[Critique Group 2] Pieces for Tuesday Night's Meeting

[Abbie Taylor]

To make it easier for me to read and make notes on pieces for Tuesday 
night's meeting, I decided to compile them in the order Leonard 
suggested in one file like I do with pieces for our regular critique 
sessions. It then occurred to me that this might be helpful to the rest 
of you so here's my compilation. In the future though, I would like to 
suggest we critique pieces in the order they come to the list the way 
we do with our regular critique sessions. That would save us all some 
time and effort.

###1. Valerie’s Piece

Love Notes
10-8-16
Your voice surfaces in my mind
like ocean touching shore,
flowing, then subsiding as my
heart answers
and the minstrel sings of sorrow.
On this journey of loss
I never wanted to take,
I walk along grief's shoreline,
smooth sands and craggy rocks
and the minstrel stays in shadow.
Waves break in and out,
heart tide often deep, then shallow--
I move ahead, pebbles underfoot
as the singer leads me toward tomorrow.

###2. Abbie’s Piece

ADVENTURE



The big black fox stood and gazed with a curious expression at the 
little white Terrier who lay snoozing in the grass in a sunny meadow 
next to a babbling brook. The pooch, sensing a presence, opened her 
eyes with a start and stared, horrified, into the fox's green, glinting 
eyes. Giving a yelp of terror, she leapt to her feet and dashed, 
barking, across the field to the couple on the blanket, her white back 
and tail becoming a blur. The fox turned and scurried in the opposite 
direction, crashing into the adjacent woods.

After a three-mile hike, Scott and Brenda were exhausted. They ate a 
picnic lunch, then dozed, entwined on their blanket, surrounded by 
empty Subway sandwich wrappers and water bottles. Awakened by the dog's 
shrill barks, they sat up and rubbed their eyes. Brenda extended her 
arms, and the little dog jumped into them, apparently not giving the 
remnants of their meal any thought.

"Snowflake, what is it, sweetie?" said Brenda, holding and rocking the 
little dog. "You're shaking like a leaf!"

Scott surveyed the landscape. "I don't see anything," he said. "The 
last time I looked, she was sleeping in the sun, drying off after 
playing in the creek. Maybe she just had a bad doggy dream or something."

"You're okay," said Brenda, cuddling Snowflake against her. “You’re 
safe with Mommy now.” The dog licked her face.

"Jesus," said Scott. "You'd think she was your baby."

Brenda turned to her husband, her eyes filling with tears. "Well, you 
know we can't have children because of my stupid body, not to mention 
my vision loss, and you don’t want to adopt. Snowflake is all we have."

Scott sighed, shrugged, and lay down. Brenda could hold the tears back 
no longer. She buried her face in Snowflake’s fur, and the dog 
delivered wet, slobbery, comforting kisses. Eventually, Brenda lay down 
on the blanket next to Scott, without touching him. Soon, the couple 
and their dog were asleep.


In the woods, the fox cowered, fearing the humans on the blanket would 
come after him at any moment. When they didn't, and after an 
interminable amount of time passed, the fox was distracted by a 
tantalizing aroma born to his nostrils by a cool mountain summer 
breeze. Curious, he snuck out and stood in the open field for a moment.

In the distance, he glimpsed the figures on the blanket, lying 
motionless. The breeze grew stronger and so did the aroma. He inched closer.

Snowflake sensed the fox's approach first. She whined and started 
shaking. Alert, Brenda held the dog close to her and said, "It's okay, 
sweetie. You're just having another bad dream."

In answer, Snowflake barked once. The fox stopped. Brenda opened her 
eyes, sat up, and spotted the creature in the distance. With her 
limited eyesight, she couldn't tell what it was but sensed it was a 
predator by the way it just stood there. "Scott!” she cried.

He sat bolt upright. "What the hell!" He flung a nearby rock at the 
fox. It hit the animal’s nose and thudded to the ground. The fox 
yelped, turned, and dashed into the woods.

Now Brenda and Snowflake were shaking. Scott put an arm around Brenda’s 
shoulders and said, "It's okay, babe. It was just a fox. He won't come back."

Brenda rested on her husband's shoulder for a moment, feeling his 
comforting warmth. Then, remembering their earlier conversation, she 
looked at her watch and said, "It's getting late. We probably should 
head back."

"Whatever," said Scott with a sigh.

As they packed the remains of their lunch, Snowflake whined constantly 
and stayed by Brenda's side. As she stuffed items into her back pack, 
she murmured soothing endearments to the dog. Scott ignored them both.

As they trudged along the rocky trail, Brenda holding Scott's arm so he 
could guide her, they said nothing except for the occasional moment 
Scott pointed out logs or other obstacles. Snowflake scampered ahead, 
then turned and rushed back to see if they were coming. She 
occasionally barked at squirrels and birds in trees, and Brenda 
laughed, but Scott said nothing. When they finally reached the car, the 
pooch was only too happy to collapse onto her blanket on the back seat 
and fall fast asleep.

###3. Leonard’s Piece

 Just Do It

Once a zygote came to be,
formed by two specks of he and she,
motes of motion and desire.
Do these add up to an intention?
Is it all explained by devotion?

Yang will always seek to find.
Yin will always seek to be found.
Yang lives for that new union.
Yin reaches out patiently,
awaiting sparks of new conceptions,
in seas of possibilities.

Great mother has countless faces,
all shrouded in varied veils,
from black opaque of stygian night
to alluring lucid water light,
whose eyes reveal a sky of eyes.
all peeking behind their mantles,
beguiling discovery.

One zygote made an Albert Einstein,
another Adolph Hitler.
One gave birth to quantum mechanics,
the other to a Holocaust,
both driven by their passion visions,
mileposts on creation’s roads,
Pandora’s box already unlatched,
its substance never fully voided.
Still we’ll reap its unknown gifts.

Yet I’ll follow creation’s way.
It is passion, love and devotion
that fills my willing, stalwart sails.
Though I may never know in full
wherein will be my destiny,
I’ll always have a star to follow.


###4. Alice’s Piece

Evidence of Emotion

by Alice Jane-Marie Massa


In the courtroom of the heart,
I offer you Exhibit A--
clear lenses of glasses
stained with teardrops.

Washing these unnecessarily prescription lenses
on this nearly frosted morning,
I think of the evidence of emotion,
the tear stains,
disappearing beneath
a cascade of water
and the touch of my finger.

Is the sadness of yesterday
now erased, forgotten,
evaluated, or forestalled?

Back in the courtroom of the heart,
an unqualified judge asked,
"Why do you wear these glasses
if you have no vision?"

My testimony began:
"Since I was seven,
I have been wearing glasses:
they seem as much a part of me
as my right hand
and my left leg,
as the clothes
I don each day.
Exhibit A has protected me
from hurt
or from greater injury
when I fell off my bike,
when a door was accidentally slung into my face,
when I encountered a piece of construction equipment
on the Kilbourn Drawbridge.
Wearing these glasses
calms my concerns
about being poked
by a low-hanging branch.
Through so many seasons of walking,
these glasses have shielded my broken eyes
from raindrops, snowflakes,
stinging sleet, and drying winds.
Believe me, I do not wear them for vanity:
I let my congenitally impaired vanity
dissolve decades ago.
Most of all,
I wear these glasses
to catch the tears
of emotions
so that I have proof
that I did not squelch
nor hide
all that I felt
on any yesterday.
I will admit
that I am not
an amateur holder of emotions:
I ascend from Italian descent;
I am
a professional holder of emotions--
a poet
who translates
tear stains
into the adversities of verse,
the joy of injamment,
and the strides of stanzas."

Midst the murmurs
magnifying in the courtroom,
the judge,
with unknown poetic license,
tapped his gavel and bellowed,
"Poetic order in the court!"


October 14, 2016, Friday
number of words:  318
number of lines:  70

***

Evidence of Emotion

by Alice Jane-Marie Massa


(Verse 1)
In the courtroom of the heart,
I offer you Exhibit A--
clear lenses of glasses
stained with teardrops.

(Verse 2)
Washing these unnecessarily prescription lenses
on this nearly frosted morning,
I think of the evidence of emotion,
the tear stains,
disappearing beneath
a cascade of water
and the touch of my finger.

(Verse 3)
Is the sadness of yesterday
now erased, forgotten,
evaluated, or forestalled?

(Verse 4)
Back in the courtroom of the heart,
an unqualified judge asked,
"Why do you wear these glasses
if you have no vision?"

(Verse 5)
My testimony began:
"Since I was seven,
I have been wearing glasses:
they seem as much a part of me
as my right hand
and my left leg,
as the clothes
I don each day.
Exhibit A has protected me
from hurt
or from greater injury
when I fell off my bike,
when a door was accidentally slung into my face,
when I encountered a piece of construction equipment
on the Kilbourn Drawbridge.
Wearing these glasses
calms my concerns
about being poked
by a low-hanging branch.
Through so many seasons of walking,
these glasses have shielded my broken eyes
from raindrops, snowflakes,
stinging sleet, and drying winds.
Believe me, I do not wear them for vanity:
I let my congenitally impaired vanity
dissolve decades ago.
Most of all,
I wear these glasses
to catch the tears
of emotions
so that I have proof
that I did not squelch
nor hide
all that I felt
on any yesterday.
I will admit
that I am not
an amateur holder of emotions:
I ascend from Italian descent;
I am
a professional holder of emotions--
a poet
who translates
tear stains
into the adversities of verse,
the joy of injamment,
and the strides of stanzas."

(Verse 6)
Midst the murmurs
magnifying in the courtroom,
the judge,
with unknown poetic license,
tapped his gavel and bellowed,
"Poetic order in the court!"

###5. Brad’s Piece

The promise of the Guardian
C by Brad Corallo
Word count 301
With water diamonds sparkling in her eyes
fell Guardian of Morning, through twilight autumn skies.
In skewed formation, birds around her flew
their gold eluminated by light no longer true.
> From her hair were scattered brilliant blazing sparks
bits of Morning love which
all did reach their marks.
At the point where crystal blue caressed the land
her Light touch down ,
morphed, to bright triumphant stand.
"I am Guardian of Morning returned
and I bring renewal of the days.
I decree this is once again
the First Morning
where all is washed clean with freshness dawning.
Love will rein as Lord of
all emotion and sensation.
and the wonder of creation
will be as light in the eyes of the children.
These things all, I clearly see
and nothing will prevent them, I decree!"
But far off in grumbling grayish growling gremlin gloom
loathsome chattering time demons from the mists began to loom. They 
would not see their Confining work undone.
They were committed to the dimming of the sun.
Among their tools were tedium, repetition and routine.
They worked to bind free spirits
with chains of time unseen.
At Forever Plains they fell upon her.
She swept them from her path like shattered dreams.
And strode forward undeterred, resolute with her renewal quest redeemed .
In multitudes, they once again fell upon her like a hand.
Their sheer increasing quantity her burdon to withstand.
Their waxing mass eventually bore her to the ground.
The light of the renewal no longer could be found.
But the bits of love that earlier showered from her hair
sowed seeds of hope and will to joy which ever fought despair.
So down the yawning ages her legacy remains
and whenever spirit hearts give freely, demon power wanes.

-- 
Abbie Johnson Taylor, Author http://abbiescorner.wordpress.com
http://www.abbiejohnsontaylor.com
abbie at mysero.net
Order my new memoir at http://www.abbiejohnsontaylor.com/memoir.htm