Dream Memory Mash Up

Dream Memory Mash Up

This week we tried a writing experiment. We each wrote five lines describing one of our earliest childhood memories and five lines describing a vivid dream.  Then we cut apart all ten sentences and rearranged them to make a poem.  The results surprised us.  See what you think.

Collecting Rocks

We went to the countryside to collect rocks.

I dream of my daughter at the age of 3.

My mother is collecting rocks.

My daughter is always the age of 3 in my dream.

My dad driving us out to collect rocks.

She is always running away from me at the age of 3.

My mother being happy collecting rocks.

My mother collecting rocks for her garden.

 I dream of her now at the age she is.

~anonymous

Time Passed

The water flows gently through the creek.

It was fun

In a daisy field lying down.

It was a sunny day.

The landscape filled with the colours of yellow and white.

I could ride it in the backyard.

There are many hills and a path to the creek.

It went fast.

It was a blue bike.

It was a tricycle.

~ JRC

Cornered

I am being chased by gangsters dressed in black.

I dodge into all the alleys and hiding places I know.

I find gladiolas in a pail in the garage.

I think my father is going to plant the flowers in our back garden.

So I plant each glad in a hole I dig in the garden.

The gangsters have me cornered.

Suddenly my feet lift from the ground and I am flying high out of their reach, above the rooftops of our street.

When my father looks for his flowers, 

he laughs to see them tilting in the garden out back.

My father bought gladiolas for church on Sunday.

I am running out of breath.

~ S

Watch for new pieces

We've been away for the summer.  Now that the cold winds are beginning to blow us back indoors, we'll bring out our pens and 'puters and put some delectable words in the oven.  Watch for our first batch!

A Recipe for Home

There’s no secret to this recipe.

First, gather your ingredients:

A strong blend of unique women,

courageous, insightful, funny,

clever, kind, passionate.

Marinate in a safe place.

Add a dash of your own room,

and ten cups of Common Room.

Mix well with bags of books, marking pens

and several pounds of puzzles.

Let stand for 24 hours, then fold in

six ounces of self awareness and

a dollop of writing group.

Sift in a good night’s sleep.

Sprinkle with bright pictures on the wall,

and roll out in a brand new kitchen.

(Warning: you might need onion goggles

‘cause sometimes you’re gonna cry!)

Bake in the oven til it’s sweet and golden.

It’s ready when you are.

We call our creation

Home!

~by members of The Women's Writing Space

In God I Trust

How do I mend a broken heart

I’ll turn to God for that’s a start

Please take away my heart-filled pain

In you I trust and know I’ll gain

Please draw close to me I pray

for in this world I want to stay.

For not to be I cannot conceive

In you I must trust and really believe

For if I’m left with just one friend

then I know I’ve been blessed to the very end.

                                          ~JB

The Road Travelled

The road is long and ever winding;

Searching your truth is hard finding.

It was deemed normal to have luggage so full,

Twin items found missing, yet you feel a superficial

pull.

A moment to rest, you sit on a rock.

Figuring what path to take, you ponder in thought.

Realization occurs: walking the path with a lighter suitcase

Makes it easier for one to pick up the pace,

Such that the road becomes straight and smooth.

Even with all the hills to face, you are in the groove.

With yourself in free thought and intended action,

Lessons become a breeze even when there is traction.

But keep in mind the straight road has pot holes.

Just remember they are easy to fix, even when your heart folds.

Meditate softly, again, helping your heart open

In quiet peace or while listening to Chopin.

Taking time to find yourself will help you grow.

Thus will make it easier to live in flow.

On your road you may find a stream.

Then stop for a moment and allow yourself to dream.

Enjoy the water with all its ripples.

They are there to remind you not to stay crippled.

And just how do you end this story?

Ahh! It never ends

As the love of life is full of

Glory!

~By JRC

Colours of Spring

Pink

tastes like sour candies,

smells like bubble gum,

sounds like a sports car’s horn.

Pink feels like sunshine on a balmy day.

Pink says I can’t stop loving you.

Pink says I know what I want.

Pink says I’m ready for a new day.

White

tastes like cultured pearls,

smells like lilacs on a backyard tree,

sounds like a cloud hitting the ground,

feels like wool against my skin on a cool day.

White looks like pavement newly cleaned.

                                             ~by A.

Yellow

tastes like melted butter on popcorn,

smells like a field of daffodils far away,

sounds like a baby shower,

feels like a sunny day.

Blue

smells like a fresh coat of paint

and tastes like cotton candy.

Blue is the calm after a storm.

Blue is my favourite cotton pj’s.

Blue says I’m happy.

White

feels like satin and lace,

and sounds like the soft ringing

of door chimes.

White is a cotton ball,

shaking Michael Jackson’s gloved hand,

footprints in the sand.

White says I’m married.

                                     ~ by JB

This is My Letter to the World

This is My Letter to Tall People

Dear Tall People,

               

I admire you so much. I wish I knew what it was that made you grow so tall. I ‘d sure like some of it in my life. Is it goodness that grew you?

     Tall is beautiful. Short is slower than tall. Short gets ignored. Tall gets heard. Short is stuck in childhood. Tall has grown up and fulfilled childhood dreams.

     If you have any tips for me, I’d love to hear from you!

Curiously yours,

A.

This is My Letter to the Rat Race

Dear Rat Race,

               

      Please slow down! I’m so frustrated with your hustle and bustle. You’re so focused on getting there, you don’t know how to enjoy the trip.

      You bump into me at the mall without excusing yourself or even seeming to care. You’re in such a bad mood at the end of the work week, you crab at me for swiping my debit card the wrong way. What ever happened to “have a nice day”?

When you drive, you’re so busy in your head (or on your phone) and blasting music, you don’t see me crossing. That’s my fault?

So let go of the earphones, the cell phones! Let your dog stop to sniff the bushes and meet and greet others. Follow his example—slow down and smell the roses!

Sincerely,

JB

Love Letters

Ode to My Favourite Clothing

To my favourite tee shirt:

White and cotton,

Close to my virginity.

To my blue jeans:

Light blue like the sky,

Comfy and gentle,

Tight and cow-girlish.

To my boots:

High and black,

Suede and soft,

Fitting well.

Looking not too bad!

To my underwear:

You keep me feeling free

And feminine.

The more feminine

The better!

--Anonymous

To My Tired Feet

Dear Tired Feet,

I am writing to let you know just how grateful I am for all these years of taking me to places that I’ve been, and to all the places I’ve yet to go. I want to thank you for being there for me when I needed to run, run, run away from whatever ails or troubles me, and yet you’re still here for whatever may come my way next. We’ve walked a lot together, you and I, and still have a long, long way to go. I love you for all you’ve done and again for what’s next to come.  Again I say thank-you – love you forever more!

Sincerely yours,

JB

In Praise of 

Praise my eyes because they see
the cardinal in February's tree.
Praise my knees
because they bring me close to God.
Praise my nose
because it warns me of danger.
Praise my right hand
because it knows when to let go.
Praise my spirit
because it will never die.

--S., 2011

Two Faces of Love

1.

Love tastes like a hot cup of coffee.

Love wears satin with lace.

Love is an exercise machine.

Love sounds like church bells softly ringing.

Love is a car taking me to a vacation resort.

Love is a dolphin.

2.

Love tastes like rotten eggs.

Love wears dried, blood-soaked clothes.

Love is a paper shredder.

Love is an explosion.

Love is a tornado.

Love is a car taking me to a dead end road.

Love is a black widow spider.

                                   JB, 2011