Showing posts with label moondustwriter. Show all posts
Showing posts with label moondustwriter. Show all posts

Friday, 24 December 2010

Christmas Eve




Christmas Eve 
a night 
of reflections.
A   time 
to   be 
  s  i  l  e n  t 
t   o    
   l   i  s t  e n...

     A       
moment
for  an  elderly  woman
in her over soft leather chair
to  take  a  look  back in time 
  h   e  a  r     the     s  q  u  e  a  l s 
of    now    grown    children
gaze into the eyes of her grandson
linger       on        that       love 
     Live         A        Memory


one 
l  a  s  t 
t   i   m   e




A Christmas Eve Story
by
Leslie Moon

The Christmas tree lights beautifully reflected a colorful glow with hopes of a new day. Cecilia sat in her armchair comfortable to sit and remember the past. It's as if in each ball she could see a face of a loved one. For a moment she heard voices of long ago. "Honey quick before your brother gets home. I want the tree to look perfect."
 "Oh mama" Cecilia sighed. I wish you were here. I wish you had decorated our tree."
Cecilia was glad she had the memories but sorrowful that was all she had.

Cecilia was the only remaining member of her family. A tragic car accident had taken her thirteen year old brother, her mother, her father, and the little one. “Cee”  had been spared because she was staying overnight at a friend’s. It was during her Junior year in high school; she was a sixteen year old with no family to care for her. That’s when she met Gray.
Grayson was an only child. His parents were very generous people but because of that, they had very little. When they had heard of Cecilia’s trouble, they had offered her the one room cottage in their backyard. They became her family. Grayson and Cecilia were married two years after she graduated from high school.

The memories spun forward. With a smile, she remembered her neighbor, Ben, who was now with his dear wife. The memory of that Christmas Eve still very fresh. Times were still hard but they would get through because of memories like last Christmas.
***


Cecilia looked at the kitchen calendar as she prepared breakfast.


“Only one week before Christmas Eve and his seventh birthday.” You could feel the deflation in her lungs and spirit.
“I only would like the Star Wars Lego set mama,” Jonnie’s blue eyes had said pleadingly a week before.

Jonnie had never been spoiled as a child. His parents showered him with love but had been careful to put money away for college rather than buy an abundance of toys. A wooden wagon complete with a set of wooden blogs had been hand made by a neighbor. Another neighbor had bought him several metal toy tractors to play with outside. He and daddy had built the sand box and tree house last summer. Those were the toys of an almost seven year old boy. They didn’t have videos to watch for there was no TV. The last one had died after the bank account had. Jonnie knew his daddy had lost his job, but he had little concept of the cost of a desirable set of Legos. He thought a dollar or two would pay for anything.
"Daddy has those two dollars sitting on his dresser; I bet I  know what they are for."

 "Who can help?" Cecilia pondered. Grayson’s aging parents were on a limited funds. Cecilia would never tell them how bad things were. They had lost much of their retirement when the stock market fell. Resources were too limited; they had already offered to pay for Christmas dinner and that was a strain for their budget. Cee knew they would have given everything to help - she would never ask. She was trying to run down the list of Grayson's friends or employees. Grayson had owned a company and before closing gave most of what was left in reserves to those he had to layoff. Grayson never thought of himself; he was just like his parents. Cecilia loved him for that. But right now, she wanted her boy to have the one thing he had hoped for and dreamed of for his birthday.

“It's all he has ever asked for dear.” Cecilia pleaded with furrows that had never been on her face before. “We have to find the money. Don’t you have a friend who owes you something?”
“Honey they are in as bad a shape as we are if not worse. I can ask around, but I know they are struggling to put food on the table just like we are. Gifts will be scarce for a lot of people this year.”

“I hate this economy! This is not our child’s fault.” Cecilia said as she stomped outside and flung the front door shut.
She had grabbed a sweater knowing she needed a long walk in the chilly, evening air. Another of a series of long walks.
She stomped for the first mile. She peeled off a birch limb so she could swish it and slap at the air. A frown plastered on her beautiful, usually cheerful countenance.
Her face softened as it grew tired from the tension. The walk, as it always did, eased the strain of an unbearable situation.


As she turned the corner, she stopped at her favorite lilac colored rose-bush just to take in the last of the season’s scent. She loved the fact that roses still bloomed in their mild December climate. She was startled when an elderly gentleman greeted her.

“Those were always my Angela's favorite. She said they had a “delicious almost heavenly” fragrance.”

“They do indeed”, Cecilia’s voice said sadly. Her eyes gleamed with remnants of her tears.

“Young lady -What's the trouble?”

Usually Cecilia would not have unburdened herself to anyone definitely not a stranger. She was always a private person; after her family died she never revealed emotions except to a willow branch and the air. Somehow her troubles just blurted themselves off her lips and into that same evening air that took the brunt of her frustration.
Yes all of it: her husband, the economy, Jonnie’s gift, the Lego set, even slamming the door.

“I understand times are hard for most folks. I'm sorry to hear about your troubles. We had a grandson who loved Legos too.”
Cecilia saw a tear moisten the corner of the old man's eye

“Something happened didn't it Ben???” The compassion evident in her whisper.

“Randy was in a serious accident, on his bike, when he was ten; he wasn’t wearing a helmet.” The words struggled to emerge from his throat.
Cecilia reached for her new friend and hugged him. All of a sudden, her troubles seemed so small.
This elderly gentleman was alone in the world. His wife of fifty years of marriage was gone. His only grandson – his legacy vanished in a moment. He had a strength in his frailty that she needed.

“Please join us for Christmas Eve dinner it will be simple this year. Jonnie loves new friends and it will take the sting of not getting those Legos for his birthday.” She chattered on as though she had known Ben for years rather than minutes.

"Christmas Eve. Hmm” His face looked a bit brighter at the prospect.

Cecilia was certain that he had some wonderful memories of Christmas Eves in his past.

“We would love your company.”
“Angela would have been 80 on the same day as Jonnie.” A tense smile crested his lips.
“Then you will have the honor of celebrating Angela and Johnnie’s birthday with us - please.” Unintentionally, her eyes looked like a puppy dog’s.
Ben wondered if Jonnie had the same endearing eyes. “It will be my pleasure. What might I bring?”
“Please you will be our guest. Nothing is required but your company.”
“Good enough. I will see you and Jonnie on Christmas Eve.”
***
Cecilia and Grayson sadly couldn’t scrape together the funds for the Legos. She managed to make a cake, put together their favorite meal for Christmas Eve. They loved celebrating with Christmas Eve Mexican food including homemade tamales; Gray had been able to find a $3 small Lego's starter set on sale. The wrapped package had a big tear spot on the paper. The mother carried the small box with love. The only gift her son would get for his birthday and for Christmas.
When Ben arrived, he brought a container of ice cream (something Cecilia had been unable to squeeze from her food budget) and a card "for the birthday boy." How had he know what their favorite ice cream was. Ben and Jonnie hit it off right away. Jonnie was telling Ben about the kitten he had rescued; showed him his latest bruise. Ben hadn’t had tamales in years and stated that Angie and he loved Mexican food. Tamales being their favorite.



Before the candles were lit, Bent whispered to Grayson and smiled as he saw the words “Happy Birthday Angela and Jonnie.” printed on the cake. Cecilia saw a tiny trickle run down Ben’s face.
After Jonnie blew out the candles, Grayson proudly said with a chuckle “after your cake you will have to see what’s at the front door.”
Grayson knew Jonnie couldn’t wait. “Go ahead son. The cake can wait.”
Jonnie ran to the front door and ogled the large package with bright helium filled balloons attached. He cradled the gift as though it was gold. He walked proudly back and sat down to have birthday cake.
After Jonnie opened his gifts, he pulled his daddy and his new friend to the living room to help build the Star Wars Space Station. “I’ll save the Star Cruiser for later,” he winked at his mother.
She looked at the box that contained the Star Cruiser. It was taped where there had been a rip. The card was signed “from Ben, Randy and Angela.”
A tear welled in her eye as she thought of a wife smiling down from heaven clasping hands with her 10-year-old grandson who was glad he got to share his Legos with a 7- year old boy named Jonnie.

“Mom.” Jonny said with a sleepy voice.
Yes honey. Cecilia smiled

“ That was the best birthday I will ever have. I knew I probably wouldn’t get the Star Wars stuff but after I met Ben it really didn’t matter. Mom. You know what I learned this birthday? People matter not stuff."

“Hmmm” the anxiety of months was finally gone from Cecilia’s voice.

“Do you think Randy and I would have been friends?”

“I think you and Randy will be friends some day and you will have wonderful stories to tell about his grandpa Ben.”
"This has been a wonderful Christmas Eve and Birthday mama"
***


"Yes we will make it through," Cecilia smiled as she turned the Christmas tree lights off and looked at the scant gifts under the tree. The stuff doesn't matter- the people do."
***************

Many of you may be struggling financially this year; when times are hard it seems the holidays can sour. My family has had our share of tough times - this year being one of them. Can I say to each of you - You make the difference. Not the stuff! Each of you brings a smile and value to this blog community also into your community wherever that is in the world. You have each touched me with your words this year - for that I and the team at One Stop Poetry are grateful. Wishing you and your families holiday wishes.

Monday, 20 December 2010

Welcome to One Stop Poetry - A Christmas Tour Around the World

Welcome to One Stop Poetry. As we begin the week of Christmas, we want to recognize the importance of families and friends. Because of that One Shot Wednesday will open earlier on Tuesday in order for last submissions (that can be considered for the anthology). Thursday will be a time to write poetry in honor of those we love (i.e. parent or grandparents) who we miss during this time of the year. You may have a poem written to honor that person or a Christmas memory that you would like to share.

Christmas Eve will be a story (based on a true story); one that can be enjoyed by the entire family. Christmas Day and Boxing Day (UK) will be observed as holidays for you to enjoy (off-line). Though we will probably post a poetry prompt for you die-hard bloggers.

We wanted to start the week by learning about different cultures and how the Christmas holiday is celebrated. Celebrations may include many things: food, songs, things the family or community does. There are things your family does that is it's own unique celebration. We would love for you to share how you celebrate. You could write a poem about your celebration or a funny story. Please feel free to link in and/or share in the comment box.

The One Stop Poetry Team (Adam, Brian, Chris, Claudia, Gay, Leslie, Pete) would like to wish you and yours a wonderful holiday.

We asked Claudia to share her traditions from Germany to kick us off.



Oh sing me silent Holy Night

When I was asked to write about how we Germans celebrate Christmas and what kind of traditions we have, my ambivalent relationship with traditions was the first thing that jumped to my mind and with it this story...

As I thought, a Christmas tree had nothing to do with the birth of Jesus, I refused to have one for years...and how our children suffered as everyone else had one of course! As I didn't change my mind, one Christmas Eve, my eldest daughter (she must have been six or seven then) told me, this year we will have a tree as she had crafted one herself - and there it stood in our living room - made of a broomstick and colored paper...so we were celebrating Christmas around this broomstick tree and from then on  - we started to have real christmas trees...

So the Christmas tree is one tradition we have - in 95% of the German households it's a genuine tree, cut in a forest. Usually we put it up in the living room the day before Christmas Eve and leave it there until the 6th of January.

The Advent wreath is my personal favorite Christmas tradition, dating back to 1839.
Pastor Wichern was at this time the leader of an asylum for homeless boys in Hamburg (The Rough House) and in the dining room, he hang up a huge cartwheel for "his" boys with 19 small and 4 big candles and every evening, the boys would light another candle to show them, there's hope in their
hopelessness.

Something you might know is the "Star of Herrnhut" which was the Christmas challenge for the boys of the Missionaries home Niesky in Herrnhut/Germany by their math teacher in 1821 - and since then re-built a million times and well known in most countries of the world.



And it was Martin Luther who re-arranged the date when the children would get their Christmas presents from the 6th of December to the 24th of December.

The reason for changing the date was that he said: Nicolaus was a good man, but can't help us any more - but on Christmas, God gave us his only son and every year this gives us a reason to celebrate. His wife and all the people in this small church in Wittenberg didn't like this at first - until
he introduced the song he has written for this Christmas celebration in 1535 - > "Vom Himmel hoch, da komm ich her" - > "From heaven above I come"

This is one of my favorite Christmas songs and we used to sing it a lot with the children. And one year, we went skiing and Tim, my son (he was quite small then) was sitting in the chair lift and singing full sound "From heaven above I come...." and all the people around were smiling...

So we will decorate our Christmas tree on the 22nd or 23rd of December - will go to church on the 24th at around 5pm - then have Christmas Dinner with the family (Fondue most years) , sing the first stanza (we only know the first stanza by heart..) from all the christmas songs that jump to our mind with me playing the guitar and then unpack presents under the Christmas tree.

Last but not least, let me share a Christmas poem and then extend my German Christmas experience to a tour round the world...

~ Claudia


Oh Sing me silent Holy Night

oh sing me silent holy night
when angels held their breath in awe
and wonders tender, true and raw

were born just when the time was right
I can’t hold on to what is wrong
my soul entwined in brightest light

with him who's stronger than the law
oh sing me silent holy night

(Claudia Schönfeld)


this is an Octain -
a new poem structure, created  by One Stop's featured friend Luke Prater.
We will have an opportunity to learn more about this style in the New Year.




Please Join Us in a Christmas Tour Around the World..


The Wise Men photograph courtesy of Creative Commons and Visual Panichttp://www.flickr.com/photos/visualpanic/314708685/


Friday, 17 December 2010

Friday -One Stop Poetry Holiday Poetry


Mistletoe
Walter de la Mare

Sitting under the mistletoe
(pale-green, fairy, mistletoe),
One last candle burning low,
All the sleepy dancers gone,
Just one candle burning on,
Shadows lurking everywhere:
Someone came, and kissed me there.


Tired I was; my head would go
Nodding under the mistletoe
(pale-green, fairy, mistletoe),
No footsteps came, no voice but only,
Just as I sat there, sleepy, lonely,
Stooped in the still and shadowy air
Lips unseen - and kissed me there.





Minstrels
by
William Wordsworth

The minstrels played their Christmas tune
To-night beneath my cottage-eaves;
While, smitten by a lofty moon,
The encircling laurels, thick with leaves,
Gave back a rich and dazzling sheen,
That overpowered their natural green.

Through hill and valley every breeze
Had sunk to rest with folded wings:
Keen was the air but could not freeze,
Nor check the music of the strings,
So stout and hardy were the band
That scraped the cords with strenuous hand.

And who but listened? --till was paid
Respect to every inmate's claim.
The greeting given, the music played
In honor of each household name,
Duly pronounced with lusty call,
And "Merry Christmas" wished to all.

Photographs courtesy of Creative Commons:
Steve Willis
Joe Lewis
If you'd like to have some fun and write a mistletoe or Minstrel (aka carolers) poem, please share with us and link in.


Monday, 6 December 2010

Monday Feature - Guest Hosted by Gay Cannon - Hector Gutierrez

Mondays are traditionally Brian Miller's day but he is taking a much needed rest. I ( Moondustwriter) would like to introduce Gay Cannon. I featured her on Moondustwriter Thursday on November 4th, 2010. Please visit the archives to read about Gay. I'm excited to announce that Gay will be joining One Stop Poetry. As the site grows, we want to maintain quality and offer additional aspects for your writing needs. We will be announcing her project soon.

Hello everyone,
I'm Gay Cannon known to many of you here at One Stop Poetry as Beachanny. I've been invited to guest host One Stop Poetry this Monday so that I can introduce you to my very good friend, mentor, and fellow poet Hector Gutierrez. I have known Hector since we were both participants in a writer's workshop in the Dallas-Ft.Worth area in the 90s. An eclectic group of writers, eventually the poets splintered into a monthly group dedicated to poetry only. Even after that dissolved for many of us, the poetry group continued by e-mail hosted by Hector in a group called Poetry Express. There we continued to share work, critique and encourage one another. Hector's work is very fine and has influenced my approach to poetry in countless ways. I asked him several questions for this interview and here are his answers.

Who and what influences you in writing poetry?

My fascination with poetry started when I read Carl Sandburg’s “Fog”. Something in the words, “on little cat feet, ” made me actually “feel” the silent movement of the fog as I read the poem. The feeling stunned and fascinated me, and it left me wondering how the author could put together words that could produce such an effect on me. I’ve been trying to unravel the secret of that magic ever since.

What journey have you taken that has brought you to your current approach?

Early on, I came upon “The Raven” and “The Bells” by Poe, and my lifelong commitment to structure and rhyme began. As I worked to maintain an intricate structure or a rigid rhyme scheme, I developed a mental approach that occasionally discovered surprising relationships between words. As a result, my efforts to create pivoted in a particular way that led to my writing style. I have written some unrhymed poems with loose structure, but the verses that called for a challenging structure or rhyme scheme seemed to draw the most out of me.

Do you use traditional structures like the sonnet, or do you experiment with new forms?

I’ve written several sonnets and two villanelles that worked out well, but I have also tried many experimental approaches to structure and rhyme. I have a few poems that I wrote in what I call the framed couplet, for lack of a better name. I began with a rhymed couplet in iambic pentameter, but I decided to rhyme the initial syllables as well as the ending syllables. To add emphasis to the initial rhyme, I decided that the initial syllable must be accented. So I ended up with nine syllables per line instead of ten. “Minor Strain” is written in this form.
Part of the fun has been to try to “hide” the structure or the rhyme scheme, so that the poems appears to be free-form while still allowing me to work in the particular mode that works best for me. For one poem, I took a favorite line of verse from another poet and used it as a template for a new set of words. For example, “The Red Wheelbarrow“ by W. C. Williams“ starts with “So much depends / upon / the red wheel / barrow.” My line became “His mush descends / upon / the red tongued / sparrow.” I wrote two poems using this approach, which provided a well-hidden structure while producing a line that seems to flow freely. Some of my approaches have been less ambitious. “The Boy’s Tree” is simply a sonnet with the rhyme removed except for the final couplet. “Bourbon Street” focuses on varying the metric patterns to simulate the dancing and the music that the poem is referring to, while the words that rhyme with “Muse” act like a recurring base drum beat that provides a steady pulse to guide the syncopated rhythmic flow.

Short bio, publication activities:

With the guidance of an English degree from the University of Houston, I have been writing for more than 25 years. I have two self-published books of poetry with limited circulation. I published a periodic poetry newsletter, “New Winds”, for about five years, with participation from local and area poets, including a few college professors in Texas universities.



Minor Strain

Sinless child, your face turns back toward ten,
innocence bruised, strained by careless men.
Clothes that push you up toward twenty-one -
loathsome need in you; for them, brief fun.

Tension pushes, pulls, to fill a void
men’s abuse created; what’s destroyed
time can never . . . child, you must not tease.
I’m your friend, or would be. Stop! Don’t. Please


The Boy’s Tree

This tree ain’t lovely - never was. It looks
like serpents rising from the ground, that want
to play. Not pray. A tree wants to be climbed.
Each branch is hard like Daddy’s biceps, and
the bark will scratch you like his chin at night.
The leaves caress and tickle as you climb.
In gusty winds, they sound like ocean waves.

A tree ain’t nothin’ but a tree. That is,
until they cut it down. Then it can be
a cradle or a coffin or a carved
figure that looks like Dad. A pencil, or
a sheet to hold a poem or a truth.
Ain’t no use askin’ who can make a tree.
It is the tree that makes, it seems to me.


Bourbon Street

Ageless stones resounding Satchmo’s chops
that wail from the bars for the smiling Muse,

stones worn smooth by steel tapped shoes
still dancing for the Man,

timelessly keeping time
to the jazz and the rhythm and blues,

while the strippers and the booze
bark their intent from the fringes
and the pallid crowds refuse.


Thanks to Gay and Hector for another look into the world of poetry. At this time Hector does not have a blogsite to visit. We may cox him to post on One Stop periodically.


Thursday, 2 December 2010

One Stop Poetry - Announces Fall Poetry Competition Winner

The One Stop Poetry Team wants to thank all of those who submitted poems to the Fall Poetry Competition. Each entry was a delight which made it difficult for the judges. We will be announcing the next competition theme soon.

I (Leslie Moon) would like to introduce our winner, Renee Sigel.  You can read her winning poem in Spark Bright magazine on page 31. Congratulations Renee!

Renée Sigel was born and raised in South Africa. Her life and career portrays a rich, interdisciplinary tapestry of a life spent  between dance studios, rehearsal rooms, recording studios, orchestral tours, theatre performances, curating art exhibitions, editing, publishing, and writing.  Collaborations include innumerable commissions, award winning film documentaries, and  writing for the Zurich Opera House among others.A dancer and theatre director by training, she has worked with an array of notable and famous names. Her work has been noted, lauded as well as banned. She was forced into political exile in the mid 1990's when she relocated to Switzerland.

Since settling in northern Italy, Renée Sigel´s literary voice has flourished. She launched  the original Literati Magazine, in 2004, to international critical acclaim and issues boasted the toast of contemporary  literary giants, such as George Szirtes, oscar winning author Kate Pullinger,  the fabulously successful Tim Parks and  Kate Mosse co-director of the Orange Fiction Prize, among others. Her unrelenting support of new talent continues with her mentoring writers under the auspices of her Literati Fiction and Poetry online Masterclasses.



I am honored that we have poets like Renee as part of One Stop Poetry. For those who are in the earlier stages of writing, there are many whose style can be emulated and appreciated.
Here is just a sample of her work.



May 31, 2010

between breaths lost and lives taken,
between the hate and the memorabilia,
someone’s heart will be found still beating:
pounded by an invasion, seared by a bullet,
torn to shreds by the malicious intent
of ideological insanity, or shattered in
the silent panic of a trapped bird,
or even thudding lifeless in the dull
echo of sheer loneliness. somewhere
between the ardour and the sky,
we all felt believing, irrespective of what or whom,
was worth something once upon a time.
Who am I… ?
today i feel i am all and noneoftheabove…
I feel like a vacant lot and
like the fertile soil beneath the sadly sodden
grass that folds to itself the bodies of the lives
that never deserved to be shed.
My soul is heavy for the weight
of all that might fall apart.
for all those who never should die in the name of  an ideology



May 20, 2010

A kiss is every other kiss
Is not: incurable to scarred
The burned, the calmer heart
That of all love’s ways, not ever new
Of this reckless vow,
my soul owns You: unfathomably

Awards and publications:

In acknowledgment of her various online critical commentaries, especially regarding the terrorist attacks in Mumbai, she was nominated for the 2009 Ted Fellowship.


Sexions, Selections from Life & Love, her debut collection, was commissioned and published by Bewrite Books in 2005. Her poetry has appeared in print and online journals as well as several international anthologies.  Her most recent chapbook, Falling Slowly, published by erbacce press was published in August 2010. A Falling Slowly lecture tour at selected American universities, with proceeds dedicated to support families in their loss of a loved to suicide is being planned for Spring 2011.


more of Renee's fine work can be found on her blog