Once again the folks at Magpie Tales pull out a visual prompt that sends me to places I didn't know existed. I adore when that happens. Interesting, too, that while the place is unknown, the inner workings of the person turns out to be remarkably like you. Perhaps.
This
is my first poem for the 365 poem challenge. I am starting at 9/365 so
it doesn't get confusing. I look forward to getting to know the other
poets and getting my poetic lifestyle moving and grooving again.
This poem would be more potent without the image, but as this is a Magpie Tales image prompt, I will let you in on the secret. I am imagining performing this poem in the near future. It felt enlivening to write. THANK YOU, Tess, for your ever inspiring prompts. To those of you who have never heard of Magpie Tales, click here to see the prompt and to play alongside a group of gifted poets.
Last night I sat at a
stop light and wondered what it would be like to sit with Emily Dickinson at
this very same intersection. It is a seedy part of town, known most for cheap
motels inhabited by crackheads with the main street populated by prostitutes in
various costumes with the same comatose facial expression. I was on my way
home, a routine, when I opened my eyes to “write with Emily” I was able to see
this place differently.
I followed today's OctPoWriMo prompt, but you would never know it from the outcome.
Contingency plans: if this happens, that happens If this doesn't happen that won't happen If you are not up to our standards of liking Nothing will happen
Contingency plans: if you change your thoughts to no longer match ours, if you drift into any unfamiliar territory that doesn't match us Nothing will happen
Contingency plans: forever grieving the other I listen, numb to the smarting of my dead skin Maybe that's why I have it, so inside your rant Nothing will happen
Contingency plans: scoop up my not-so-little ones Continue to evolve without the need for outside relationship. Holding arms out - high - forget Nothing will happen
Never concerned if anyone else had a cloudy sky or a
thunderstorm or a drought in her or his or their sky.
I'll find my way, differently
You stopped letting me love you
unless your maleness was pushing
inside me, deep and I was
rubbish in my gutter
surrendering to your power
come alongside
push away
while you were so busy
running runing running
flashlight from my cell phone
lit the way as I dressed
in the dak
instead of my lips meeting yours
practically begging
erratic and unmappable
give myself the gift of space
to decide
to hear
what you want what you don't
random fabric metaphors
shout "my sky is falling, my....."I refuse
to do it.
Need some form
of response.
This poem was actually built after it was written. Read about the process on my Julie Unplugged blog. First, I freewrote, stream of consciousness for five minutes. Then, I plucked out the phrases I thought had the most potential to serve this poem's theme. Then, I copied, cut, drew lines at random, pasted and built a poem.
Julie Jordan Scott
has been a Life & Creativity Coach, Writer, Facilitator
and Teleclass Leader since 1999. She is also an award
winning Actor, Director, Artist and Mother
Extraordinaire. She was twice the StoryTelling Slam
champion in Bakersfield. She leads Writing Camp with JJS &
this Summer will be traveling throughout the US to bring this
unique, fun filled creative experience to the people wherever she
finds the passion & the interest.
Did you enjoyed this essay? Receive emails directly to your
inbox for Free from Julie Jordan Scott via the
Daily Passion Activator. One inspirational essay and
poem (almost) every week day. Subscribe here now -
I borrowed the words to inspire my poem from Terry Tempest Williams Book, When Women Were Birds. The words she loaned me were Beyond, Walking & Blue.
Fellini Told Me So It Must Be True
Blue on Blue on Blue
Sky ocean eyes
beginning irrelevant
ending unnoticed
passion served on the page-plate.
Music pushes the pencil
beyond vibe of the electric guitar.
Waves play the sound
of unraised light switches
last year’s Christmas lights
yearning to be lit,
wrapped in a neat
not quite circle
across baggies filled
with silvery Santa Clauses.
She walks to the attic
to push the Easter boxes away.
Chattering jogger won’t stop -
unable to hear the gentle mama bird
won’t quietly blush at the sea lion’s
romantic interlude wooing the
Plein air writer. She understands
what it means to take a morning
walk beyond the boundaries
Grey on grey on grey
Path Fog Walrus
There is still time to participate in OctPoWriMo: Check out today's prompt & join us on twitter and facebook. Stretch, grow and enjoy a supportive creative community.
Julie Jordan Scott
has been a Life & Creativity Coach, Writer, Facilitator
and Teleclass Leader since 1999. She is also an award
winning Actor, Director, Artist and Mother
Extraordinaire. She was twice the StoryTelling Slam
champion in Bakersfield. She leads Writing Camp with JJS &
this Summer will be traveling throughout the US to bring this
unique, fun filled creative experience to the people wherever she
finds the passion & the interest.
Did you enjoy this poem? Receive emails directly to your
inbox for Free from Julie Jordan Scott via the
Daily Passion Activator. One inspirational essay and
poem (almost) every week day. Subscribe here now -
