espadrille/mule/shoe thingy.  I was hurting so I took off the ace bandage, but it still hurts when I walk.  It's cool when I sit down.  I am, however, grinding my teeth a bit in reaction to the pain and stress, which isn't good.  

I went to this website to see these temporary tattoos  and found so damned many things that are cool, I've wasted probably 30 minutes looking.  I'd give you links, but there's just too much.  Go there.  See for yourself.  Holly, they have pink kitchen ware!

There was a rummage sale here at the office today to provide funds for our office sports teams.  I am a scavenger at heart, so I couldn't pass it up.  I almost ALWAYS find something at these sales.  Got Scarlett a couple of shirts, books, a table top grill, etc.  I will set up my patio furniture some time this week, and perhaps then I will be a little happier and more relaxed.  Unfinished business at my home is definitely one thing that induces my tension. 

Changing Scarlett's medicine is inducing tension as well.  She is much more sparkling, but she's also belligerent, unable to stay on task, prone to throwing herself on the floor or making a simple slip into a huge falling production, complete with screams and moans.  She often refuses several times to do what I ask until I've escalated to screaming and pulling her by the arm to the place she needs to be. She sneaks and calls people when she's supposed to be doing chores.  She does her chores half-assed, and has to repeat them while crying and cursing me.  I don't know how much of this is standard behavior that's been squelched by her previous medication, how much of it is her attempt to get the most out of the change of meds by making things appear worse than they are, and how much is my inability to cope with a flighty, talkative, oppositional child.  Being in pain, even when it's mild pain, makes everything else more difficult. 

I'm going to a poetry group meeting tonight.  I forgot my notebook AND my bound book, so I have nothing to share. Maybe I'll print out a few things from here.  That's an idea I hadn't considered.  

I think that's all.  I'm going to try and do some more work.  Ciao bebbehs.


Apr. 30th, 2008 10:00 pm
mynewplace: (Awesome!)
I'm alive, and I'm in pretty good shape. Very woozy, and already been in bed once, but Holly called me and told me THIS!

I am pleased to announce the Beltane edition of The Oracle is ready for viewing and you will find it on our “interactive” web site.
Go to  and select The Oracle tab at the top of the page and then select the Beltane 2008 Issue from the menu on the left. 

You will find articles by: Byron Ballard, Bendis, Gayle Goldwin, Mut Danu, Mary Lyons, Anita Chapman, Karen Thoms, Mama Donna Henes, Barbara Ardinger, Courtney McLaughlin, and Dawn Thomas. 

All articles on our new web site may be viewed by visitors. However, if you are a member of Global Goddess we have also provided you with your very own blog plus access to blogs and comments made by other members. Access to this part of the web site is password protected. You will need to write and request your password. Please provide the name you wish to use when you write.

We hope you enjoy the new issue of The Oracle. We would appreciate feedback and welcome your comments.

Dawn, Bendis, Heather and The Oracle Staff 
mynewplace: (Default)
[profile] skyearthandseahas started a new community for poets and poetry lovers in West Virginia.  It's sponsored by the West Virginia Poetry Society, of which she has become president.  (I'm going to be secretary.)  The WV Poetry Society was failing, members were growing older and were considering disbanding until Holly got involved.  If you don't know her yet, [profile] skyearthandseais a wonderful poet and former professor at a local University. The following is the user info for the community, please take a look and offer support if you like. 

[profile] wvpoetry  is a community for people who love poetry to discuss their own poetry and the poetry of others; to discuss poetry related events; get feedback on their work, connect with west virginia publishers and celebrate the art of the craft.

This community is sponsored, supported and organized by the West Virginia Poetry Society. The WVPS can be found at

The West Virginia Poetry Society is a 53 year-old organization and is a member of the National Federation of State Poetry Societies. We are dedicated to promoting the writing and sharing of poetry in the mountain state. We have over 200 members, hold yearly contests with hundreds of dollars in prizes, and produce a journal of WV poetry entitled Laurels.

WVPS has a Myspace page at . If you have a Myspace profile, please add us!

We also have a private Yahoo! Group that is open to members only. Membership in WVPS is just $20 annually and it makes a great gift to any of your loved ones who write poetry, read poetry or just like to support the arts in West Virginia.

Membership benefits include:
*A membership card
*A subscription to the quarterly newsletter Poet's Crossroads
*Access to the members-only list serv at Yahoo! dedicated to the discussion of poets and poetry in West Virginia and advanced notice of poetry-related events and the plans of WVPS
*Strophes, the newsletter of the NFSPS
*free entry into the WVPS annual contests
*a subscription to Laurels and eligibility for submission consideration

Membership can be obtained by using this printable membership form:

mynewplace: (dangerous curves)
And for everyone else, a poem.  Written a few days ago.  You know I don't normally rhyme, but it came to me as broken lines when I passed a blue-eyed man on the street. 

When a dark haired man goes walkin' by
And he looks up at me with bright blue eyes
My heart just skips a beat
No matter where
No matter when
My boyfriend doesn't understand
He thinks it makes him less a man
But that's just not the case
I'm on the ball
I love only one

What struck me about the encounter, which was merely our eyes meeting as we passed - I no longer feel the need to reach out to every man I pass in the hopes that he is the man. I searched most my life for the man, and I've been so hurt and disappointed in that search. 

I don't want the man any more.  I want the one I have. I've never felt like that - just plain satisfied. I'm no longer a huntress, and it feels good.
mynewplace: (wild cougar)
This constructed itself in my head while I drove this morning. 
For some reason I felt compelled to include
a few images. 

mynewplace: (bleedinheart)
I read in the snopes LJ feed that a man is warning America about impending attacks, sometimes with some accuracy.  I found it intriguing, then disheartening when I learned that our government may be planning an attack on Iran and Syria.  I know there are likely terrorist cells in these countries, but I have many Syrian friends. Yes, I care more when I know someone from the country in question.  I can't help that.  It disturbs me to think that our country might attack YET another country. I'm so sick of this. Mr Aviv says we approached the situation in the wrong manner, and I tend to agree with his thinking.  

To continue with my liberal train of thought, here's a poem from the most recently named United States Poet Laureate, Charles Simic:

Eyes Fastened With Pins
by Charles Simic 

How much death works,
No one knows what a long
Day he puts in. The little
Wife always alone
Ironing death's laundry.
The beautiful daughters
Setting death's supper table.
The neighbors playing
Pinochle in the backyard
Or just sitting on the steps
Drinking beer. Death,
Meanwhile, in a strange
Part of town looking for
Someone with a bad cough,
But the address somehow wrong,
Even death can't figure it out
Among all the locked doors...
And the rain beginning to fall.
Long windy night ahead.
Death with not even a newspaper
To cover his head, not even
A dime to call the one pining away,
Undressing slowly, sleepily,
And stretching naked
On death's side of the bed.

I like his imagery.  How is this liberal? Well my dad says the Pulitzer Prize is a piece of crap awarded to liberal media like the New York Times for stories slamming our government.  Mr. Simic is a Pulitzer Prize winner for his poetry.  Since I find myself envying Jhumpa Lahiri her Prize for her short stories, it stands to reason I'd aspire to such.  Thus, liberal, no? 


Apr. 18th, 2007 04:59 pm
mynewplace: (forsythia)
I revamped this poem:

Little girl outside

Rustling my trees

Rattling my window

Sobbing against my wall

Like she lost her mama

I open the window

Let her in

And she drapes my hair
With my lace sheers

Caressing my cheek

In gratitude

Cats dance

With the crazy-girl

Chasing her shadow

Cross the ceiling

She rushes down the hall

To the out-door

Leaving spring grass scent behind

mynewplace: (forsythia)

Chimes sing outside when
the wind moans
sighing down the ravine
returning to howl
against the brick
like a little girl
who broke mama's grip
too soon
I open the window
and let her in
And the cats search the ceiling
for the crazy-girl
I let lace sheers
veil my hair
as she rushes past
caressing my cheek
in her gratitude
leaving me grass scent
as she hurries down the hall
to find the out-door.

mynewplace: (forsythia)
Thursday and Friday ganged up on me, but Saturday's here and I'm back in the game.  Yeah, I know this is directly from my 360 blog. Don't care.  :-P

April comes and plays with our emotions
Warm and sunny one day, cold the next
The tulips nod at snow
The pansies smile at frost
I grumble about losing
my right to bare arms.
But I feel no rush for May
April will delight again
Warm rain is on the way.
mynewplace: (I hear banjos!)
Little things are getting to me today.
All piled up in heaps
like orange ladybugs
in the corners of my mind's windowsills.

I've been bitter and biting
and sullen and angry since lunch,
with no hope of reprieve
- until I read someone else's tale of woe.

Mine's not quite so bad in comparision,
and I began to reconstruct my philosophy.

When stressed, we can do one of two things:
we can laugh at the ignorance that surrounds us,
or we can weep for the lack of a banjo soundtrack.


Apr. 6th, 2007 09:27 am
mynewplace: (Heart)
Poem from last night:

Why does man love rules?
Why does mankind crave structure?
From time out of mind man has fought
the confinement imposed
by another man.
When will we heed
the rebels in our midst?
Why can't we just
And let be?
Love is the lesson
this earth is given.
Practice with me.

[personal profile] blue_leaf  I've been reading your Yahoo 360 blog, and enjoying it very much.  Why can't people understand that Brahma is Yahweh and Allah?  So many Christian teachings put fear inside a person, fear that if you say one name instead of another you'll burn with eternal damnation. There is a holy mystery within Christianity - more accurately within God-knowledge - The Creator loves the whole world, and wants the whole world to know Him.  Yet there have been millions upon millions of persons who have never heard the Western Word of God.  Was God willing to create those beautiful peoples and sacrifice them to their own ignorance? How can that be love? Wouldn't love give them God-knowledge in a way that they could comprehend?  I want to believe that my God would. 

This week I've seen analyses of the Protestant belief system that has put disappointment in my heart.  Christianity has hurt so many people. Other belief systems have hurt untold millions as well. But because we live in a country that is primarily Protestant, that was the belief system which hurt this person. What are my countrymen doing? Why are they so passionate about war and hatred? Where have these "norms" come from? 

They aren't learning love.  And I still believe that is what we are hear to learn.


Apr. 4th, 2007 10:15 pm
mynewplace: (Default)
Here's my poem for today:

Television eye strain
CNN news brain drain
Money woes
dirty clothes
Wonder why
the car won't go?
I'd rather know
the words that flow.
Rhyme quatrain
is not my thing
Forcing poems
makes you think
creative thoughts
for words that link.

And that is a good thing. (tm)

Boring quiet day. Managed to intercept a few temper tantrums this evening at home, which was wonderful. Read to her from the journal I began when I learned I was pregnant.  She's enjoying that very much, and so am I. 

We watched NOVA last night, all about cuttlefish. They are such amazing creatures! Remarkably intelligent, devious, beautiful. Just incredible.  

When I told Brent last night that we were missing Idol in order to watch NOVA, it just melted his cold little heart.  He's missed two days of work so far this week, fighting another bout of heavy drinking.  Lots of talk tonight about what he needs to do, and how his brokenness is fixable. He's so pitiful. 

I'm tired, and disappointed that Tony Bennett didn't sing on Idol tonight. What a crappy substitute, off-key and smarmy.  Where the hell is Connick, Jr. when we need him?  *deep breath while imagining Connick in jeans and no shoes*  *shudder*

Anyway, as long as Melinda remains, the show has some hope. The sooner they get rid of Sanjaya the better - who the fuck is letting these 12 year old girls vote?? Somebody ought to take away their cell phones! 

G'nite ya'll.
mynewplace: (bookmagic)
[profile] hazelkate issued a "Poem a day" challenge for the month of April, over on Yahoo 360.  I figured "What the heck, I'll give it a shot" then promptly failed to do so.  This is my first poem for April. I haven't had much to write. So I started pushing the words, in hopes that they would make sense at some point.

A Woman's Perogative

It's a woman's perogative
to change her mind
Fractious, facetious and fey
But capricious whim
is not quite what you'll find
looking back at the end of the day.

A woman considers
each possible choice
and many seem likely or wise.
It's thinking too much
that brings multiple voice
when she morphs 'til she's unrecognized.

So give pause and ponder
her next change of thought
consider how she has arrived
at the change of decision
situation has wrought
and the mental gymnastics survived.

I NEVER rhyme. Damn.


mynewplace: (Default)

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