Solitude

From the American Heritage Dictionary:

sol·i·tude n.
1. The state or quality of being alone or remote from others.
2. A lonely or secluded place.

Solitude is something that I often welcome, and often struggle with. Tonight, I think I'm struggling, but it's a night I find myself needing it.

No one may visit
the navy moments. Quiet--
hear, feel, the silence.

(I suggest reading a couple of posts down to catch the 'navy' reference.)

And...

Solitude.....pull me
out of solitary dark,
back to light, to life.

For more thoughts on solitude, visit One Deep Breath.

Well I never!

I never thought I'd write non-fiction. Well, not anything more than the training/semi-technical lessons I write for work or these blog posts. Non-fiction isn't my preferred reading material, unless it's a good biography or from some part of history I'm particularly taken with (right now, that would be royal Tudor England and the Salem Witch Trials). Non-fiction to me seems to take so much work. Checking facts, researching, organizing...ugh. Yes, I'm a librarian and researching really is my shtick, but that's work. Yes, I realize fiction writers put in a lot of research hours, depending on their story line.

Writing for me is has always been about release, escape. I don't want it to feel like work. I've never been drawn to writing something so involved that I have to do a lot of research to get the settings, situations, or details right.

But then, I started reading pieces of creative non-fiction. Oh this is so me. So...here's the first bit of what I've been working on. I've posted it before..a few weeks back. But since I've gained all kinds of new connections (readers), let's see what you think of it now...


Anywhere else wouldn't make sense.

I grew up on the wrong side of the tracks. My parents still live there.

My mother would kill me if she knew I'd told you that.

Maybe I should explain. In my hometown, there is no "wrong" side of the tracks. There's the side where everything is—grocery stores, banks, fast food joints—and the side where everything isn't. It just happened that way, no particular reason. I grew up on the empty side.

When I was little, and the world consisted of school and the neighborhood, I didn't notice or care. Kids are like that. Sixteen year olds are not. Suddenly, upon reaching that magic freedom age, the world multiplies in size. And living on the wrong side crimps your style. Inevitably, the people you want to pass your time with aren't over "here." No, they're over "there" - with stuff to do and knowing glances.

Life lesson number one--you need to figure out on which side the world says you're supposed to be. You don't have to agree, of course.

For more things people never thought they'd write, visit this week's offerings at Sunday Scribblings.

Blue?

The Poetry Thursday prompt this week was "blue." I danced around it all week. I thought about the implied meanings in the color blue---sadness, calm (well, some shades), water, sky.

I looked at the sky Wednesday night and thought about how it perfectly matched the color my brother's eyes--this amazing midnight blue crayon color. He has this stained glass look to his eyes, but all in midnight blue.

I thought about my own emotions, and how I can't remember ever thinking of any one of them as anything but a shade of blue. From periwinkle to midnight to electric to cadet (yes, I know my crayon box very well).

I looked around my house, at all the blue in my furniture and decorations, and how, though I love other colors more than blue, blue is the one I seek for comfort.

So, I got around to this. I've never titled a poem before, but this one I thought needed something.

All My World

Needing the world to stop~~navy
Looking for escape~~wild blue yonder
Creature comforts...connection with my family~~midnight
What I feel with him~~blue violet
Day in, day out drudgery~~cadet
At peace~~robin's egg

Check out the colors I mentioned, and others at the Crayola site.

For more blue poetry, visit Poetry Thursday.

Anti-wisdom

Over the summer, I went to lunch with my mother a few times. Almost always Chinese food. That boggles my mind--when I was growing up, she flat refused to ever eat Chinese food. I don't know what happened.

Once, as we argued over the check, we cracked open our fortune cookies. Hers was something appropriately fortune-like.

Mine said "You will be successful."

I thought I was. Well, am. Anyway, I didn't think it was a "future" event. I mean, yes, I'd like to be successful in my future (in those things that are important to me), but I'd like for it to be a continuation of my current success. Not something new that I haven't experienced before.

Success is a personal thing, for me. A very large part of me doesn't care one bit if anyone else ever notices it. I don't need someone praising me for all I've done/accomplished.

That doesn't mean I don't want it now and again. There's a part of me (like in every human) that wants everyone to see it and acknowledge it. I want someone tell me they're proud of me, that whatever wonderful thing I've been granted is "great." There's nothing wrong with that.

I put my whole self into the things I do, and I like that be noticed sometimes. I guess, for as self-sufficient as I like to think I am (success-wise, at least), I'm not. That's okay, though. Humans weren't meant to do it all on their own, were they?

For more fortune cookie thoughts, visit Sunday Scribblings.

A steady beat

Music is essential in my life. A song brings back everything--memories, perspective, smiles, pain. When asked if I'd rather give up my sight or my hearing (if I had to choose), I pick sight every time. I know I could get by, and though it would hurt to not physically see the people I love, I think I'd be driven insane if I couldn't hear music. Oh, and the voices of the people I love, of course.

That's why I love music ring tones. I like having a fun thought of the person attached to the ringer when he or she calls. For my mother, I hear Merle Haggard's "Mama Tried." It used to be Ozzy's "Mama, I'm ComingHome." Teehee...my mother finds Ozzy deplorable.

For The Man, I have Christina Aguilera's new one "Ain't No Other Man." Early last Saturday, he sent me a text. I woke to his song, crying before I registered I was awake. It was the first time in just over a week he'd contacted me. I'd thought he was gone and I'd been sick with hurting. When the music started, my heart caught and I couldn't pick up the phone.

Phone rings--rockin' beat
wakes me, brings on tears. Release.
Sobbing, but hope springs.

You couldn't know. 'Ain't
no other man' hurt like you.
Better loving, now.

We're better now..still testing waters, tasting at love. But it's so much better this week.


The prompt this week for One Deep Breath was about the sound of music. Read more offerings here.

The Monster...

Hi. My name is Jayne, and I'm afraid of the dark.

Really. This isn't just a matter of not being all that comfortable in dark spaces. It's a fear.

I have night lights in my bedroom. And a small lamp that's on all night.

I can't sleep if the closet or bathroom door is open.

I never, ever, get into or out of my bed when the lights are off. Even then, I tend to avoid the space under the bed.

When I do crawl in bed, there are rules: 1) Sleep only happens in the middle of the bed. 2)My ears must be covered. 3) At no point should any of my body not be on the bed.

There are flashlights and candles within easy reach in every room of my apartment.

I guess, thinking about it now, it's really a fear of being alone in the dark. If someone else is around, I'm better. Not nearly as bothered by it. If curled up with The Man, I'll even sleep in the pitch black of his bedroom. If I were alone in his room, I wouldn't sleep at all.

I don't remember it being this bad after I was about 8. I've never particularly liked the dark, but I was no more uneasy than any other normal person. But I dealt.

Then, when I was 20, the only time in my life I can't recall anything about happened. I won't go into the details, because frankly I don't know them. I know what happened because of what I was told and dealt with later, but the specifics of the actual event are encapsulated in my memory. Completely walled off from the rest of my conscious mind. When I try to recall that time, there's a hole. I liken it to blacking out. Time passes, you might even be involved in the activities, but you register nothing.

So, for me, being afraid of the dark is a manifestation of my fears of that time. I know what happened that night, but only from what others told me. I have no working knowledge or memory of my own. It's a dark space in my mind. It's my monster in the corner.


Visit Sunday Scribblings for more offerings about monsters.

Listening for the tock

I wrote this earlier in the summer, when I looked at my summer schedule and realized I had exactly 11 days I hadn't scheduled anything on. For those of you that don't know, I'm a public school librarian. I'm not required to work all summer long, or even into the summer. Until this year, I did make it a point to go in every couple of weeks and sort the mail (which piles high in a week's time). This summer, I taught 2 sessions of summer school speech, went on a trip for church, visited the various and sundry doctors, and was at school quite a few days going over the renovation work in my library. I'd actually scheduled away my whole summer break.

Tick....tick....tick.....
goes the clock.
Ain't there supposed to be a 'tock' somewhere?
Seems like I learned that once
before.
But who has time to listen for it?

My other blog is "The Clock is Ticking." I tell people that I don't mean that clock--the one my mother claims should be getting louder for me by now. And really, I don't. I mean time is passing. And I've been letting it race by while I've packed my days. "Downtime is wasted time."

It's only been in the six weeks or so that I've been selfish with my time. I blame it on The Man (who, if you're following our story--which I'll admit I don't keep updated well--is back in the picture. Thank God.). Never before have I found myself sitting still, when I knew I had other things that needed doing.

I catch myself listening for the tock.

For other thoughts and ideas on the idea of time, visit Poetry Thursday.

Words in the rough

Hmm...I don't know how much I like that particular title. It just feels to me like my writing is always in the rough. My words come at me in a wild attack. Sometimes they hurt---like the utterly angry things I wrote this weekend about The Man (note to self--screw men. No, really, screw 'em all. Who the hell needs 'em?). Sometimes, they bowl me over in a rush of love and laughter, like when The WonderDog barrels down the stairs into my arms. On the rarest of occasions, they whisper-step up to me and calm me. I love words.

Over at Poetry Thursday, the prompt this week is whatever you want. I've never liked open-ended assignments. Even when it comes to writing. Give me some guidelines--a page, theme, single word or idea I'm supposed to state or allude to...HELP! Don't just throw me to the wolves---um...out into the wild. Hm.

But here is what I want to share. My new friend Jason is quickly becoming one of my favorite people. He's even stepped up the last few days and given me an ear, a shoulder...whatever. A few weeks ago he shared some of his writing with me. One of them sent images to attack me. The opening lines are:

Clutching the broken fragments of glass
I bleed through my scattered faces

I could see it. The whole poem, stretched out in a black and white photograph before me. I loved it. The image I had in my head took my breath away, captured so many things. I wrote and told him he needed to illustrate some of his poetry with his original photographs (which are beautiful). I do wish he would.

I've requested permission to share the whole poem, should he give it, I'll update this post. It's...ugh...amazing.

UPDATE: Mere minutes after the initial posting of this, permission came through. Bless you, Jason.

(no title)

Clutching the broken fragments of glass
I bleed through my scattered faces
a handful of eyes looking back at me -
more imposing than the pair I so recently destroyed.
It was a weakness, a panic,
a fear of my own self-worth.
I could have turned out the light
or simply walked away, but
I stayed to fight.
I chose to kill,
and now my reflection
sits back and laughs
as I soak in defeat.

aaahhh

Hm...playing today with a haiku prompt at One Deep Breath. This week, it's "Coffee & Tea."


Warmth and peace, steeping
in a quiet cup at home.
Recharge, refresh...aaaah.

Soundtrack

Music has been a huge part of my life. It's a refuge for me, an escape, and to some extent a magic elixir. It's brought on much needed tears, and chased them away.

This week's Poetry Thursday prompt was about songs. As silly as it sounds in my head--songs really do sing to us. Rather than write about any one particular song, I thought I'd share with you the soundtrack for my life right now. (Each of these links points to the video. Sorry they're a bit convoluted. The javascript links didn't want to work.)

Rascal Flatts - Bless The Broken Road
Okay, so I've been down some rough roads the last several years. Life's very sweet these days and I'm feeling so happy and blessed. Obviously, this has a lot to do with The Man right now. We've both been down some less than stellar roads in our lives. But it's smoothing out.

Pussycat Dolls - Buttons F/ Snoop Dogg
I'm really lovin' this song right now. It's H-O-T. (geez..I just said that, huh? Ugh. I've been around high school boys too long). Honestly, though, I wish I was this brave sometimes (read "not shy"). And I wouldn't be hurt one bit if I had the body of any one of those girls.

Rob Thomas - Ever The Same
This one is about R--my closest friend the last few years. Out of necessity, our relationship has changed. I don't think either of us is very happy about it. But, we'll always be important to the other. This song reminds me of that.

Christina Aguilera - Ain't No Other Man
This the ringtone on my cell for The Man. Teehee. (Please let me know if this young love crap gets sickening)

Hoobastank - If I Were You
I'm not really sure what it is about Hoobastank's song that gets me. I really like it though. Makes me think about all the things I should be doing--like appreciating some things more.

Panic! At The Disco - I Write Sins Not Tragedies
I'm not a huge Panic fan, but I like this one. The video's fabulous, visually, but I love the line "I'd chime in with a "Haven't you people ever heard of closing the g** damn door?!" There's a life lesson if I ever heard one.

Dixie Chicks - Not Ready To Make Nice
I think the jist here for me is that I'm tired of backing down and playing along. I've not been selfish with myself often enough. I've probably pissed a few people off, but oh well.

LeAnn Rimes - Something's Gotta Give
This is my life for the last couple of years. Except for the cat named Jake. *wink*

Pink - Stupid Girls
I work in a high school. It's not the girls who have good heads on their shoulders that worry me. It's the "stupid" ones.

Nickelback - Far Away
Warm fuzzies

Switchfoot - Stars
In this whole 'discovering' myself phase I'm in, this song reminds me of my place in the mystery of the world.

Gretchen Wilson - California Girls
Remember, it's okay to be yourself. Especially if that self is a little bit redneck. *wink*

For more Poetry Thursday offerings this week, click here.

Playing Ball

Okay, I got reminded to do something this week. I've been in Tulsa most of the week for a church conference. At one point, I ended up with free time in the (fabulous) youth area. They had one of those semi-portable basketball hoops set up in one corner and two teenagers were shooting baskets. Both boys appeared to have Downs Syndrome. Both were having the best time, coaching and cheering each other with every shot.

I was watching them, getting a lot of joy from just watching them have fun. Soon, they were casting shy glances at me. After several minutes, they invited me to join them. Now, I suck at shooting baskets. I told them I wasn't very good at all, that I'd probably be in the way. They told me it was okay, they'd help me.

I was instantly humbled. And as we played there in the youth room, so many different things happened. My tension that had hit me rather suddenly at the start of the week melted away. As I said, I was humbled being coached on the best way to shoot the ball. And we laughed and had such a good time. It was awesome.

And then, when we sat down for a break, before going back to our respective posts for the conference, I wrote for them.

Unabashed smiles, eyes
watching the ball -- swissssshhhh--REBOUND!
Reminds me to play.

I didn't manage to get their names. It wasn't important, you know? But they did so much for me.

Thievin'

The Sunday Scribblings prompt this week is "Thief," which can go just about anywhere.

I've been thinking a lot about stealing things the last few days, even before seeing this prompt. The last few weeks have been crazy, I can describe several things that have happened and thoughts I've had as stealing.

Wow, that last sentence is awful. Maybe I'll go back to it. Probably not.

Anyway, I need to give a run-down. I'm big into listing things right now, and have made dozens of lists for everything. I migh as well continue it here.

1. I work through the summer. I teach summer school, professional development classes, and do a bunch for my church job. I realized that this summer I've packed too much in. I've stolen my own time away. Away from deadlines, working. Time to relax. I figured it out, the first week of summer was the only full week I was not required to do anything or be anywhere.
2. I've met a guy--I've commented on him in other posts. He's 'The Man.' He's amazing. I really don't have other words to describe him. It's been a long time since my attention has been drawn to a guy like this--and I don't mean just paying attention to him, I mean my thoughts are drawn to him. I think he's definitely starting to steal my heart...he's already managed to steal my mind.
3. Earlier this week, my peace was stolen. I don't want to go into details for several reasons. Stealing my peace...I just don't know how to wrap my head around it. It happened so suddenly, so violently that it took me a couple days to sort it out for myself. But you know who's managing to help restore it? The Man, whether he knows that's what he's doing or not.

Hm..maybe that's all, then. I guess it just feels like so much more.

I realize it doesn't really fit the prompt. Oh well, I don't tend to follow the rules well anyway.

Angels and Devils

It's a bit ironic that this week's prompt at Poetry Thursday is sex.. The Man (read "the man in my life"), and I had a playful conversation last week that produced this gem of a line (hope he doesn't mind me sharing!):

I think your naughty little devil and my innocent little angel need to have a meeting of the minds.

A few days, some twisting and turning...and then the prompt showing up, brought me from there to here.

“Girl, what you doin’?”
Damn the angel.
Ignore her, close my mind.
Wander.
Need your breath on my neck.

“Girl, you’re delicious,”
The devil speaks.
Touch you, lose myself.
Revel.
Steal the warmth from your touch.

“Please, don’t stop.”
Quiet words for
a devil from his angel.
Hunger.
Taste your kiss, and give in.

I've never written any poetry that even hints at sex. I don't really know why, possibly lack of inspiration.

Teehee..The Man should take that statement as a compliment.

I commented last week that not everything we write has to be visceral. I think sometimes I have to be reminded that visceral doesn't have to mean 'gut wrenching.' It can simply refer to the butterflies that swarm with a touch. Ooh, there's an image--butterflies swarming. Hm...


Check out Poetry Thursday for other poetry contributions.

Teehee

So this week, we're supposed to find humor (according to the--totally optional--prompt at Poetry Thursday).

I don't write humorous poetry. Well, not any for public consumption (Don't we all play with limericks now and again? Or is that just me? Don't answer that.). And, in thinking about this prompt, I struggled. I can't think of any particularly humorous poetry--that was meant to be funny--I've read in years. There's my lame excuse for finally getting around to posting this week.

So, I got to thinking about the poetry I used when I taught elementary school. When working with third graders, one doesn't use Poe or Dickinson to teach poetry. Instead, you find Shel Silverstein (see link below) or Jack Prelutsky and you let them giggle their little heads clean off. Then you can do silly things like sharing some Frost or Whitman--the lighter stuff, of course.

I remember being introduced to Shel Silverstein's poetry. It was second grade and we read "I'm Being Eaten by a Boa Constrictor." It chronicles being eaten alive by a massive snake, starting with the toes and ending with the nose. It's hilarious! And it's the only poem I've ever memorized for school that I can still recite perfectly--and that was, ugh, almost 23 years ago. I use it now to show new interpers in my speech classes how to own the poetry they are reading.

And it was that poem, 10 years later that I thought about when my high school creative writing teacher told us to quit writing about our imagined angst and have fun with what we were doing. She pointed out that yes, words should speak to you in ways other than just mere language, but not everything we write has to be so visceral. Some things can appeal to just your funny bone.

I think that's probably also when I made the connection between poetry and music. I'd always known that, in essence, lyrics are just poetry, but I'd never really connected that the effect words-put-to-music had on me could be found in words on paper. It opened up a whole new world for me and my writing.

Sure, I still don't write funny poetry. But I stopped being so caught up in my perceived distress (which I can tell you now was really non-existent) and just wrote.

I never would've thought a rhyme about a kid being eaten by a constrictor could have such an effect on my writing self. I mean, come 'on, it's aimed at kids, right????

See some neat things and hear some audio recordings of a few poems.
Shel Silverstein
I about flipped when I did a search for this site. In the site engine blurb, the main link says "Shel Silverstein - the Official Site for Kids - Choose Speed." I did a doubletake and quickly clicked on it--it wanted the viewer to choose high or low bandwidth. That was NOT my first thought!

And to see this week's other offerings, visit Poetry Thursday.

Just one requirement

Hotels. They're a necessary evils. Obviously, I have to have somewhere to stay when I leave town, hence the necessary part.

Evil because they 'rub' at all kinds of things that bother me. Showers are goofy--too hot, too cold, and the shower curtains try to envelope you. Two few channels on the TV and a remote that rarely makes sense. An alarm clock it takes a 6 year old to set. Never enough towels, etc.

Ugh.

I do like to stay in nice ones. When I need a base to decompress in, it's nice to come back to a well-apportioned room and relax. Tough for me to do that in the local motel.

I spent all last week in a pretty good hotel. Nice pillows, microwave and minifridge in the room. Starbuck's coffee packs for the in-room coffee maker. (That rocked). Free internet access and everything. It was so nice.

Last night, I stayed at a hotel in Austin. Great location, really nice place...view of the driveway. Internet access was available in every room, for an additional $10. Parking was available, for an additional $10. $18 if you used valet parking. The room wasn't ready when I tried to check in (granted, I was 2 hours before check in time, but I'd called ahead for the

But the bed was awesome. There was a little decorative pillow that said "Sweet Dreams," and they were. That's the best hotel bed I've ever slept in and I'm a bed connoisseur. It had just the right amount of support, great pillows, mmm..wonderful. I drifted right off. It was amazing.

So...that's my one requirement. I'll deal with anything else, but gimme a great bed.

Read some more offerings at Sunday Scribblings.

Confession or Catharsis?

Things are not as they
teach us--the Earth is hollow;
I have touched the sky.

I wrote the above haiku after a very difficult few months in my life. My world was topsy-turvy, and I was discovering that my perfect little bubble had popped. Nothing I had done, intentionally or otherwise, had initiated the chain of events, but I was left feeling hollow.

I'd come to the realization that everything my parents had taught me was a little tainted by a pseudo-perfection. Well, maybe not everything, but quite a bit was now questionable. The haiku was not so much confessional, as putting my state of mind down on paper.

It took me 6 months to get those 17 syllables worked out. Took me almost that long to admit I was hurting.

For more (completely optional) prompts, visit Poetry Thursday.

Two Peas in a Pod? Let's not. (my 'Sunday Scribblings')

I can remember, rather vividly, when I was in high school being told that a friend and I were "two peas in a pod." I was offended. It was the first time that the phrase had ever incited anger in me. Now, please understand, I love this friend dearly. I admire her for some things she's done in her life. I don't particularly like some of the choices she made while we were growing up. Shortly before someone unknowingly offended me, she'd made a choice I neither agreed with nor supported (there is a difference between agreeing and supporting you know.). We were actually in an argument about the decision she'd made and so, taking offense was likely to be the response anyway. But I was incredibly upset that someone thought that we were truly cut of the same cloth, so to speak. I was nothing like her and didn't want to be thought of that way.

Ever since, I haven't liked that phrase--"two peas in a pod." It may have something to do with me not being enthusiastic about peas. Or the memories of hours spent shelling peas with my grandmother. Or maybe, just maybe, because those pods seem so cramped.

Actually, I think it's because I'd rather be an original. Being just like some other "pea in a pod" implies being just like someone else and that bothers me. I want to think I'm unique, and by golly I want everyone else to think so, too! I know, I know. Inherently, we are all unique. And, for that matter, all peas would be, too. But when was the last time you saw a bowl full of peas, identified one, and then later could indentify the exact same one. Come on, friends, it ain't possible. Unless you mark the pea, but that's cheating.

So, anyway, I don't want to be seen as a pea in a pod, either on my own or in comparison with someone else. Sometimes this desire gets my big mouth in trouble, other times, it endears me to someone worth loving.

To do a little scribbling of your own, and read those of others, click here.

Ten Minutes Down the Road

My friend over at In the interest of... put up a post the other day that's been making me think. Damn, I kinda hate it when people do that to me. But, if anyone was going to do it, he makes the short list of those I don't mind so much.

All this thinking has stuck two things right smack in the middle of all my other thoughts. First, this Nickelback song Photograph. I like this song a lot, so it's okay that it's been running through my head non stop since Saturday. And I think it's funny that a lot of my students--I teach high school--don't like it at all. In fact, it's "stupid." I tell 'em everytime "you're just not old enough yet to appreciate it. They didn't write the song for your age group, it's for mine."

It's also sparked some (nonfiction) writing. So...here it is. Be honest--but be polite. I don't share my writing with just anyone.


I grew up on the wrong side of the tracks. My parents still live there.

My mother would kill me if she knew I’d told you that.

Maybe I should explain. In my hometown, there is no “wrong” side of the tracks. There’s the side where everything is—grocery stores, banks, fast food joints—and the side where everything isn’t. It just happened that way, no particular reason. I grew up on the empty side.

When I was little, and the world consisted of school and the neighborhood, I didn’t notice or care. Kids are like that. Sixteen year olds are not. Suddenly, upon reaching that magic freedom age, the world multiplies in size. And living on the “wrong” side crimps your style. Inevitably, the people you want to pass your time with aren’t over “here.” No, they’re over “there” - with stuff to do and knowing glances.

Life lesson number one—you need to figure out on which side the world says you’re supposed to be. You don't have to agree, of course.

Words

Words house meaning within their mouth-feel.

Possibility
delightful delicacy.

Depravity
illicit indulgence.

Mindful perception,
attraction?
aversion?
on the tip of your tongue.



This week's Poetry Thursday topic can be found here.

Time to get serious

Ack...It's been almost 4 months since I posted anything here. Since I'm really, truly, very serious about writing...damn it, I've got to do it.

So..here we go.

Found a neat blog site. Poetry Thursday. It's a site that is dedicated to encouraging people to read and share poetry. Could be an original piece or someone else's published work (with copyright concerns being addressed, of course). I'll be participating every week by writing. I used to write poetry constantly, some of it was even pretty good. Let's see if I can accomplish that again.

Ha.