Skip to main content

Writers Like a Tight Scene

 Sharing with The Sunday Muse #221. Carrie's bringing a great end-of-summer atmosphere with movie prompts. 



Writers like a tight scene.
An angry man talking about his father-in-law
Who won't buy his wife a dog
It's the only thing she wants
At thirty, with two kids
And the guy 
Still won't
Get her 
A dog.
It's not a bullet. Just a guy
Who doesn't know why people 
Just won't do the thing.
Why the scene 
is never
tight.

We visited a local author event today and I found myself drawn to the children's books rather than the inspo fiction (and the lack of poetry). Unfortunately, I don't read Spanish well enough to take home the story of the dog and the baby turtle...this might be a goal for the next several months. It was a really cute book and my dad is the family turtle rescuer, so I just might have to invest in my non-existent language skills. Both of us enjoy a good turtle story. And turtles carry the world, do they not? 

-- Chrissa 

Comments

  1. Gillena CoxJuly 30, 2022 at 9:36 PM

    Nice poem. And i did read somewhere a folk tale that turtles carry the world and earthquakes occur when there's a shift of tiredness

    Happy Sunday

    Much💚love

    ReplyDelete
  2. Carrie BurttJuly 31, 2022 at 5:49 AM

    I love how you correlated life with the big scene. Brilliant my friend! I love that your Dad rescued turtles! That is so cool and amazing! It is a shame there was not more poetry at the author event. I wanted to tell you that on the library database we have language learning and I have used it. You may want to check it out. I will get back with you on that. Also, I forgot to get back with you about malls in the 80s. We have much to talk about. 🌻🙂

    ReplyDelete
  3. robkistnerJuly 31, 2022 at 3:25 PM

    Aw, c’mon man, buy your lady a woofer!

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Treacle Season

  Sharing with The Sunday Muse #190 ,  hosted this week by Carrie. Keaton was great in that show—the one with wings— Where he was constantly a [man]child on a ledge  dreaming an angel who became a superhero.   She was a sarcastic (fake?) angel—it was the 80s— But always good, on time, her lessons easy, Easy as it would have been for him to fall.   The metaphor so obvious...but I didn't get it. Nor the easy and obvious good. (/s)   I watch the TV movie every other December Remembering believing in easy And crushing on this character, that city...   Angels should be sweet, sarcastic figures, knowing (like nurses and social workers) we prefer Sleeping on the ledge, reckless to call for "heroes." To clear up any confusion:  there is no Michael Keaton movie we watch every holiday season. Although, if there were...I'd probably watch it.  -- Chrissa
16 comments
Read more

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 the margins of
15 comments
Read more

Out of the Den

  For the Sunday Muse, #166. Deep in the rain, stand and drink. Water that rises carries the need, Remember the trail where it sinks; Deep in the rain, stand and drink. There is a rumble outside as I write. Arthur has come to check on me and has curled up beneath the desk--once James settles down, he'll probably find a more comfortable place to snooze or shiver through the rain. I am, this week, angry. You'd think a wolf would be a goad for finding words for it; not yet. I didn't expect to reemerge and be angry. I expected tears, the occasional panic attack, relief. Instead I am furious and couldn't say why.  -- Chrissa
16 comments
Read more