Julie's Deadhead Thread

[Julie]

Julie,

Nicely done. And I have to say, caskets are shockingly heavy.



sefton
well, that cast a bit of gloom over the evening...

No no, a bit of a pall.

Ba dum bump.

Oh dear.

Thanks, sefton. If you promise to come back, I'll promise not to make more morbid jokes.

Julie

[Mandolin]

Julie, I'm down to drive-by reads. May will be better.


But I love "Rung."

[Julie]

But I love "Rung."

Thanks, Mike.

I guess I can still write in free verse without embarrassing myself too much.

Julie

[Julie]

I couldn't post last night. The site really does hate me.



Inspired by someone else's gravel poem. Now I can't remember whose. Edited to add: Eparsons! I am an idiot.


Gravel

I couldn't ride a bike, but could outrun
my brother's wobbles, spinning in the limestone.
I'd trot alongside, hand to the sissy bar, only
falling back when the gravel worked its way
into a shoe. I couldn't ride but loved
the crackle of the rocks under tires, pried
one bike wheel off to hoop it up the lane,
getting the stick spokecaught to crack
my shins, splinter like a pretzel rod.

But the sound wasn't there, the sound
of my father coming home in the pickup crunching
and me with my cheek to the sidewalk
peering out over the gravel to see
which friction built that sound, which two rocks
would rub together right, if I could just pick them out.

[larryrap]

Well Julie, from where I'm sitting, everything you write has the stamp of quality. It's the way you set the words on the page or something, I'll just have to study it and emulate. Personally I prefer the longer ones to the Julians but there's no denying they are catchy and frequently feel complete and nourishing. Write on.

Thanks,
Larry

[Julie]

Thanks, Larry.

I understand what you mean about the longer poems, though I just tend to be a fan of the short shorts. Eventually, I'll stop fiddling with them, I bet.

Julie

[TonyWilliams]

Hi Julie

Another gravel poem - excellent. This most poetic of subjects is under-represented.

But the sound wasn't there, the sound
of my father coming home in the pickup crunching
and me with my cheek to the sidewalk
peering out over the gravel to see
which friction built that sound, which two rocks
would rub together right, if I could just pick them out.

This is convincing as a childhood physical activity/mental process (I only realised recently that one of the reasons I see things differently nowadays is that my point of view was literally different then - always grubbing about on the floor). Impressive stuff.

Tony

[Julie]

Tony,

Was yours the gravel poem that inspired me? My brain is so muddled.

I did a lot of grubbing about on the floor as a kid. I should do it more, but the ole joints don't flex the way they used to!

Julie

[TonyWilliams]

Was yours the gravel poem that inspired me?

Yes <blush>

The trouble with grubbing around is that it's so hard to turn off adulthood's foolishness alert systems; also you no longer fit in all those cubbyholes/through gaps etc. On the other hand, I haven't had a scabby knee for years...

[Julie]

I seem to have missed out on the part of growing up that keeps me from looking like a fool. I fixed the attribution. I would have linked, but my connection is so unbearably slow right now.

Julie

[romac1]

...me with my cheek to the sidewalk
peering out over the gravel to see
which friction built that sound, which two rocks
would rub together right, if I could just pick them out.

Very good, Julie. The sonics in the poem are just right, and the finish perfect.

I should really try a few short short poems, a julain perhaps, as most of mine tend to go on and on. The good thing about NaPoWriMo is that I don't have time to make them go on as long as they otherwise could.

Bearer is good too. You use imagery in your poems to communicate emotion very effectively.

[Julie]

Bearer is good too. You use imagery in your poems to communicate emotion very effectively.

That's a huge compliment for me, Rob. Thank you.

Julie

[Julie]

Untitled

Green army men made a tent of the sod
tucked shallow into the earth. Joe bulldozed
with his Tonka so precisely, but I scrabbled
the soil with my grubfingers, left the graves
Veniced under the hose's numbing spray.

[Julie]

Temptation

That's the tempting itch, the thought of death
that makes a bridge abutment whisper fly.
It's why I keep no toasters near the bath,
no rope stored on a rafter. Bottled lye
stays at the store. It's easy to eat earth
or bullets, but too hard to mention why.

[MEHope]

...It's easy to eat earth
or bullets, but too hard to mention why.

You know.

I have't read too many of yours Julie, because I know I'd get lost and send you e-mails begging for more of your work.

You don't need that.