Thank you for hosting my launch tour today, Robbie. I’m thrilled to be here to share my new book with your friends. During the launch tour, I want to talk about memoir writing. Here is my topic for today. How did I write my memoir? Collecting data During my fifty-three weeks of the cancer journey, […]
I did not start out thinking I’d like, too, to plant the sweet alyssum that smells like honey and peace.
But now, as we gather to honor and remember I can see how it would have added to the heady, live perfume of the garden and to the much appreciated diversion.
It was all still so raw, still so new. The whips of conversations –
“…What the hell was he doing on a motorcycle at his age?…” “…He was living his life…”. “…I still can’t believe he’s gone…”, “…you know how he is, was…”
blending with talks about the scents that filled our senses as we fiddled with the blooms. Taking turns with the butterflies, and bees.
This felt surreal.
As it turned out, this gathering in this place of sweet diversions did bring with it a certain peace. For this, I was grateful.
Pat
9/13/2022
For dVerse where the prompt is to use
“I’d like, too, to plant the sweet alyssum that smells like honey and peace.”
In mid tumble it swayed sideways. It looked like a butterfly, but there betrayal came in the landing. A falling yellow leaf is what it was. But, for a moment, it was pure joy to watch. At least I could see it. It’s better than chasing a memory that remains illusive. One that I still haven’t been able to bring into full focus.
Now, through the deep caves of thought I hear a voice that sings..I listen closely. Along with the voice were melancholy strains from a horn played by the likes of Miles or Coletrane.
I should know this, I do know this. I close my eyes and surf the notes, willing and carefree. It’s laced with a hint of the blues. Maybe not remembering this title is a gift. Because I would just play it over, and over again, to what end?
Through the deep caves of thought I hear a voice that sings:— –by Oliver Wendell Holmes Sr., from The Chambered Nautilus.
This line is to be incorporated into a piece of prose over at dVerse Poets Pub. The deadline to submit to the prompt has come and gone. But I’m now posting it to OLN ( open link night) To check out what’s going on over there go to the link above. A good weekend to all.
On this night, in this sky soothing in its quiet and beauty
solitudes wish fulfilled.
Pat R
10/20/20
For dVerse Poets Pub where I chose the following five “charms” of Samuel Greenberg as per instructions for the prompt where Laura Bloomsbury is hosting Poetics. We are looking at the poetry of Samuel Greenberg. To participate or read, go here.
The following are the words incorporated in my poem: Yellow dreams; Accuracy; Consumed moon; Painted mirth; Solitudes wish
They are from his poem “The pale Impromptu” by Samuel Greenberg.
Like most homes with kids, bedtime meant stories. In our house, it was tall tales and ghost stories told by my dad.
Learning how to cast shadow puppets against the wall, and tales of shooting and twinkling stars were my favorites. Especially if we had just seen it from the varandah before bedtime. Then, there were the magical tales of the moon. Always the moon.
Ellie and Portia always wanted to know why did the cow jump over the moon? Also, what was the man in the moon doing while this was happening? To this my dad always had an answer, a different one everytime, and more fantastical than the last. Ellie and Portia would get really quiet. Those two – “…In their dreams they sleep with the moon… “
Pat R
9/15/20
For Prosery Monday over at dVerse Poets Pub hosted by Merril where the rule is to use this line in your prose, no alterations, in no more that 144 words.
She is not one to say it often. I’m not sure why that is. Maybe she doesn’t know how, never learned how. Maybe she’s just not good at it.
My mom has been on her own, for the most part since she was thirteen. Her mom died one morning as she was readying her daughters for school.
I’m thinking since then, she has had issues with god / creator for letting such a catastrope befall her and her younger sister.
Some things trickle down, whether it was meant to or not.
I am no good at love. Most times leave me feeling like a lunatic, if not acting like one.
But, I keep an open heart. Even so, “I don’t know why I was surprised every time love started or ended.” I guess in a cock-eyed sorta of way, I believe in love.
Pat R
3/17/20
Over at dVerse Poets Pub the prompt is to write prose (keeping it tight at no more than 144 words) and to include the line below:-
“I don’t know why I was surprised every time love started or ended.”
I am trying this for the first time. A challenge posted over at hbhanager.wordpress.com
Stop over for further reading on the prompt, quite an interesting premise, could be fun:) It’s called a two phrase story. The prompt phrase for this week is “…and in a puff…” to be completed however you’d like.
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