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

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

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

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

    But have faith in tomorrow
    much❤love

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

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

    ReplyDelete
  12. 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
  13. 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

To Blue Fields Far Below

 Sharing with The Sunday Muse #228 , The Fashionable Twenties.  A sycamore fairy sits crosslegged in the road Dragons swim toward smooth hills above the storms Vines embrace the telephone poles  Someone washed the blue skies and she knows  It's time to dare the salty foam It's time to wade through the eternal fields' folds And gather golden apples for home.  Hoping this finds you with space to daydream and a good book in which to wander. Working on turning last week's prompt into a longer piece, as I found myself intrigued by the idea of tea in the garden as combat. Social situations are not my forte. As it's still Spider September, there will be a chihuahua-sized jumping spider that is none too happy about anything but hunting squirrels (that's for you, Mom).  -- Chrissa

Once Upon a Future Past

  Sharing with The Sunday Muse #204 . It's too far in the afternoon, I thought but evening ran behind me dragons, demons, and the sleeping world; afraid to turn, to wake me. Power needs its horror stories, its ghosts. It's too far in the afternoon, I thought but evening followed close; a fantasy of goodness, where the gold is always covering bones. Power needs its fairy tales, its witches. It's too far in the afternoon, I thought but evening treads my hem, like an army from the dragon's teeth and all the lies therein. -- Chrissa

Flagrant

  Sharing with The Sunday Muse #217. Come be part of the conflagration. :)  Oh, they called the mob to celebrate But only the fire heard They called the mass to congregate But only the dry grass bowed A conflagration Called to prayer Hungry for light Hungry for air Oh, they called the mob celebrate Wearing flames in their hair They called the mass to congregate Faceless in the burning air.  Greetings and salutations. I'm not sure what to say--we're not celebrating the 4th this year (not that I'm prepared to cede one holiday to the authoritarian idiots in charge of our state, but our grass is still dry from the heat and we have a dog terrified of fireworks...so we're celebrating by bunkering down and watching Howling 2  at the gleefully deranged suggestion of my sibling) and otherwise I've turned our dead corn plants into the basis for this year's Camp NaNo project...it's turning into a weird year, the kind of year where I'm reading more horror than norma...