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Posts from the ‘weekly contest’ Category

Jun 1

2 Comments

6/1 Weekly Creativity Challenge and New Prompt

Lovely “Sunday” entries this week.  Congrats to all!  The favorite is Karen Winter’s beautiful watercolor painting.  Karen writes:

“I painted this little watercolor a while ago on a sunny Sunday,
looking for a way to express the cheeriness of the day and my mood.
It literally was a “sun” day, with the radiant light streaming in the
window and illuminating the still life setup.”

sunday-sunshine karen

 
From Cathy Coley: The best Sundays of my entire life are spent at the beach. Here is May 31, 2009.  S in red, K is Cousin It, and C is the curly girl.

cathy-sunday

From me (Kelly Warren): The girlies and I created these for Sunday PostCard Art.  This week’s theme was “Happy Birthday”.  We enjoyed an art-filled hour together Sunday afternoon.  Our postcards L-R: Sarah, Kelly, Olivia.

Sunday trio 5-31

This week’s prompt: “Celebration”
Use the prompt however you like – literally, or a tangential theme. All media are welcome. Please e-mail your entries to creativereality@live.com by midnight eastern time on Sunday, June 7, 2009.   Writers should include their submission directly in the body text of their e-mail. Visual artists and photographers should attach an image of their work as a jpeg. Enter as often as you like; multiple submissions for a single prompt are welcome. There is no limit to how many times you can win the weekly challenge, either. (You do not have to be a contributor to this blog in order to enter. All are invited to participate.) All submissions are acknowledged when received; if you do not receive e-mail confirmation of receipt within 48 hours, please post a comment here. Remember, the point is to stimulate your output, not to create a masterpiece. Keep the bar low and see what happens. Dusting off work you created previously is OK too. For more info, read the original contest blog post.

May 25

7 Comments

5/25 Weekly Creativity Challenge and New Prompt

Sorry for the delay in getting these up today!  Two tug-at-the-heart entries [check that, three, with a late entry from Miranda added!] this week for “graduate”, and Cathy Coley, the spotlight is yours; what a beautiful reflection. Well done, Mama Cathy!

Graduation

I‘ve spent so much time thinking how odd it is that K will be starting high school next year, that the entire concept that he’s graduating middle school has completely by-passed any mental space I have leftover after S’s day-to-day functioning and Baby C’s needs. That’s what I get for having one independent kid.  Poor guy, I’m so busy handling the others and musing about his future that I completely miss his present.  We’ve been discussing college options since he was four, but I haven’t even bought a sport coat that’ll fit him for three weeks before his arms hang like ape arms out of the sleeves.  I just know the moment he walks across the stage to shake hands with the principal is going to hit me like an oncoming Mac truck.  I’m certain to burst into a blubbering sobs because I have given myself absolutely no emotional preparation for this.  It was just last week that his graduation even made an appearance on the horizon in my head.

This is going to be big – mondo!  This is my first child’s first graduation experience since preschool.  I hate to say it, but I can’t recall a preschool graduation per se.  I think I remember an end of year party.  I asked him, and he doesn’t remember it either. I don’t think there are any pictures.  What happened? That’s a real shame. I don’t think his class had one for kindergarten and I moved him from a K-6 school to a district with a middle school starting in 6th grade at the end of his 5th grade year.  He’s been ripped off.

I don’t know how he flies under my radar so much in an average day of our lives.  I am pre-occupied with finishing the manuscript, and with his younger brother and sister.  He’s pretty quiet and keeps to himself a lot.  Mostly he’s reached an age and gathered friends in the neighborhood so that his primary activity is the ubiquitous teen requisite: hanging out anywhere as long as it’s away from adults.  Sometimes, when he’s in my vicinity, it suddenly occurs to me that days or weeks have gone by with nary a hug.  When he was little, he was the biggest cuddle bunny, constantly against me in full body leans, and taking my face in his little hands to tell me he loves me.  Now I walk up to him in the kitchen, put my arms around his lanky frame, and usually have to take his limp arms and wrap them around me in a bit of tragicomedy.

The truth of the matter is that, while I feel like I’ve always been a parent, he is growing up faster than I could have imagined.  His milestones are more and more like adult milestones, and so my reaction isn’t what is for his thirteen month old sister. His milestones are normalized against his brother’s, which can seem monumental.  And because, even as a little kid, he’s had such a sense of adultness about him, that his milestones come off as givens rather than what they are, which should be remarkable.  Oh, he recognizes the need for common good.  Oh, he’s waxing poetic on the existential nature of God.  Oh, his feet have outgrown mine.  Oh, didn’t I just buy those high water pants last week?  Oh, wait, is that the first hint of a moustache?! Oh, he’s actually interacting with his baby sister.  Oh, he’s consciously choosing to not take this opportunity to fight with his brother.  I should be doing much more than having passing thoughts of his capacity to be a kind, to consider any question of spirituality, to grow like the Bermuda grass in my gardens beyond my control.

And maybe that’s it.  The idea that he is graduating from middle school has come on so suddenly and sharply, because I know the next handful of years will be spent just trying to balance between allowing him to experience the freedoms that come with self-sufficiency, and keeping him safe. Like his toddler sister running to and fro with not enough sleep bonking her head on furniture, I just want to hold him close, not let him fall on his face as he figures out the world of being a young man for himself.  Hopefully I have prepared him well to go at life with abandon, but not so much that he runs headlong into trouble.  And maybe, just a little bit, behind all this wondering about his independence, I’m a little fearful, that as he becomes a man, I know him less than I did when I could easily scoop him up in my arms; that there may be those in his friends, who may know him more.

From Miranda Hersey Helin:

The Graduate

I am sitting in the stylist’s chair
blabbing on about my graduating son
where he will go to college, and what he will study

I am millions of other mothers who have sat in their stylists’ chairs
blabbing on about their graduating sons
where their young men will go to college, and what they will study

I move through this well-worn choreography
a caricature, puppet-like, almost without will of my own

It is the centrifugal force of life experience
the very stuff that gives birth to cliché
And while it makes me squirm, these clichés exist
because they tell truths

And I am living one now.

My firstborn, my son, has finished his classes
and next week will wear a cap and gown
tassel flapping
and walk across the stage
as he walked across the years
to receive a paper that tells him—and the world—
that he has finished something, many things:

high school,
and childhood.

My boy, now nearly grown,
stares up at a wide bright circle of sky
full of promise and unknown
but he is well prepared,
steadfast and strong
present, principled
with an incisive mind and a loyal heart.
I know who he is.

I want to say “I am so proud of you”
but the cliché distracts;
those words are not original enough
to convey real meaning

What I want to say is:
I am proud that you are my son,
for who you are and the way you are
Not because you reflect me,
because you don’t
But you are something better than that;
You are yourself

I dance with the pride of a million mothers
for a million sons, stepping back
in wonder

graduate2

From me (Kelly): I had thought about writing something witty and fun about the graduation of time in our Memorial Day weekend, but after reading Cathy’s poignant entry, it just didn’t seem to fit the bill. Instead, I’ll share a story I wrote last year about this time when my girls graduated from VPK (voluntary pre-kindergarten).

girls_down_the_aisleMilestones…today was the girls’ last day of VPK. Their graduation program was last Thursday night but today was THE LAST DAY! My babies are growing up too quickly. This picture is from their graduation program. I’ve definitely developed “Gushing Emotional Mama Syndrome” over the last week. It started at graduation, watching them up there on stage doing their part in the program. The nine VPK classes were divided into three teams of three classes, each with a special role on the “VPK Graduation Express”. My girls were part of the “caboose”. They sang all the alphabet songs, identified vowels vs consonants, read a short story out loud and sang “Five Miles from Home!”. Before everything started I was a little worried about Livvie. Sarah’s a ham so I knew she’d be fine, but as they were all marching in, Livvie was looking around wide-eyed, thumb in mouth. They walked all the way around the church and then down the center aisle, right where DH and I were sitting, and I was afraid that as soon as she saw us, she’d dart out of line and over to us. But she did great! She didn’t even suck her thumb while they were on stage! I was so proud! Tears they were a-flowing! Yesterday they came home with the most wonderful scrapbooks that Ms. Tammy and Ms. Mary put together for us. The books documented their whole VPK year, including pictures of all their events as well as just general classroom and playground pictures, drawings, writing exercises, the whole shebang. And once again, I had the tears a-falling looking through both books. Ms. Tammy and Ms. Mary are incredible teachers.

This truly was a huge milestone for us, as the girls birth was a bit of a miracle in itself.  They were conceived after a second run of IVF, three years after we learned we lost our first set of twins, also conceived via IVF, two days after my mom died. My girls were born seven weeks early by emergency c-section. I had developed a severe case of pre-eclampsia called HELLP syndrome. I was already high-risk, pregnant with twins at 37, so I was on weekly hospital monitoring for three hours every Monday. That particular Monday my blood pressure was very high, so the nurses really didn’t want to let me go home after my monitoring. I had a regular doctor’s appointment scheduled for the next morning, so I convinced them to let me go home since I’d be seeing “my” doc the next morning. There’s the kicker. My doctor was out of town! When he told me he had to go out of town, I told him, “Don’t you go out of town on me! I’ll have these babies while you are gone!” And he said, “No, you’ll be fine, you’re still seven-eight weeks out!” He hooked me up with a colleague for monitoring while he was gone and that’s who I was scheduled to meet for the first time the next morning. Little Dr. Sunny Kim. Very sweet, tiny little Asian woman. When I went in to see her for the very first time that next morning, she took all my vitals, reviewed the nurse’s notes from the previous day’s monitoring and said she’d be right back. She was gone for what seemed like hours. When she came back in, she sat down in front of me, took my hands in hers, said she had conferred with Dr. Shaykh by phone, and then said, “You are very sick; we have to take these babies now,” and immediately sent me over to the ER for prep. In shock, I called DH and told him he better get there quickly. Then I called my dad. His response was, “You can’t have the babies now! I’m not there!” Typical father! He made it from West Palm Beach to Jacksonville in three and half hours. Apparently he was there by the time I woke up from the surgery, but I don’t remember much.

Sarah was delivered first and, through the miracles of modern medicine, I was still awake at the time. But then Livvie decided she wasn’t ready to face the world. She literally turned around and headed north, getting lodged up in my rib cage. This made it very hard for me to breathe, and I started panicking. All I remember from that point was the nurse anesthetist coming to telling me, “Okay, Kelly, we’re just going to put you to sleep right now; everything will be fine.” DH said things moved very quickly from that point. He probably should have been removed from the room, but I guess with everything happening so quickly, they just didn’t get to that and he got to watch what he now refers to as “Discovery Channel Live”. He said Dr. Kim had to stand up on a stool and press down with all her weight on my chest and upper abdomen to try to push Livvie down. That explained all the soreness and bruising I had in that area when I finally came back to reality. From pictures, I know that the girls were both wrapped up and shown to me before being whisked off to the NICU, but I have no memory of that. For the next two days, I was kept pretty drugged up and on a morphine drip to keep me in bed until they could get my blood-pressure stabilized.

hanging_loose_at_a_10_daysStrangely enough, the only memory I have of those first two and a half days was really wanting to brush my teeth and my dad bringing me the bed pan to brush my teeth in! Dad and DH said they were glad I didn’t see the girls those first two days as they were in pretty bad shape, Livvie in particular. When I was finally allowed out of bed and taken to see them late Thursday night, I felt such a strong mix of emotions: pure joy that they were here, mixed with sadness and fear that they were so very frail, mixed with the first dose of Mama guilt because I couldn’t carry them any longer. They were right at four pounds when they were born and dropped below four pounds for about a week before they finally started gaining a little weight. They are about 10 days old in this picture, and it’s always cracked me up. They seem to be saying to each other, “Oh, Sis, we shouldn’t have had that last bottle last night…I have one heck of a milk hangover”. Sarah was slow and steady with no real issues other than her very small size. Livvie struggled a bit more, undergoing a full blood transfusion at about a week old. I was sent home after five days but had DH or Pops drive me up there every day to sit with them in the NICU until they could come home.

coming_homeTwo steps forward, one step back. That was the nurses’ mantra until the girls could come home, about three weeks later; this picture was taken just before we left the NICU with them for the last time, Sarah on the left, Livvie on the right. I know our story is not unique. I have two very close friends who delivered twins even earlier than I did and spent more grueling weeks than we did in the NICU. That truly is the miracle of modern medicine. Like my girls, Luke and Dylan and Adrian and Christian are all now happy, healthy wonderful little blessings. So we do get to celebrate those milestones, every one of them. And we’re allowed to have “Gushing Emotional Mama Syndrome”, like all Mama’s are. My girls now amaze me every day, the little geniuses that they are (you knew that was coming, didn’t you :-). They’re so smart, and so brave, and so funny, and so sweet, and so beautiful that I often wonder why I was deemed lucky enough to call them mine. We are truly blessed.

This week’s prompt: “Sunday”
Use the prompt however you like – literally, or a tangential theme. All media are welcome. Please e-mail your entries to creativereality@live.com by midnight eastern time on Sunday, May 31, 2009.   Writers should include their submission directly in the body text of their e-mail. Visual artists and photographers should attach an image of their work as a jpeg. Enter as often as you like; multiple submissions for a single prompt are welcome. There is no limit to how many times you can win the weekly challenge, either. (You do not have to be a contributor to this blog in order to enter. All are invited to participate.) All submissions are acknowledged when received; if you do not receive e-mail confirmation of receipt within 48 hours, please post a comment here. Remember, the point is to stimulate your output, not to create a masterpiece. Keep the bar low and see what happens. Dusting off work you created previously is OK too. For more info, read the original contest blog post.

May 13

3 Comments

5/13 Weekly Creativity Challenge and New Prompt

As the only two entries this week, Cathy Coley and Kelly Warren take the prize for perseverence!  🙂  Cathy shared a fun poem, while Kelly wrote an essay of memories. 

From Cathy Coley:

Laughter

My mother has a cackle
to shame crows and grackles.
I inherited it from her.

But even more than the laugh itself
is the ability to laugh out loud
from toes and bellies,
and to spin legendary hilarious stories
from simple mishaps;
to survive, even when surviving
Doesn’t seem like the better option.

But to do so, we laugh.

From me (Kelly):

girls at zooWhen I snapped this picture of my girls and their friends on a recent field trip at the zoo, another picture immediately popped in my head. In my memory, that picture was of my mom and a group of her friends sitting outside their high school. Sometimes Sarah looks so much like my mom as a child, it’s scary. I searched for the picture for days, knowing that I wanted to compare the two, and when I finally found it, I realized it wasn’t of Mom and her friends. It was of Nana and her friends! In my search, however, I came across another group picture of Mom that I don’t ever recall seeing before. It’s funny how a simple picture can tell so many stories and bring back so many memories, while at the same time leave you with so many unanswered questions.

Nana group028Nana looks to be about 14 or 15 in her picture; there’s no date on the back, just “Wimauma High School” in her handwriting.  She’s on the far left, looking much like me, actually.  She would have been 15 in 1941, four years before Mom was born.  What was her life like at 15 in the small town of Wimauma, just outside of Tampa, Florida?  Had she met my Granddaddy yet?  It looks to be summer in the picture, so Pearl Harbor still sat peacefully shining in the Hawaiian sun.  How did she feel when the calendar turned to December 7, 1941?  She had three sisters and a brother.  Did Uncle Oscar go off to war?  He was older than she, so I can only assume he did.  He died before I was born (one of our more colorful family stories as I understand he was murdered running moonshine), but I have many memories of Nana’s sisters, particularly Aunt Livy, my Olivia’s namesake.  At 88 this August, Aunt Livy is my oldest living relative.  I look forward to spending some time with her this summer hearing all the stories of her youth…stories I didn’t think to ask Nana about before she sunk heavily into Alzheimer’s.  Nana died just three weeks after my girls were born, yet if Alzheimer’s can leave you a gift (with a little help from God), it did.  When Aunt Livy went to see her shortly before she died, she told Nana Sarah and Olivia had arrived.  Nana’s response? “Yes, I saw them.  They have the most beautiful red hair.”  She had never seen them.  Memories of grandchildren she never met in life…. 

Brownie Mom027Mom’s group picture is stamped on the back: Girl Scouts, March 12, 1953—Released Official Naval Photograph—If Published Credit Line Must Read “Official U.S. Navy Photograph”.  (There’s your credit, Navy.)  Mom (middle row, fourth from the left) was eight years old. Sarah’s little face peeking out from 1953…  I guess I never really knew Mom was a Girl Scout, but it does make sense since she encouraged me to be one.  I started out in Brownies and worked on up through the Cadet ranks in high school.  What was Mom’s life like in 1953? She was born in Key West, where this photo was taken on the tarmac at the base where my Granddaddy was stationed and spent a good part of his military career until he and Nana were transferred to Naval Air Station Jacksonville in 1969. Mom grew up on that Key West base and met my dad while she was in nursing school in Miami.  I can only imagine what life was like on a tiny little island, the southernmost place in the country, on a Navy base.  I’ve learned bits and pieces of my mom’s childhood, primarily from Aunt Livy and her son/my cousin Ray, who grew up with Mom in Key West.  Mom died way too young so I didn’t get to hear all those stories from her.

I learn my family’s memories through pictures like these….a guesstimation of memories I suppose since I’ve learned so little of the real thing. One of the side effects to being a child of so many divorces?  Perhaps.  You don’t talk too much about family history when your own history as you are living it is so hard to understand. The upside to this is that I can make those memories whatever I dream them to be.  I can make my Nana a wonderful story teller and adventurous soul, as I’ve always guessed her to be by the humor she shared while I was growing up…even in the stories she created while living with Alzheimer’s.  And I can imagine my Mom as a free-spirited little girl running around with her arms flying like the airplanes she must have seen landing and taking off daily on that base, surrounded by friends and laughing.  Always laughing.  And I can learn from them, and use them to create memories for my own children.  And my girls will remember adventure.  And they will remember laughter.  And they will read my stories of them to their red-headed children, creating for them memories of their moms.

This week’s prompt: “Graduate”
Use the prompt however you like – literally, or a tangential theme. All media are welcome. Please e-mail your entries to creativereality@live.com by midnight eastern time on Sunday, May 24, 2009.  Note the submission date change!  You have a few extra days this week and we’ll start posting the contest on Mondays with a little hint from Miranda.  (Great idea, Miranda!)  Writers should include their submission directly in the body text of their e-mail. Visual artists and photographers should attach an image of their work as a jpeg. Enter as often as you like; multiple submissions for a single prompt are welcome. There is no limit to how many times you can win the weekly challenge, either. (You do not have to be a contributor to this blog in order to enter. All are invited to participate.) All submissions are acknowledged when received; if you do not receive e-mail confirmation of receipt within 48 hours, please post a comment here. Remember, the point is to stimulate your output, not to create a masterpiece. Keep the bar low and see what happens. Dusting off work you created previously is OK too. For more info, read the original contest blog post.

May 6

2 Comments

5/6 Weekly Creativity Challenge and New Prompt

Flowers abound in our lovely entries this week!  The favorite is a gorgeous painting from Karen Winters, which blends so beautifully with our new header!  Karen writes:

Descanso Gardens, a renowned botanical garden in my home town of La Canada Flintridge, California, is beautiful in every season. In late spring, when the bulbs and roses are in bloom, it is at its most spectacular. As one of the featured artists at the Descanso gallery, I enjoy painting in the gardens whenever I get the opportunity.

karen-1
The Descanso Rosarium includes roses from around the world – from the earliest wild roses to the latest hybridized AARS shrubs. Some are fragrant, some treasured just for their color or form. I would have a hard time picking a favorite among them. This impressionist landscape focuses on a crepe myrtle bush surrounded by roses and represents late afternoon in the gardens.

From Nina Newton:  Here are a couple of things I’ve been working on this week with May Flowers in mind – actually I’ve been working on the kids for quite some time now, ;o) but love getting pix of them in all kinds of settings. So, when they came in with a bouquet of dandelions for Mama, I just had to take a picture of them!  The other little project is an embellished camisole that I worked on for my Etsy shop, but as I was working on the flowers, I thought I’d share it with you all.  It may not stay this way, as I like to change things up a bit before I’m completely satisfied with the results (maybe flowers all the same color instead of the gold and ivory . . . . . and maybe ivory lace instead of black) I was just thinking about my options.  Here it is for now with my rendition of May Flowers on a little summer top.  Thanks for all the fun, Nina @ Gossamer Wings Studio by mamas*little*treasures.

nina-annie

nina-cami

From Cathy Coley: Just got back from New Orleans and picked the iris, rose and peony from my gardens, thinking of the challenge and taking a photo.  When I put them in the vase together, up popped the idea of three lovely girls so close; what would they say to each other?  Then America’s Next Top Model popped into my head, and here is the result:

Peony, Iris and Rose

Peony, Iris and Rose woke up one morning,
shocked they were in such close proximity. 
Iris piped up first, “Sheesh, you two stink!”
Peony, offended, shrieks,
“Oh, yeah, well, you sure are calling attention
to yourself – wearing purple and yellow together!”
Rose huffs in agreement, “Not a bit of subtlety in taste.”
Peony, throws in “Oh, and shocking pink is so subtle?”
Iris interjects, “Well, at least, I’m not fat.”

cathy-1

From me (Kelly): These flowers grow in the marsh grasses by the water in our area.  I took these just outside our neighborhood seafood dive, Chowder Ted’s (the Cheers of Heckscher Drive), but they also grow all along our back fence line by the river.  The flowers are actually yellow (maybe a saltwater version of dandelions?), but I had fun playing around with them in Photoshop, turning them into an orange watercolor.  We are only five miles from where the river meets the ocean, so our little stretch of paradise is pretty much salt water. 

may-flowers

This week’s prompt: “Memories of Mom”
Use the prompt however you like – literally, or a tangential theme. All media are welcome. Please e-mail your entries to creativereality@live.com by midnight eastern time on Tuesday, May 12, 2009.  Writers should include their submission directly in the body text of their e-mail. Visual artists and photographers should attach an image of their work as a jpeg. Enter as often as you like; multiple submissions for a single prompt are welcome. There is no limit to how many times you can win the weekly challenge, either. (You do not have to be a contributor to this blog in order to enter. All are invited to participate.) All submissions are acknowledged when received; if you do not receive e-mail confirmation of receipt within 48 hours, please post a comment here. Remember, the point is to stimulate your output, not to create a masterpiece. Keep the bar low and see what happens. Dusting off work you created previously is OK too. For more info, read the original contest blog post.

Apr 29

5 Comments

4/29 Weekly Creativity Challenge and New Prompt

Only two entries for our April Showers prompt, and with them comes a welcome back and a congrats to this week’s winner Dale Meister for her lovely necklace, pictured below.  Dale writes: “I have created a necklace inspired by the ‘april showers’ prompt.  I know this isn’t exactly the usual media you get at your blog. I hope this is okay. This is my second time participating, after following the ‘little black dress’ prompt a while back.”  And we’re happy to have any media Dale! 

dale

From me (Kelly): a photo entitled “Marion County Roadside”.  I took this shot last year about this time on the way home from a meeting in Tampa.  I’ve always wavered back and forth between wanting to live my life on the river and wanting to live my life on a horse farm in Ocala.  Some of the most beautiful property in all of Florida is along U.S. 301/441 in Marion County horse country.  I loved how this view captured the rain on the left and the sun on the right at the same time. 

 marion-co-roadside-blog

This week’s prompt: “May flowers” (did you see that one coming?)
Use the prompt however you like – literally, or a tangential theme. All media are welcome. Please e-mail your entries to creativereality@live.com by 10:00 p.m. eastern time (GMT -5) on Tuesday, May 5, 2009.  Writers should include their submission directly in the body text of their e-mail. Visual artists and photographers should attach an image of their work as a jpeg. Enter as often as you like; multiple submissions for a single prompt are welcome. There is no limit to how many times you can win the weekly challenge, either. (You do not have to be a contributor to this blog in order to enter. All are invited to participate.) All submissions are acknowledged when received; if you do not receive e-mail confirmation of receipt within 24 hours, please post a comment here. Remember, the point is to stimulate your output, not to create a masterpiece. Keep the bar low and see what happens. Dusting off work you created previously is OK too. For more info, read the original contest blog post.

Apr 22

6 Comments

4/22 Weekly Creativity Challenge and New Prompt

I was breathless with anticipation (sorry, couldn’t resist) to see this week’s challenge entries. Congrats go out to Nina Newton for her lovely poem. Welcome back, Nina!

Breathless

I don’t know if
            Breathless
Is a good thing or
            A bad thing
While rushing here
            And there
Late for work or
            Picking up the kids . . . .
I’m breathless.

Late at night I worry
            about money, family, time, work
And all day long I worry
            about money, family, time, work
Always searching for a place
            of peace and tranquility
Where life is simply slower,
            and in my quest for tranquility
I’m breathless.

But then I wake and see
            the face of my sleeping child
Or the reflection of the rising sun
            on the placid lake
And gaze into the loving eyes
            of the man who sleeps beside me
I silently pray that this will be
            forever our sacred place . . . .
I’m breathless –

At the wonder of life,
           the heartache and the moments
Of amazing, joyous, miraculous love
           and there I choose to stay
Remembering every breath and every touch,
          the gift of love, family, and life . . . .
I seek this place of peace while enduring the
          pain of brokenness that sometimes makes me
Breathless.

From Cathy Coley:

Magnolia

Tough cutting through the thicket of
Bermuda and Centipede grass tangles
that have invaded my lawn.
I switch shovels from the
square blade to the pointed,
point the tip in, stand on the back edge
and wiggle the tall handle side to side.
Strange pogo stick
slowly breaks the blade’s passage through
illegitimate immigrants taking over my lawn
of fescu and Kentucky blue
having not the strength
I must use my weight for leverage.

Clumps eventually separate,
I grab with both hands and pull
with all my might to break
the last stubborn runners and roots.
I turn the lawn and weed clumps roots up
earth brown, delicate, vulnerable in the sun
Surround the beginnings of the hole
Create a ring of clay with wispy tendrils.
The hole widens, rounds, reveals
the new home for the magnolia.

Switch shovels back to square,
which scoops the loose wads of clay
left from my struggle.
Pile to one side within the ring.
Step, hop out, stand back to survey,
Straighten my bad back briefly.
Remove a glove, the sweatshirt,
readjust my bra,
squint into the sun
before moving on.

Glove back on, sweatshirt tied
around my waist,
I grab hold of the tree by its base,
turn it on its side.
Give the thin plastic pot
a few punishing kicks and swats
before yanking it from the root ball
of my new tree.

She’s heavier than I thought,
but I can handle her.
Roll her in, stand her up, thump her in.
Forego the shovels,
spread by hand the looser dirt
before flipping the clumps of lawn,
place strategically around the young trunk
puzzling them back into place
where place has changed.

I straighten up, stand back,
survey if she stands straight.
Straight enough is good enough for me.
Breathless, squinting
I see the first pink to white buds
readying to bloom.
They look unsure,
but change is good.

From me (Kelly): I captured this shot Sunday evening, and it was the actual capturing of it that made me “breathless”.  I’ll have more details on my blog today. 

beholder

This week’s prompt: “April showers”
Use the prompt however you like – literally, or a tangential theme. All media are welcome. Please e-mail your entries to creativereality@live.com by 10:00 p.m. eastern time (GMT -5) on Tuesday, April 28, 2009.  Writers should include their submission directly in the body text of their e-mail. Visual artists and photographers should attach an image of their work as a jpeg. Enter as often as you like; multiple submissions for a single prompt are welcome. There is no limit to how many times you can win the weekly challenge, either. (You do not have to be a contributor to this blog in order to enter. All are invited to participate.) All submissions are acknowledged when received; if you do not receive e-mail confirmation of receipt within 24 hours, please post a comment here. Remember, the point is to stimulate your output, not to create a masterpiece. Keep the bar low and see what happens. Dusting off work you created previously is OK too. For more info, read the original contest blog post.

Apr 15

3 Comments

4/15 Weekly Creativity Challenge Winner and New Prompt

Can you smell the fresh air and green grass of the farm? Three submissions this week, with the winner being Cathy Coley for her poem that I think all mothers can easily relate to.   Congrats Cathy!

I farm out tasks,
unsuccessfully.
The kids ignore,
the husband groans.

Would it be different
if we lived on a farm?
Would the chores be done
Simply because
The cow will moan
The rooster crow
The hens cluck
And the fields
Grow wild, inedible.

If they had to get it themselves,
Would they eat besides sugar
Would they pick the sun hot
Tomatoes, carrots, wash them
And eat?

Or would they wither
Away to bones
Naked
no laundry done
Because I’ve mastermind
my escape?

From Karen Winters, a beautiful painting titled “Peacefull Valley Farm”: California’s rich farmland is disappearing as open spaces once filled by family farms are bought up and developed. In places fruit groves are seen dying, unattended, and signs are posted announcing that new homes are coming. The burst of the real estate bubble will probably change that, but the farms won’t likely return. Still, in California’s great central valley there are fields as far as the eye can see. It’s no wonder that California has often been called the Salad Bowl of America.

california-farm-painting-b

From Kelly Warren, a photo titled “Family Reunion”: On my late February jaunt to photograph my Harvey Collection series, I also came across a field of very friendly cows. When I pulled over to the side of the road near their pasture, they all immediately headed straight over to check me out, hoping for a nibble, I’m sure. But when I started photographing them, their true model side came out and they all garnered for front and center camera space. They were quite fun to talk to!

family-reunion

This week’s prompt: “Breathless”
Use the prompt however you like – literally, or a tangential theme. All media are welcome. Please e-mail your entries to creativereality@live.com by 10:00 p.m. eastern time (GMT -5) on Tuesday, April 21, 2009.  Writers should include their submission directly in the body text of their e-mail. Visual artists and photographers should attach an image of their work as a jpeg. Enter as often as you like; multiple submissions for a single prompt are welcome. There is no limit to how many times you can win the weekly challenge, either. (You do not have to be a contributor to this blog in order to enter. All are invited to participate.) All submissions are acknowledged when received; if you do not receive e-mail confirmation of receipt within 24 hours, please post a comment here. Remember, the point is to stimulate your output, not to create a masterpiece. Keep the bar low and see what happens. Dusting off work you created previously is OK too. For more info, read the original contest blog post.

Apr 8

4 Comments

4/9 Weekly Creativity Challenge Winner and New Prompt

We’ve been reaching for beautiful things this week! (and I’m new to this WordPress editing system, so bear with me!) Four great entries, but the challenge winner this week is Carmen Torbus with her gorgeous painting titled “Reach”.  Carmen said, “This is my favorite painting and it’s perfect for this week’s creative contest!”.  Yes, indeed, Carmen, congrats!

reach-carmen3

From Cathy Coley, a haiku…

Reach

My baby drops it,

I bend over to reach it,

and get stuck that way.

From Bec Thomas, a photograph titled “Reaching Up”.  Bec also has a nice tag line in her email: “The camera doesn’t make a bit of difference. All of them can record what you are seeing. But, you have to SEE.” Ernst Haas

reaching-high3

And from me (Kelly), a photograph titled “Reaching Out”, a photo I took while walking around downtown St. Petersburg, FL, early one morning in back in February while I was there for our state student government conference. 

reaching4

This week’s prompt: “Farm”
Use the prompt however you like – literally, or a tangential theme. All media are welcome. Please e-mail your entries to creativereality@live.com by 10:00 p.m. eastern time (GMT -5) on Tuesday, April 14, 2009.  Writers should include their submission directly in the body text of their e-mail. Visual artists and photographers should attach an image of their work as a jpeg. Enter as often as you like; multiple submissions for a single prompt are welcome. There is no limit to how many times you can win the weekly challenge, either. (You do not have to be a contributor to this blog in order to enter. All are invited to participate.) All submissions are acknowledged when received; if you do not receive e-mail confirmation of receipt within 24 hours, please post a comment here. Remember, the point is to stimulate your output, not to create a masterpiece. Keep the bar low and see what happens. Dusting off work you created previously is OK too. For more info, read the original contest blog post.

Apr 1

10 Comments

Weekly Creativity Challenge Back in Action!

Though I don’t participate every week, I didn’t want to see this go, so I volunteered to take it over for Miranda with a couple changes.  Since I can’t commit to the $10 weekly gift certificate (Miranda, you rock!), let’s change it from “contest” to “challenge.”  Everything else will work basically the same. Sound like a plan?

This week’s theme is “reach.”  Use the prompt however you like — literally, or a tangential theme. All media are welcome. Please e-mail your entries to creativereality@live.com by 10:00 p.m. eastern time (GMT -5) on Tuesday, April 7, 2009.  Writers should include their submission directly in the body text of their e-mail. Visual artists and photographers should attach an image of their work as a jpeg. Enter as often as you like; multiple submissions for a single prompt are welcome.  You do not have to be a contributor to this blog in order to enter; all are invited to participate. All submissions are acknowledged when received; if you do not receive e-mail confirmation of receipt within 24 hours, please post a comment here. Remember, the point is to stimulate your output, not to create a masterpiece. Keep the bar low and see what happens. Dusting off work you created previously is OK too. For more info, read the original contest blog post.

Mar 25

5 Comments

3/25 Weekly creativity contest winner

“Spring equinox” seems like a fitting contest prompt, seeing as we’ll be taking a little hiatus from the weekly contest: change and renewal. Beautiful entries this week — enjoy!

Our winner is Rebecca Coll. Rebecca writes: “As soon as saw what the prompt was for this week, I knew exactly what I was going to do… a dos-à-dos binding. This is a particular bookbinding technique that binds two books together with a shared ‘back’ cover. The two books are therefore both individual and half of a greater whole, much the same as the equinox: equal night. Half night, half day. Following are photos of my equinox-inspired dos-à-dos journal. Two books, each with six signatures (sections) to represent the six months from equinox to equinox, bound together to make one year-long diary. Each signature has 32 pages, which is approximately one page per day (you have to have multiples of 4 when bookbinding, so I couldn’t get the math to work out perfectly). Both ‘books’ are bound in leather with bookcloth onlays and the spines sewn in a button-hole technique using both green and brown cord — for spring and fall. The vernal equinox book is in blue leather with a colorful graphic depicting spring. The autumnal equinox book is bound in black suede (leather glued on backwards with the ‘soft’ side showing). The cover of this book shows a tree having lost it’s leaves. Together with both books one can record a year’s worth of memories: equinox to equinox.” Wow, is all I can say, Rebecca! An absolutely brilliant interpretation of the prompt. Your $10 amazon.com gift certificate has been issued.

dos-a-dos

darkside

blueside

 

From Cathy Coley:

Spring Equinox

The camellias are a winter bloom,
usually December, but this year
they bloomed in March. The ground
didn’t freeze until then,
and one shot of snow
moved the blooms to the Equinox.
The two red bushes dominate
and make the white one blush
as daffodils struggle,
and crocus never awoke.

The season of waking,
My daughter begins to walk
while first blooms of burgeoning
mingle my teen son’s drawing away
and drawing toward
the streets and halls filled
with cucumber perfumed
tresses and new curves
unsweatered,
scent of new skin.
3192009spring-015

 

From Karen Winters: “Malibu Creek Afternoon Hike,” 12 x 16 oil on canvas. Karen writes:

“This new landscape oil painting celebrates the arrival of spring in the Santa Monica Mountains in Malibu Creek State Park, one of my favorite local inspirations. The hills will only stay this beautiful green color for a short while but it’s glorious while it lasts. Soon, the greens will dry to a golden brown, and the desert look will be revealed. I learned something interesting about Southern California’s desert nature while watching a show on geology a little while ago. Before the Sierra Nevada range formed due to compression of the North American and Pacific tectonic plates, California received abundant summer rainfall, just like the rest of what is now the United States. When the mountain range rose, this changed weather patterns and So. Cal became a desert. To get the rain back we’ll have to wait quite some time for the mountains to age. But since the plates continue to compress and mountains continue to rise, that’s not going to happen anytime soon. Perhaps one day we’ll have Californian Alps or Himalayan-size peaks. I won’t be around to paint them, but I can imagine that they’ll look wonderful in springtime.”

malibu-creek-painting-b

 

dsc05371From Jen Johnson: “As I was thinking about this week’s prompt, I found myself reflecting on hibernation, awaking to sunshine. This week I’m also in the thick of preparations for my son’s fourth birthday (his party is Saturday and his actual birthday is March 31st). My little boy loves all things serpentine — two of his most significant attachment objects are rubber snakes that he has named ‘Stuxey’ and ‘The Other Stuxey.’ I knew I wanted to make my son something special for his birthday, and so all these things combined to inspire this morning’s project: ‘Spring’ the snake. ‘Spring’ is made from fleece, which is a fairly new material for me; I find it is very forgiving and I’m enjoying working with it! dsc05370She is the second stuffy that I’ve made from my own pattern. The stripes were the most fun! I brought her outside to take advantage of the sunshine for the picture, and happily our overgrown oxalis provided a suitable backdrop. (Wouldn’t be spring out here without the oxalis explosion!) And for a more literary –- and literal — approach to this week’s prompt, you can check out my blog post on the Equinox itself: an old poem that I found in the files. It’s posted here.”

 

This weekly contest has been a real pleasure, everyone. Please keep those creative juices flowing, and don’t feel shy about sending your creative endeavors in for posting. We love random acts of creativity!

In case you missed any of the prompts we’ve had during the past 47 weeks, here’s the list, ordered from most recent to oldest:

1.    Spring equinox
2.    Map
3.    Dance
4.    Light
5.    Eyes
6.    Box
7.    Cookies
8.    Clock
9.    Hope
10.   Wool
11.    Snow
12.    Stars
13.    Noel
14.    Gift
15.    Waiting
16.    Fire
17.    Thanksgiving
18.    Silver
19.    Quilt
20.    Self-portrait
21.    Hands
22.    Dream
23.    Apples
24.    Tears
25.    Autumn
26.    The notebook
27.    Dinnertime
28.    The guitar
29.    My favorite shoes
30.    Sunflowers
31.    The wedding
32.    Chocolate
33.    Circles
34.    Vacation
35.    Beauty
36.    Chinese restaurant
37.    My mother’s house
38.    Independence Day
39.    Wings
40.    At 3:00 am
41.    Margaritas
42.    The crows
43.    The ocean
44.    The last time you kissed me
45.    Little black dress
46.    A cup of coffee
47.    View from the window

Mar 18

5 Comments

3/18 Weekly creativity contest winner & new prompt

Musical intro for this week’s contest post: “Get out the map, get out the map and lay your finger anywhere down. We’ll leave the figuring to those we pass on the way out of town.” (Lyrics from one of my favorite Indigo Girls songs.)

Several lovely entries for this week’s creativity contest. The winner is Brittany Vandeputte, who is clearly entering the freakishly creative phase. Brittany, we all want to know where your creative mojo is coming from!

Brittany writes: “I had fun with this one Miranda! This week’s entry is a paper doll. My best friend (who’s Australian) and her family are coming to the US next month. I haven’t seen her since 1994 and have never met her three-year-old daughter, Mackenzie. They are planning a coast-to-coast, two-month whirlwind tour of the country and the prompt made me think of them immediately. I wondered if there would be any way to help Mackenzie orient herself, and teach her a little bit about what she was seeing in the process. I was struck with this idea to commemorate each of the stops on their trip.”

Here is Brittany’s description of the images she sent in:

  • The doll’s body is made from an Apian Compass Rose (with the face of a porcelain doll I found online).
  • Her first dress is made from a map of North America. With it, as well as the others, I let natural boundaries shape the design.
  • The second dress is a topographical map of Mt. Ranier.
  • The third is a geologic map of SC.
  • The fourth is the park map of Disney World.
  • The fifth is a satellite map of California.
  • And the sixth commemorates the ports we’ll visit on the cruise we’ll meet on — and is a world atlas map of the Caribbean Sea.”

bv_dolls

 

From Jen Johnson: “I have to say, as I pondered this week’s prompt, I kept coming back to Elizabeth Bishop’s take on ‘The Map,’ which I’ve always admired immensely.  With that in the forefront of my mind, I found myself quite unable to come up with something new.  I especially admire her gentle query: ‘Are they assigned, or can the countries pick their colors?’ (Here’s a copy of the poem, if you’re not familiar with it.) So I’d all but given up on having a submission, but then I remembered a VERY old poem, written in a light-yet-serious mood in the early years of my marriage. So I’m sending it in, just for fun. Looking forward to what others have this week!”

Poem, as I Try to Put Pieces Together

“She likes to stretch from England to Brazil,”
you say, while fingering a cardboard piece
of ocean, land, or sky. I hold it still
between our fingers, as I match the crease
that curves from blue to green along the edge
with several jagged gaps here in the map.

Because the cat refused to move, I wedge
the piece we hold into an empty gap
beneath her grey and furry tail. “It’s land.
It fits. Now Britain is complete,” I say.
Of course I realize the notion’s grand,
misleading, silly. For there is no way
this puzzle will complete a single thing.

Much less the world. In fact, I feel like Greek
Penelope–by day the pieces cling
together, but by night I let them seek
destruction of the pattern. Them? The cats.

I swear they’re planning feline schemes to tear
the world apart–two fuzzy democrats
demanding equal rights, each her own chair,
our full attention. Yes, when we are through
with playing god, with this our paper world,
I’m sure our world will have a hole or two;
these cats will sit with tails all tucked and curled
into a satisfied I told you so,
and they will never tell where pieces hide.

So we will forget missing Morocco,
holes in Antarctica, each gap we tried
to remember to fill. Perhaps someday
we will find dusty pieces in corners.
For now we will tear up the bluish-grey
oceans to pieces of paper waters,
break England apart, put bits of Brazil
in a cracked, cardboard box in a closet,
and we will map out each other, until
we find room for cats, chaos, and secret
blank holes in the puzzle. Oh, yes. We will.

 

From Cathy Coley: “i think it’s done. thanks for the inspiration. honestly, this could be a whole memoir full of adventures!”

Maps
I grew up on what seems like one long road trip. Summers spent boiling in the back of a station wagon throughout the Seventies and beyond in both directions in time, back into the Sixties and up into the Eighties. Mom’s Parliaments’ and later those long brown Mores’ smoke blown into the back seat by the cracked window, rather than out it, as her theory dissolved in practice. She never listened to us when we said we couldn’t breathe or were getting carsick from the lack of viable oxygen. She would pop the still burning butt out the window before vacuum sealing the tiny wing window which made our ears constrict and burst from the pressure, especially when we took a mountain route. Hands over my ears, I watched the fiery butt fly by, sending off sparks at seventy-five miles per hour or more, and imagined the kids in the back of the pickup behind us, or the couple in the convertible, or the cut-away hood of a suped-up hot-rod, or the dry roadside grasses and trash bursting into flames, ignited by my mother’s careless discard. But it was the Seventies, and even with the crying native public service announcements and ‘give a hoot, don’t pollute’ campaigns on television, the roadways were littered from car windows far more than my mother’s butts, and I believe everyone’s mother smoked. There’s a certain smell I still smell in certain roadside stops in Virginia, of old cigarettes, linoleum and sealed in broken down air-conditioning, barbeque, hot dog, melting chocolate, Cheetos, Coppertone, pork rinds, potato chips, Coca-cola, Mr. Pibb, birch beer, bologna, egg salad, and old sweat that brings me right back to my childhood. It’s not a great aroma, but it is the perfume of my youth, travelling southward, circa 1976.

My extended family lived in Georgia and Florida, and a few in North Carolina on my father’s side. My parents were traitors who had crossed the Mason-Dixon Line to raise their family. We were the first generation in at least three hundred years, on both sides, and cousins of Robert E. Lee. My younger brother, born in Connecticut was ‘that damn Yankee’ as dubbed by my maternal grandfather and uncles. So we travelled every summer to visit the rest of us Down South. We did so for some Christmases, too. Preparations for the trip included long consultations with Rand-McNally on our kitchen counter, flipping the pages from state to state to determine the best route this time. Would we take a more coastal route and stop over in Virginia Beach or other resort beach zone? Or is the mountain route through the Blue Ridge on Skyline drive our preference this time? Maybe an altered western route across the Smokeys instead, so we can stop over at my father’s old Georgia Tech fraternity brother’s place in North Carolina, rather than with Great Aunt Alma and Uncle Jack, who had a 1922 Model A Ford with an A-Ooga! horn to squeeze and a houseful of antiques.

First we rode in our old Oldsmobile Vista Cruiser with the windows on top, I would lay down in the ‘way back’ or in the back seat and stare up at the passing clouds and stars and wave to the truckers high up in their perches at the front of their megatons of steel and whatever they hauled inside, so they’d blow their horns as they passed. We had these windows in the car ceiling way before the concept of a sunroof came into fashion. After that car’s engine blew, with my mother, younger brother and me in the car, downtown, hometown, Connecticut with real estate agents chasing after us yelling “Fire!” the day before one of our journeys, the dealership lent us a green station wagon that stopped running smack-dab in the middle of the Delaware Memorial Bridge. My father coasted in neutral from hovering over a river past New Jersey, and drifted us onto the roadside with minimal embankment in Delaware. I remember lunching on boiled eggs and hot Peter Pan peanut butter and Welch’s Grape Jelly sandwiches, chased by Coca-cola, and Wise potato chips, for what seemed like hours, as I already needed to go to the bathroom before the bridge, as we waited for the Triple A guy to tow us somewhere for repair. The whir-whizz constant of traffic so much louder and the wind from each vehicle’s pass nearly knocked me over. I was always a puny kid. My mother often said she was sure I would blow away in a strong wind one of these days.

After that trip, my parent’s purchased a Pontiac Grand Safari station wagon with a 455 V-8 and plenty of walnut-grained vinyl veneer. This station wagon lasted us through many more trips, and my high school driving years, when I’d pile all my friends and then some into it to party-hop all over town at whoever’s parents were out of town for the weekend, and have everyone back before my curfew, drunk as skunks, but home safe at a decent hour. Their mothers all loved me. I, however, was straight and in by midnight, mom waiting up, cigarette burning next to her, while she dozed by the light of the television, waiting for me to check in, check my breath, with a ‘goodnight, mom’ kiss on her cheek before heading upstairs.

But that Pontiac Grand Safari with the 455 V-8 lead us to Georgia and Florida and back, mountain routes, coastal routes, down to Orlando where my paternal grandmother lived, Ft Lauderdale and Daytona Beach for fun in the sun, and even gulf-side to Panama City Beach. It carried us on trips to Maine and Vermont for skiing and all the way down the East Coast, hot as blazes, crayons melting in the floorboard with the chocolate. I remember stopping in Pennsylvania Dutch Country, Myrtle Beach, you name it, if it was in Eastern Standard Time, we saw it as kids. My father was never too keen on stopping anywhere for too long, and if we wanted a side trip, one of us navigated from the atlas in our lap, flipping pages from state to state, squeezed in the middle of that front bench seat between Mom and Dad. The other two, listening to The Eagles in the way back, on the Panasonic handheld pushbutton tape recorder, with nothing to do but pretend to be Bonnie and Clyde on the lam from the coppers, read, doodle or watch the trees, cows, hills, cars and sky go by for hours and days on end at a steady 75 miles per hour.

 

From me (Miranda): I recently listened to this old podcast interview with Keri Smith, which got me thinking about the creative inheritance of childhood. Lately I’ve been thinking about work that links to my past. The piece I created for the map prompt is about documenting my creative birthright; my origins (the map is of a town in England that was one of my early homes) and what I was given by my mother, who is what I could call reflexively creative. The past can been seen as a map from which we navigate the future. The sunflower is a personal icon of sorts, and in this instance echoes the compass icon used on many maps. This piece isn’t quite what I set out to do, but it is what it is. (Kind of like me.)

creative_birthright_lo_res

 

This week’s prompt: “Spring Equinox”
Use the prompt however you like — literally, or a tangential theme. All media are welcome. Please e-mail your entries to creativereality@live.com by 10:00 p.m. eastern time (GMT -5) on Tuesday, March 24, 2009. The winning entry receives a $10 gift certificate to amazon.com. Writers should include their submission directly in the body text of their e-mail. Visual artists and photographers should attach an image of their work as a jpeg. Enter as often as you like; multiple submissions for a single prompt are welcome. There is no limit to how many times you can win the weekly contest, either. (You do not have to be a contributor to this blog in order to enter. All are invited to participate.) All submissions are acknowledged when received; if you do not receive e-mail confirmation of receipt within 24 hours, please post a comment here. Remember, the point is to stimulate your output, not to create a masterpiece. Keep the bar low and see what happens. Dusting off work you created previously is OK too. For more info, read the original contest blog post.

Mar 11

5 Comments

3/11 Weekly creativity contest winner & new prompt

Care to dance? A lovely array of submissions for this week’s creativity contest. Our winner is Cynthia Platt, for a beautiful poem. Cynthia sent in this lovely note: “Here’s an entry for you for the ‘Dance’ category. Dancing has always been a big — and joyful — part of my life. Now it’s joyful part of my nearly-three-year-old daughter’s life, too. Thanks for taking a read, and for hosting the blog, which I read, and take inspiration from, regularly!” Congratulations, Cynthia. Your $10 amazon.com gift certificate has been issued.

Dance Party

Last night we had a dance party.
A dance party
used to mean something
concrete to me.
Late nights,
flashing lights,
speakers pumping out
bass at outrageous decibels.
I am older now, though,
and she is so young.
Early nights have replaced late,
a brightly lit living room has displaced
the dark, pulsing club.
Last night, her music played
sweet and low and lovely.
I am older now,
and she is so young.
The three of us danced
around the living room,
laughing.
“It’s a dance party, Mummy!” she trilled,
joy suffusing her voice.
And it was.
Last night we had a dance party.
A dance party means something concrete to me.

 

From Jen Johnson, a fabulous sonnet: “Submitting an oldie-but-goodie this week, something that came immediately to mind with the ‘dance’ prompt. It was written back when I was in my sonnet phase and really fascinated with poetic form and structure. (A fascination that I still have, though these days I have less of the required focus to put it into practice!) The idea originally sparked when I realized that the nursery rhyme for which it is named has fourteen words — so I wanted to see how it would work as an ‘acrostic sonnet.’ The term refers to the fact that this can be read two ways: top to bottom, like an acrostic, by reading the first words of each line ‘down’ the poem; and also left to right, like a typical poem.”

Ashes, Ashes — We All Fall Down

Ring me round with laughing children, dancing
around and around in the pale daffodils,
the yellow, nodding flowers chancing spring.
Rosy sky wipes wet hands down her skirts, spills
pockets brimming with sultry, heavy air.
Full puddles standing in the glossy street
of gravel-gilded pavement call for bare
posies of children’s toes — pink, tiny, sweet.

Ashes of memory, now — bitter, gray.
Ashes only, no longer the burning.
We slog through this muddy field on May Day,
all alone, sodden socks blistering, yearning.

Fall just once to your naked knees. Stumble
down and stop. Now rise, kindled and humble.

 

From Cathy Coley: “So, when I saw ‘dance’ was the prompt, I knew I could take this in a 1,000 different directions. However, very quickly the idea of dancing on my father’s feet as a little girl, and Baby C dancing on her Daddy’s feet popped up strongly and quickly from the bottom of that full pool. Unfortunately, I couldn’t get good light, dh and baby together all at once since last Wednesday. This is the result of the photos, which I had hoped would inspire a generational poem or something. Alas, bad photos don’t make for good inspiration, especially on Tuesday morning staring at the day’s deadline. But it was great to remember how I felt as a little girl dancing on my father’s feet. And I got a nice shot in of Daddy kissing his girl.”

babycdancing

 

From me (Miranda): When I was in high school, I won a competition for designing the T-shirts and sweatshirts for an annual dance event. (The win was one of about two happy moments related to my high school years.) I loved drawing in pen and ink, an interest that I inherited from my mother, who supplied me with a homemade light box. The final design is packed in a box somewhere in my attic, but I do have some similar sketches around somewhere — alas I spent nearly an hour tearing apart my just-unpacked house in search of the scrap of paper I was looking for, to no avail.

danceI have a weakness for images of dancers. I’ve always admired the beauty of a high arch. Many dancers have exquisite feet — and many non-dancers have exquisite feet, too. Whenever I notice a person with exceptional arches, I can’t help but ask if she’s a dancer. Unless someone is willing to intentionally point her feet for you (which is a bit awkward to ask of a stranger), the only way to really assess her arches is to casually observe her foot when it’s extended — say, if she’s sitting on the floor with her legs out straight, one crossed over the other, which tends to force a gentle pointing of the foot. Or, if someone is sitting in a chair cross-legged and has a natural turnout, you might be able to observe her arch when she absently points her foot during conversation. Not that I am utterly obsessed with feet or anything, really! Despite many years of ballet, and dancerly aspirations, I do not have beautiful arches — as you can tell from this photo of me en pointe. Just not that impressive. (Good thing that “arch augmentation” isn’t something that most plastic surgeons offer, or I’d have done it by now.)

I still remember the smell of new toeshoes with fondness — that intoxicating perfume of glue, leather, and satin. While I don’t consider myself a stage mother, I admit that I did drag my daughter to ballet lessons at the age of 5. Ballet just wasn’t her thing, however. She never cared for it, so I let it go after a few weeks. Now, I peruse my old copy of Allegra Kent’s The Dancer’s Body Book and Suzanne Farrell’s autobiography, hoping to manifest a little grace in my life, even with my regular old, Plain Jane arches. (Photo credit Jack Foley.)

 

This week’s prompt: “Map”
Use the prompt however you like — literally, or a tangential theme. All media are welcome. Please e-mail your entries to creativereality@live.com by 10:00 p.m. eastern time (GMT -5) on Tuesday, March 17, 2009. The winning entry receives a $10 gift certificate to amazon.com. Writers should include their submission directly in the body text of their e-mail. Visual artists and photographers should attach an image of their work as a jpeg. Enter as often as you like; multiple submissions for a single prompt are welcome. There is no limit to how many times you can win the weekly contest, either. (You do not have to be a contributor to this blog in order to enter. All are invited to participate.) All submissions are acknowledged when received; if you do not receive e-mail confirmation of receipt within 24 hours, please post a comment here. Remember, the point is to stimulate your output, not to create a masterpiece. Keep the bar low and see what happens. Dusting off work you created previously is OK too. For more info, read the original contest blog post.

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