Sunny Day

I’m siting on our patio as my son has his morning nap with my Nook and a box of chocolates beside me, and my cat, Six-Toes, sitting at my feet. It is a brilliantly sunny day, though there is a cool wind blowing, but if you sit very still, stretched out on the warm red bricks you barely feel the wind at all. In this moment I am perfectly content and completely present.

Sensory Exercises adapted from: http://www.ehow.com/list_6507941_sensory-writing-activities.html

 

 

1. • Pick a place or room familiar to you. How would you describe it to someone who has never seen it? Write observations that fall into the categories of things, colors, sounds, smells and feelings. Write a description that calls on all the senses or just one or two of your choice.

   Here is an interesting exercise that draws attention to how and why we use different senses in our writing:

   • Bright Hub offers a lesson plan that asks readers to recognize the different senses to which a writer is appealing. Teachers give students crayons or colored pencils in five different colors. One color is assigned to each of the senses. Students go through a piece of writing and circle each sensory description with the appropriate color so they can see how the different senses are used in writing. They can also determine what sensory information is not being used and think about why.

     If you do the above exercise feel free to share what it was like on here. Was it interesting or surprising? Helpful?

 

The dark side of “Your Mother”

Okay, here is what I came up with for the “your mother” exercise. It is dark (as much of my stuff tends to be) and just bursting with abstractions (even though the two quotes that I always try to implement in my poetry are “Go in fear of abstractions” and “No ideas but in things” by Ezra Pound who is probably shaking his finger at me from his grave. Tsk, tsk!). I wrote it not two minutes ago so it is rough and probably terrible but I wanted to put it up anyway because I figure if I’m asking you to I should as well. 😀

Should I preface this poem with some background information? I don’t know. Suffice to say that I have had a conflicted relationship with my mother and often feel that she instilled a lot of mistrust, fear and hesitance to take chances in us. And yet, she loves us dearly. I understand the intricacies of the parent-child relationship and how difficult it can be to “unpack” one’s issues and mitigate their effect on one’s children. She had a rough childhood herself and a bad marriage, so, although I often feel frustration and anger for the perceptions and behaviours that have been instilled in me through a messed up socialization, I also feel sympathy for her. I have to sympathize with her because I know how hard it is not to parent the way that one is parented. My poetry is where I express this frustration.

So, here it is:

Your Mother……

Your mother tells you that if you are afraid

(the fear like an eye cast on the hypothetical

a face turned toward what you are afraid of

the eyes in the back of your head)

then maybe it won’t happen.

She doesn’t tell you this with words

she shows you

her eyes fixed mistrustfully on a stranger

on your father

on men in general

on you

She doesn’t need words with eyes

as expressive as hers

Your mother tells you that to be afraid is to be vigilant.

When you trust you let your guard down

leave your children to the wolves

open yourself up

to pain.

A lack of fear is a lack of love

the more you love your children

the more afraid you are

fear filling you up like flood water

dark and full of danger

churning in your belly making it difficult to eat

or sleep

fear tensing your muscles

bending your back

breaking your heart with all the possibilities

all the ways in which you can experience loss.

Your mother tells you to be afraid

and what she means is, “I love you”.

She brushes your daughter’s cheek

so lovingly

shows her how to be afraid too

as gently as she showed you

until you can see the lessons your daughter has learned

her hesitance, her preoccupation with Grandma

getting old

You reassure her, tell her Grandma is strong

but as you hold her your stomach clenches around your daughter’s words

and they swim around you like debris in flood water

and you are afraid for her.