Saturday, January 17, 2015

Writers' Group - great work, as always! - Poem: Stolen Prey by John Sandford

Beatriz presented two wonderful pollinator pieces: Official State Flowers contains these first lines:
We love flowers for their beauty and for the impact they have on diverse aspects of our lives. ... A look at the list of state flowers shows an amazing variety of shapes, colors, perfumes and blooming seasons.

Some are open and rather flat; others are elongated, trumpet like, with spurs, or intricately shaped, grouped in clusters or alone.

They come in a rainbow of colors and their aromas are equally varied. Some bloom briefly in one or other season, others do it for a longer time.
 The Mountain Laurel, the state flower of PA, she told us, is not the same as a rhododendron.

Look at these teeny tiny parasols or doll tea cups.

The yucca plant, state flower of Arizona, requires one very specialized pollinator, a tiny moth.

Kinda risky to count on that little moth, don't you think?

Her second essay was "Before there were Flowers."
Maine: White Pine and Wind

Maine's choice of state flower is rather unusual b/c it is not a flower in the real sense, but it serves to illustrate a significant point of pollination.

It is the white pine's tassel and cone. ....the tassels produce pollen that has to arrive at the small, immature cones to produce cones. Only then the cones can grow and reach maturity.

Maine residents must be mighty proud of their pines and for good reason. It is a handsome tree of great value and the tassels and cones, although not as colorful as most true flowers, are quite handsome.
Image result for white pine tree maine

Martha can now join us most Saturdays since she and David now live alone. Daughter Emily, whose 34th b'day is today, moved to her own home with her BF and daughter Brianna.

Her poem "What is a Life?" began with

Giant leaps do not a life make
it's the daily grind, the mundane,
the baby steps that lead us on
to the glory of a life well-lived.

Martha was about 34 when she told her mom that she'd never done anything significant in her life. Actually, she was pregnant with Emily, which she would soon learn.

Her very wise and much-missed mom told her Life is in small events. Very few of us get to do anything really great.

To me, I think raising a child is the most important thing in the world.

   Daniel Paul Deming and his older sista

Sarah Lynn Deming all dressed up.

Pardon me for braggin!

Okay, Smilin' Linda, what do you have for us?

Another terrific poem, that's what!

She wrote it for a friend of her mom, who just turned 85.

Legacy of Love contained some wonderful lines. Years hence, people will not remember your commerce or your land ownership, but they will remember your legacy of love.

I was up until 2 or 3 last nite working on my Sisters short story, which I renamed "I Could Not Stop for Death, so Death Kindly Stopped for Me." That's Emily Dickinson.

I wanna submit it to Hektoen International, which published my ALS story. Anything to do with medicine is acceptable.

On the floor of my upstairs office, I found one of my little yellow papers, which I quickly threw away.

Wait a minute, I thought. This is a great idea for a short story. What did it say?

Death bed scene.

I began it right away. I got the idea of using twins - Lori and Luci - from the blind poets Daniel and David Simpson. David, at age 60, has just been diagnosed with - gulp! - ALS. Here's my poem about him.

I got the name Lori from a "friend" on Facebook. A wonderful person.

B/c I awakened at the unaccustomedly early hour of 7 am, I took a half-nap before group, reading myself to sleep with

Hence, my poem:


On Facebook she publishes
photos of the father who
died much too soon.
A retired narc, jaw cancer
spirited him away.
I was anointed to return
his library books. Six of
them, one for every decade
he lived, running after bad
guys, dodging bullets, and
getting home in time for
rib-eye and mashed potatoes.

Did he know he was going
to die? Which of the six
had he read? Please, I
thought, let him get the
little joke in the John
Sandford book, Stolen
Prey. Did you know the
large print editions are
heavier on one’s chest?

The plot goes like this.
A grisly crime is committed.
Lucas Davenport, private eye,
is summoned to the scene,
ducking under the yellow tape.
“Wide-shouldered with a
permanent tan,” both
Tommy and I picture
the dude, a maverick, like
Tommy, who goeth it alone.

It is a large book. Hefty in
my hand. A quarter of the way
through, Davenport calls up his
buddy, none other than Virgil
Flowers, of the John Sandford
“Virgil Flowers” novels.

I put down the book on my
chest, looked up at the ceiling
and cried “Damn!”

Did you get that far, Tommy O’Shea?
Or were you too goddam dead? 

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