Congratulations! We made it through Week 1 of this year’s daily writing project.
It’s Day 7 of our 2016 daily write-in. As you know, this year’s theme is FOUND OBJECTS. We have a new writing prompt for every day in February.
The object of this project is to turn off our inner critics, play with a daily writing practice, and share the results in a community setting.
For those of you who are new to the project, please read my introductory post. You’ll find more information and all of the Week 1 FOUND OBJECTS at this post. At the end of the month, I’ll have prizes for the most frequent contributors. However, there’s no obligation to write every day. Drop in as often as you like.
FOUND: Blood Letting Knife
Today’s prompt from Jone MacCulloch falls into the functional object category. The object, which Jone photographed at a Lewis and Clark presentation, was used for blood letting.
I can’t wait to see what kinds of words streamed out of everyone’s poem-veins today.
The blade prompted Jessica Bigi to set her poem at a barber shop.
How Rumors Start
By Jessica Bigi
Santa Fe Golden Tooth
Barbershop chatter
Silver spurred boots
Spring a ghostly tall
Of gold up there
In those hills
Not to wise Billy barber
Strangely Disappeared
Chatter- chatter-
Chatter Santa Fe
Golden Tooth
Barbershop chatter
Diane Mayr’s poem makes a good bridge between the barbershop gossip and the historical significance of today’s found object.
A Close Shave
By Diane Mayr
The head is tilted
so that the neck is
exposed to the hands
of an expert who with
the flick of a wrist
can deftly de-whisker,
or, as was the case
hundreds of years ago,
restore balance to
the humors in a body
by the letting of blood.
Instead of focusing on the knife in the image, my attention was caught by the brass bowl. I seem to be rhyming a lot this month!
Letting Go
By Laura Shovan
I am a bowl
to catch the blood
as it flows from your arm
in a hot, red flood.
A circle of brass
ringed with rust —
rest me under the cut
where the blade was thrust.
The blade is sharp.
The cut is deep.
Watch the blood drip dripping
until you’re asleep.
Maybe I should change the title to “Bad Medicine.”
I like the way Molly Hogan repurposes the blade in this poem. Molly is also blogging alongside our project. Check out her post.
Before the Photo
by Molly Hogan
A simple blade in capable hands
transforms stick
to whittled whistle,
kisses apple’s russet skin
twirling off
one
long
swirling spiral,
and sculpts a blushing peach
into glistening golden slices,
hitching a bit as it nicks
into the deeply crevassed pit.
Wiped clean on cotton cloth
discarded with a careless toss into
the shallow metal bowl
burnished vibrations echo
and fade
as the simple blade
rocks
back and forth
slowly
to
rest.
Linda Baie writes in, “I did some research, didn’t exactly find the instrument, but close, and then imagination took over. Interesting picture!”
Growing Up at Louie’s General Store
We let him have the back table,
that old man from down the way,
leaning close with old eyes.
He cut tobacco’s leaves for need,
and earned his own pinch for the day’s end.
Men dropped in to fill their pipes
not those who could afford to keep a stash at home,
but those scrapping a few pennies
for the evening’s smoke,
and the evening’s talk.
Low voices ask how things are going;
other’s answer, “fine, could be warmer,”
and take another puff.
Others who enter stay away,
eyes watering, nose crinkling at the reek.
Smoke eddies around that table,
a curtain that keeps others out,
just those old men passing the evening,
cronies all, smoking their pipes.
At last, they leave, empty their pipes in the bowl.
It’s my job to clean it out back,
then I can go home.
Linda Baie ©All Rights Reserved
Catherine Flynn describes a common problem that happens when we DO know what an object is. In contrast to our Day 3 mystery object (which turned out to be moth eggs), “Maybe my problem was that I had an idea about what this object is and couldn’t see any other possibilities,” Catherine writes. What do you think, poets? Do you prefer the mystery or the knowing when you sit down to write?
When curing chronic fevers
was a mystery,
doctors thought blood-letting
was the remedy.
Like one afflicted,
a story burns inside me.
I won’t be healed
until words flow unrestricted
from pen to page.
Just as blood once poured
from an incision made with a surgeon’s
keen-edged scalpel
and pooled in a battered, rusty bowl,
my words coalesce into
the shape of something new
and I am cured (for now).
By Catherine Flynn at Reading to the Core.
And thanks to Carol Varsalona for turning the question itself — What is this object? — into a poem.
Late arrivals:
Sorry I didn’t get to post these responses last night. I’m so glad to see everyone experimenting with form. Kudos to Mary Lee Hahn for using an acrostics today. She writes, “I went with tobacco knife, too, and wrote this acrostic after interviewing a (former) pipe smoker”:
A pipe gives a wise man time to think
and a fool something to stick in his mouth.
– C.S. Lewis.
Packing the tobacco correctly is as
Important as the
Proper breaking in of the pipe.
Each pipe
Smokes differently, and a good smoker can
Make one last up to 45 minutes.
One must tap the dottle from the bowl,
Know how to ream the pipe, and
Embrace the subtleties of the experience —
Rather like shooting or fly fishing or drinking
Scotch.
©Mary Lee Hahn, 2016
And here is a haiku from Matt Forrest Esenwine. In a small space, this poem appeals to many of my senses.
scarlet rivulets
spill into steel; blood, spirit
slip into slumber
– © 2016, Matt Forrest Esenwine, all rights reserved
***
I like hearing the voice of the blade in Charles Waters’ poem.
BLADE & CREAM: THE DREAM TEAM
I’m a Silvery Sharp Blade
who, along with my assistant
Shaving Cream, will shear your
forest of follicles leaving that
visage of yours so smooth that
rose petals on a spring afternoon
will snap at you out of jealously.
(c) Charles Waters 2016
***
Donna uses the blade as an entry point to talking about writing, also.
Transfusion
When I write
The veins open
And the vanes wildly
Turn
And I twist
Each word until they
Bleed wildly and
Churn
Spilling onto
The white of paper
Where they stain and
Burn;
Then I sit
Anticipating the silent
Transfusion, as you
Learn
The meaning
In the words light
Or dark, flighty or
Bold, wondering, what did you
Discern?
©2016, Donna JT Smith, all rights reserved
***
Jone Rush MacCulloch shares a very interesting connection with this object. You’ll want to read the full story at her blog.
Family Myth
“It was believed that bloodletting was a very important part of healing. ~Marcia Leiter
This tale
told to me
as a child.
Benjamin Rush
my fifth great grandfather,
swift in grabbing
the steel blade
and the brass cup
traps the infirm’s arm
slice the vein
lets the red ribbons
of stagnated blood
flow free
In 1799,
George Washington
requested a bloodetting
his physician,
obliged.
my fifth great-grandfather.
Washington died
© 2016 Jone Rush MacCulloch all rights reserved
***
I know that you are all chomping at the bit for the Week 2 FOUND OBJECTS. We will have one guest host this week. Thank you to Margaret Simon at Reflections on the Teche (Day 10).
DAY 8 PROMPT contributed by Diane Mayr (February 8)
DAY 9 PROMPT contributed by Mary Lee Hahn (February 9)
DAY 10 PROMPT contributed by Margaret Simon (February 10 at REFLECTIONS ON THE TECHE)
DAY 11 PROMPT contributed by Linda Baie (February 11)
DAY 12 PROMPT contributed by Buffy Silverman (February 12)
DAY 13 PROMPT contributed by Linda Baie (February 13 — Happy Birthday, Robbie!)
DAY 14 PROMPT contributed by Diane Mayr (February 14 — Happy Valentine’s Day!)
Leave your writing in the blog comments (feel free to post a poem or response in the comments of any project-related post). Be sure to note which day/prompt your poem or prose short goes with so I can post it on the correct day. Send in your writing ANY TIME — early, late. As long as I receive it by February 29, it will be posted along with the object of the day.
Perfect attendance is not a requirement of this project. Write and share your work as often as you like, even if it’s only once. The goal is to practice and share, not to polish, and certainly not to aim for perfection.
Interested in what we’ve written so far? Here are links to this week’s poems:
Monday, February 1
FOUND OBJECT: 100 year-old mailing box
Poems by: Diane Mayr, Molly Hogan, Mary Lee Hahn, Linda Baie, Jessica Bigi, Margaret Simon, Laura Shovan, Matt Forrest Esenwine, Catherine Flynn, Jone Rush MacCulloch, Brenda Harsham, Charles Waters, Donna Smith, Carol Varsalona.
Tuesday, February 2
FOUND OBJECT: Fancy peppers and produce
Poems by: Mary Lee Hahn, Jessica Bigi, Diane Mayr, Molly Hogan, Laura Shovan, Linda Baie, Matt Forrest Esenwine, Margaret Simon, Jennifer Lewis, Charles Waters, Donna Smith, Carol Varsalona.
Wednesday, February 3
FOUND OBJECT: Moth eggs
Poems by: Jessica Bigi, Margaret Simon, Diane Mayr, Mary Lee Hahn, Molly Hogan, Linda Baie, Jone Rush MacCulloch, Laura Shovan, Charles Waters, Donna Smith, Carol Varsalona.
Thursday, February 4
FOUND OBJECT: Table fan
Poems by: Jessica Bigi, Diane Mayr, Margaret Simon, Laura Shovan, Molly Hogan, Mary Lee Hahn, Linda Baie, Carol Varsalona, Catherine Flynn, Charles Waters, Donna Smith.
Friday, February 5 at Guest Blog, Radio, Rhythm & Rhyme
FOUND OBJECT: Tomato Moon
Poems by: Matt Forrest Esenwine, Jessica Bigi, Diane Mayr, Molly Hogan, Margaret Simon, Carol Varsalona, Laura Shovan, Mary Lee Hahn, Linda Baie, Charles Waters, Donna Smith.
Saturday, February 6
FOUND OBJECT: Antique Dolls
Poems by: Jennifer Lewis, Diane Mayr, Linda Baie, Molly Hogan, Catherine Flynn, Heidi Mordhorst, Laura Shovan, Carol Varsalona, Matt Forrest Esenwine, Mary Lee Hahn, Jessica Bigi, Margaret Simon, Patricia VanAmburg, Charles Waters, Donna Smith.
Day 8
Poem By Jessica Bigi
Where Have The Forest Gone?
Lesson
Not a feather falling
Hums of angry toothed Chans
Rolling claws of monsters
Man says it it quiet when a tree falls
Lesson
I can hear them crying
Screams of this world being torn and broken
Dreams of my forest children fading
I’m as old as Bulent light
Lesson
I know which direction they fall
Grandfather rock of mountains and sky
Block foundations of ancient cities
Lesson windy songs of a billon leave
Lesson Silences’
My voice Skips across life’s streams
Day 8
add this to the end of my poem ( I too face uncertainties of seasons change)
pleas and think you
Wow, wonderful poems. How did everyone know what it was? I thought it was a tobacco knife (obviously). Love the connections people made.
I went with tobacco knife, too, and wrote this acrostic after interviewing a (former) pipe smoker:
“A pipe gives a wise man time to think
and a fool something to stick in his mouth.”
– C.S. Lewis.
Packing the tobacco correctly is as
Important as the
Proper breaking in of the pipe.
Each pipe
Smokes differently, and a good smoker can
Make one last up to 45 minutes.
One must tap the dottle from the bowl,
Know how to ream the pipe, and
Embrace the subtleties of the experience —
Rather like shooting or fly fishing or drinking
Scotch.
©Mary Lee Hahn, 2016
Linda, I thought your poem stood up and stood out in its capture of a scene and a narrative, although there was certainly much goodness in the bloodletting poems. I do think labeling the items or even titling the pictures tends to limit our interpretation, whereas “mistaking” an object can lead to a very fulsome, not-necessarily-directly related piece of writing. I will always prefer to have the image alone.
Day 8
lost not found
bold white bruin man
where are your feet?
where your legs,
your stone torso,
your swinging arms?
they stride on
through the forest:
white columns of
motion can’t
think what they’ve lost
lost on the way:
bare gash of calculating eye
bare slash of resigned mouth
–Heidi Mordhors 2016
all rights reserved
Thanks Heidi, I appreciate the comment, and hope it didn’t sound like I was whining, was just surprised about everyone knowing. And now, Mary Lee, your poem appears. I love that you included what must be all the right moves in pipe smoking, & love that final line.
Day 8 coming up as a special blog post-500th Post Celebration and what better way to spend it than with my connected writing community. You can find my poem amidst the post at http://beyondliteracylink.blogspot.com/2016/02/500th-post-celebration.html.
Shortcut:
I lie among the shadows of mid-day sun
professing nothing, just residing
with body buried deep within a barren land.
You question what lies beyond my half-smirk,
my reckless abandonment of wholeness.
Half-truths, broken thoughts buried alongside me
within the shadowed forest search no more
for the stillness awakens wonder.
I ask nothing more than you open my eyes,
freeing my soul to continue pondering
the fullness of life in the vast expanse of universe.
©Carol Varsalona, 2016
And I am working on the poem for my bloodletting prompt. I have too much information. Will get there.
I will remember this: The object of this project is to turn off our inner critics, play with a daily writing practice, and share the results in a community setting.
Indeed! Sometimes having too much information can hamper the flow of words. It might be worth trying a traditional form. They can create a vessel when you have a lot of ideas or facts to share.
Day 8
Herman, the Hermit
The hermit crab,
Delightedly, had gone
So far afield,
Returning with
A brand new home,
Though cumbersome
To wield.
With face on back
Who knows which way
He’s headed? To or fro?
And who would mess
With this fierce home
With room enough
to grow.
His girlfriend should be
So impressed
To see his smiling face;
But hoped she wouldn’t
Nag him that
He’d slowed to a
snail’s pace.
Donna, I laughed all the way through. Such an imagination!
Margaret, some days you think you know the mood of a piece you are going to write – and then thoughts of small creatures, that you can’t even see, intrude and intervene. I’m glad it tickled you. I like imaging smiles!
Some very thoughtful, poignant responses today! Here’s mine:
scarlet rivulets
spill into steel; blood, spirit
slip into slumber
– © 2016, Matt Forrest Esenwine, all rights reserved
Day Eight
Lost Love
It may take longer than you can wait,
but my eyes are open.
The spell has broken,
and my mouth allows a whisper:
“I’m on my way.”
Linda Baie ©All Rights Reserved
When I read this after writing mine, I still had the hermit crab in my head and imagined HIM saying “I’m on my way.”
Now, taking HIM out of my head…
I love: “my mouth allows a whisper” and “it may take longer than you can wait”. So poignant! Beautiful!
Thanks, and I must say your imagination knows no bounds. I love that “fierce home”, would never have thought of a crab.
I am learning that I have to write before reading anyone else’s responses. So today I wrote a fractured limerick. It doesn’t follow the rules and rather than force rhyme which I am never very good at, I decided to just butcher the form.
Stone Head
Stone head slips a wink and sly smile
in the forest, long and deep.
His angle is awkward.
His skin snow white.
How does he ever get a wink of sleep?
That’s an interesting observation, Margaret. I feel the same way. I prefer to do my daily writing before reading the poems others have sent in.
I like what you did, and like limerick’s you have a great ending. I too don’t look until I’m through, too much going into my head that way.
I just discovered this project through the last Poetry Friday. I’m glad I wrote before reading all the poems so far. Wow! Here is my first poem. I may have to go back and play with last week’s images at some point, too.
Day 8
I lost my head
when I strolled
through the woods
late yesterday.
I set it down
just to rest
a moment in the shadows
that stretched toward dusk.
Then I rose
and ambled onward,
never missing it at first.
Kay McGriff
[…] For those of you who are new to the project, please read my introductory post. You’ll find more information and all of the Week 2 FOUND OBJECTS at this post. […]
BLADE & CREAM: THE DREAM TEAM
I’m a Silvery Sharp Blade
who, along with my assistant
Shaving Cream, will shear your
forest of follicles leaving that
visage of yours so smooth that
rose petals on a spring afternoon
will snap at you out of jealously.
(c) Charles Waters 2016
[…] Sunday, February 7 FOUND OBJECT: Blood Letting Knife Poems by: Diane Mayr, Jessica Bigi, Laura Shovan, Catherine Flynn, Linda Baie, Molly Hogan, Carol Varsalona, Mary Lee Hahn, Matt Forrest Esenwine. […]
[…] This year’s theme is FOUND OBJECTS. For those of you who are new to the project, please read my introductory post. You’ll find more information and all of the Week 2 FOUND OBJECTS at this post. […]
[…] This year’s theme is FOUND OBJECTS. For those of you who are new to the project, please read my introductory post. You’ll find more information and all of the Week 2 FOUND OBJECTS, which are our writing prompts, at this post. […]
[…] For those of you who are new to my blog, please read my introductory post about the February daily write-in. You’ll find more information and all of the Week 2 FOUND OBJECT prompts at this post. […]
[…] new to the project, please read my introductory post. You’ll find more information and all of the Week 2 FOUND OBJECTS at this post. At the end of the month, I’ll have prizes for the most frequent contributors. However, there’s […]
And working backwards a bit, here’s my offering for:
Day 7
Transfusion
When I write
The veins open
And the vanes wildly
Turn
And I twist
Each word until they
Bleed wildly and
Churn
Spilling onto
The white of paper
Where they stain and
Burn;
Then I sit
Anticipating the silent
Transfusion, as you
Learn
The meaning
In the words light
Or dark, flighty or
Bold, wondering, what did you
Discern?
©2016, Donna JT Smith, all rights reserved