Intro Extro

 

Image by AB_s from Pixabay

frozen and disconcerted

I'm more than introverted

I'm socially paralyzed

the extroverted folk seem

to live like life is a dream

but that may be a disguise

notes

https://www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/2023-november-pad-chapbook-challenge-day-21

Write an introvert and/or extrovert poem.

I call this poem style Sevensies. Every line has seven syllables.

I added text art to the base image using Pixlr.

Let's Get Legal

https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/4.0/

 BY: credit must be given to the creator.

 NC: Only noncommercial uses of the work are permitted.

 SA: Adaptations must be shared under the same terms.

If you want to use this image for commercial purposes, drop a comment with your contact information and I'll contact you.

Driving In Fog

Base image by Katie Mourn on Unsplash

driving into fog

claustrophobic, frightening

life's that way sometimes

notes

https://experiencewriting.com/2023/10/20/oct-20-prompts-in-a-thick-fog/

Write a poem about a time you’ve been lost or felt lost.

I interpreted the prompt more literally. I created a Haiga about fog and compared it to life.

I hate driving in fog. It terrifies me. I've noped out of driving in fog more than once.

I don't understand the love some poets have for spoken word prompts. There is a 99.9% likelihood that I won't do them. I think I have done exactly one spoken word poem on this blog in the ten years since I started it, and that one was at my own behest. If other people suggest such a thing, I'll dig in my heels. I really don't like the sound of my own voice.

I had a bad time with my vocal cord dysfunction last night. Most of the time the exercises to stop the laryngospasms work. Sometimes they don't. Last night was one of those nights. It was one of the rare occasions when I thought about taking the lone Valium I have left over from my dental appointment. I didn't do it, though.

I also wonder why society thinks anyone over the age of fifty should just give up on life if they haven't yet achieved what society would deem "success." What the hell are we supposed to do, curl up in front of the TV and watch game shows, infotainment, and soap operas till we croak? I'd rather keep writing even if everyone else thinks my stories are shit.

A favorite quote:

I'd rather fail with my own shit than succeed with someone else's. --Eddie Van Halen

Oh yeah, I added text and special effects to the base image using Pixlr. You're welcome to share the resulting Haiga, but please credit Cara Hartley/Ornery Owl if you do.

~Ornery Owl Has Spoken~

Image by christinecuisiniez from Pixabay

As an owlet, Ornery Owl didn't fear no steenkin' fog.

Then again, the contrary little cuss never had to drive in the soup.

https://odysee.com/@GamingAmbience:6/mass-effect-le-uncharted-world-chohe:3?r=GTwnGJ4fFBQfzuJgpHVpfKBKaC9b8B16

Carpe Diem Field of Flowers: Honeysuckle

I can remember

the smell of honeysuckle

New Mexico night

~Cie~

Notes:

I recently completed and am about to submit my manuscript for the Insecure Writers' Support Group anthology contest. The genre is middle-grade historical fantasy/action.

I normally write for adults. I find writing for youth extremely challenging. I ended up opting to write a lightly fictionalized autobiography of myself between childhood and my pre-teen years which centered around my imagination and the fantastical fiction genres which inspired me. In writing about myself I ended up opening a lot of pockets of unresolved grief.

The place I lived between the ages of four and nine was a semi-rural pocket in Albuquerque, New Mexico, where people could have small farms and keep chickens and such. We had a very large yard, a half-acre. Unfortunately, the house was in rather a shoddy condition and cockroaches the size of school buses had a tendency to get inside. The bugs are huge in New Mexico, and I was not keen on that. But I did love the little skinks and horned toads and such. We also had many beautiful plants around such as the honeysuckle vines, and the cicadas would sing us to sleep.

I was a very shy child and did not have many friends. The characters I met in fantasy worlds were my friends, as were my pets and the animals in our yard.

Although I was born in the Western United States and raised in the Southwest for a number of years, my parents were both from New York. When certain relatives would visit, they would ridicule my accent. A New Mexico accent is a bit of an off-Texas drawl. To this day, I bristle whenever anyone askes the seemingly innocent question: "where are you from?" To me, that question is loaded.

Happy 29th Birthday Michael

Click to Enlarge

Haiga copyright The Real Cie

My son was born on this day 29 years ago at 8 A.M. I was unconscious at the time. He was a long baby with no meat on his bones: 19 inches long, 5 pounds 12 ounces. He lost 4 ounces of that weight after being born and scared the hell out of me. He had to be fed every two hours because his blood sugar kept plummeting.

My son is a very intelligent chap, but he doesn't do things the way our current society thinks people are "supposed" to do things. He's high-functioning autistic and battles depression and anxiety. He has a great artistic eye and loves photography and woodworking. He learns best by doing and does very poorly with attempting to learn from textbooks and lectures, which is why he ended up not doing well in college except for in his German class.

My son and I are stocky people, so with the foolish biases that modern society holds about larger people, most people think we eat a lot. We don't. We are food insecure. We ration our food and tend to only eat one or two meals a day. 

Our neuropsychological conditions and my physical issues mean that neither of us can work conventional jobs. Since modern society has Draconian ideas, disabled people are punished and not allowed adequate food or housing.

I am not being hyperbolic when I say that if it weren't for my son, I would not still be in this world. So, now you know who to blame for my continued existence.

Happy birthday, Michael, and may you have many, many more, and may each one be better than the last.

Yo Mama

Tan Renga Challenge 2019: Day 6: In Shadow

Image Source

autumn moonlight--

a worm digs silently

into the chestnut.

presenting a sunny face

though my brain feels full of worms

Basho & Cie

Notes:

The Hokku (Haiku) stanza of this Tan Renga was written by Matsuo Basho. The Akegu (closing stanza) was written by me.

Matsuo Basho was born in 1644 and died 28 November 1694. As a point of coincidence, my father died on 28 November 2010.

As Chèvrefeuille explains, Basho's Haiku references his desires for a man. Basho was a Samurai, and, as with the warriors of ancient Greece, homosexuality was considered normal and acceptable. Relationships between older men and adolescent boys were also considered acceptable.

I do feel that homosexuality is normal and acceptable, but I think it is better not to have sexual relationships between adults and youth.

My portion of the poem does not refer to my sexuality. Being heterosexual, I never found myself in the position of keeping my sexuality a secret. It refers to living with mental illness in a society which stigmatizes people who struggle with depression and suicidal thoughts. 

Some people think that in this age of readily available psych meds, no-one should struggle with psychological problems. Many people do not respond well to psych meds, and not all psychological problems are chemical in nature.