Sunday, December 12, 2010

Sunday December 11, 2010/ I saw Sunday/Sunday Scribbling/ Carry on Tuesday/Writers Island

Prompt: Title Not Waving But Drowning, of the poem by Stevie Smith.

On the boat or on shore,
I saw you waving,
A greeting,
A farewell,
But of the drowning,
I know little.
It was a tale told,
Hardly made sense,
I didn't know,
When you said goodbye,
It would be the last,
And then your life was over,
The door closed,
The sea was the same,
The waves rolled in,
The tides continued to change,
But the world was not the same.
Writer's Island
Prompt #33: Wonderous.

I first heard the word whispered,
And I wondered,
I pushed ahead to see.
Later, I pulled the book from the shelf,
The word was written on every page.
Each word was a different color,
And all the pictures were of you.


Image from the Gorilla Girls Website.

Sunday Scribblings Prompt #245: Limits

What are my limits?
I don't mean to whine,
But there are limits,
Placed because of gender,
Yes, times have changed,
And somethings are better,
But the more things change,
The more they stay the same.

There are limits placed because of age,
Each day that passes,
That pile grow larger,
And limits of location.
When one lives on the outer limits,
She must find ways to stay in contact,
With the center of the Universe,
If she can figure out where that is?
I don't like to focus on limits,
But to know they exist,
Is probably helpful.
Then remember the advantages,
This is helpful, too.

Image from internet, roadside shrines, in New Mexico.

I Saw Sunday

Today we counted,
The roadside shrines,
Constructed and decorated,
Some crosses,
Glitter fringe flies,
Flowers and ribbons.

At the very spot a person,
Crossed over,
Alcohol is the killer,
Your feet stagger in,
Soft deerskin moccasins,
Or heavy work boots,
On and off the highway,
You dance.
In New Mexico,
The tradition of,
Poverty and hopelessness,
Are alive and well