Saturday, 17 November 2012

Energy - A Cinquain

One poem a day for a month. That was definitely a challenge. Once a week seems more manageable.

The prompt on Playing With Words is to write a Cinquain this week.


Worn to the bone
Drag home, melt in water
Rise with the steam; again I have

I have signed up for a Blog hop on Dec 3. That day we all answer a list of questions as if in an interview with Dennis Finch. Click on the pic if you want to join.

Friday, 2 November 2012

My Lost Coin

My lost coin

This whole thing just makes me sad.

I feel as if,

I held a bright, golden, rare coin in my hand,

But I stumbled.

It slipped through my fingers.

Then it rolled off the bridge I was on,

And dropped into the powerful, deceptively calm river depths

That I could never swim.

All I have left to do,

Is to revisit it once in a while,

And from far above,

Sadly try to catch the glint 

Of what might have been mine

Until a cloud hovers over

And I just walk away.

My name is Mark

M  y name is Mark Andrew Jones,

A  nd I am me. Always have been.

R  aised by Harold and Judy and sister Lynanne.

K  endal ,my brother, raised himself,  but I guided him into some mischief.

A  t 6 years old I asked Jesus in my heart. He has never left.

N  ot quite a decade later, I connected with the Holy Spirit. 

D  rama is a big part of my life, on and off stage.

R  eading, writing poetry, playing music, playing video games, watching movies 

E  sther agreed to be one with me, so she is in me and I am in her.

W  ife, best friend, confidant, lover, companion, critiquer, editor, star of my universe.

J  ust a big fella right? Friendly, jolly, happy, polite, and easy going.

O  nly, I'm not. That is just a character role I created to make things easier.

N  ot many people get to see me be mean, serious, depressed, rude, and stubborn.

E  ventually, I pray. I shake them off and chose to put on the other.

S  o, thankfully, you don't have to be who you are. Become who you want to be.

Thursday, 1 November 2012

The Broken Ring.(ch 1)

“You must be careful not to deprive the poem of its wild origin.” 

Stanley Kunitz  (Pulitzer Prize Winner)

This weekend, I spent most of a day with my nephews, Ezra(4?) and Josiah(6?). Their Grandma was sick, so I entertained the kids in the little hospital TV lounge so my wife and her siblings could visit in peace. I opened my full sized coil notebook to a blank page. Josiah said, "Let's write a story!" In bits a pieces I began to write as they told/acted out the story. When it bogged down, I would ask a leading question so that it was like 'choose your own adventure' For example, "where would they get the magic spell? A Gypsy woman, a wizard, a book..." one of them would blurt out, "from the magic shop!"  Be warned before you start reading it, we never got to finish it.

The Broken Ring

   One day, Edmund Zyhow, the Prince of the Kingdom, was walking in the forest. He had on a Prince's ring he had inherited know as 'the Ring of Power.", but he could not make it work. It was just a royal seal to him. Not noticing that he had walked into a ring of broken stones, he absent mindedly played with it  as he often did letting it sparkle in the sun. Suddenly, it leapt out of his hands into the center of the stones. It began to spin, and then to glow. It began to hum, and slowly rose off the ground. In a blinding flash that drove the Prince to the ground, it cracked into three pieces. They separated in three different directions. With a high pitched squeal, they each streaked off in their direction and disappeared over the horizon.  

   I. The King's Table
1. Meeting in the Trees

   The Prince sat stunned on the ground. He rubbed his cheek where one of the pieces had hit him on it's way by. He was surprised to find blood on his finger. "I hope that doesn't leave a scar." ,he thought. Princes are renown for their flawless skin after all. He got dizzy as he stood feeling fevered and head achy. If he had seen his reflection, he would know that the magical explosion had burned off most of one of his eyebrows. 

   He began to slowly stumble towards the castle. He sensed a slight movement behind him and to the right as if someone's foot had disturbed some leaves. He leapt behind the tree he had heard the noise from. There he discovered a rock tied to a string. It was just high enough to disturb the dry leaves at the low point of it's pendulum arc. He saw a shadow on the ground, but before he could move the dark figure that had leapt  from the tree above the stone struck his back. He was knocked down and pinned down. "Well, if it isn't Prince Brat, the royal pain, the hideous 'mundster." his attacker sneered snidely. 

   Prince Edmund had been carefully maneuvering for leverage. He twisted his body, throwing his assailant off balance. As swiftly as a striking snake he had rendered his enemy immobile. "Now you're beneath me as you should be you smelly, wandering guttersnipe, you son of a tumbleweed. brother of the foul East wind, You, You.."
Before he could finish, they both burst out laughing and slapping each other on the back,

   The other young man threw back his hood revealing the garishly colored bandanna and gaudy jewelry, "Edmund, every summer, since we could walk under a wagon, you have come in disguise and seen your kingdom as only an honorary Gypsy could, yet I still have not taught you to curse out an opponent. I have failed!"      They helped each other up and began walking through the darkening woods. Edmund told his friend what had happened with his ring. They came to Casamir's camp and spent night laughing and telling stories.