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

[Abbie Taylor]

Actually, I see no problem with predictability, especially if it makes 
our lives easier. However, if we absolutely must have a specific order 
in which the pieces are critiqued each time, perhaps the person who 
moderates the session could determine the order and compile the pieces 
in that order and send them to the list ahead of time to make it easier 
for the rest of us.

Original message:

> Hi all,

> I don’t have any strong feelings about how we choose the order of 
> readings, and Abbi’s suggestion is fine, but I have some questions for 
> consideration.


>    1. If the order in which each of us receives the submission e-mails 
> is the same, than there is an element of predictability. Some people 
> are procrastinators and will tend to have their pieces read last, while 
> others tend to get their work finished early and will tend to have 
> their pieces read first. Early on, it was decided that we didn’t want 
> predictability about these things.


>    1. I know that when I receive messages on my telephone the messages 
> sometimes are delayed substantially in their transmission. At least I 
> think that’s what happens. So since we are all working with different 
> servers and vary in our equipment, can we be sure all of us will 
> receive these submissions at the same time? If someone really knows the 
> answer to these questions, I think it would be good to know them before 
> we decide on this course of action.

> Leonard
> In a message dated 10/24/2016 4:31:59 P.M. Eastern Daylight Time, 
> abbie at mysero.net writes:

> Leonard, I'm suggesting we critique pieces in the order that people 
> send them to the list. For example, if I were to send mine first, then 
> Alice, then Brad, then you, then Valerie, that would be the order in 
> which pieces would be critiqued. That way, it's the luck of the draw, 
> depending on when people send pieces. This is the way we do it during 
> our regular critique sessions. I hope this is more clear.


> 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
> On Oct 24, 2016 2:21 PM, Tuchyner5 at aol.com wrote:


> Abbi,

> I’m not sure what you mean by , (the order in which they come to the 
> list) Please explain.

> Leonard
> In a message dated 10/23/2016 9:05:17 P.M. Eastern Daylight Time, 
> abbie at mysero.net writes:

> 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

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-- 
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