Lori:

Cinderella is a very special piece of writing.  This is an intimate look into a small child's world.

And the collage is wonderful and so full of meaning.  Well familiar with DID, it is a stunning representation of the 'real thing'. 

Bo 

I lie in bed
waiting
waiting
waiting for sleep
that never comes
as swirling thoughts
crowd moments of drowsiness
and force memories awake
long hidden from daylight hours
waiting
waiting
waiting for skies to lighten
so I can reach for the bottle
24 cycles finally spent
so time to hide reality
once again
behind drug induced
freedom from
swirling thoughts while
waiting
waiting
waiting to try sleep once again

I have an anxiety disorder with constant bouts of depression and continuous problems trying to get some sleep.

Bill

Bill,

Thank you for sharing.  This topic is really a 'sharing' topic, and I'm heartened to see so many poets dealing with the subject head on.  It's not something that should be hidden, but the repercussions are always possible and so the fear is always present..

I totally 'get' your poem. Many a night that waiting, waiting, waiting, is excruciating.  A second hand can move so slowly.

Bo 

Kate/Stan

I am always so moved by your poetry, the word combinations, the visual teases.  How can you possibly get that down, in finished form, in 10 minutes.  I do so admire your talents.  

There is so much really good poetry and feelings coming out of this week's topic.  Everyone is doing a great job.

 I love the comma, Stan

Bo
 

Here is my poem.  Its on my blog, too.  Jessie

Genie In A Bottle

"Your wish is my command," are words I wanted to hear.

I'll pop open the bottle and see!

A royal blue wish just for me.

What should I wish for?

Day dreams of golden hours,

a sun swept expanse of beach drenched sand,

or a quiver of silver arrows and a surefire aim?

But I am more than just one wish.

I am no longer the turn of fall,

or a winter sleep,

but the delight of a spring daffodil with an upturned face,

and the gentle wave of a summer oak decked out in green glory

spreading my branches with leaves of a thousand wishes!

I am free, not withered--

Whole and awake!

 With every fresh poem that comes in on this topic of mental illness, I find myself thinking how important it is that we share these pieces of our truth - and how shared they are, too. The stigma we attach to these experiences is entirely extra, tacked on, because the experiences themselves are so completely human and understandable, and all human beings are deserving of compassion and love.

 I think of the time when I first began graduate school and believed I was not smart enough to do the work.  One night while doing my homework, I found myself breathing hard, sweating, agitated, and terrified - convinced I was having a heart attack.  (It never occurred to me that the self-damning thoughts I'd been entertaining as a sort of "sound track" to my work had anything to do with this).  At the hospital, the doctor gently informed me I'd had a panic attack.  I was flabbergasted.  Later, when I told my mother what had happened, with great nonchalance she reeled off a list of family members who have them.

 
Again, I was dumbfounded.  Why hadn't she told me this?  It would have helped so much to know that I was not alone.  But I believe now that the stigma of appearing needy, wounded, or just plain crazy kept her quiet - as it does many of us.

 
Honesty is brave, necessary, and healing. I salute you, Poets, and thank you for your poems, your beauty, and your honesty.

KateSinging
 

I am really proud of the response to the 10 minute poetry subject on Mental Illness.  When I proposed the topic to KateSinging, I was hesitant to share my idea, but we both agreed it was a worthwhile endeavor.  It obviously touched a chord with quite a few poets and I feel it provided a needed platform for many stories and emotions.  Those of us who have a mental illness are certainly in need of a supportive and loving family like Artella who embraces what we share.  I do thank everyone who was inspired to write poetry, and also all those wonderful Artella friends who showed their support.

If you aren't overtired of this topic, I would appreciate feedback from anyone who is willing to read a short-short I have recently edited and will soon send into the editor-land.  Entitled Mama Dear, It is on my blog, BE-BOP BO, and Part 1 is up today.  Part 2, tomorrow.  I promise it isn't very long.  If you have any comments. please, please, please send them. Thanks for your poems and also your time should you "choose to accept this mission. da-da-da-da." (courtesy of Mission Impossible - am I dating myself?)

Bo 

Reading KateSinging's poem about Confidence  in today's DailyMuse reminded me that, though we had set a topic earlier for this week's poem, the final details were never set. I will put up details and if they don't work, we'll do something different.  Since tomorrow is already Friday, we'll go past the weekend.

New 10-Minute Poem

theme  ~  SCISSORS   (Any way you want, any angle, any style)

posted  ~ by Monday, February 11 at 5:00pm CST.

All you POETS out there - join in! See how many of us can keep to the 10-minute rule.  Of course, if your poem takes longer than 10 minutes, definitely post it.  Simply note it took extra time. Gotta write when ya gotta write!

So take 10 minutes out of your busy days, and cut out a poem.  Feed that creative bug before you do anything else. 10 minutes well-spent and your muse will thank you.

Enjoy,  Bo
 

 Amen and pass the poems, Bo:  I'm in!

Thanks for getting us rolling again. 

KateSinging 

 Hi Bo -

Your scissors poem must have been swallowed up in the message-eating-monster a couple days ago.  Do you still have a copy?  I'd like to read it again!

KS 

 Here's my scissors poem.  Don't know how long it took as I was on an airplane and not paying attention to time.  Longer than 10 minutes for sure.  Maybe 20?

 Great topic, Bo, my friend.  Anything unpacks into a poem, doesn't it?

KS/Stan
 

The Fates

Find my scissors, she’d say,

not looking up from her knitting.

Something was massing in her lap,

a wool sculpture still fragrant

of rain and windy hillsides.

I’d rise and blow through

the dusky house, blunted

by fear of not finding,

hungry to pin on the small medal

of a syllable’s praise.

Some dusks I spun out from her

chair as though following a thread

and laid a hand on sharp success.

Other evenings – such dark rooms,

knitting without light – I felt failure

cut me like a frayed end

severed from

the skein.

Kate

10 February 2008

I was thumbing through a National Geographic when I came upon a few pictures of random people, and this poem was born.  Does your life ever feel turned upside down???

SCISSORS

a 10 minute poem that took nearly 20

by Bo 

 
My grandma gives me a National Geographic
One she doesn’t want to read any more.
She tells me to cut out some pretty pictures.

I cut out a guy.
He’s a baseball player
His cap is pushed way up so I can see his forehead.
His eyes are all squinty.
And his mouth is snickery.
His uniform is white, it looks brand new.
He is the dad.

I cut out a lady.
She’s in an office.
Her blouse is red and purple and
She has on white pearls. Long ones.
Her belt is so big, like three belts twisted together.
Her belt is tight and stiff and it’s brown.
She is the mom.

I cut out a girl picking corn.
She has on a sweatshirt. It’s blue and all zipped up.
It is dusty outside.
She is dusty and her sweatshirt is dirty and she is hot.
She is the kid.

I cut out a yellow and blue fish from the ocean.
He opens one eye.
He sees everything.
He thinks he is the sun.
I glue him on my paper way up in the sky.

I pick up the people and I cut off their heads.
Snip, snip, snap.
Straight across their necks.

I glue the people on my paper.
I glue their heads on upside down.

My scissors are awful sharp.

Bo 

 Wow, Bo!  That is (pardon me) sharp (well, it is!) and chilling and moving.  And what a perfect picture for Artella of a young collage artist, deliberately rearranging the world into a shape more pleasing to her.  The power of art...  Thanks for posting this again.

It strikes me that you have a special gift for capturing the voices of young people - both here and in your two-part story. They seem especially alive - grappling with life, with questions, with worry, but all somehow in the register of a young person's mind - spot on.  Maybe there's more of this to do?

For our next one, what about staying with the art tool theme:  Glue?

KS 

Stan my Man, (alias, KateSinging)

Good to get back into some 10 minute poetry.  Umm, maybe we need to call it 20 minute poetry.  Those 10 minutes go way too fast and my pencil can't keep up!  Or we can work on a little discipline.

Your turn for a theme. Can hardly wait 'til you throw out the gauntlet.

Let's get back to Fridays again - we are pretty bad about schedules, eh? 

Back to 10 minute tries? Or more?  Whatever.

WHERE ARE ALL THE POETS?  JOIN IN!  If anyone else wants to pick a theme, jump in. It's open to just about ANYTHING!
 

Bo 

Hey Kate,

Evocative, hungry, mystical poem.  You are certainly a word weaver, Stan.  So many layers, actually multi-layers, in both of our poems.  There's the poet's poem, and then the reader's interpretation - the one they assume the poet is telling about them personally. Isn't that some sort of correlative???    Sneaky poets!

As far as writing through the words of a child, I have quite a few "kid-told" poems, but mostly I have a set of shorts - I think 5 or 6 - about a 11 year old, a girl living in a multi-generational home (as I did) with interesting interactions between 4 generations.  I should pull them out and give them a read.  Maybe I could do an installment series.  If others had longer pieces, it would be interesting to have a forum of serials.

Glue is gooey-good. I'll take a guess and say:

deadline 5 CST on Friday, and we'll TRY to stay at 10 minutes, unless, of course, we don't.

unless our messages cross and we mix things up. 

Cheers,

Bo