Category Archives: humanity

April Showers Bring…

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Jules Verne. From the Earth to the Moon. London, Sampson Low, Marston, Low, and Searle, 1873 

It’s April, and we all know what that means: NaPoWriMo!

It’s National Poetry Writing Month, and the well-versed souls at NaPoWriMo.net are once again supplying us with inspiration, motivation and creative prompts to help us in the challenge of writing a poem a day for the entire month of April. I always have the best intentions of meeting the challenge, but sometimes life happens. We’ll see how it goes this year.

For April 1:

They say you can’t judge a book by its cover, but they never said you can’t try to write a poem based on a book cover — and that’s your challenge for today! 

As a resource, we were sent to The Public Domain Review’s collection “The Art of Book Covers 1820-1914.”

I chose to use a cover to Jules Verne’s book From Earth to the Moon. My endeavor:

To the Moon

When first we breached primordial ooze, 
our lungs inflating from newfound air,
we turned skyward with clouded eyes, and
there it was:

a moon!

We grew a spine (well, some of us),
strengthened lengthening limbs,
climbed mountains and – 
finding our voice – we howled 

at the moon. 

Torsos stretched, gaining balance.
Minds stretched, gaining wherewithal.
Desires stirred beyond mere survival.
Straining upright, we reached yearningly to

touch the moon.

Stripped of innocence, we clothed our bodies.
Sloughing naivete, we cloaked our intentions.
Finding pride, we adorned our personhood.
Growing listless, we set a goal: we would walk

on the moon. 

Scarred and marred from our abuse, at a distance
Earth nonetheless appears a shiny bauble; a marble
expendable in our cosmic game, because we believe
if all else fails, we will simply move 

to the moon.

Half Life

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We likely all know the trope of whether a half-filled glass of water is half full or half empty. In truth, the glass is completely full: half water and half air. Both are vital to our survival. 

Like the cycles of the moon, our lives are said to wax and wane. Coming into my seventh decade, I am by force of nature inarguably waning, and yet my life is full to overflowing. As the cycle continues, I am quite curious as to where I will find myself at my own next new moon. 

whole moon half-hidden

wax and wane like hide and seek

steadfast in the sky

For dVerse prompt: Haibun Monday ~ Mezza Luna

Plus One

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NaPoWriMo day one prompt: “The prompt is based on Robert Hass’s remarkable prose poem, “A Story About the Body.” The idea is to write your own prose poem that, whatever title you choose to give it, is a story about the body. The poem should contain an encounter between two people, some spoken language, and at least one crisp visual image.”

Six weeks, it had been. Six weeks of “boot camp” at a CrossFit gym. The final day, a repeat of the first day’s timed workout. Only this time, preceded by a one-mile jog. My legs were spent. “Want me to go first?” my workout partner asked. I could use the recovery time, but she’d be tired, too. “No, I’ll go.” She’d track sets, count reps, cheer me on. I’d try to complete the workout before time ran out. Last time, I’d fallen short by nine burpees.

Sit ups, squats, I can’t recall what else. And those last ten burpees. It wasn’t pretty. Fling my body to the floor, a wobbly push-up, drag myself upright, jump and clap my hands above my head. Repeat. I was last of the whole class. Time running out. Everyone stood around me, cheering. “Keep going! You’ve got this!” Struggling to stand upright. Coach called “time.” One burpee short.

My workout partner moved close. Quietly, tentatively. “I think that was ten,” she offered. Our eyes locked. “I counted nine.” She nodded appreciatively and wrote down my final time. Plus one for the uncompleted burpee.

Six weeks. Nine burpees. I’ll take it.

Forevermore (or less)

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Love lasts forever.

Come to find out, forever

isn’t all that long.

Early bird post for April’s National / Global Poetry Writing Month (NaPoWriMo).

The prompt: Write a poem based on, or responding to, a line of Emily Dickenson’s poetry. The line I chose was “Forever might be short.”

I hope to participate in the NaPoWriMo daily prompts for April again this year, but we’ll see how that goes. I’m one for one so far, and the month hasn’t even yet begun!

The Many Faces of Bold

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Bloganuary prompt: What does it mean to live boldly?

Nelly Bly, Library of Congress, public domain via WikiMedia Commons.
Ruth Bader Ginsburg, Collection of the Supreme Court of the United States, photographer Steve Petteway, public domain via WikiMedia Commons
Rosa Parks, photographer unknown. Public domain via WikiMedia Commons.
Bette Midler, Library of Congress Life, Photo by Shawn Miller. CCO via Wikimedia Commons

Assumptions

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Bloganuary prompt: What do people incorrectly assume about you?

Others may assume that I am unassuming,

but my assumption that they assume so

would, indeed, make their assumption incorrect,

would it not?

It is more likely that I assume things about others

that would prove to be incorrect.

But if I’m assuming that my assumptions are incorrect,

then are they really assumptions?

My head hurts now.

The photo above is of Auggie, my unassuming grandpuppy whom I failed to feature in previous posts. Auggie, please don’t assume that I love you any less. You are near and dear to my heart.

Inspiration

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Bloganuary prompt: Who is someone that inspires you, and why?

You inspire me.

Sometimes to be more like you,

Sometimes to be not like you at all.

Sometimes to be more like who I

  know myself to truly be,

Sometimes to be better than I am

  showing myself to be.

Sometimes, you inspire me to want

to be an inspiration to others, too.

To Play or Not to Play

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Bloganuary daily prompt: What was your favorite toy as a child?

Long story longer.

Art therapy for adults. Sometimes I hated it. Sometimes I loved it. Well, okay, love is a strong word, but sometimes it was insightful. A little insightful. Like if you squinted real hard from across the room at something you’d drawn, you might find a way to interpret the doodling as somehow relevant to your life. The art therapist, peering over shoulders as the patients worked on their projects, would sometimes nod or sigh or smile or give a little “hum” sound at the back of her throat as she walked around the room. All in all, it was kind of creepy.

I preferred the more structured assignments. One’s that didn’t involve jostling with the others for access to a pile of magazines for a collage project, trying to snag something that hadn’t been hacked to pieces by prior collage makers. Then trying to avoid eye contact with that person across the table who’s trying to guilt you into giving them the magazine you chose because out of the entire stack of magazines, that’s the only one that is bound to have the image they need for their masterpiece.

Just keep it simple. Hand me a piece of paper and a crayon and tell me to draw what depression looks like for me. Make sure it’s a black crayon and we’ll be set.

One day at group therapy, there was a large assortment of materials spread over the tables as we entered the art room.

“Today I just want you to play,” the therapist said.  “Use whatever you want to draw, paint, cut patterns out of colored paper, glue photos together as a collage, make something out of pipe cleaners, whatever appeals to you.”

“Play? I’m in this damned program because I’m damned depressed and I’ll be damned if I feel like playing.” That was my thought. I sat there in silence, arms folded in front of me, staring at the clock on the wall. Daring the therapist to try and make me “play.”

“Come on, it’s fun!” exclaimed one overly jubilant woman. Obviously it was time to boot her out of the program. “Just pretend you’re a kid again and play like you did back then.”

“I didn’t play when I was a kid,” I snarled, and I stood up and left the room. Didn’t play as a kid? Where did that come from? Of course, I played. Didn’t I?

I did play. Make believe, storytelling, hide and seek. Mother may I. Red light, green light. Simon says. Operator. Checkers. But none of that came to mind, specifically to my depressed mind. I didn’t remember having fun.

Group therapy ended years ago for me, and thankfully I’m in a much better mental state these days. And yet, faced with the question today as to my favorite toy as a child, my first reaction was. “I didn’t have toys.”

Of course, I had toys. Matchbox cars, bikes, skates, etch-a-sketch, spirograph sets. Balls, dolls, stuffed animals, board games. I’m sure I had lots of toys, but it’s hard to remember.

Living with depression can be like walking around wearing blinders. You don’t have the bandwidth to deal with a whole lot, so you block out a large portion of what is happening. I’m not talking about blocking out memories of traumatic experiences. I mean blocking out all sorts of things, even memories of playing and having fun. And it gets to be habit.

I still have trouble; not a poor memory per se, but I don’t focus enough to memorialize well, if that makes sense. A part of me still thinks it needs the blinders, and so the details get lost. Or the big picture is lost. I don’t know.

All of this to say, if I had a favorite toy as a child, I don’t remember it. But that’s okay. I get to play with my grandkids’ toys now. My favorite? Probably the t-ball set. I can send that plastic baseball over the fence like Hank Aaron! Remember him?

To my Teenage Self

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It’s January, and so begins the #Bloganuary Challenge from WordPress, where participants are given a daily prompt for blogging inspiration. Today’s prompt: What advice would you give to your teenage self? So here goes.

Dear Teenage Me:

Look at you! So young, I hardly recognize you – er, me. I know, you think it’s odd that an old fart like me is addressing you. You work so hard to stay invisible, and yet I see you. It’s not easy for me, either. I tend to avoid people, especially teenagers. You kids are very intimidating at that age. And, well, I try to stay invisible, too. Still. 

You have a long row ahead of you (that’s a good thing so keep going), so here are some pointers to get you through a bit easier than I had it.

  • When you get your wisdom teeth pulled in your twenties, do NOT use tequila as a pain killer. The side effects are not worth it. You will wake up wishing you could get more teeth pulled just to take your mind off the hangover.
  • Nurture your artistic self. You don’t have to excel at art or music or writing or photography or stained glass or anything else in order to validate your interest and participation. If it feeds your soul, it’s worth doing.
  • Don’t dance like nobody’s watching. Dance like you don’t give a flying leap whether they’re watching or not. That will come in handy when your second grader pulls you out on the floor during the school music program to dance the macarena with her.
  • You’ll be a better parent than you think you can be. Listen to your kids. They’ll let you know how you’re doing. But maybe don’t let your children write their own absentee excuse notes for school. When you actually write one yourself, the school will think it’s fake because the signatures don’t match.
  • Don’t despair. When you think you’ve hit rock bottom, there’s only one way to go: up.

Well, that’s about the extent of my garnered wisdom. Check back in another twenty years, and I can advise you on how to get through your midlife crises. By then, however, you’ll realize that you don’t need other people’s voices in your head, you just need to trust your own.

Wishing you many, many joy-filled years to come.

Love,

Your older and wiser self