Existence is Eternal
Doubt it how You may—
Then take a Rock and crush it
‘Til the Fragments go Away—
A dry Leaf falls in Autumn—
Turned to powder underfoot
It’s Essence bleeds into the mud—
And nourishes the Root
Oblivion has no Meaning—
Annihilation is a lie
Existence often changes form—
But never can it die
—B. Carter Pittman
Yesterday’s class was seven of nine and I was back to enjoying the class.
I still had trouble completing the homework—I couldn’t even finish reading the section on meter, rhyme and form. Let me show you where I got lost:
Meter – Greek for measure
Foot – unit of measure in meter
Common Feet in English – u = slack syllable; / = stressed syllable
iamb (u /)
trochee (/ u)
dactyl (/ u u)
I’m lost—totally lost!
I didn’t understand this when I was in grammar school either. Did I mention that I’m dyslexic and that I can’t spell very well?
I was able to write the poem assignment in seven and half minutes. It was suppose to be an “anaphoric poem” of ten lines that begins with “take away.” An anaphoric poem starts or ends with the same word or phrase in every line. Here’s my poem:
Take away my fears of the whipping winds
Take away my tears when I see a homeless woman
Take away the abuse: mine and yours
Take away, and let me loose
Take away the pain
Take away grief
Take away the loss
Take away the love
Take away my memories
Take away my life
Everything in “blue” is what I wrote during the time period allotted. Everything in “brown” is what I wrote after my instructor suggested I try to lengthen or stretch my poem [my ability].
The blue poem is done and the lengthened or stretched poem is left undone.
Okay, it was bound to happen. I’ve been hanging out with wonderful. creative poets the last few months; so as I sat outside today with warm sunlight, a blustery wind, and my sketching materials, poetic words started coming to mind. At least, maybe they’re poetic. At the very least, I’m telling a story in short bursts. 
Princess
So many to lead
A hard world to rest
On white shoulders
She must inspire
She must be strong
But how can she lead?
White shoulders
Will shrug burdens
Onto a greater Strength
She will inspire
She will be strong
She will lead
Today’s class was six of nine and for the first time I didn’t like the class. It wasn’t the instructor, because she is excellent. It was me—I couldn’t write anything during our first exercise when we have seven and half minutes to write a poem. I also had trouble doing the homework.
We discussed “sonnets” near the end of the class and I couldn’t wait to get out of there!
I think I have “maxed out” on poetry for now. I can’t seem to absorb anything else right now. It’s also possible we are getting deeper into the subject and it takes more time to comprehend it than I am giving right now.
I think I will put my book away for a few days, maybe a week, and then come back to the subject and see how I do with it.
WELL DONE CHRISTINE!!!
A funny thing happened to me today. I was out to dinner with my husband and a friend came by our table and asked if she could have an “old bra” of mine. I guess I looked at her strangely because she began to talk about her third radiation treatment and needing a bigger bra. I don’t know where I was when she was talking, but I didn’t understand anything after “old bra.”
Earlier this year my friend was diagnosed with breast cancer for the second time. She was an old pro at this, but I just “wasn’t there” when she talked about her treatments. Later, I thought about why I “spaced out”—it was my own fear of breast CANCER and the loss of my mother six years ago to pancreatic CANCER. If my mother had seen a doctor for regular exams, would her CANCER have been caught in time to save her life—maybe, maybe not—I’ll never know.
I do know one thing and that is that all of us have been touched by CANCER. Breast CANCER is different than pancreatic CANCER and they can find the smallest speck of CANCER. I just had my annual breast exam and I have my mammogram scheduled. I’ve only missed one breast exam since in the last thirty-eight years and I’ve never missed an annual mammogram since I turned forty. Please do everything you can to detect breast cancer early for yourself and for everyone who loves you.
Back to my friend’s story: after she left the pizza restaurant, I spent some time thinking about my reaction to her request. At first, I thought it was an odd request and then I felt privileged that she would ask me. After careful consideration, I think a lacy “BLACK BRA” would be perfect. There’s no rule that says you can’t be sexy when you’re having radiation treatments.
FOR MORE INFORMATION ON BREAST CANCER GO TO:
I
miss you, mom!
What does my critique group mean to me? As a writer I often work alone cut off from others. I sit by myself creating these worlds in pencil or on a screen only to erase, delete or move them moments later. Fearing that no one quite understands this quiet part of me, I work and rework every word. Then, with nervous hands I carry my bared self to the group.
And how do they react? Do they judge and disdain this vulnerable part of me? No. Quite the contrary. Instead they listen to my tales thoughtfully. Each giving me feedback and support that pushes me deeper into my true self. I feel like I arrive at my critique group with a mask over my face that hides me from the world. But my friends soon loosen the mask with assurances that the person beneath will have their respect.
Then an amazing thing happens. For a few moments I show a hint of my true face while they guide me toward revealing more and more. I read on.
The mask falls away.
Thank you all for honoring my true face.
Ekphrastic – a work of art about a work of art.
I missed the fourth class; today was my fifth class and it was fun. It started with an EKPHRASTIC poem and we only had seven and half minutes to write it. Our instructor, Diane, gave us the definition of ekphrastic first (thank you). Then we pick a postcard that had a photo of piece of artwork on the other side. There was to peeking until our instructor said, “turn the cards over.”
My postcard had this information on it:
VIEW OF THE CATHEDRAL
Artist – Hollaender
Firenze – Galleria D’Arte Moderna
The picture was an Italian village with a cathedral in the center of the picture. I thought it was extremely depressing and here is my ekphrastic poem:
PISSLESS PALACE
Oh, to be in my tiny apartment
With the view of the cathedral
Makes
Gigantic bugs, dusty floor and stink of urine
Bearable
When sunlight disappears
And, moonlight appears
I see the exquisite shape only
I imagine the clean and sweet smelling
Palace
When sunlight goes
And, darkness descends
I am left with the
Texas six bugs, dust and the piss smell
Oh, to be in the cathedral
Some of the poems were funny and others were very moving. Everyone was looking at something different and they brought different backgrounds to the assignment.
I might not be a poet when I finish this course, but I will have a better vocabulary.
Central Coast Writers’ Conference XXIV at Cuesta College
Lillian Dean First Page Writing Contest
Creative Nonfiction/Memoir, 3rd Place
September 2008
One of the first place winners in the contest jumped onto the stage and breathlessly read her first place entry. That’s how I felt and feel about being the third place winner.
All week long I’ve been saying, to myself, you won.
I don’t think I would have won without my Kritique Kritic friends and the great feedback they give me. My friend, Sandra Jenkins, critiqued my entry and Christine Taylor proofed it.
Thank you everyone.
You can read my winning entry on my website: www.debradavishinkle.kritiquekritics.com
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