Saturday, August 23, 2014

Coffeeshop Writers Group Goes Overtime - say hello to Diana - My poems: Linda of the Night / Rain

Welcome to our group, Diana, a fashion editor. She was wearing a slinky sequined top and tho she didn't bring anything to critique, gave us helpful comments.

Diana said she'd like to write poetry. Our poets read their work. We said, "It's a lot of hard work."

Carly, on the left, was up in the wee hours of the morning working on her personal essay, "My Exhilirating Week." She and her entire family - Charlie and their two sons, plus the "infamous" grandson Cooper, went to " a quiet little town in the Poconos," - Jim Thorpe - where they relaxed w/o the usual amenities of their busy lives.

Deep into one of the many caverns they went - was it Crystal Cave? - and saw those hanging

  Her family also reminisced about spending time in the Carlsbad Caverns in New Mexico and many other memorable family trips. The family remains remarkably close-knit.

Someone commented about her conversational style of writing. Before leaving on her trip, Carly exercised on the elliptical machine for 45 minutes, and then ate with impunity, esp. at the French restaurant where she and Charley ate before seeing The Book of Mormon at the Forrest Theater downtown.

And you felt no guilt! remarked Floyd.

Floyd's essay was called "Read this First." It was about building a roll-top desk and of course following the instructions.

Which he did. And got a beautiful product as a result.

Linda, who I congratulated for eating a healthy snack of peanuts (she was gonna grab a parfait at the counter) brought us another draft of her sci-fi piece "Mother of Society." It takes place 100 years in the future. After the nuclear holocaust.

The "Eternals" are men n women who are kept alive by the insertion of new body organs forcibly donated by the "Ephemerals."

A great concept from one of our most creative writers.

Was so happy to see both Donna Krause and Martha Hunter, since they were absent last week.

Donna said she wrote a poem earlier today but ripped it up.

The poem she presented "Runaway Summer" talked about the flowers "taking a final bow" and "children's chins dropping" b/c they've gotta return to school.

For Martha, the time has come for her grown daughter and granddaughter to move out of the house. Such silence will greet her and husband David next weekend, I believe.

A major adjustment. Don't tell her, but expect a poem about the silence.

Martha's poem "Born Too Soon" was in response to the death of Robin Williams. The person in the poem was in such despair that he finally did the deed. Her many great lines concluded with the the individual entering the golden corridors of heaven and finding peace everlasting. 

I just love Donna's shiny red nails. I told her that when I next get my nails done, I'll get silver nail polish. My Scottie is so cheap that he actually offered to paint my nails in order to save money.

Beatriz was feeling strong enough to attend group. A good comment she made about Floyd's piece was that he took an 'experimental approach' to the writing of his rolltop desk.

Beatriz's 'pollinator of the week' was "The Unbeetle Beetle." The tiny creature has some very clever ways of pollinating flowers with her young little beetles, esp. Ringo.

 When people commented on how prolific I am, I said something that made them unhappy. At 68, I said, I'm competing against the Grim Reaper.

Stayed up last nite until 3:20 am working on my newest short story "Double or Nothing." Someone in my support group was very upset about a neighborhood tragedy that affected a nice family. The father killed his wife and then turned the gun on himself. Two teenaged children were inside the house.

So I elaborated on the story. Beth Crowley, from the famous Crowley Farm Market in Bucks County, lives right next door to Kate and Mike Matthews who did the deed.

Naturally our Beth from the fictitious Crowley Farm Market

is quite disturbed by this and sets about finding a resolution to her persistent nightmares and daily relivings of the shooting.

I polished the story this morning, which was great fun. Unfortunately I've gotta write a new ending. The one I've got is about Beth visiting a woman she has always admired from afar

In my story, Martha Stewart chastises her maid Gloria at table for doing something wrong - can't remember what it is - and tells her, There are thousands of other people who'd like to work for me, so consider this a warning.


Midnight, she’s got the light on,
stands at the door, the daughter
across the street, white dog
peering through the screen
a car or two streaks by
blond hair, big teeth,
smiles a lot, worked with
the aging but was “bumped”
from her job, home now,
nothing to do
takes out her dog
lets him poop on the grass
they don’t walk him
she’s too fat and her mom’s
too old
a silent tragedy across the
street. Pray for the dog, the
little white dog named “Kalie.”
The name means “beloved”
Living out her death sentence
in the house across the street.


Best of all is
leaving your
noisy writing room
the fan cools your
humid body
the radio
features Janis Joplin
so when I turn off
the light
the music
and the fan
I hear it
What else can it be?
lollipops on the roof top?
Barthomew and the Oobleck?

At last! The long-awaited rain.
A smiling young man on
the News Hour says the
Arctic is warming much faster
than we ever expected and lists
the coming damages, much as
another guest talks
about the president’s ignorance
on how to best kill our enemies.

It is the rain I want.
The Almighty’s watering can
so much more efficient than my own
Of course you will find me outside
on my front porch. Getting a little
wet, yes, after all, this girl
needs watering too.

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