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The Circle Game
A glib love story in the Age of Twitter.
Story and poetry by C Anne Ford
PS. This is still an active blog. I'm still writing here daily. Read comment section for this post. Thanks.
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Showing posts with label poetry. Show all posts
Showing posts with label poetry. Show all posts
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
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Good night irony.
It's time for you to go.
You've made us cynical.
Old before our time.
What havock you are wrecking
On the gentle art if "kindness"
Turning reality into farce,
Now that's not kind.
You've had your fun.
But now it's time you're leaving.
There's no place in the future that you've made.
Now it's time,
Past time that you were leaving.
Time for Hope
And time for change.
c anne ford
5-25-11
What havock the "ironic" lifestyle is wreckimg on the gentle kindness of "hope". It makes a mockery of the word "real". I'm thinking that, while irony is always welcome and a great way to puncture the balloons of hot air that fly through life, in the age of the great storms I'd rather have hope and heart.
Yeah, I know. MORE irony.
LOL
.
.
Good night irony.
It's time for you to go.
You've made us cynical.
Old before our time.
What havock you are wrecking
On the gentle art if "kindness"
Turning reality into farce,
Now that's not kind.
You've had your fun.
But now it's time you're leaving.
There's no place in the future that you've made.
Now it's time,
Past time that you were leaving.
Time for Hope
And time for change.
c anne ford
5-25-11
What havock the "ironic" lifestyle is wreckimg on the gentle kindness of "hope". It makes a mockery of the word "real". I'm thinking that, while irony is always welcome and a great way to puncture the balloons of hot air that fly through life, in the age of the great storms I'd rather have hope and heart.
Yeah, I know. MORE irony.
LOL
.
.
Sunday, March 27, 2011
That's all folks...
.
Hey and hello Gentle Readers.
Well. There's plants to plant and things to do here. The weather is good and the lawn chair and glass of sweet tea are calling.
Take care.
Writer Ann
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Hey and hello Gentle Readers.
Well. There's plants to plant and things to do here. The weather is good and the lawn chair and glass of sweet tea are calling.
Take care.
Writer Ann
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Saturday, January 22, 2011
A Strong Woman
.
I just read this poem...
A strong woman.
Is one who feels deeply
and loves fiercely
Her tears flow
just as abundantly
as her laughter
A strong woman
is both soft and powerful.
She is both
practical and spiritual.
A strong woman
in her essence
is a gift to all the world.
I'm sorry but I don't know who wrote it.
There's a link:
http://www.care2.com/c2c/photos/view/57/386634716/Strong_Women/astrongwoman.jpg.html
sounds good but ----
You know in my entire life time, I don't think I've ever known of a man who wants a strong woman.
Never.
"...
Strong women open their own doors.
They open their own jars and squash their own spiders because no one else will.
Because the world still turns and someone else has to.
They pick up hay bales because they can and they've too much integrity to con a guy into doing it.
Then they wonder why they spend Saturday night watching a rental movie with their dog.
Alone.
Kind of makes me sad.
Such lovely independent souls with rough hands.
Sightly disheveled and frayed around the edges.
Telling lovely stories about the adventures they've been on.
They live interesting lives and tell interesting stories.
Then they die alone.
..."
.
"...
I'm sitting here in the middle of all my failures.
They're "screaming" from all points.
The untidy parlor.
The dishes in the sink.
The un made bed called "My Life"?
My husband sits sullen in his chair.
Then it's upstairs in bed with the lights out.
He pretends to be asleep but I know he's not.
Better for us both that I keep up the ruse.
Lest we fight.
My daughter.
Fruit of my loins is somewhere.
She asked for money and I said no.
So she shut her "door" too and went into the night.
Bonnie girl.
I sit here on the couch in the dark and listen to all my failures screaming "You idiot."
It changes from my mothers voice, to my husbands, to my daughters, and then -
Into mine.
I cry.
Because I read in a poem that strong women do.
But in my heart I know.
That while these may be tears of failure,
They are not tears of strength.
..."
1/22/11
c anne ford
all rights reserved by the author.
Okay, before anyone starts in on this. Please read the following.
This is 12dotsandablot.
Like the old 12 dogs and a blog?
It's a writer's journal.
Fact and fiction are written here.
If you don't know which is which?
Don't ASSume.
Ask.
We're all okay here.
I was just reading the poem A Strong Woman and thinking about what I've seen in the world. I'm not sure that I believe that the world is kind to the strong women. Not to the ones I've known. The world tolerates them begrudgingly but it doesn't seem to open it's arms and say, "Come here Strong Woman. Here's your home."
More like, "We don't trust you strong woman. You don't fit the mold. Work hard for us but don't expect our affection. You're strong. Stand on your feet and work."
"...
I think -
No I'm sure that it's Eve's fault.
And Adams.
Stupid apple.
Stupid Snake.
On second thought stupid Eve.
Whomever? We've been paying for it ever since.
Maybe I'm wrong.
Maybe the cold has me sullen.
I've always been a Optimistic Pessimist.
Will think on it..
,,,"
Note:
Except where noted, all work in this post by the author and poet, c anne ford, 22 January, 2011, all rights reserved by the author.
,
I just read this poem...
A strong woman.
Is one who feels deeply
and loves fiercely
Her tears flow
just as abundantly
as her laughter
A strong woman
is both soft and powerful.
She is both
practical and spiritual.
A strong woman
in her essence
is a gift to all the world.
I'm sorry but I don't know who wrote it.
There's a link:
http://www.care2.com/c2c/photos/view/57/386634716/Strong_Women/astrongwoman.jpg.html
sounds good but ----
You know in my entire life time, I don't think I've ever known of a man who wants a strong woman.
Never.
"...
Strong women open their own doors.
They open their own jars and squash their own spiders because no one else will.
Because the world still turns and someone else has to.
They pick up hay bales because they can and they've too much integrity to con a guy into doing it.
Then they wonder why they spend Saturday night watching a rental movie with their dog.
Alone.
Kind of makes me sad.
Such lovely independent souls with rough hands.
Sightly disheveled and frayed around the edges.
Telling lovely stories about the adventures they've been on.
They live interesting lives and tell interesting stories.
Then they die alone.
..."
.
"...
I'm sitting here in the middle of all my failures.
They're "screaming" from all points.
The untidy parlor.
The dishes in the sink.
The un made bed called "My Life"?
My husband sits sullen in his chair.
Then it's upstairs in bed with the lights out.
He pretends to be asleep but I know he's not.
Better for us both that I keep up the ruse.
Lest we fight.
My daughter.
Fruit of my loins is somewhere.
She asked for money and I said no.
So she shut her "door" too and went into the night.
Bonnie girl.
I sit here on the couch in the dark and listen to all my failures screaming "You idiot."
It changes from my mothers voice, to my husbands, to my daughters, and then -
Into mine.
I cry.
Because I read in a poem that strong women do.
But in my heart I know.
That while these may be tears of failure,
They are not tears of strength.
..."
1/22/11
c anne ford
all rights reserved by the author.
Okay, before anyone starts in on this. Please read the following.
This is 12dotsandablot.
Like the old 12 dogs and a blog?
It's a writer's journal.
Fact and fiction are written here.
If you don't know which is which?
Don't ASSume.
Ask.
We're all okay here.
I was just reading the poem A Strong Woman and thinking about what I've seen in the world. I'm not sure that I believe that the world is kind to the strong women. Not to the ones I've known. The world tolerates them begrudgingly but it doesn't seem to open it's arms and say, "Come here Strong Woman. Here's your home."
More like, "We don't trust you strong woman. You don't fit the mold. Work hard for us but don't expect our affection. You're strong. Stand on your feet and work."
"...
I think -
No I'm sure that it's Eve's fault.
And Adams.
Stupid apple.
Stupid Snake.
On second thought stupid Eve.
Whomever? We've been paying for it ever since.
Maybe I'm wrong.
Maybe the cold has me sullen.
I've always been a Optimistic Pessimist.
Will think on it..
,,,"
Note:
Except where noted, all work in this post by the author and poet, c anne ford, 22 January, 2011, all rights reserved by the author.
,
Saturday, January 15, 2011
Hello world.
.
Now this is pretty good.
Hello Gentle Readers who are reading this in other parts of the world. (Who knew?) Uhmm I'm hoping that you aren't having to translate this with something like an on line translater. It's hard enough to read the "country slang" for someone who lives in the US. I can't even imagine what Internet tranlater programs are showing.
Because I love to write poetry, please get someone to translate who is familiar with Southern slang.
Or even better?
You are welcome to comment here? I'd love to see the English translation of the poetry.
(Note: translation poetry from one language to another is a difficult thing. Take Haiku. Because of the problems with translations and the nature of Haiku? Haiku written in English vs Japanese can be completely different.
I was writing Haiku for a while and reading about the format. Haiku has a specific format for the poems subject and structure. That's problem enough but it also seems to be nuanced. The words are very powerful because the author must limit the number of words used present the idea. The words chosen are very specific to the image or sensation that the author is trying to express to the reader. Abstract ideas and feeling are whispered or shouted. The feeling of the wind on your cheek or the vision of a newly sprouted seed in the warm earth. It was difficult to choose the words but to have them handed to a machine to be translated???
Ah no.
The prose and the antidotal posts aren't so difficult to translate but the poetry, because I've worked to find those words which will show you the ephemeral emotion in my heart? Please find a human "heart" to translate the "human nature" of the poem.
Or ask me.
I'd be delighted to talk about it.
At the very least, I'll mark the posts were actual writing (rather than just prattle) is being posted.
Happy day and warm thought to you.
AuthorAnn
"What is this thing I hold here?
Neither living nor dead -
And yet?
It is radiant.
And bursting with an energy that is not seen with the eye
But felt with the heart.
Words like "peace" or "love"
"Hope" and "change"
Are like the wind.
Invisible
Yet combined with "Faith"
They can move mountains."
Pup's Smile
by c ford
1/15/11
all rights reserved by the author.
Now this is pretty good.
Hello Gentle Readers who are reading this in other parts of the world. (Who knew?) Uhmm I'm hoping that you aren't having to translate this with something like an on line translater. It's hard enough to read the "country slang" for someone who lives in the US. I can't even imagine what Internet tranlater programs are showing.
Because I love to write poetry, please get someone to translate who is familiar with Southern slang.
Or even better?
You are welcome to comment here? I'd love to see the English translation of the poetry.
(Note: translation poetry from one language to another is a difficult thing. Take Haiku. Because of the problems with translations and the nature of Haiku? Haiku written in English vs Japanese can be completely different.
I was writing Haiku for a while and reading about the format. Haiku has a specific format for the poems subject and structure. That's problem enough but it also seems to be nuanced. The words are very powerful because the author must limit the number of words used present the idea. The words chosen are very specific to the image or sensation that the author is trying to express to the reader. Abstract ideas and feeling are whispered or shouted. The feeling of the wind on your cheek or the vision of a newly sprouted seed in the warm earth. It was difficult to choose the words but to have them handed to a machine to be translated???
Ah no.
The prose and the antidotal posts aren't so difficult to translate but the poetry, because I've worked to find those words which will show you the ephemeral emotion in my heart? Please find a human "heart" to translate the "human nature" of the poem.
Or ask me.
I'd be delighted to talk about it.
At the very least, I'll mark the posts were actual writing (rather than just prattle) is being posted.
Happy day and warm thought to you.
AuthorAnn
"What is this thing I hold here?
Neither living nor dead -
And yet?
It is radiant.
And bursting with an energy that is not seen with the eye
But felt with the heart.
Words like "peace" or "love"
"Hope" and "change"
Are like the wind.
Invisible
Yet combined with "Faith"
They can move mountains."
Pup's Smile
by c ford
1/15/11
all rights reserved by the author.
I don't know how this poem translates but I think that the "feeling" is universal.
To me?
It's the promise of springtime on a cold winter's night.
.
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
Lucidity
.
"...
She stood there on the point of time.
There amongst all the other points in time.
With people standing still.
On a bubble.
Such is life.
It seems so real and yet it's a fragile as the bubble she was standing on.
She thought about the physics of it.
The chemistry.
The alignment of molecules that could only be that way because lets face it they were molecules and a moody sort.
They did what they did because they just did.
No other explaination.
But for some reason this was different standing there.
For her there seemed to be a choice.
A moments hesitation that was actually more like a life time.
What to do?
She stood looking ahead of her and looking behind.
Grabed both by the arm and pulled.
.
by c ford
1-4-2011
.
all rights reserved by the author
"...
She stood there on the point of time.
There amongst all the other points in time.
With people standing still.
On a bubble.
Such is life.
It seems so real and yet it's a fragile as the bubble she was standing on.
She thought about the physics of it.
The chemistry.
The alignment of molecules that could only be that way because lets face it they were molecules and a moody sort.
They did what they did because they just did.
No other explaination.
But for some reason this was different standing there.
For her there seemed to be a choice.
A moments hesitation that was actually more like a life time.
What to do?
She stood looking ahead of her and looking behind.
Grabed both by the arm and pulled.
.
by c ford
1-4-2011
.
all rights reserved by the author
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
cubical blues
I sit
in this box
9 to 5
writing words
Lunch before 3
If I'm lucky.
Happy hour @ six if I'm not.
I write words like a ghost.
For someone who'll call them their own.
They laugh and preen.
While I write here.
Jason's gossip
The yellow highlighter of the bright spots of this day.
The white out gizmo and alcohol
Cover up the mistakes.
6-29-10
Author Ann
Day after day after day ...
LOL the computer fairy is busy again eating my poetry. I hope it gets a massive case of computer indigestion
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