Skip to main content

This Is the Place

 For The Sunday Muse #174:



This is the place
where my chin drops 
where I can smell 
seconds ago.

Still in a bit of a writing funk. Reading some good, atmospheric stuff. Trying to balance my brain between absolute, torch-wielding anger (we're all tired of "the panini" but we're all living in THIS world) and the joy that comes from an autumn garden (and some indoor plant geekery in which we're mentally on Tatooine pretending Leia is staying at Luke's pied-a-terre at the edge of Mos Eisley playing laser paintball with random visitors--maybe just don't ask). It's 103 degrees this afternoon. I've been banned from using the phrases "murder death peanut" (about wasps) and "the BeforeTimes" (about anything pre-panini) and, therefore, there was great temptation in writing about a pandemic of wasps and the heat. You've avoided that fate. (maybe) And I've avoided writing a poem. We're even.

-- Chrissa

Comments

  1. Carrie Van HornAugust 21, 2021 at 2:12 PM

    I like your short and sweet poem my friend, and as always your notes are a wonderful glimpse into your mind and world. Yes it is hot in our neck of the woods, but September is almost here. So there is much to look forward to there.

    ReplyDelete
  2. indybevAugust 21, 2021 at 2:47 PM

    Been sort of a funk here too. The maskers are after the unmaskers, the vaccinated are after the anti-vacciners and there's no joy in Mudville. Bah humbug. I'm with you!

    ReplyDelete
  3. FireblossomAugust 21, 2021 at 3:16 PM

    I have no idea what your process note is referencing, but poor kitty does look a little droopy, poor guy.

    ReplyDelete
  4. ms_liliAugust 21, 2021 at 4:34 PM

    Chrissa, I narrowly escaped being attacked by a basketball-sized paper nest of critters last week while mowing. Blessings were with me and I got away unscathed. It's only 90 or so here. 103 has got to feel like being in an oven. Hoping you got a nice cool day real soon.

    ReplyDelete
  5. JimAugust 21, 2021 at 5:11 PM

    Chrissa, I would not have minded you writing more funky stuff, I haven't been able to read
    one yet. Good News!! Not all "wasps" sting, 'they' tell me that the MudDobbers do not sting.
    BTW, I was feeling a bit punky (not funky) yesterday and so I smelled my sweaty golfing shirt.
    Yes, I could smell so no COVID. I ask Mrs. Jim to smell and she would have none of that. Would
    telling this be 'funky'? We have feel like 104 and such but only next week will be on over 100.
    ..

    ReplyDelete
  6. robkistnerAugust 21, 2021 at 5:50 PM

    Well, may the force be with you, young Padawan! 💫

    ReplyDelete
  7. SunitaAugust 21, 2021 at 10:23 PM

    That short crispy bit summed up everything you wanted to say, Chrissa. The "panini" is still active at this end. Waiting eagerly for the 2nd jab. The weather has been fluctuating between a heavy rainfall and a spurt of 36 degrees Celsius simultaneously. Have a great weekend :)

    ReplyDelete
  8. rallentandaAugust 21, 2021 at 11:20 PM

    A few words can capture a mood better. Enjoyed this.

    ReplyDelete
  9. Gillena CoxAugust 22, 2021 at 4:43 AM

    I totally get it. Its a crazy eerie time we are living in

    But have faith in tomorrow
    much❤love

    ReplyDelete
  10. hedgewitchAugust 22, 2021 at 7:49 AM

    Succinct and short sometimes says more than waves of rodomontade. The smell of the past is everywhere these days.

    ReplyDelete
  11. HelenAugust 22, 2021 at 8:45 AM

    Brilliant! { panini perfect }

    ReplyDelete
  12. Marion HortonAugust 22, 2021 at 10:24 AM

    I enjoyed this - so maybe the force was with you after all?

    ReplyDelete
  13. ✿August 23, 2021 at 11:06 AM

    I personally think the paragraph after the poem is a poem. I love not knowing what you’re talking about; it makes me feel like I’m getting a direct line into your fluid mind. It pleases me to read streams of consciousness poems.

    ReplyDelete
  14. Susie ClevengerAugust 23, 2021 at 1:27 PM

    It doesn't take a lot of words to make a poem, and you've written a big poem in a few words. It brings so many thoughts and images to my head.

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Turn Away

  Sharing with The Sunday Muse , for #193. Turn away, like the moon, listening... Listening to the planet that rumbles with a hundred million slaps. All the feet, all the rockets, all the  pistons in the cars on the asphalt over the chasm where the veins run deep, blue in sunlight, black at night. Running over the chasm.  Once or twice they ran to you. Once or twice they ran by. Greetings and salutations. The sky is an entertaining shade of concrete yellow as the rain promised earlier in the week makes good on its arrival. It's a disturbing bright sallow sky, the kind of sky that puts you in mind of old movies and degraded film stock and the pops and crackles incidental to the main story.  Several years ago I made a resolution to journal more and last year I came across a video that suggested I actually re-read those journals, at least those of the previous year, at the beginning of each new year. Technically, I have kept the journal resolution, making daily notes in...
15 comments
Read more

By the Roadside

  Sharing with The Sunday Muse #260  with much appreciation to Carrie & Shay & everyone. Just a reminder: if you have a poetry book, please drop a title in the comments. My TBR won't thank you, but I will. :)    I drive by the armadillos, dead where they fell. Sunlight is so heavy it folds into damp shimmers. All the roads are widening, dispersing the ditches, Grinding out parking lots, killing slow steps. I speed up; crisp winter in the passenger seat. We will arrive at the store soon; I will drag her Chill, into the store. Breathe for both of us. Brightness distorts the lots, now grown gigantic. Roads need blood, the state needs the kills. We will make it through barriers if we wear them: Dead armadillos, caliche dust, gunmetal sunshine.
8 comments
Read more

No Mercy

There was a seed , there was a tree Then there came a motor and an edge An in delicate labor and now a stump Snuffling the day, restless to rampage A brain torn from the soil Now a new red boar Growling through the foliage : No kneel ing before the cart No pause before the charge No mercy at the root This past week's WordCrafters meeting included a plethora of prompt ideas, including writing from a gardening or nature-based perspective, a word list, a suggested beginning sentence, and a collection of images. I used the word list (the green words above are from the list) and maybe, in a sideways fashion, the nature-based perspective.  And then there were the images. For some reason lately, I've been noodling through two prompts on Wednesdays, writing one out for sharing and keeping the other to turn over during the week. The image this week? A woman drumming light. It caught my eye and then my brain and then it embedded itself into an old idea that I'd abandoned years ago a...
Post a Comment
Read more