The Dandelion Rule

NaPoWriMo, Day 20


The Dandelion Rule

Never pick the dandelion
as you blow wishes to the air.
It won't grow back.
For, to come true,
They need roots,
And others to share.

(c) Julie Bartha-Vasquez, 2013

Notes on the Poem:

Me, about 30 minutes ago: "Why are you sitting in the middle of the muddy grass blowing on the dandelion? Just pick it. Now I have to do more laundry..." [grumble grumble... muttering more annoyed Mom things]

My 7-year-old son: Because my wish won't come true if I pick it.

'Nuff said. -- WNG

Update: One word in last line changed from original posting

Ourealism

NaPoWriMo, Day 19


Ourealism

In the past few days we have seen
sunny days, sweeping the

best and worst in human behavior

clouds away, I’m on my way.

Officer ambushed, shot in the head.

See dolls with and without makeup.

Please remain indoors and safe.

They threw pressure cooker bombs.

Max and Ruby, Ruby and Max.

One brother ran over the other to escape.

Ruby and her little brother Max.

Make-up face off.

This family does not know how to share

love to jump up and down

grief with these victims

in muddy puddles.

Turn yourself in.

There will be Daisy Buchanan clones this year.

Ask for forgiveness.

An entire American city is on lockdown.

Wow Wow Wubbzy!

Families hiding under tables with children.

Wubbzy Wubbzy Wow Wow!

He may be wearing a suicide vest.

Raincoats, belly rings and Guantanamo chic.

He is an angel; such an intelligent boy.

Lockdown lifted. Firefight. SWAT teams.

Who are the people in your neighborhood?

Bloody body in a boat.

They’re the people that you meet each day.

He sat up when the flash grenades went off.

That’s real Vogue material.

The hunt is over. The search is done.

Tough week.

© Julie Bartha-Vasquez, 2013

"The Persistence of Memory" by Salvador Dali

Notes on the Poem:

In the onslaught of news, non-news, bad news and -- with the 2nd Boston bomber finally captured -- good news today, I saw a Tweet from Merriam-Webster.com. They said that when the chase after the suspects started last night, there was a spike in searches for the word "surreal." So I decided to take a crack at writing a surrealistic-ish (if it wasn't a word before, I've decided it's a word now) poem. It wasn't too hard, given the material I had.

My normal days are usually spent surfing news sites for my work, including a lot of fashion and beauty news websites.  My normal days are also usually spent keeping young children entertained so I can get my work done. 

So I structured the poem to tell the story of today's very weird news day (to quote a former colleague from way too long ago: "Breaking is Broken.") interspersed with children's songs from TV shows my kids watch and fashion/beauty advice or blurbs that came across my Twitter feed during the day today. I used both headlines/news Tweets and quotes from the news coverage.

I don't know how it will come across to the reader, but this is a pretty accurate reflection of the background noise in my life every single day... just with different news stories, instead of one big, weird, tragic story dominating it. I am looking forward to not writing any poems inspired by horrible news events next week. Three in one week is quite enough, thank you. -- WNG

a-men

(NaPoWriMo, Day 18)

a-men 

a-men

for we who have not the grace

to bear witness to the rending

of flesh and jagged tearing

of blood and bone

without defacing

the purity

of others’

hurt

with devices

of redemption

or revenge

a tragedy

a-men

(c) Julie Bartha-Vasquez, 2013

Notes on the Poem:

The writing prompt was to use the same word at the beginning and end of the poem. I --being me-- had to go with a little word play, but this time it wasn't to be whimsical or silly. I was trying to make a point. I was going to blah blah blah about what I wrote and how and why. Instead, I'll just suggest that you read this piece in the New Republic: "The Case for Looking: What We Can Learn from Extremely Violent Photography." I will also ask that you take the time to read Esquire's The Falling Man, originally published in 2009, about one of the people who was photographed falling from the Twin Towers on 9-11. (Out of kindness to my blog readers, I will warn you that the Esquire link does have the picture if you click it.)

Updated from first publishing late last night: I was also thinking about the media coverage of the Boston bombing this week, summed up by Buzzfeed's takedown of CNN and Gawker's takedown of the NY Post's breathtakingly irresponsible coverage of the hunt for the suspects. The Daily Show with Jon Stewart also managed to sum it up perfectly: ("CNN's exclusive report on an arrest in the Boston Marathon bombing was exclusive because it was completely f**king wrong.")

But this should be enough to give you an idea of where I was coming from when I wrote this last night. --WNG

Trust Rituals

Trust Rituals
(NaPoWriMo, Day 17)

I begin:
"How do you suppose
Of all the girls in all the world
Our luck was so great to get the best?
To get you?"

But she curls her slim fist
squeeze tight around my fat finger,
Then slack.
Both of us under queen-sized
Blankets, her eyes glazed open
then drow low before I can finish.

I stop. She stirs, snores.
And I know for this moment that all was done right for today.

(c) Julie Bartha-Vasquez, 2013

Notes on the Poem:

This is a rough draft. It's definitely heartfelt. I'm heading in a direction. But from a writing POV, my initial feeling is that the overall tone is too Hallmark. This is one of those times when I wish I could be in a writing workshop. I know its not working, but can't put my finger on where to start fixing it. I had originally written it in a Tanka format, but it wasn't working as a Tanka. So it needs another kind of form, But on a personal note, it was just a nice small moment I was trying to capture in simple words, without getting treacly. I don't think I succeeded, but it's a start.

And now I'm all caught up. Rough week. Better Days ahead. Don't believe me, ask Dar Williams. Or the Kinks if you're a hardcore originalist. --WNG

A Place I'll Never Be

Let's just go! Let's go!
Get the hell out of here!
Let's go to a place where there's none of this.
Let's go to a place where a creek runs through the town
   it ends at a waterwheel that turns round at the old mill house.
C'mon, let's go! Go with me.
It's up there, I think. In the mountains, We can drive there. And hike.
We can camp by a cold lake and warm by the fire
   and you can hold me by my shoulders, kiss my neck,  and tell me you love me.
I need to go. Now.
I need to go walk the galleries coffeehouses '
   and talk to locals about brush strokes and brew strengths
      I need to get a job at a second-hand book shop
      where I can live in an apartment up the stairs
      and grow free range chicken and mushrooms out the back stockroom door.
     You can run the business stuff. And I can make artisinal breads to sell the tourists.
      And I'll practice Reiki,
C'mon, let's go. I need to go. I'm going.
 I was going to go. I was going to go with you.
I'm waiting to go there with you
Still waiting.
Still needing.
To go.

(c) Julie Bartha-Vasquez, 2013

The Millstream at the Woodstock Inn
in Woodstock, NY

Notes on the Poem:
This is another make-up poem. The prompt today was to write a poem of "hello." I didn't quite do that here... This describes a place I've always wanted to visit, from the point of view of 20-year-old me. 41-year-old me still wants to visit there someday, but I will never see it as I dreamed of it as a 20 year old.

Form-wise, I didn't follow a specific traditional format. I could not find one I thought would work, but when I go back to rewrite -- and I will -- I hope by then to have found a formal format, or to have come up with a scheme of some sort. The more I do this, the more convinced I am that poems have more of an impact when they follow a pre-determined format. That, and I know enough to know that I don't know enough to know when to break the rules yet. Hey - that might be a poem:

I know enough
to know that
I don't know
enough to know
when to break
the rules

And BOOM goes the dynamite! Suck it Donald Rumsfeld. I just talked circled around your poetic circle talk. --WNG

Bad Call

Bad Call
(NaPoWriMo, Make-up for Day 14? I think)


She has
The worst hang-ups.
They're rung up the loudest
When he throws the phone, smashed down to
the floor.


(c) Julie Bartha-Vasquez, 2013

Retro Wall Phones

Notes on the poem:
Playing catch-up...This image has been kicking around in my head all week. I wrote it as a cinquain, my new favorite form. Not much more to it than that. A bit moody, but for the kind of week this has been, can you blame me? - WNG

Endless Cycle

Endless Cycle

(NaPoWriMo, Day 15)

Blood soaks stone

Seeps down ground

Deep earth seeks

Water table found

Albumin joins soil

Fertile clotted masses

Fluid finds river

Drops ocean passes

Sun steams seas

Mists drift skies

White clouds waft

Peregrine Falcons fly

Haze tightens gray

Drops spill rain

Heavens to ground

Water washes stain.

© Julie Bartha-Vasquez, 2013

According to the Massachusett Audubon Society,
the Peregrine Falcon is a common sight above the
city of Boston.
Image from AllAboutBirds.org 

No notes today. Just hoping for a better tomorrow for everyone. - WNG


Revision to second line of second stanza; third line of 1st stanza made on 4/16, after original posting. - WNG