[stylist] A New Prompt, LONGISH

Sat Aug 1 18:03:57 UTC 2015

I remember the first time you posted the first poem, Jackie. Oh, those precious poems some must write for children who go before us. The second one is cute. The third one reaffirms my thoughts that one day I'd love to try Raindrom Therapy.
Barbara

Sent from my iPhone

> On Jul 31, 2015, at 18:59, Jackie Williams via stylist <stylist at nfbnet.org> wrote:
> 
> Hi all,
> The back and forth of these last few days is mind-dancing. In some ways I
> agree with Joanne, and in some  instances with Bridgit. Since we are first
> and foremost writers, can each of you write either a piece of flash fiction,
> or short memoire, or a poem about the unusual things that are close to your
> hearts and minds. rocks, essential oils, age regression, or dreams, or even
> Portland! You can skip it if it is porn!
> I will start you off by cutting and pasting three poems.  The first I posted
> long ago when the discussions ran along similar tracks. My son disappeared
> when he was twenty and his remains were not found for fourteen years. He was
> on  a ledge near the top of Black Mountain in AZ, near the Superstition
> Mountains. 
> Some friends had a most unusual service of sorts in the Sawtooth Mountains
> of Idaho just two years after he disappeared. He had worked in the forestry
> service and some friends carved out a medicine wheel in such a private place
> that it was not desecrated for five years. Because of his interest in Indian
> lore and rocks, I researched the rocks I thought represented him best. I put
> them in his medicine bag which now hangs next to my bed with the
> Dream-catcher. 
> Medicine Wheel
> 
> you taught me how to grieve
> dance emotions           chant the sorrow
> place myself in the power of your signs
> bid my son good-bye 
> buried in pain I did not hear 
> his cries for help          before he left
> my wonderment           that our first steps 
> into stark wilderness    were matched in time 
> yet became our solitary journeys 
> 
> it is not right that the mother 
> survives the son          unless his spirit 
> burns bright within her for all of her 
> remaining days 
> your circle of rocks enabled this
> 
> I put three Indian healing stones 
> that captured his spirit 
> into my medicine bag 
> fiesta jasper     a bright coral 
>            to give dynamism        lively energy 
>                        power to attend us always
> crazy lace agate          to provide security
>            from doing things only for another's desire 
>                        give confidence in any new domain 
>            yet soften stubbornness 
> rock crystal      versatile           powerful 
>            to stimulate and focus energy 
>                        to heal the body and the mind
>            enhance a vision 
> give powers of observation 
>            arouse authority to live fully
> 
> we bless you   Medicine Wheel 
>            as you did the healing stones 
> by the spirit from the beating drum 
> 
> I sprinkle cornmeal      then leave
> His medicine bag hangs near my heart
> my son's life force and mine are converged   
> 
> 
> I hope this next cinquain will not offend anyone. The form: Five lines of
> 2,4,6,8,2 syllables in iambic. Not usually rhymed, but I could not resist.
> 
> Citrines
> 
> I do
> not ever have
> to clean my old latrine,
> for hanging on each wall I have
> citrines.
> 
> The last poem is an Anaphora, meaning the beginning of each stanza, or line,
> or whatever are started with the same word or words. In this case, the words
> are, Her hands. I suggest you read this one through, not line by line, at
> least at first, and then again if you want to know the oils.
> 
> 11. Traditional Form, Anaphora
> 
> Magic Through Raindrop Therapy
> 
> Her hands are gnarled. The fingers twisted so give lie to tenderness, the
> strength, the flow of energy to flesh, so cold it shivers.
> As she applies the oils....limbs live, skin quivers.
> Her hands give life, and so they move her own into my muscles from which use
> has flown. Three drops of valor, thyme, oregano
> then soft massage on soles to make them glow.
> Her hands now smoothly, quickly make their moves. I murmur sweetly many,
> "Ah's," and "Oo's."
> Then comes the cypress, basil and the birch, some peppermint and marjoram to
> search
> her hands for guidance, knowledge to work in to spastic muscles, jangling
> nerves, dry skin. My stress recedes as if from endless war
> for now my body finally knows the score.
> Her hands will finally smooth Aroma Siez and "crown of oils," the super
> Ortho Ease. The miracles of frankincense and myrrh cannot compete. I do not
> want to stir!
> Her hands have made my universe complete. I think I'll never feet again the
> heat
> from hands that poured those urgent healing balms. if I can give to
> others-feel no qualms-
> her hands might teach me once again to love a body's need for energy above,
> belie the mundane frantic lives we lead, make contact once again with life
> decreed.
> 
> Jacqueline Williams, Mesa, AZ
> Published, Sandcutters,ASPQuarterly
> Incidentally,  though my sister is a Reiki Master, and I hold a
> Second-degree Reiki certificate, I am not a true believer. I just know that
> it helps people who can believe, just like so many other mind-body healing
> methods and therapies.Raindrop Thereapy is really not Reiki, but a special
> massage therapy, but my sister gives them.rAIN
> 
> I am working ON a poem about Portland. Did you know that it has the most
> environmentally friendly garbage collection methods probably in the entire
> U.S.? Also, that it has a high suicide rate due to the cold, gloomy, and
> rainy weather much of the year? I took AFAA training there years ago and
> loved it for this. It is the heat in triple digits, the politics, and the no
> rain that make me even consider such a thing here.
> 
> Jackie Lee
> 
> Time is the school in which we learn.
> Time is the fire in which we burn.
> Delmore Schwartz       
> 
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