want to start a writing club. you in?

↑ mummiedearest ↓

Thu, Jan 06 2011, 1:39 pm

HindaRochel wrote:

mummiedearest wrote:

floundering
flailing
trying to grasp
at straw-mirages
sleep-inducing
must stay awake
must choose
a paper topic.

I'm seriously stuck on paper topics right now. blargh. nothing's working. sigh.

LOL...just write nonsense for awhile (the above is NOT nonsense) and you'll find something...what's the topic?

well, that's the problem. I have to write my own literary theory. I've chosen to focus on the francis j. child ballads. however, there are over three hundred of them, and I need to focus on one topic. do I focus on the robin hood ones? the historically significant ones? the mythological ones? the ones I actually know how to sing? the ones about maidens of any sort? or do I focus on the academic controversy contained in his lackadaisical attitude towards citing appropriate sources? perhaps challenge the authenticity of some of the ballads based on lack of evidence to the contrary?

this is my problem. too many possibilities, too many points of interest, and one measly ten-page paper to put it in. so I'm swimming in ideas. I prefer the ideas do the swimming.

feel free to critique this post Smile

and feel free to encourage me to pick one topic. I can't really start with nonsense because I need a solid research base for this paper. and I can't effectively research a non-topic. I could spend years on this...

↑ micki

Thu, Jan 06 2011, 1:40 pm

mummiedearest wrote:

micki,

does your daughter know you're posting this? I wouldv'e been really mad at my mom if she posted my work at that age. if she's ok with it, fine. she's got talent. I do feel a little less comfortable critiquing a kid's poems, though. she may be more sensitive. can you specify that whatever you post of her's is her's?

meanwhile, are you going to write something? Very Happy

I'm looking forward to it.

well she has a blog where she has some 250 posted, so I suspect that she knows and hopes the whole world reads her stuff!

and its simple, anything I post would be hers Very Happy

I cannot write to her level at all!!!
but I hear it may not be fair to put her stuff up, I am just so proud of her talents, I had to share!!
she started wowing us when she was 6.5- if you want to see one of her earlier poems I can share!!

↑ mummiedearest ↓

Thu, Jan 06 2011, 1:51 pm

micki wrote:

mummiedearest wrote:

I'm looking forward to it.

well she has a blog where she has some 250 posted, so I suspect that she knows and hopes the whole world reads her stuff!

and its simple, anything I post would be hers Very Happy

oh, come come. you can write. we all know it. give it a shot. write about your talented daughter Smile

↑ mosma ↓

Thu, Jan 06 2011, 7:44 pm

ok I don't really write poetry, I write stories, but since it seems to be the flavor of the day, here's a silly one:

The written word
is quite absurd
if there's no one there to read it.
A murmured prayer
hangs midair
if the murmurer won't believe it.
The best of shows
is forced to close
if no one will attend it.
The smallest tear
will not repair
if no one cares to mend it.
A cowardly knight
who cannot fight
sets off to battle in vain.
So dare I endeavor
to write words that seem clever
if I haven't used my brain?

↑ the world's best mom ↓

Thu, Jan 06 2011, 8:42 pm

mosma wrote:

I didn't find this to be silly, except for the last line. I think it's very meaningful and true. Very well written.

↑ sandyb ↓

Thu, Jan 06 2011, 8:43 pm

Ok here goes.

Words unspoken,
Froth silently beyond the surface
yearning to break free.

The words,
they struggle to explode into the yawning chasm of silence
that seals my isolation.

The silent words
bounce around
in the crevices of my brain
seeking to express the turbulence of emotion.

Words are the bridge that link the world inside my head
to the world that exists outside.

I don't space out, I space in. Smile

Last edited by sandyb on Thu, Jan 06 2011, 9:56 pm; edited 1 time in total

↑ sneakermom ↓

Thu, Jan 06 2011, 9:10 pm

Quote:

Yes...that is so so beautiful.

↑ sneakermom

Thu, Jan 06 2011, 9:37 pm

Mommy do you hear me?
I have been looking for you -
the whole world over.
I have turned over every rock,
tracked every star.
I have searched for you in crowds,
prayed that you would return.
That you would explain.
Why you hurt me.
Why you abandoned me.
I loved you so.
I sit here quietly
waiting for you to return.
The mother of my infancy.
The mother I once knew.

The witch that emerged from you,
Is not the mother I once knew.
This shaming woman,
scheming and conniving,
that worked to break me
piece by piece.
While smiling to the world,
telling them how much you love me.

Why mother, why are your jealous,
when I look good...
Why do your eyes flash in rage?
And when people turn to see me,
glad to greet me.
Why do you connive to move them away
from me? Always.

I see the things you do, mommy.
I see how you use your power to hurt.
You seek to bring people into your trusting embrace...
vulnerable people who seek your help.
And you take them apart, bit by bit.
I see the evil of your ways.
The selfishness of your existence.
And there is nothing I can do.
Except watch, and be silent.

Why are there things that transpired between us,
that can't come out of my lips?
That hurt me always, and shame me into silence.
Why do I hold onto that?
Is it my last hope of holding onto you?

You have demeaned me, and I have accepted that.
And with just one look at me....you know it's still there.
But....
You were shocked, when I let go of you.
You did not see it coming.
The nerve. I had. The chutzpah.
To hurt you....as you say.
To see through the lies, the abuse.
And to get out.

I miss you mommy. The one I once knew.
But alas....that mother
knew me only when I belonged to her.
A dependent infant in the infatuated mother's arms.

And now that I'm grown.
It's the jealousy and urge to shame,
that flashes in your eyes.
And behooves you....
to do everything in your power
to take me back.
Where you believe, I belong.

I am gone, mother.
I will never come back.
I have much to learn.
and unlearn.
I struggle.
And often I am afraid.
But I'm alive.
I can feel, I can see.
I exist. For real.
And so grateful for that.

Last edited by sneakermom on Thu, Jan 06 2011, 9:44 pm; edited 1 time in total

↑ the world's best mom ↓

Thu, Jan 06 2011, 9:38 pm

Here's some prose on the topic.

The house is peaceful and calm. The kids are playing nicely, while I check on the frozen blintzes frying in the pan. As I turn them over, the smell of the oil and the crackling sounds that are coming from the pan cause my mind to wander. Memories come rushing through my head, as they always do on Thursday nights when I am frying my blintzes. They are some of my most pleasant childhood memories.

My mother always made blintzes for supper on Thursday nights. As the blintzes were frying, I would enjoy watching her cut up a salad and open a can of tuna fish. A simple supper, but my favorite one by far. The kitchen was always cozy and warm, and filled with the delicious smell of hot oil and fresh tuna and vegetables.

Then my father would come home from work. My sisters and I would run to greet him excitedly. His loving smile and warm hugs were a big treat for all of us after a long day. On Thursday nights, as the blintzes were frying, my father would give his little girls a bath. When the bath was over and the water had all drained, my father would wrap us each in a towel and his strong but gentle arms would carry us to the warm kitchen. There, wrapped in our towels, we would eat our blintzes and salad and tuna fish.

My mind is suddenly forced back to the present. My daughter has just entered the kitchen and she is saying, “Hooray! Today is Thursday! We have blintzes and baked beans for supper!” And I am glad that I am creating memories for my children as my parents did for me. Although my children have their baths after supper, and we have baked beans (their all time favorite side dish) instead of the salad my mother always prepared, I know that my children love Thursdays as much as I always did.

↑ the world's best mom

Thu, Jan 06 2011, 9:41 pm

sneakermom wrote:

Mommy do you hear me?
I have been looking for you -
the whole world over.
I have turned over every rock,
tracked every star.
I have searched for you in crowds,
prayed that you would return.
That you would explain.
Why you hurt me.
Why you abandoned me.
I loved you so.
I sit here quietly
waiting for you to return.
The mother of my infancy.
The mother I once knew.

The witch that emerged from you,
Is not the mother I once knew.
This shaming woman,
scheming and conniving,
that worked to break me
piece by piece.
While smiling to the world,
telling them how much you love me.

Why mother, why are your jealous,
when I look good...
Why do your eyes flash in rage?
And when people turn to see me,
glad to greet me.
Why do you connive to move them away
from me? Always.

I see the things you do, mommy.
I see how you use your power to take advantage of others.
You seek to bring them into your trusting embrace.
Vulnerable people who seek your help.
And you take them apart, bit by bit.
I see the evil of your ways.
The selfishness of your existence.
And there is nothing I can do.
Except watch, and be silent.

Why are there things that transpired between us,
that can't come out of my lips?
That hurt me always, and shame me into silence.
Why do I hold onto that?
Is it my last hope of holding onto you?

You have demeaned me, and I have accepted that.
And with just one look at me....you know it's still there.
But....
You were shocked, when I let go of you.
You did not see it coming.
The nerve. I had. The chutzpah.
To hurt you....as you say.
To see through the lies, the abuse.
And to get out.

I miss you mommy. The one I once knew.
But alas....that mother
knew me only when I belonged to her.
A dependent infant in the infatuated mother's arms.

And now that I'm grown.
It's the jealousy and urge to shame,
that flashes in your eyes.
And behooves you....
to do everything in your power
to take me back.
Where you believe, I belong.

I am gone, mother.
I will never come back.
I have much to learn.
and unlearn.
I struggle.
And often I am afraid.
But I'm alive.
I can feel, I can see.
I exist. For real.
And so grateful for that.

This poem is wonderful! It really captures the feeling of the abused child as she longs for the caring mother she once knew. It brought tears to my eyes.

↑ robynm ↓

Thu, Jan 06 2011, 9:46 pm

sneakermom wrote:

Mommy do you hear me?
I have been looking for you -
the whole world over.
I have turned over every rock,
tracked every star.
I have searched for you in crowds,
prayed that you would return.
That you would explain.
Why you hurt me.
Why you abandoned me.
I loved you so.
I sit here quietly
waiting for you to return.
The mother of my infancy.
The mother I once knew.

woah sneakermom!!! where did that come from. I think ill have to read this one over and over again. its intense and deep and it rips the reader apart emtionally....

The witch that emerged from you,
Is not the mother I once knew.
This shaming woman,
scheming and conniving,
that worked to break me
piece by piece.
While smiling to the world,
telling them how much you love me.

Why mother, why are your jealous,
when I look good...
Why do your eyes flash in rage?
And when people turn to see me,
glad to greet me.
Why do you connive to move them away
from me? Always.

I see the things you do, mommy.
I see how you use your power to hurt.
You seek to bring people into your trusting embrace...
vulnerable people who seek your help.
And you take them apart, bit by bit.
I see the evil of your ways.
The selfishness of your existence.
And there is nothing I can do.
Except watch, and be silent.

Why are there things that transpired between us,
that can't come out of my lips?
That hurt me always, and shame me into silence.
Why do I hold onto that?
Is it my last hope of holding onto you?

You have demeaned me, and I have accepted that.
And with just one look at me....you know it's still there.
But....
You were shocked, when I let go of you.
You did not see it coming.
The nerve. I had. The chutzpah.
To hurt you....as you say.
To see through the lies, the abuse.
And to get out.

I miss you mommy. The one I once knew.
But alas....that mother
knew me only when I belonged to her.
A dependent infant in the infatuated mother's arms.

And now that I'm grown.
It's the jealousy and urge to shame,
that flashes in your eyes.
And behooves you....
to do everything in your power
to take me back.
Where you believe, I belong.

I am gone, mother.
I will never come back.
I have much to learn.
and unlearn.
I struggle.
And often I am afraid.
But I'm alive.
I can feel, I can see.
I exist. For real.
And so grateful for that.