[Critique Group 2] Compilation of Pieces for June 28th Meeting

[Abbie Taylor]

###1. Poetry from Valerie Moreno

I follow you on a mandid road
you don't know I'm there
I keep silent
hang back
my heart aching

Wind rustles your dark curls
your guitar over your strong back
as cold drizzling rain falls

Turn around, sweet angel
all I long to do 
is to see your face
your eyes so dark and deep
I want to drown in them

you stop
take your guitar
sit on a riverbank
water gently flowing
singing a prayer or lullabye

I love you 
more than you'll ever know
you're in my soul
tears trickle as the rain stops
sun breaks through
again

###2. Poetry from Brad Corallo

Momentary Molecular Mishaps
© By Brad Corallo
Word count 134

In unexpected random moments 
alone in the 2 am dark say;
an inevitable realization of subtle slippage crystallizes.
Far away, down deep yet insistent, 
you feel the rhythmic pulse 
of your very being, loosen.
The panic you feel
must be immediately assuaged!
Banish the terrible awareness.
Time and life running out. 
Fowled water flowing into the depths of an ancient drain.
Quick, counter measures, anxiolytic opposition. 
You want to cry, no one to hold you, you’re so afraid!

But no, everything is OK 
you will sleep.
In the morning,
the perception will be less than a memory.
Then, you will breathe a sigh of relief
For no matter how diligently you probe 
the feeling will be artfully dispersed;
concealed In the detritus of morning ritual and happenstance.

###3.  Fiction from Abbie Taylor

THE RED Dress

SYNOPSIS

When Eve went to her high school senior prom, she wore a red dress that her mother made for her. That night after dancing with the boy of her dreams, she caught him in the act with her best friend. Months later when the book opens, Eve, a freshman in college, is bullied into giving the dress to her roommate. When her mother finds out, their relationship is affected.

Twenty-five years later, Eve, a bestselling author, is happily married with three children. Although her mother suffers from dementia, she still remembers, and Eve still harbors the guilt for giving the dress away. When she receives an invitation to her twenty-five-year class reunion and a friend request from her old college roommate on Facebook, and meets her former best friend by chance, she must confront the past in order to face the future.

The RED DRESS

October 1987

Prologue

"Oh Eve, don't tell me you're going to work on that creative writing assignment now instead of going to the homecoming dance."
In her dorm room at Colorado University, Eve Barry had been staring at the blank piece of paper in her typewriter, waiting for her poised fingers to produce something. She sighed and ran her fingers through  her long blonde hair, as she turned to her roommate, Charlene Tucker, who was fresh from the shower, clad only in a black terry-cloth robe, her dark wet curls plastered to her head. "I'm really not interested in going to the dance, and this assignment's due Monday. I went to the game this afternoon..."
"Yeah, wasn't that awesome? We creamed the Wyoming Cowboys."
“Wait a minute. You're from Wyoming."
"Yeah, but I'm in Colorado now, and we have something to celebrate. You really should come to the dance. I know you don't have a date, but I'm sure Alex wouldn't mind if you came with us."
"I really should work on this tonight, so I'm not cramming to get it done tomorrow on top of my other assignments, especially since I'm suffering from writers' block. With just about everybody at the dance, I shouldn't have any distractions, and maybe something will come to me."
Charlene rolled her eyes and moved to her side of the room, where she switched on her bedside radio, tuned to a soft rock station. "What was the assignment again?" she asked, as she removed her bathrobe and began applying lotion.
"I'm supposed to write about a memorable piece of clothing."
"That's easy. Write about the dress you wore your first day of kindergarten when you threw up all over the nun who hit you with a ruler for being late."
Eve almost laughed. "That's not my story. You're the one who went to a parochial school." 
"So, it's still a story. Your professor will never know the difference."
Eve sighed again. She wasn't surprised by her roommate's attitude. Charlene didn't understand or appreciate literature the way Eve did. 
She watched Charlene finish applying lotion, dry her hair, and put on her undergarments, then rifle through her closet for something to wear to the dance. All the while, Charlene prattled on about Alex Smith, the boy who would accompany her to the dance, the captain of the football team, how handsome he was in his uniform, how he could throw a ball and run. She realized why Charlene was suddenly loyal to the Colorado University team and felt like throwing up.
Finally, Charlene said, "Ugg, there's nothing good here for me to wear. If you're not gonna go to the dance, could I borrow something from your closet?"
"Sure, what-ever," answered Eve. She was anxious for Charlene to leave, so she could continue to stare at the blank sheet of paper in her typewriter and hope a story idea would come to her.
She turned back to her desk. Hangers in her closet scraped against the metal bar, as articles of clothing were shoved aside. "Oh, look at this!" said Charlene.
Eve turned and could only stare at the bright red dress she'd hoped to forget along with the memories. Charlene held the garment at arm's length, admiring the three-quarter-inch sleeves, low neckline, and gathered waist. "Oh my God, this is beautiful. Where did you get it, and why do you keep it in the back of your closet?"
Eve then heard the mellow strains of "Lady in Red" emanating from the radio, the song she’d pushed to the back of her mind and hoped never to hear again. Charlene, apparently sensing something was wrong, laid the dress on Eve's bed and hurried to her side. Kneeling and taking her hand, she said, "Hey Eve, what is it?"
Eve could hold back no longer. Tears streaming down her face, she said, "I wore that dress, and we danced to that song."
"Oh God," said Charlene, leaping to her feet. She hurried to her side of the room and turned off the radio, then returned. The next thing Eve knew, she was crying on Charlene's shoulder, as her roommate knelt on the floor next to her chair and held her. The incident had occurred several months earlier, but the wound was still fresh. Finally, when no more tears would come, she sat up and blew her nose.
"There's your story," said Charlene. "but maybe you'd better tell me first."
To her surprise, Eve found herself blurting it all out. "Mom made that dress for my senior prom. I had a date with Trent Boyer, the cutest boy in school. He was the captain of the football team, and I loved watching him play."
"Wow, just like Alex." 
"Yeah, well, at the prom, we danced to that song, and I felt like I truly loved him, and I thought he loved me. Afterward, he said he had to use the rest room. Other boys asked me to dance, and I got to talking with my friends, and when I looked around the gym later, I couldn't find him. I asked my friends if they'd seen him, and they just shook their heads."
"Oh gosh."
"Like I said, I thought he loved me. I didn't think he'd leave me. I decided to go out to the parking lot to see if his car was still there. He'd dropped me off at the entrance, so I didn't know where he'd parked, and it took me a while to find his car, but I did, in a dark corner up against the fence to the football field. I looked in the window and saw two figures in the back seat."
"Oh my God."
"I thought I was imagining things. I was on the driver's side, so I opened that door, and of course the light came on, and there they were, Trent and my best friend Adelle Matthews, or at least I thought she was my best friend."
Eve paused to fight back more tears, and Charlene asked, "Were they actually having intercourse, or were they just necking?"
"They were totally naked. Of course they stopped when I opened the door, and they both looked at me like I was from another planet or something. I said a few choice words I learned from my dad, then slammed the door and ran back into the building."
"Good for you."
"I went to the restroom and cried my eyes out. Fortunately, no one was there. Then, I washed my face and put on more make-up so I wouldn't look as if I'd been crying. I went to the pay phone in the hall near the main office and called home. Mom answered, and she could tell something was wrong, so she came and picked me up."
"I'll bet you didn't want to go back to school after that."
"I didn't, but Mom said it wouldn't do any good to hide from my problems. I had to face them head on."
"So what did you do when you saw Trent and Adelle at school?"
"I didn't speak to them, and they never spoke to me. Other kids knew, I think, but nobody said anything to me about it. Boy was I glad a few weeks later when graduation came."
"I bet. Have you heard from Adelle or Trent since then?”
“No, Adelle was planning to come with me here and major in drama, like you, but I heard that Trent got her pregnant and that they ran off to Las Vegas to get married."
“So why did you bring that dress with you?"
"Mom insisted I take it in case there was something formal here."
"Like the homecoming dance."
"I'm not going to the dance. You can borrow the dress if you want."
"You know, I can see why you put this dress in the back of your closet. It's only hurting you now. Let me take it  off your hands. You don't need it anymore."
"But my mother made it. Of course I wanted a store-bought dress, but she wanted to save money and make me one. She worked long days at her job as director of the public library. There were only two weeks until the prom when I told her I wanted a new dress, so she stayed up nights and scrambled to get it done."
"Oh you poor homesick baby. Now you miss your mommy, who made this beautiful dress for you. Are you gonna cry now? Go ahead. Cry, baby. Cry."
Eve was stunned but shouldn't have been surprised, she realized. She knew her roommate cared little about others' feelings. Her sympathy and curiosity were only a ploy, and she would stop at nothing to get what she wanted.  
"Fine, take the damn dress. I don't care," she said before turning away in disgust.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Charlene slip the garment over her head. She had to admit it looked good on her. 
A few minutes later, a knock came at the door. Charlene opened it, and a tall young man with dark hair and blue eyes stood on the threshold. "Hi Alex," said Charlene. "I just need to grab my cigarettes, and then we can go. Come in and meet my roommate." 
"You're not coming to the dance?" Alex asked after they were introduced.
"No, Eve's going to stay here and write the great American novel," Charlene answered.
"Wow," said Alex. "Good luck. I can't wait to read it. Let's go, babe."
Soon, they were gone. Eve sighed, turned to her typewriter, placed her fingers on the keys, and started writing.

###4. Poetry from Alice Massa

NOTE:  Instead of "Summery Abecedarian," I decided to submit the following for June 28.  Despite the first line of this poem, this piece is not a Christmas poem. When you have time, please read the ending note after the conclusion of the poem and after its length numbers.  Thanks!  

A Cascade of Camels

poem by Alice Jane-Marie Massa

Near the end of the Milwaukee Christmas Parade,
the much awaited camels came.
Facing my large window on Kilbourn Ave.,
I encourage my guide dog to watch for the camels.
Typical of her breed and demeanor,
my third Leader Dog, Zoe, 
lifts her paw and points or waves.
Surely, she is right
because the television broadcast confirms
the live camels are coming in sight.

These graceful camels click a photograph in my mind:
the hot summer memory of my younger nephew and me,
perched upon a soft camel
at the Indianapolis Zoo.

Who would have guessed?  Who would imagine
That little Eric would someday ride a rhythmical camel
on the lonely desert of Kuwait
while waiting to fly
into the midnight of Iraq
on Christmas Eve?

He fell off the wild camel,
but landed safely in war-torn Bagdad.
Eleven months later, 
my nephew came back
home, sweet whole:
wiser and well—
as strong and tall as a camel.

An Army Ranger, veteran of Afghanistan also,
still serving in the National Guard,
now a husband and daddy--
Eric takes his five-year-old daughter
and his two-year-old son
to the zoo to see the camels.
"Look, Daddy!" shouts Caden.
Keenly observant since childhood,
Eric has seen so much--
much more
midst this cascade of camels.

I wish for him,
his children,
and the world--
a greater peace 
than Eric saw and holds 
in his memory
as he holds
his precious children.

number of words:  242
number of poetic lines: 46

In a continuing effort to revise most of the poems which I wrote for the Hadley (now) Institute course, I, in a much more time-consuming fashion, revised the above poem, including adding two final stanzas, on June 20-21, 2018. Originally written after four o’clock to 4:40 p.m., December 3, 2011 (Saturday), and initially Revised on December 4, 2011, 2:40-3:00 p.m.--this poem was a result of my completing Number six of assignment two of Hadley’s Elements of Poetry course (then taught by the author and former actor Geraldine Lawhorn who was both deaf and blind and who had been an instructor at Hadley for many years before her retirement and relatively recent passing). 

###5.  Poetry from Leonard Tuchyner

30 line poem

Plastic Kills
Plastic, often made of oily smut,
fashion-able into many forms
and myriads of dispositions,
useful in multitudinous ways.
Beware! once made, it is here to stay.
Over our world, this plastic reigns,
as did they, from whence this offspring came --
flora and fauna pressed to slime,
squeezed into coal and diamonds as sublime,
shining like stars hidden from sight
millions and millions of years ago.
Today it befouls our Earth 
in every open space and crevasse,
all the land and sky, oceans and streams,
eaten by beasts, fish and fowl,
polluting their hormones and organs,
while passing through, but rarely destroyed.
Yesterday I spied two golden beads --
Once vibrant pollinating bumble bees,
who died in my greenhouse, meant to spur life,
sandwiched between two clear plastic panes.
where they drained their scant life energy
in frantic spasms of hope to fly free.
Why do they remind me of me?

Abbie Johnson Taylor, Author http://abbiescorner.wordpress.com
http://www.abbiejohnsontaylor.com
abbietaylor945 at gmail.com
Order my new memoir at http://www.abbiejohnsontaylor.com/memoir.htm