PAD Day 13 – Last – Last Dance

Last Dance

It’s the last dance as the band begins to fade,
and the groom and bride have left long ago,
while streamers and confetti litter the floor,
and you and I spin around the dance floor.

The disco ball is spinning slowly flashing lights,
and Charlie’s eating another piece of cake,
while Janice takes off her heels and rests her feet,
we are all a little dead on our feet.

But I’ll spin you in your fancy dress,
and my bow tie is hanging around my neck,
while Brian’s cumberbund is hanging on a chair,
Brian’s resting in that open chair.

The band’s song is tired and losing steam,
but I’ll hold you a little longer more,
because this night is just for the two of us,
so let’s just dance, the two of us.

 

Last dances, last rites, last kisses, last moments… There’s so many last things. I kept having Frank Sinatra’s The Last Dance playing in my head today. One of my favorite songs. So many ideas, but nothing took off quite so much as thinking about a last dance of the night, when the band is playing a tired song. You know the kind. They are in movies and shows and they make the dancing seem tired and such, but I always find it kind of funny. And women are taking off their shoes because their feet are tired.  Guys look sexy in their tux, with the jacket off and a bow tie losened and hanging around their neck.  Women’s hair falling. It’s kind of cool.

Kate

 

PAD Day 12 – Serious/Silly – When We Were Young and Silly

Could there be anything more perfect than bookshelves full of books? Only being in a story that is crammed full, with all the nooks and crannies. One of the isles of the Ashland Book Exchange.

Good Wednesday morning allI! I was in Ashland, Oregon yesterday and while there I stopped in at The Book Exchange, a marvelous used bookstore, and one place I feel I must stop when I visit there. It doesn’t hurt that it’s kind of like a cave. I wish I would have taken pictures, but if anyone goes onto the website, you can see the interior. Or see the one picture above from their site.

While I didn’t find the second and third Outlander novels, nor Alice Through the Looking Glass, which was what I was hunting for, I did walk out with two other books I have been hunting for, for quite a while.  A.A. Milne‘s “When We Were Young” and “Now We Are Six“; two marvelous little books of nonsense and children’s poetry. Though honestly, some of it is so relevant to being an adult since I can now understand some things I didn’t as a child.

They were especially fun to find as they fit with the prompt for Day 12 of PAD – write a silly poem or write a serious poem. I think honestly they are not quite silly, nor not quite serious, but kind of in between.  So I hope you enjoy.

 

 

When We Were Young and Silly

I’m reading something silly in an A.A. Milne book
It’s rather sweet and charming with an old-fashioned look.
When we were young, but now we are six, is how it goes,
Those ages when life was simple and free as time flows.
Daisy teas and acorn cups, and rivers of milk and honey,
Of sandbox cakes so fancy, when time was warm and sunny.
The years were endless, time moving like a slippery snail,
Trudging through the months, waiting for Christmas without fail.
Now we are many more years than six could ever be,
I miss the simple and the silly in all the things I’d see.

And……

Bookstore Ghosts

The bookstore whispers in a somber note
of authors past and living ghosts.
Though the bustling of active sales
the quiet pervades each nook and fades.
A creaking floor alludes to others there
a turn shows there’s no one anywhere.
Each book calls you to touch and linger
to find those stories that are matches to tinder.
Burning you up with magic between pages;
how could black words on white make such changes?
Your life is not yours as you leave with ghosts,
Stacked up in tomes filled with dusty motes.

Ah, I think it turned out pretty good in the scope of things. I’m happy with it. And I was excited to be in Ashland, even if Mr. B was like one of the most impatient guys ever while I was in the bookstore. I could have easily spent an hour or three there.

Kate

PAD Day 11 – Defense – In Defense of Romance and More

In Defense of Romance

I see marriage and sex and companionship,
But where is the romance?
Where is the love of a gallant man
rescuing his fair lady from the scourge?
Where have all the heroes, cowboys, and knights
gone in this desperate world?
Where are the soft nights so moonlit
lovers walking hand in hand?
Why are we now falling into carnal knowledge
before the first kiss has sweetly touched
in a lingering moment?

I believe in romance and love
Before the bedroom
Before the clothes have fallen.
When there was the passion of just being
with another as friends and confidants.
There was a life shared before bodies joined.
Now there is so little left to be discovered,
as a modesty no longer exists
shattered by lacking morals
An impatience for something to strive to.
Impatience overthrows the anticipation
and the waiting is tossed to the bedroom
as the hurry for more is stressed before
the two have even learned last names.

Oh where is the romance of twenty and five years?
Where has it gone?

Seriously though, where has all the romance gone? I was listening to Extreme’s ‘More Than Words’, and the song is about how the words “I love you” were being used so flippantly and how now they don’t mean so much when you say them. So you need to do more than just say words that mean very little.

We live in an age where you ‘hook up’ first before you hardly know each other’s last names. I think about this in reference to Outlander (Sorry people, I love the books) and how Claire says she can’t marry Jamie because she doesn’t know his last name. Then she proceeds to introduce herself fully to him.

The poem below carries on the same theme of defending a lady’s honor and holding her dear. Oh where have all the cowboys, knights, and epic heroes gone?

Defending Knight

Defend me gallant knight with sword and shield
Your strength of arms is never concealed
Swoop down and rescue the damsel in distress
Her waving kerchief her love attests
To the heart you call her to be just yours
Protect and guard her from endless foes
You sir, are a courtly knight of the realm
With a broad sword and a polished helm
Your horse is the steed of legends so grand
The world is your to take and command
So guard your lady so fair of beauty
She’s your lady so do your duty
And protect her through the night and darkness
And keep her safe in your lover’s caress.

 

Again, I’m still in a Scottish laird defending his lady moment. Sorry people.

Kate

PAD Day 10 – Emotions – Impatience Is What I Am

Impatience Is What I Am

Impatient, yes, that would explain it all
as I pull up a story, then another and another
wanting to work on all, but none as a hint
of frazzled frosts over and my pen taps restless
against a full, or almost full notebook
Or my finger flicks and taps open files
glancing over great works of amazing feats
only to be closed with another flick.
Finish something! I rail to myself.
Don’t start anything new, as my pen flirts
With a pristine white page impatient
I’m impatient with myself so unfocused
And utterly frustrated as I read amazing
Remarkable books, an author’s loving hand
tapped out to make me envious of
all my inequalities with myself.
Wondering if I’ll ever make it writing
Or if I’ll waste years of endless words
On nothing and everything and worthless

 

Too much emotion in this….. I told Doña, yesterday that I was feeling burned out, and I still feel that way. Being envious of other writers has a tendancy to make me feel this way, so I think that might be all it is.

Then there’s this…

Put The Corresponding Face With

Put the corresponding emotion with the corresponding face
Says Kate on French Kiss
And right now I want to box up these corresponding emotions with the correct moment.
Happy, sad, morose, inspired; flash through me several times a day
Till I’m exhausted and not knowing what I feel
And whether or not it fits with a moment in time
Burned out, depressed, uninspired, all have had there place in one day
Then throw in excited, happy and impatient
So mixed up in feelings I’m ten people in one
Worry when I start to talk to myself
Because it’s all downhill from there if I’m more than one…

 

A nuerotic wreck. Clearly.

KIate

 

On The Persian Rug – Flash Fiction

tumblr_mxqu06swUg1t5bhezo1_500He found her lying on the Persian rug in the old library. The late afternoon sun shone in through the tall windows creating rectangles of brightness on the old red and gold rug. She lay there in her green sweater and low rise jeans, worn so soft they moulded to her every curve. Her sweater, a bright leaf green, had ridden up revealing the shadowed indentation of her navel and a two-inch strip of smooth and toned abs.

Her dark hair was spread out in a fan around her head; a halo  of night. In her right hand, resting between the curved mountds of her breasts, she clutched her small, black mp3 player. The earbuds were in and she was tapping her tennis shoes in rhythm. Her eyes were closed, but occasionally her velvety lips moved as she lip synced.

He was amused as he watched her, so relaxed, lying flat on the floor. He round an arm chair and sank into the red velvet seat to wait for her to finish out whatever she was listening to. He wasn’t in any hurry. The day was done for him and there was something relaxing and soothing about watching her spread out on the floor.

It was a quarter hour longer till she stopped her toe tapping. He had just settled fully into the seat, readying himself for a nap when she sighed and took the earbuds out and opened her eyes.

She tipped her head back and saw him watching her with a slow grin.

“How long have you been there?” her husky voice asked.

“Not long.”

“Why didn’t you let me know you were here?”

“Because. I like watching you.”

She turned a slight shade of rose pink, but didn’t answer as she tried to gracefully sit up and wrap the wires around her player.

“Shall we go get dinner?” He asked as he grabbed her hand to pull her up.

“Okay,” she replied and they walked out of the old room, her arm tucked into his, leaving the golden rectangles to shift and fade as the sun slowly sank.

“I’m very afraid of dying.” – Flash Fiction

Just a little piece I wrote in today’s writing group. I had the prompt of Bossa Nova, mulberry, and page 157 which in Paul Coelho’s book , The Devil and Miss Prym, gave me the title of the piece.

The atmosphere of the room is smoky and dim as he sits in the worn leather chair sipping a glass of port. The port is aged and thick. Richer than mulberry jam spread on toast. The rich sounds of a bossa nova song come crackling out of the old speakers. The crackle is either from the scratched record or the ancient stereo. Who knows, and nobody cares. The music needs the static to tone down the oppressive beat, the trumpets hitting too high a note here and there.
“I’m very afraid of dying,” he says conversationally, to no one in particular.
The younger man, sitting opposite him sipping his whiskey eyes him with an arched brow.
“You are going philosophical? How much port have you had?” the young man asks. He’s not really young, but forty to his sixty seems practically juvenile.
“Phil, when you get to be my age, you’ll get it,” the man says.
“And what brought this on?” asks Phil.
The man sighs. Even he’s not sure. Maybe he has had too much port. Or maybe seeing his friend go through so many treatments only to waste away until nothing is left but skin and bones and pain and sorry. Till your mind gives up and one day you just don’t wake up.
Phil can’t understand. He’s never had to lose someone. Never hardly been sick.
Just wait till your sixty, thinks the man. Heck, wait till you’re fifty and you can’t get out of bed each morning without everything hurting. No, young people just don’t get it.

 

My parents always talk about how when you reach fifty it’s all down hill.  Boris said he felt it at 48. Honestly, at times I feel like I’m already feeling it, but I am dreading getting older. And other than that, this is just something that came out of the prompts. Nothing more.

Kate

PAD Day 9 – Hide Out

Step back into that faraway corner
right there
tucked back in poetry and plays
just look
It’s darker than the rest of rows
come see
but it’s homey and safe from eyes
that watch
So I can write all undisturbed
so quiet
and read till the clocks shut down
and stop
till she says the library’s closing
up tight
but my place is mine to claim
right there
My spot is only mine to write
for now
Until I need the books to hold
me tight
for my next writing time
just there
No one else uses this place
just see
that it’s for me and only me
to have

I like to write in the library back in the non fiction because I usually don’t get disturbed there. Not that I write there often. In fact, I probably only visit my spot a couple times a year, but I know that whenever I visit, I can have the spot all to myself because it’s very unused. So I like it. It’s kind of funny to have a spot, a hide out that rarely gets used.

But then I have other hide outs….

It’s the summer sun that pulls me out
to webbed and shrouded blueberries
where the dry mulch makes my skin
tingle and electrify up
A whisper of wind in the pines
warm resin scents the air a thick perfume
And I’m supposed to be watering
Or picking those ripe blue balls
but instead I’m scribbling here
or reading on that stump
the whisperings of a Frenchman
in my ear making me sleepy
and so very unmotivated to work
And I could hang my hammock under
the whispering pine trees
living out here always with the summer heat

I take a stack of books and my notebook out to the blueberries to pick… and never get to reading or writing, but I like having the option if I want to. And usually I’m listening to The French Whisperer, having those ASMR tingles going all over my head and practically falling asleep as I pick, or water. It’s rather dangerous, but I don’t get very interrupted out there, so it’s nice. The video below is one of my favorite ones to listen to. And I have this thing for a French accent…

I actually want to create a few more hide outs, but I have yet to find one that I can really hide out in. I need a spot in the shade, by the creek. I need to find one. I really like how Robert, over at Writer’s Digest talked about a hide out in a picture. I recommend reading it HERE

Kate

Life, as we write it…

I wrote this piece, venting, over at my long lost ‘writing site’. I haven’t written on Escaping the Inkwell in ages. Years actually. I thought it high time, partly because I didn’t want to vent and fill up Kate’s Bookshelf. But you can read my moody post buy clicking over.

Escaping the Inkwell

William Faulkner's Underwood Universal Portabl... William Faulkner’s Underwood Universal Portable sits in his office at Rowan Oak, which is now maintained by the University of Mississippi in Oxford as a museum. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Honestly, I’m not exactly sure why I am writing over here at Escaping the Inkwell since for some time I’ve thought of discontinuing using it. I post most of my thoughts over on Kate’s Bookshelf, including my life in writing these days. But I just wanted to take a moment and vent a little.

Right now I am busy busy with Writer’s Digest’s PAD Challenge (Poem a Day). I have kept up my flash fiction and general writing. I try to write a post a week, or in this case, every day. It’s exhausting at times and I wonder why I decide to do it halfway through a challenge. I’m not really there yet, but I feel the burned out.  I…

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PAD Day 8 – Doodles

A doodle starts between those momentsIMG_4771
when my pen doesn’t write words
a swooping line arching up, back down
a thought on the very verge
but then the lines are not letters wound
tight in stories, now swooping back up
down and forth, a seam of lines
out come the pearls so close up
little drops of caviar so aligned
a poke leaf or two, not a poem
but a symphony of swirls and drops
No thought, no rules, only gems
of black lines impatient stops.

I tend to doodle, or dabble in Zentangle when I can’t concentrate on writing. And I wasn’t srue where I wanted to go with this. I feel like I should have doodled out thoughts on Outlander because that is where my focus is right now. As I write this I’m looking up the show and images because I’m kind of hooked as I read the book. But I do find when I can’t concentrate on writing, I draw and doodle, sticking to about five specific designs. I have cards filled with them, and in the margins of notebooks, and on random scraps of paper.

I think I picked it up watching my mom on the phone and the drawing she would do. I didn’t get it until I started being on the phone more with people I didn’t really want to talk to.

I find that I’m more apt to go and actually do something, like makes beds, and water, and pick up things, while I’m on the phone. I feel like I need to do something. I actually had someone ask me why I was so out of breath while I was on the phone and I said I was making a bed. He laughed and didn’t get it, but I can’t sit still while I’m on the phone.

I don’t know if this poem works, and this one is a harder one to do, but it’s something.
Kate

PAD Day 7 – Urban – Urban Country Girl

Urban Country GirlCountry Girl

Stand me out on Fifth Avenue
dressed to the nines in heels so high
And a short skirt poofed out
But I have a wicked pocket knife
tucked into my purse.
I know how to butcher a pig
though my hands are girly
with a pretty pink manicure
and a couple flashy rings.
I’m a country girl in a city package
or maybe it’s the other way around
as I live in jeans and boots
mucking out the chicken coop.

The mountains call me home
but stick me in the city, I’m fine
till I’m bored from stale air
the song of birds replaced by horns.
I’m adaptable and ready for dirt or sidewalks.
Here in the country I’m more city than not
being mocked for being prim in a rural town.
Clearly I’m a priss walking down asphalt
country roads in flashy heels on a summer day.
In the city I’m country all the way, as I wear boots
not tennis shoes, those worthless things.
I want sturdy and strong walking the streets.
Give me the rural roads, give me the traffic lights
I’m an urban girl in a country world
or a country girl in the city life.
Country or city I’m me all the way.

I had fun with today’s prompt of Urban (blank).  I could have gone so many ways, and I might want to play around with this more, but my first thought was how I grew up for part of  my life in the Bay Area of CA, and then the central valley of CA. I’ve lived in the city, and my parents are from there. So I know the city more than if I had grown up in the country all of my life. And I’m proud of the fact that I can adapt to the city. That being said, I have some country habits now that I would have never had had I grown up in  an urban setting that is either good or bad depending on how you look at them. I love to wear boots and jeans. I tend to pick that most  often, probably because wearing a dress on a farm is unreasonable. I love heels, but choose sturdier things more often than not, and I rarely walk to town in heels anymore. (blisters) But give me the chance to step out all dressed up in lace and frippery and I love it.

I love knowing how to slaughter an animal or two, or how to fix things with hammers, bailing wire and pliers. I don’t carry a pocket knife because it’s cool. I do it because it’s a necessity when you never know if you are going to have to cut something.

Kate