Coffeeshop Writers - Light dusting of snow doesn't deter us from meeting - My poems: Baby Max and Santa Claus Snow Globe

Allan and Carly hard at work writing comments on Carly's great story about the Newtown, CT shooting at Sandy Hook Elementary School. The main character is a TV reporter whose boss sends her and the photographer to report on what happened.

Carly's been working on it a few days and began again last nite at 2 am. This true grit gets the job done. I wrote on her ms: Great intro! Great idea!

Even the radio - am listening to WXPN now - remembers the Newtown Tragedy. This is good. Hone in on gun violence. Hammer it home. Pass some laws. In my latest Guest Column for the Intell, which is due Christmas week, whenever that is, I write: "Have gun, must shoot!"

I got Linda at the coffee bar. This woman is incredibly photogenic! But what does she have around her neck? Is she a camp counselor and wearing a whistle? Or perhaps she's a corrections officer at Graterford and holds the keys around her neck.

"Requiem for Newtown" was Linda's excellent poem.

Allan "the Hellion" Heller read a suspenseful short story "The Wicked Flee" with an ending worthy of the great Saki (H H Munro). Let's find one of Saki's stories you can read online. Here's my quick pick.

His main character is what Allan refers to as a "cyber-fornicator." Dunno if this is an actual term listed in the OED, but I laffed heartily when I heard it.

The story was similar to the story I brought in. Imagine!

My story "Miriam Takes a Lover" is based on a friend of mine who had a wonderful 5-year love affair, while the spouses knew nothing.

The story spilled itself out onto the blank page. I was at my upstairs computer drinking cups of Tazo Tea which kept me awake until 5 am.

Can the caffeine have helped me be more creative? And remember, I had bipolar d/o, so we are famously creative.

As I said to Carly, the more we write the better we get.

 Oh, look! Here comes the snow plough. This spelling is incorrect. It's snow plow. I must be tapping into a past life when I was the Ploughman's Daughter.

Adryn, the Coffeeshop Girl, outfitted me with Earl Grey tea. It was delicious!

While Allan read his fine short story, he would pause for a sip of tea. We all followed suit.

Beatriz read a short short story, genre of creative non-fiction. In only two doublespaced pages - is that correct? - she told the story of a little boy who accompanied his father on a trip to Ecuador, where dad was codifying various species of reptiles and amphibians and the like.

The little boy was Beatriz's stepson, before B met her husband. Little Arthur discovered a brand-new species of a thumb-sized frog.

Arthur's dad, the well-known James A Peters - see his Wiki page here - named the frog after his little Arthur.

Little Arthur is now 60 years old and will be visiting Beatriz for Xmas. She will present him with a little bound volume she made for him.

Alas, the frog has become extinct, but there is always hope it is hiding in the water waiting to be rediscovered.

Yes, Beatriz, I like that word: rediscovered.

Here's B's late husband, who was born in the same year - 1922 - as my thriving mother, who is all of 91.

Here are my two poems. I wrote the two of em in 20 minutes, b/c the group decided to meet an hour early b/c of the impending snow.

Yesterday I spotted the Santa Snow Globe and knew I wanted to write about it. The former poet laureate of Montgomery, the very talented Sean Webb wrote a poem about a snow globe.

When a poet clicks on the link, you see placesy where Sean has submitted his poetry and then you add the lit mags to your portfolio. That Schukyll Journal rejected me twice, maybe cuz I can't spell Schuykill correctly. One thing I remember about Webb is that he had bad knees.

 My goal was to write two poems before the meeting.

First I wrote the Santa Claus one.

I paused for half a second, wondering if I could write a poem about Baby Max, whose two photos I snatched off FB, printed out and have in my upstairs oriface.

 Returning the snow globe to its proper place. You can see the multi-colored plastic fished I refer to in the poem. We had a brief discussion on fish v fishes.

Carly found the Max poem sad. Allan regaled us with this quote from Shakespeare's Cymbaline:

Golden lads and girls all must
as chimneysweeps
come to dust.

THE SANTA CLAUS SNOW GLOBE

Mindlessly
I brought you downstairs
and placed you in the bay window
next to the white poinsettia
and the empty turquoise bowl
my sister Donna fashioned
on the wheel.
You mustn’t keep a bowl empty
so I filled it with plastic colored
fishes that sat scattered on the sill
for decoration.

Not a place for any more objects.
Tiny Santa was an impulse purchase
at the drugstore
See the colored glitter when you
shake it?

A body can spend all day
shaking and looking
shaking and looking
letting your mind
roam free.

Once I was a little girl
sitting on my daddy’s knee
he looked so big to this
little girl, yet small
when he died
curled up like a babe.

Santa Claus will never die
Entombed forever
in his chariot of life
I swear on daddy’s grave
I will keep him from harm
a tiny sculpture
from an unknown artist
in China
uprooted from his farm
to the sweltering hours
in the factory.

If only he knew.


BABY MAX

is crawling now
pushing himself up
to stand
following the directives
of his eight-month-old
brain

he is not like my brother
David, who never looked us
in the eye and didn’t crawl
until he was three

all babies are cute
even if they are not
I print out his photos
from Facebook
they come out
in black and white

the kid is always smiling
even after his sister
bites him and he recovers

smile on, dear Max,
smile on –
there you are at Barnes and Noble
playing with a toy train –
smile on through life

shall we put you
in a snow globe
for perpetual
unstoppable life?

My Max is braver than that
he will ride a golden chariot
through life
holding up the shield
of Achilles
the gods will protect him

And I will praise his name
from the tallest mountaintop.