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Sunday, September 15, 2013

Today's Poem or Short Story Prompt: The Word "Handsome"

This blog is devoted to a select group of poets. We're starting with poets from the Ann Arbor area, but, hey, if you're from Detroit, Grand Rapids, Saginaw or the Upper Peninsula, then that is okay, too.  We've even been so generous to accept poets from other parts of the USA and the entire country of Canada!  

Our goal is to provide you with a prompt every day from which you are to garner inspiration and submit a poem. How to submit will be very easy.  Just put your poem or short story  in the comments section and hit post. You may not immediately see your post, but it is there under the "Comments" section. You may need to click on "Comments" to see your poem.  It is there on another page.

You may need to have a Gmail or Yahoo or AOL account to post in the comments section.  Most of you do have Gmail or Yahoo or AOL, but for those of you that don't, it's extremely worthwhile to open up one of these email accounts now!  This way you've got a chance to get your work out there in the world.

Today's poem or short story prompt is the word "handsome."

2 comments:

  1. Handsome Guy

    For the first time in my life I was happier than than Shawn. Shawn, of the ranks of the most handsome, hip-dressed, good jobbed, part-time musician and full-time heart throb.

    I first met Shawn at an AA meeting. I'd been a shitty drunk and was into my second year of so-called recovery. This meant I hadn't had a drink or a drunk for almost two years. However, those twenty-one months were still filled with bitter disappointments, job firings, women troubles, and enough past due bills to keep me working until at least age 82. So that recovery part felt very far off.

    "Keep coming back"
    "It works if you work it"
    "Progress not perfection"
    "Sometimes quickly, sometimes slowly"

    These are AA slogans and I kept telling myself to hang on, it will get better one day. I kept telling myself it would be a lot worse if I was drinking, but often this fell on my deaf ears as if I was drinking I wouldn't know how worse it was. Do you see my logic?

    So when Shawn came into his first meeting in the basement of St. Anthony's Catholic Church, I was all prepared to hate him. He had model looks, his clothes didn't smell and I watched him walk into the meeting having exited a new BMW sedan. What the hell?

    When it came time to share and tell us his story of alcoholic woe or bitter, angry resentment that the courts had sent him to AA after only two DWI's, I wasn't prepared for his humble "Is it okay if I just listen?" Jeez! I had shoved poor old Buddy P. out of his seat when he got up to get coffee so I could hear Shawn W.'s story. Now, I'd have to wait.

    "Keep coming back," I told him. Shook his hand to let him know I was sincere. "It gets better."

    Shawn hung his head and muttered what sounded like "Spanks." Although, on reflection, I'm sure he said thanks.

    "Try to make 6 meetings before you make up your mind about us," I told him.

    This had been told to me but I'd made up my mind before the end of my first meeting. I didn't have enough money for therapy or in or out-patient treatment and I couldn't take another girlfriend telling me that she thought I had a drinking problem.

    Shawn nodded his head, walked out the meeting's revolving door and headed to his BMW. I watched him pick up a phone, dial, and drive out of the parking lot.

    Catherine Powers
    Copyright 2013
    September 15, 2013

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  2. WRITING A SERMON


    Blueprint:
    (how it was going to work):

    Working in the library would be easier
    easier, at least, than home
    or study hall
    or the coffee shop
    where a group of us met regularly
    to pretend we had it all under control
    and bolster our confidence that, if not, then soon
    Inevitably, though, we talked about music
    or politics
    or the people at the other tables
    or how the hostess making the coffee
    would be a suitable partner
    for the lone gay girl at our table.

    Blackprint:
    (how it actually went):

    He was there
    and I was not able to focus
    My eyes refused to stay
    on the stack of notes
    written on 5 X 8 index cards
    as per Jorge's suggestion
    or on the books
    open to the pages with the
    small yellow PostIt stickies
    or even on the spiral notebook
    with the first two sentences of the sermon
    that was due tomorrow

    I stared, uncharacteristically,
    at his pressed white shirt
    and his profile
    and his smooth chin.
    He was clean, pressed, and handsome.
    But too much so
    Too much so

    I remember a sunrise once
    I'd woken up early because I was told
    there would be a small flash of green
    as the sun came over the horizon
    There was no green flash
    and I wondered what I had done wrong.



    - Mike Fedel
    Sept, 2013

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