Divorce Bard's Blog

...Iambic pentameter is for the ear. Read it out loud.

Divorce Bard

Divorce Bard
Location
pretty how town, USA
Birthday
February 13
Bio
While the ashes of marriage #2 were cooling, I began a journal here in verse, to keep myself out of trouble. So far so good, and one day at a time. I took a hiatus this past January, and I missed it terribly. Writing daily had changed the way I think - not my opinions, but the process of thinking itself. So here I am back again, and hungry. I began with three rules: (1) Iambic pentameter, (2) Perfect rhyme, and (3) It had to be true (no hyperbole). I hereby amend rule number 3: If I'm writing about myself, yes, it has to be true. But it doesn't, if I want to tell a story.

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APRIL 8, 2012 1:08AM

In My Kitchen

Rate: 15 Flag

The oddest thing just happened.  I’m working on a poem just now, a narrative of a Kenyan folk tale I found last year.  I had struggled with it for weeks – or more accurately, I had avoided sitting down to it for weeks – and then somehow tonight, things started to come fairly freely.  Suddenly there was progress, and a poem was filling up space and time.

So I kept working.  It’s several verses longer now, and the meter has changed.  And I just kept going, and now it’s past my bedtime.  This is a common occurrence: somehow I have some of my most satisfying ideas when I’m close to keeling over, when I’m drunk from lack of sleep.  I’ve nodded off in front of a poem enough times that I think my nose may be flattening, just a bit. 

So. This thing that happened.  I decided enough was enough, and it was time to brush my teeth.  So I got up from my desk and started toward the bathroom. 

Here’s the layout of my place: as I sit at my desk, with my back to the street-facing windows, I look directly into my kitchen.  The apartment is sortof T-shaped.  So to the left of the kitchen is my son’s room, and to the right is my daughter’s.  The bathroom, where I was headed, is off the kitchen, by my daughter’s room.  Got that? 

There’s this feeling, when it’s really late and the kids are both sound, sound, sound asleep, that I don’t want to wake them, but virtually nothing I do would ever have any effect anyway.  They pretty much sleep like stones.  So there’s just this feeling, a notion of their presence, as I make my way through the kitchen, by both their rooms, toward the bathroom.  Just a notion, a familiarity with the idea of their being there, a comfort of maybe a sleeping aura spreading out into the rest of the apartment, so I pass through it as I maneuver by the table and then the stove.  Or something. 

It’s just a little thing.  I got up from my desk, started through the kitchen, and felt it, and was comforted by it, as usual, as always.  It’s just that… they’re not here.  They’re with their mother. 

The thing is, it was so very comforting, you know?

 

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Hey Bard. you know as I was reading I was thinking, are the kids there? What a great feeling. you've got them with you always. Can't wait for the Kenyan folk tale.
Aww, DB ...
Smiling here.
Sleep well.
Happy Easter, DB.
Just wow, Mr Bard. That was good. That was very good.
My wife died a couple of years ago. She is with me frequently. Reality is within our minds and that is where our world is.
They're sneaky little things. They grab your heart at day one and don't leave. Lovely post.
Spirits of the living. This works on me like a looooong haiku. The voice is so comfortable and carries so much of the spirit you felt passing by those rooms that I feel it now, too.
Fun read? I divorce is a division.
Enmity is a Mystery. Life goes on.
Divorce Bard. Thanks. I sense too.

Some inner thoughts brew for weeks.
Then ~Something just Happen. Boom!
I visualized Ya T- shaped abode. Yikes!
`
The Home I Recall as a child was similar.
The kitchen, a hallway with bedrooms,
and a indoor flush-spring bath commode.
`
We always complained that the toilet was?
The designer built a indoor-pot by rooms.
Pot?
That's a indoor 'outhouse' by bedrooms.
That interior hut-designer was very lousy.
If a eater had gas-pains we 'kids' woke up.
`
Never build homes with a commode inside?
No.
No eat Morel Mushrooms late in the night.
Why?
Because you might emit a loud sound`Boom!
Ay Huh?
If 'kids' (baby goats) live there they wake up!
O, pew.
Stinky.
heehaw.
`
I may try to 'cut & paste' images of morels.
But . . .
I am more & more just losing faith in bunny?
tease . . .
funny . . .
Kerry funny.
He bunny hop.
Why's editor . . .
____? so cruel?
Oh, Never mind.
`
It Don't Mean Nothin'
Have a fun Holiday
`
on Easter Sunday
a sad bunny wishing
she'd never been born
`
tease . . .
transcend sad
hop along happy
`
`
`
What love you must all share. How powerful are their prayers?
How lovely you are, Bard ... how lovely you are ...
Bard,a sentimental work ..I am totally with Jan here...Reality is inside...At least I try to make one...Thank you Bard..for sharing..I am living in a situation and I am trying to deal with it the best way I may...not always can..but I always try..Wishes for good Holidays and what you wish to come true.Rated.
Oh my. Oh yes. So sacred, this....rated with admiration.
Because they really live in your heart. So very good.r
I remember when the kids where small, the sound of them sleeping, knowing all was well in each room, sometimes I would stand and put an ear to the cracked door and hear the exhale. Always a night owl, I relished that time, alone downstairs yet knowing my family was asleep. Perhaps this carried over even though they weren't physically there, it's still their home, you made it so. No more comfort in the world than knowing each one is safe and sleeping.
Sometimes brushing my teeth works for me to.
........(¯`v´¯) (¯`v´¯)
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............... *•.¸.•* ♥⋆★•❥ Thanx & Smiles (ツ) & ♥ L☼√Ξ ☼ ♥
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