Love ain’t B&W…

Inspiration is everywhere…are you looking?

The makings of a very good day…

photo by Cate

Challenges galore…

The challenge today is to write  a tanka; a poetic form similar to the haiku. Unlike the haiku, though, the tanka is pretty strict about syllables per line: 5-7-5-7-7. I took this opportunity to write about something I love – words.

some words fall out of
use, even though still needed
apricity means
warmth of the sun in winter
words like this comfort my soul

And sometimes I take pictures…

Love and Irony, digital photograph, 2011

Facebook as therapy…

image from ichoosechange.com

I love Facebook. I do. I spend more time than I should with it, but I justify that by claiming it’s my only social life. Since I’m a single mom that’s pretty much true. But as a tool for self-reflection and growth, it’s not that great. Or so I thought. Amidst all the fun and games of this social site, there are actually moments of profound awareness.

This morning a friend posted a status update about when her husband says he can’t find something, what he’s really saying is “Help!” and that said help should come promptly. Nothing too unusual in that, right? I mean, it’s a common observation (or complaint). The husband/boyfriend/male partner can’t find something, and the wife/girlfriend/female partner knows just where it is. It’s the formula for just about every sitcom.

So why, after reading my friend’s humorous and totally innocent status, did I want to cry? I’ve been in this situation myself. In fact, this was a frequent occurrence during my most recent relationship.

Ah, that. The ex.

And that’s where the self-reflection bit comes in. Because as I tried to figure out the meaning behind my response, I had to admit that my experience wasn’t totally the same as my friend’s. Or all those sitcom wives, for that matter. Because for me the exchange didn’t stop with him saying something to the effect of “I can’t find fill-in-the-blank” and my response of “It’s right here.” After locating said object came the looks. And the recriminations. And the insults. Helping him was a legitimate excuse (in his mind) for some sort of reprisal.

It was one of those “damned if you do, damned if you don’t” scenarios. If I demonstrated that I knew more than he, I would suffer the consequences. But if I didn’t know, I was stupid and should be grateful he tolerated having me around.

Since the breakup I’ve been asked more than once if things had ever gotten physical. The answer is no. But there’s a part of me that wishes he had hit me. That would have been a clear and undeniable sign that I needed to leave. By the time I realized I was a victim of this form of domestic violence, I had lost so much of my self-confidence it was nearly impossible to find the strength to get out. Emotional abuse is so insidious and destructive.  It doesn’t leave bruises or physical wounds, but it does kill your soul and rob you of absolutely everything that makes you YOU.

So now it’s been a few months. The restraining order is in place and I am in the process of rebuilding my life, one step at a time. A new job – one that pays my bills without me being dependent on anyone else for assistance. A new apartment – one whose landlord (and address) is unknown to the ex. Rebuilding a sense of community – both virtual and real.

And words. I’m writing again. Without anyone laughing at me or criticizing me for doing so. Words are my refuge and my salvation, my joy and my passion. It’s good to reconnect with these treasured companions.

So many thanks to Facebook and my friend Heather. You reminded me that even though these past months have been difficult, they were necessary. And not nearly as difficult as what came before. The tears were good, and just a part of the journey.

Bubbles in the wind…

The prompt for today’s challenge is to write a poem in which people interact without saying anything. Here’s what I came up with.

Blowing Bubbles

easily made
easily broken
gentle floating
spheres whose
destruction delights
your smile
wraps itself
around my
heart

It’s April, so you know what that means…

It’s National Poetry Month. Huzzah!

It’s also the April PAD challenge…one poem a day for the whole month. I didn’t make it through the entire month last year, so we’ll see what 2012 brings. Given that I’m participating in the other challenge and moving in a couple weeks, things could get tight.

Anyway, in honor of this month’s poetic theme, I’ve written something that combines two of my loves: poetry and grammar. Hope you enjoy.

Ode to White and Strunk
I sat at the table of contents
feasting on serial commas
and mixed metaphors that went
straight to my head

periodic sentences  came at the
beginning and stayed
to the end
but happily,
needless words were omitted
from the guest list

the vowels were late, having
stopped at the Glottal Café
for tea

the tenses and participles
were present, but
the tenses kept shifting and
the participles
merely
dangled

all the while, overdressed
adverbs
ate awkwardly

in the end,
the infinitives
split