Man's Version of a Cautionary Tale

Somewhere in an old book,
edges frayed and stale like bread
A woman shuffles bare feet
raked through rocks ground into pebbles
over a thousand years.

"Don't look back" angels command
to the cities of the plains
nuzzled by the Jordan river
(which could have been the Garden of Eden
if not for the venality
of sex and taxes).

"Don't look back" her husband commands
but her instinct...
a little girl and her curiosity-
a woman and her intuition-
a mother and her compassion-
...

"Don't look back."
But the woman who confronts angles
and their decrees
who, known only for her refusal
and disobedience,
is not even extended the courtesy of a name
to admonish.

After all,
is it not the gift of a woman
-a measure of her spirit-
to look back?
To reach out for the child, abandoned,
like spilt table salt?
 

Response to Live Readings

This was my first live reading of the semester and I enjoyed myself. I was glad I got to witness the two different genres, I thought that was a very interesting way to promote creative writing, as I enjoy writing both. I thought each reader had their own distinct style of reading, even though they both seemed a little uncomfortable on stage. I suppose that why writer's write though, they like to hide behind their words. Ok, maybe not hide. But I can understand being nervous just the same. What I really liked was that I was able to immerse my children in the culture, even if they didn't understand most of it. We had a really cool discussion on the way home and now my son is constantly trying to find new ways of describing things. Like on the way home form baseball we stopped to get gas and he said the grass looked like thousands of reaching fingers. It made me smile. I am definitely going to try to make it to more of these events next semester.   

Reading Response, Week 10

On Happy Endings, by Margaret Atwood.

What a lovely little ditty! Immediately I was jealous of the idea. Again...I seem to be running into this choose your own adventure scenario everywhere I go. Ok, so this isn't exactly a choose your own adventure, more like a spoof - which is why I love it. "John and Mary Meet. What happens Next? If you want a happy ending, try A."
In the very beginning the words concoct this sing-song narrator voice full of overly-saturated sweetness. "They both have worthwhile and remunerative jobs which they find stimulating and challenging.They buy a house. Real estate values go up." 
The tone in this piece is lighthearted in juxtoposition with the actual content (which is very sad) and it makes the reading go by very fast. I can see myself using this technique to make fun of these modern notions of poetry and story endings.

"You have to face it, the endings are the same however you slice it. Don't be deluded by any other endings, they're all fake, either deliberately fake, with malicious intent to deceive, or just motivated by excessive optimism if not by downright sentimentality."

I love how the only authentic ending is death. John and Mary die. John and May die. John and Mary die.

Indeed, so much for endings. Like this class :(

Beginnings are always more fun. I have to say, though, that I enjoyed very much the stretch in between with all of you.

Now on to my other what's.... 

Classmate Response 2, Week 10

from Brittany's calisthenic here

Character Development Exercise:

Orange Shirt

I think sometimes you only use the right chunk of your brain. Wearing your neon orange v-neck t shirt with khaki pants and flip flops. Folding your arms because mama didn't give you the dessert that your mouth was wet for. Stomping your way up the stairs like Godzilla through the narrow streets of Japan. I have always wondered if you actually like your own personality , or if you pretend to be someone else that's frilly and quiet. Of course, this person would be your complete opposite. Just like that orange shirt you are loud and begging to be seen. Sometimes I find myself wishing you to Never-land where the ticking alligator could run you from Goo Lagoon to Skull Island.After doing so, somehow, someway I find that I would miss you. I missed you and your boom box of a voice, even though I would never tell you that. Without you there would be no pink pajama coffee breath breaks in the cricket nights. If you were gone home would be like Treasure Island with no map to mark "X."

This was as far as I could write in class, and I didn't edit it yet or anything. Now that I read it, it seems like a free write just to get ideas down

My response:
I didn't finish mine either but I really like the idea of having a template from which to create a character, similar to the template we used to create interesting dialogue. These are tool I think I will be able to keep and use in my future writing. Your character development seems very strong to me thus far, and its ironic that we both got to the same sentence and stopped! I am going to try to finish mine, I hope you get around ot finishing yours and then, use this character in a story or poem! Thats the other interesting thing to consider - what parts of the character you will imploy in your work and which parts just help you to solidify the character in your head to keep you grounded when writing.

Classmate Response 1, Week 10

From Taylor's free entry

What does it feel like?
How do you know when something is right?
Some say it hits you like a bullet to your brain-
But that's too overused, too cliched.
What does it really feel like?
When the sun hits the dew in the morning,
Or the bird hits the high C.
Maybe when the Neapolitan soft serve swirls into a clean spiral on the cone,
Or the cat stretches out on the hammock in the midday sun for a nap.
Is that what it feels like?
But then how do you know when something is wrong?
Some say you just know-
But that's the cowards answer.
What does it really feel like?
When the mugger grabs your purse on the bustling street and disappears,
Or the little girl’s chin and lips start wobbling up and down, faster and faster.
Maybe when your mother looks up across the table with tears in her big brown eyes,
Or the student’s blank stare when you ask for that paper from last week.
Is that what it feels like?

My response:
I always like questions in poetry. One, becasue it gives you an idea of what the heck the poem is about. Maybe I'm getting too old, but these days I like to spend my time insode the words and imagery of the poem rather than trying to figure out its meaning. I also like thispoem because not only am I thinking about what feel "right" and what feels "wring", but also what is going on in the authors world to make him or her question right and wrong in the first place.

The imagery is great, form the bird hitting the high C, to the soft serve cone (I picture someone pulling down the nozzle and having to time it just right to get it to swirl right. If you've ever worked at one of these places you'd know its actually an art), to the lazy catch stretching out.
I also like the continutity of the piece. In the beginning you offer an explanation to what feels right, but then you dismiss it in favor of other ideas. And you do the same again when trying to define the "wrong."

I enjoyed this piece

The Material Realities of Poetry

Hidden in the back of an L.A. Weekly,
slipped between the sexy latina and Kinky Kendra
wondering about porno chicks and if their fathers ever watch
any of their films?

Missing You

I look around for you, because somewhere in this moment there’s a remnant of a joke we’ve shared before. And I forget; you haven't been around for a long time now.