[stylist] This morning I awoke...

Sun Mar 23 17:03:53 UTC 2014

Bridget,
Thanks for your comments. I may not have time to go back and re-read to
critique. All of your writings have wonderful descriptions and images of
human actions. I have a lack there. So I learn much from your writing.
Jackie 

-----Original Message-----
From: stylist [mailto:stylist-bounces at nfbnet.org] On Behalf Of Bridget
Pollpeter
Sent: Saturday, March 22, 2014 10:22 PM
To: 'Writer's Division Mailing List'
Subject: Re: [stylist] This morning I awoke...

Jackie,

I've always been jealous of people who can create rhyming poetry. When I
try, it just sounds like a first-grader wrote it, smile.

Trust me, I constantly have writers block. Sometimes I just write
mundane things to try to move through a block. When I wrote my Today I
woke sample, I wasn't divinely inspired, so I just wrote what I
literally did that day. Then I went back and edited, replacing common
language with more descriptive details. As Bill said though, it was
nothing profound, LOL! But that's the purpose of a writing exercise, to
just write and see what happens, what we discover.

Cute poem.

Bridgit

-----Original Message-----
From: stylist [mailto:stylist-bounces at nfbnet.org] On Behalf Of Jackie
Williams
Sent: Saturday, March 22, 2014 7:28 PM
To: stylist at nfbnet.org
Subject: [stylist] This morning I awoke...

It seems I cannot make an attachment in order to keep the format. So I
will cut and paste, the devil take the hindmost. Jackie Your 
prompt.

This morning I awoke to find-
deluge of e-mails from the blind.
A month ago, I promised to
come back again and thus renew
the inspiration from this list.
Well, anyway, you get the gist.

I have a morning to devote
to answering, and sugar-coat
responses to what came as shock
that none of you have writer's block!
I'm old and white, close to decay,
but listen up , I'll have my say.

Three hundred! Please, a strategy.
I'll answer all with poetry.
You wonder, should you say impaired
in case the "cons" leave you ensnared?
While I agree with Lynda here-
"Blind" dating is another sphere.

My Poem. Don't take this too literally, but usually there are a few true
things in my poetry. I lie a lot and like to have fun, and challenge the
more accepted ideas. But if you go the speed dating route, you do not
have to deceive by omission. I have not, but would have liked to. Jackie

The Four-minute Speed-dating "Me Too" Man

I contacted the organization with trepidation.
In my early eighties, I still liked older men.
I knew the pitfalls after falling in most of them.
I also knew women made their choice of partners 
within the first 30 seconds and might choose 
a serial killer based on his pheromones. 

I studied the statistics before this revolving event. 
I would sit, and every four minutes, a new man 
would appear. I knew, also, men were more 
selective if they did not have to move. Besides, 
I was nearly blind and hard-of-hearing. I might not 
be able to get up and find the next man's table.

Let's see-10% relate to movies, 17% to travel.
Most relate to sports. Forget them. Religion, smoking, 
previous marriages do not hold sway as against 
that first four-second attraction. Now I am smart. 
I can ignore my subconscious that goes for con men. 
The bell, the bell! Here comes a short, slightly stooped man.

I'm no dummy. I had prepared my quirky, unusual 
questions. In a rush I blurted, "I am a Democrat, 
a flaming liberal, and I love Obama." 
He took so long to answer that I blurted again, 
"I don't smoke, I have been married only once. He died." 
Another silence, a groan. The bell rang. 
I have no romantic spark for this strange man.

There were not many in the seventy to ninety age group. 
Next a man strode over, leaned down, kissed my hand.
He sat, proclaimed, "I am a conservative, a Republican, 
I love Rush Limbaugh. We must make Obama fail."
I did not know what to say for fully two minutes. He followed, " I
smoke, drink now and then, have been married three times." 
Saved by the bell. I am not asking questions. Get with it, girl.

The next man slipped quietly into the chair, said, "God Bless You." I
answered, "Why should he, Sir? I am a skeptic." We sat there 
awkwardly for fully three minutes without making a sound. Finally, here
he came. The last man in this revolving group. He bumped the chair,
finally sat, and reached for my hand.
The touch, the sound of his deep voice turned loose a spark.     

Gently he asked, "Will you speak clearly. I am hard-of-hearing." In rapt
adoration, I said, "I think it would be wonderful to stand on The Great
Wall of China with you." "Me too," he replied. "I have always wanted to
climb to Machu Pichu on The Old Incan Trail." "Me too," he said, moving
to sit beside me-against the rules. We had trouble untangling our arms
when the bell rang. 

I struggled to get my name on his list. Now I had to wait. 
Finally, after two days, I got his call- 
felt a thrill I had not known since I was seventy-eight. 
The grandson of his third marriage took us to IMAX 
to walk The Great Wall of China, to climb The Old Incan Trail. We sit
side-by-side on our double chaise lounge in front of a 60-inch 
television while We drink Manhattans straight up with ice on the side. 

We first watch Fox news for him. I slowly run my fingertips 
up and down his inner arm. As he turns to MSNBC for me, 
he kisses the sweet spot on my neck, then CNN to cool us down. 
Sundays, he watches a bit of football, listens to a bible tape. I
struggle with a poem or make blueberry pancakes.

As we melt into each other's lives,
I say to him, "I have found the most loving friendship 
I have ever known." He says, "Me too."

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