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Wednesday, November 27, 2013

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

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 "separate."



2 comments:

  1. Two Words & A Hundred Meanings

    There are 28 separate words for snow for people who live in perpetual winter.
    There are two words for everything if you are my grandmother after her stroke.
    "Oh, boy," she says when my mother brings her cinnamon toast and tea.
    "Oh, boy," she says, frightened, as my mother holds the tea mug to her lips.
    "Drink," my mother says. "Chew."
    My grandmother drinks and chews and then looks up at my mother and smiles.
    She is a good patient and rarely complains.
    Her complaints are wrapped up in those two words: oh, boy

    "Oh, boy," she whispers when she wakes up earlier than the rest of us.
    "Oh, boy," her voice raises.
    Those two words mean she won't be able to hold it much longer.
    "Oh, boy," this means I don't want you to have to clean up after me.

    My room is next to my grandmother's.
    I am 29 years old and I have studied three languages.
    I am not a trained linguist
    but as of today there are over a hundred meanings for "oh, boy."
    I walk into my grandmother's room and
    with her eyes she tells me to raise the hospital bed.
    A Red Sox game plays on her small Zenith radio.
    It is the bottom of the sixth inning
    Clemens is at bat and the bases are loaded.
    I realize I am holding my breath because my grandmother is holding her breath.
    And he makes it. He hits it outside the Green Monster. The crowd is wild.
    The room vibrates like she's at Fenway
    even though she's in my mother's guest bedroom,900 miles away.
    "Oh, boy," she says.
    "Oh, boy," she cheers.
    "Oh, boy."

    Catherine Powers
    November 2013
    Copyright 2013

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  2. Graduation: 1974


    And,
    although I wasn't particularly anxious to go,
    it wasn't hard to do,
    to move on,
    to leave the address
    at which I'd spent
    six hours a day
    for the last
    four years

    Later,
    I realized I'd written the word "address".
    Not "building"
    or "school"
    or "friends"

    Occasionally,
    I would drive by - I do drive by - the old place
    and let the ghosts
    talk to me:
    "You're right,"
    one of them says
    good-naturedly,
    replying to my
    "I told you I can't dance"
    (are you still singing?)

    or,
    being fresh (do we still use that word?)
    and getting slapped
    outside the typing room.
    It was worth it.
    (did you finish the PhD?)

    or,
    constantly being called for "traveling" (whatever that was)
    the one time I tried out
    for the basketball team
    (an early lesson
    that my future in sports
    mainly involved tickets,
    hot dogs, and beer)

    But,
    the capsule separated successfully and its trajectory
    my trajectory
    was vastly enhanced
    by those
    small-but-necessary
    course corrections



    - Mike Fedel
    December, 2013

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