[stylist] A New Prompt, LONGISH
Jackie Williams
jackieleepoet at cox.net
Sat Aug 1 23:46:49 UTC 2015
Bridgit,
Thanks for the correction! I appreciate your remarks on my poems.
Particularly on the second short one. I always wonder if anyone shares my
sense of humor.
I just wanted all to know that in spite of not responding to the many
e-mails, I did listen to almost all, and certain names of rocks and things
resonated with me in terms of possible poems.
I am not through yet, as things have to simmer in my mind before I sit down
to write the first word.
I have given a copy of the last poem, Reiki Magic Through Raindrop Therapy
to every masseuse I have had to honor their hands. The essential oils add to
the miracle of how therapeutic it can be.
Jackie Lee
Time is the school in which we learn.
Time is the fire in which we burn.
Delmore Schwartz
-----Original Message-----
From: stylist [mailto:stylist-bounces at nfbnet.org] On Behalf Of Bridgit
Kuenning-Pollpeter via stylist
Sent: Saturday, August 01, 2015 8:25 AM
To: 'Writers' Division Mailing List'
Cc: Bridgit Kuenning-Pollpeter
Subject: Re: [stylist] A New Prompt, LONGISH
Sorry, I had said Lynda but meant Jackie in regards to the poems Jackie
shared, grin.
Bridgit
-----Original Message-----
From: stylist [mailto:stylist-bounces at nfbnet.org] On Behalf Of Jackie
Williams via stylist
Sent: Friday, July 31, 2015 6:59 PM
To: 'Writers' Division Mailing List' <stylist at nfbnet.org>
Cc: Jackie Williams <jackieleepoet at cox.net>
Subject: [stylist] A New Prompt, LONGISH
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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