Saturday, October 17, 2015

Writers' Group - Great work - Welcome back Beatriz! - My new poem: My Dog Pal

We  - well, me - joked about Carly doing 'coloring' with colored pencils. She said it's a nice respite from her life as a house manager at Gloria Dei Farms.

Carly - aka Carlana Fee Brown - wrote a perfectly lovely limerick per Beatriz's wish.

"A Limerick with a Buzz," though Floyd questioned if bees have knees.

They do, if you want them to.

Double to read Carly's poem. 

Edward Lear was a master of the limerick.

There was an Old Man with a beard,
Who said, 'It is just as I feared!
Two Owls and a Hen,
Four Larks and a Wren,
Have all built their nests in my beard!'

Image result for limerick power plant

Someone quipped that living around here, Limerick is the site of a nuclear power plant in Pottstown, PA

Okay, let's get on with the show.

Beatriz looks great and is in a buoyant mood, though she actually feels weak. Thanks, Carly, for picking her up. B's niece and nephew took her to the hairdresser. They're a German couple who met on the Internet.

Beatriz insisted they get out of the house and explore the area. Today they're in Cape May, N J, and had gone to the Poconos.

Linda read a terrific poem "Angry Joe" which kept the refrain going. She met the dude at B & N and listened to his angry tirade and wrote a powerful poem based on this whiner and complainer.

Great last lines - Angry Joe fell over dead in Beijing. His angry heart burst with grief at the sight of a giant Coco-Cola sign.

Image result for coke sign in beijing  "I want it for the Compass," I said.

Martha wrote "Remembering" about her beloved therapist.

Martha was she was younger. She said she loved her glasses.

I think of them as art objects. As is our 'costumes' or what we clothe ourselves in.

Martha, who wrote about cleaning out her attic last week, gave me a set of four gorgeous ceramic dishes, Chinese looking.

Thank you Martha Jeane!

Sharon Katz, owner of Collaborative Care, is housed in an "ancient mansion" in Abington, wrote Marf, one of three sites of Sharon's expanding operation.

Read about her latest talk on meds. Outstanding!

Steve shared his "Jesus, He Gave it All to Save You." He is learning to write more about himself than selected verses from the Bible. Rem is quite helpful to Steve.

Finally got a good pic of Rem.

Another great poem from him about his late wife, Valerie.

"Magical Youth or His Wife as a Knight-Errant."

She was locked up several times at Norristown State Hospital when she was at her worst.

My motto is "Norristown State: Make your first trip your last." I was there at age 38, one of the scariest experiences on earth!!!

Note: Mentally ill people are given terrible treatment in this country. Contrast to a heart patient.

Rem's late wife Valerie wrote and illustrated this book.

His poem was beautiful, very descriptive of when Valerie was confused and needed help.

White-haired blue-eyed Floyd wrote "Exodus," part of his memoir, which I read for him.

He had taken a break from his job at the water treatment plant, traveled to California, where he worked for Manpower.

The physical work helped heal him, as he worked side/side with people such as a Lutheran minister with a PhD and a Mexican fellow who brought him homemade burritos, superior to Taco Bell or Burrito King.

Am listening to gorgeous classical music on WRTI. Just got the name of young composer Michael Torke.

It's chilly outside. Am gonna leave as soon as I finish blog for our Bonfire at Tamanend Park in Southampton.

Read the first chapter of my novel, unnamed as yet.

Wanted to start it.

And I read PAL, about my stuffed Yellow Lab I saved from being crushed on trash day.


For weeks the nameless
dog lay patiently
on my purple ottoman
awaiting my decision.

This afternoon when I
strode by, and pet his
soft beige fur, I said,
without thinking
Hi there, Pal!

Pal is what I called my
young son, Dan. Pal is what
they called the stolen boy
Eton Patz.

Pal. All we need in life
is one good pal. My
childhood pal, Mary Truby,
hasn’t been heard of since,
though I wander the waves
of Facebook searching as if
she fell under the sea.

My mom has become a pal,
but pals must travel with you.
Mom has become an invalid though
over the phone she is still the
tennis player she was in high school.

My dog, Pal, would travel with me
down these autumn streets
with crunchy acorns underfoot
“Don’t eat them, Pal” I’d say
but he is stuffed, a regular
beaut you’d buy at
the now-extinct
FAO Schwartz in New York
Behold the pink tongue of Pal. You
can almost hear his breath.

Should I ever get psychotic
again - o horrid word - Pal
would come alive, hop up on
my bed, lick my face and,
turning on the radio, I’d
see if he liked classical
music or jazz.
I can hear his gentle barks
as he nuzzles my face.

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