"Why Afghan Women Risk Death to Write Poetry" By ELIZA GRISWOLD

Reblogged from Step On A Crack...Or Break Your Mother's Back:

“On Doomsday, I will say aloud,  I came from the world with my heart full of hope.”

_ Zarmina     a young Afghan Poet

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Zarmina’s doomsday came too soon.

If you are a Poet, a Writer, an Artist,

Take the time to read this article from the New York Times.

If you are HERE Please read this article .

As National Poetry Month is drawing to a close…

Read more… 5,848 more words

This is long but please make the time to read this.

SUNSHINE, Where Are You?

What a spring this year! March was warm as summer. Afterwards April showers arrived. Now snow and bitter wind these past two days. The rain is expected, I agree—but it’s almost May.

“Hey, Mother Nature, where are you? Is my voice too small for you to hear?”

I’m little, I’m tough and I can bend in the wind, but here I am shivering. I’m too young to die so soon. I feel  Jack Frost is back again. Is he lost, I wonder?

“It’s  Little Tulip, remember me? Send sunshine soon, pretty please so I can do my job brightening up this garden thing.”

Imagine That!

I woke up the other morning with strange thoughts flitting in and out of my sleepy brain cells.

~ * ~

Church doors these days are locked tighter than prisons (that was the thought vying for attention). There was a time when I was young (a very long time ago), that a person could go inside a church anytime—at any age. It was not uncommon that should it strike you to take a short rest while passing by, with groceries or empty handed, you could have a quiet sit. No-one stood at the door to check you out. Of course, the Catholics didn’t go to the Protestant church and the Protestants didn’t go to the Catholic Church—unlike the openness of today. There was some silly idea that you might be converted to the opposite religion. Heaven forbid. Today, doors are locked to protect against vandalism.

 My favourite recollection happened in a village in Northern Ontario where we lived until I was eleven. I was in and out of the church all the time. The first time I saw a typist or a Remington typewriter was in the church rectory. What I was doing there, I cannot recall but the clickety-click and clickety-clack of something unfamiliar attracted my attention. I was seven or eight years old and curious as a mouse following the magnetic pull of cheese. The sound grew louder as I got closer and a man’s voice, not the parish priest, said, “Don’t be shy. Come right in.”

There sitting at the desk was a monk in his brown habit looking at something on the table then smiling up at me. It appeared he was making the clickety-click, clickety-clack noises. I had no idea who he was.

“Can I help you?” he asked. I knew he was a monk because I’d seen his kind of brown monastic habit before.

“What are you doing?” I couldn’t help asking.

“I’m writing my sermon,” he said but he could see I had no idea what he was talking about.

“Come around here, child, so you can see what I’m doing.”

In my eagerness and curiosity, I forgot my shyness.  The keys striking the page were making real words. “How do you do that? What makes the words come out right?” I’d never been so curious nor my brain been so engaged.

I liked the sound of his laugh. “Child, this is something anyone can learn. It just takes practice.”

I made a promise that I was going to do what he did. I was going to type one day. And I did but I had to wait until typing class in Grade 10. I loved it!

~ * ~

This is not what I had started to write tonight. I’ve surprised myself with this memory. Maybe another time I’ll go where I had initially intended.

Another promise: I am trying to keep to 500 words in the hope that busy readers will have time to to read my posts.

The Anniversary Gift

I heard a story today about a friend’s sister whose husband, out of the blue, laid the I want a divorce card on the table. She thought their marriage was good. Now this. I thought I’d play with that idea.

~ * ~

“So, what do you think Joe? Shall we go out to dinner to celebrate our anniversary next Saturday or what?”

Joe stared at his dinner plate. He’d been quieter than usual for weeks. Pat could see no apparent reason for this.

“Come on, Joe, it’s obvious something’s bothering you. What is it?”

No response.

He looked like a lost garden statue, she thought.

Pat closed her eyes and crossed her arms in a hugging manner. Joe had never been much of a talker but she didn’t know how much more cold silence she could take. It was hell living with a shell of a man who ignored her. He ate, slept and went to work. What was going on in that head of his? Maybe there were problems at the Xerox Lab where he worked? Everybody was cutting back these days. Maybe Joe was on the pink list.

“Joe, for the love of God, I can’t take this silent treatment anymore. Is it work or are you sick or what?” Pat hit the table with the palm of her hand just a bit harder than she’d intended.

Joe finally looked up. Pat almost cried with relief. He looked her straight in the eye and took a deep breath.

“Go on Joe. We’ve been married twenty-two years. There’s nothing we can’t talk about. Tell me. Let’s get it out in the open.”

“Are you quite sure about that, Pat? Can we talk about anything?” At first his voice was a whisper but as he continued, it grew stronger, more confident.

“I’ve been trying to figure out a way to let you down easy-like but as usual, you push and push at everything. He pointed a long finger at her across the table. You aren’t going to tell me what to do or how to do it anymore.”

Pat’s eyes blinked. She gasped and gripped the table. What was going on here? She’d never heard Joe so much as raise his voice in all the time she’d known him.

“Pat I want a divorce and I want it now. You can go celebrate your anniversary with your bossy mother or do any damn thing you want. I’m finished. Done.” Joe pushed back his chair and let it fall backwards with a clatter. He headed towards the front door. A hard slam reverberated like an exclamation point. A hush filled the air.

Pat slid down in her chair. She heard a girlish giggle. The little turd had finally found some balls. She wasn’t even shocked as much as relieved. Real peace at last.

The Meeting

Scenario 1

A camera shutter winked. Their encounter wasn’t secret anymore. He grabbed her; his passion evident. She slipped into the shadow out of his grasp.

“I can’t…”

“You said you love me.”

“I don’t anymore.”

“What? Problems at home?”

* * *

Scenario 2

The passion of her embrace left him breathless. Their last secret encounter she’d said. A shutter clicked. He looked over his shoulder. Was that a camera? A shadow crossed his face. He’d almost escaped.

Or was he paranoid?

* * *

 

 

Share Your World – Week 18

 Follow, the founder, Cee’s LINK to participate. For rules and questions click below. You should try it. You might surprise yourself. It’s a great way to meet new bloggers by sharing your world.

http://ceeslifephotographyblog.wordpress.com/2012/04/07/share-your-world-week-18/#more-2305

~ * ~

1. Do you play video/computer game? Which one(s) or most recent?

I didn’t playing board games when I was about 30 but couldn’t really get into them. When computers came out with Pac Man and the Lemmings, I didn’t have the patience to play. How could someone waste time playing games, I wondered? (I can be a little square maybe). I’ve never been much of a card playereither  nor had I even played Solitaire with real cards but I got hooked on Windows Solitaire for a while. That was years ago.

2. When writing by hand do you prefer to use a pencil or pen?

I prefer using a Gel type pen when I write. However I cannot write more than a sentence before my handwriting gets tight and ugly. I have arthritis in my thumbs so I avoid writing as much as possible. Give me a keyboard and I’m flying.

3. What has surprised me about blogging?

It’s amazing how many interesting and warm-hearted people there are  in the blogosphere. I had no idea I’d fall into such a generous community. Frankly, I’m agog with the many different things I’ve learned since. Who knew there were so many wonderful writers out there?!

4. If you had a shelf for your three most special possessions (not including people or animals), what would you put on it?

The first one would be the Easter card my four-year-old granddaughter made me. The second,  a bookmark my eight-year-old granddaughter gave me for Valentine’s Day. The third  would have to be a favourite book but there are so many to choose from.  On second thought, I believe I would choose The Old Man and the Sea by Ernst Hemingway.

100-Word Challenge: Handsome and Tall!

The prompt this week is to go back to last week’s entries. You are to use the last 10 words of the post next to yours and using just 100 words create a story. It may continue from the previous one or you may like to take it in a different direction. So:

You find your entry HERE

You go to the next entry (if you were 6 you go to 7 etc.)
(I was #29, so I’m using #30 for my prompt from:  Sarah the suberbanite: What the Rabbit Was Late For.

The last 10 words were: But a flash of sun – and where did it go?

Using the last ten words as the prompt you write your piece. The prompt can be anywhere in the piece but must be complete as it was in the original.

Using the last ten words as the prompt you write your piece. The prompt can be anywhere in the piece but must be complete as it was in the original.

Using the last ten words as the prompt you write your piece. The prompt can be anywhere in the piece but must be complete as it was in the original.

If you didn’t take part last week, choose any entry to use the last 10 words from.

I continued again in the vein of my previous challenge.

~ * ~

Before Alice makes for the door, the Mad Hatter blows in. Her eyes pop. He looks like Johnny Depp; handsome and tall. Maybe he’ll take her away.

“Come, let’s not dilly-dally.”

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll see,” Johnny Mad Hatter winks and hurries out.

“No. I want to go home. Will you help me?”

“We’ve a tea party to attend.”

“Not that again,” frowns Alice, “I’ve already heard you sing.”

“Would you rather paint Easter eggs?

“Wait!”

The table is laid as before. The teapot is hot. But a flash of sun – and where did it go?