A Dirty Kitchen Secret

I hate to be the one to break it to you, but today is Clean Out Your Refrigerator Day.  Trust me, it's true.  Would I be so cruel as to make something like that up?

Did you know, most Americans only clean their refrigerators once or twice a year?  (All together now: "Eeeeuw!")  This is according to an article in the Wall Street Journal-- a source renowned for its housecleaning expertise, or so I've heard.

The time has come, my fellow Americans.  Today's the day!  You want to make room for all of those turkey and pumpkin pie leftovers, don't you?

So in honor of the occasion, today's little ditty has transformed the aforementioned article, aptly titled "Why Won't Anyone Clean Me?", into a "found poem"-- one that takes words and phrases from an existing text and refashions them to create something new.  I've been wanting to try my hand at a found poem for some time now.  Notwithstanding the pungent odors and harmful bacteria, it was fun.


     A Dirty Kitchen Secret

     Forgotten in a corner,

     he didn’t notice

     the surface tension,

     the “ick” factor,

     bubbling up

     around the perimeter

     like spilled soda from a can.

     Good intentions

     allowed to ripen

     “out of sight, out of mind”

     until what ensued

     was chaos, all levels

     of refrigerator nastiness.

     Soda in the crisper,

     milk in the door,

     leaks from raw meat,

     dog licking the bottom shelf, 

     no clue what to do

     with the special

     cheese compartment,

     and high-tech solutions

     thwarted by consumers

     who try to salvage

     old salad dressing.

       © 2013 Michelle Heidenrich Barnes. All rights reserved.

Jama Rattigan, our favorite foodie with a heart of gold, is serving up today's Poetry Friday roundup with a cup of tea and an apple pumpkin walnut muffin.  Seriously. Yum.  You'll find her at Jama's Alphabet Soup.

...Mortimer???

Monday Musing: Veteran's Day

 

I dream of giving birth to a child who will ask, "Mother what was war?" 

-Eve Merriam

With thanks to those who have served and sacrificed with honor.

           -MHB

"Sweet Bird" Joni Mitchell

"I have always thought of myself as a painter derailed by circumstance."
          -Joni Mitchell, June 2000

At the Mendel Art Gallery, Saskatoon, Canada, 6.30.2000 (CP PHOTO/Glen Berger)

Yesterday was the 70th birthday of a special friend.  

 THEN:

Joni Mitchell, 1970.  Photograph: Henry Diltz/Corbis

                                                        AND NOW:

Joni Mitchell, 2013.  Rene Macura / AP Images for CP Images

Sure, our relationship has been somewhat lopsided: I've never had her over for dinner or bought her a present, but I don't think she minds.  Unbeknownst to her, Joni Mitchell has held a special place in my heart for many years-- she's celebrated my friendships and first love, eased my pain, inspired my songwriting years ago, and has indelibly painted my life's canvas with the rich colors of her music and poetry.

I first discovered Joni in a clearance bin at Sam Goody's in the White Plains mall.  I knew her by name, but that was all-- I didn't yet connect her with her more famous albums, Blue (1971) or Court and Spark (1974), nor her popular hits "Big Yellow Taxi," "Woodstock," "Help Me," or "Free Man in Paris." Mostly I was attracted to the album title, The Hissing of Summer Lawns (1975), intrigued by the cover artwork, and lured by the price.  (It was my own money after all, and as I recall, my very first album purchase.)

Once I gave it a listen, I was hooked.  Over the years I gradually increased my collection and found that for every mood and occasion, Joni was right there echoing my innermost thoughts and feelings.  For today's little ditty, I am sharing "Sweet Bird"-- track 9 off this amazing album: 


SWEET BIRD

Out on some borderline
Some mark of inbetween
I lay down golden--in time
And woke up vanishing

Sweet bird you are
Briefer than a falling star
All these vain promises on beauty jars
Somewhere with your wings on time
You must be laughing
Behind our eyes
Calendars of our lives
Circled with compromise
Sweet bird of time and change
You must be laughing
Up on your feathers laughing

Golden in time
Cities under the sand
Power, ideals and beauty
Fading in everyone's hands

Give me some time
I feel like I'm losing mine
Out here on this horizon line
With the earth spinning
And the sky forever rushing
No one knows
They can never get that close
Guesses at most
Guesses based on what each set
     of time and change is touching
Guesses based on what each set
     of time and change is touching
Guesses based on what each set
     of time and change is touching.

(c) 1975 Joni Mitchell.  All rights reserved.

While she no longer has the voice of a songbird (likely due to a half-century of smoking), in my eyes Joni remains just as sweet.  And in her own words, "I learned a woman is never an old woman."  So there.

Gathered Light: The Poetry of Joni Mitchell's Songs, written and edited by Lisa and John Sornberger, is a collection that was published earlier this year.  It highlights forty years of Joni Mitchell's thought-provoking lyrics as well as original contributions by acclaimed writers, long-time friends, and creative collaborators, celebrating her poetic prowess and the powerful impact her words have had on their lives.  I guess I'm not the only one.

Speaking of powerful words, today's Poetry Friday host is Diane at Random Noodling.  There's a whole lot more inspiration just around the bend.

Two Line Tuesday: Lou Reed

 

ForestWander Nature Photography

I always believed that I have something important to say

and I said it.

                                                                 -Lou Reed

  

Laurie Anderson, Lou Reed's widow, wrote in a letter to their neighbours, "He died on Sunday morning looking at the trees..."

Five for Friday: PHSD

What a week it's been! 

If you missed the outcome of my Insomnia, you can find it here.

You can find The Witching Hour, my entry to Susanna Leonard Hill's 3rd annual Halloweensie Contest, here.

But really I've been eating, sleeping, and breathing Halloween all month long, and now...

Courtesy of Matt Ward

I feel like death warmed over.

Courtesy of GiggleBugg

Nah, don't call Zombie Control just yet, it's only Post Halloween Stress Disorder (PHSD).  Easily remedied with a bit of Five for Friday group therapy.







To join in, all you need to do is string five words together (plus title, if you like), leave it in the comments section, and I'll move it here so we can all enjoy.  Easy peasy zombie squeasy.  Don't fuss too much or bust a gut, it's just five words.  You really can't go wrong.

Then, when you're done, hobble over to TeacherDance where Linda is hosting today's Poetry Friday hangover... I mean roundup.  But try not to leave any limbs behind, okay?

PHSD

Zombie

is my 

middle name

-Michelle, Today's Little Ditty

TUMMY STRESS

No more
cookie fingers
ever!

-Linda Baie, TeacherDance 


COOKIE FINGERS SAY
(for Linda)

We'll be back
next year!

-Tabatha Yeatts, The Opposite of Indifference


NOVEMBER 1

Chocolate ghosts
empty
candy jar

-Laura Shovan, Author Amok


Too much candy equals gas...

-Richard McCray II


The porch light
is out.

-Regina Sokas


Still coffin up bone splinters.

-Jama Rattigan, Jama's Alphabet Soup


Kids gone.
Candy tithing begins.

-Buffy Silverman, Buffy's Blog


giddy giggles,
grouchiness
Halloween hangover

-Bridget Magee, wee words for wee ones


OVERLOAD

Sugar turns
kids to
monsters.

-Keri Collins Lewis, Keri Recommends 


A thousand welcomes
to November!

-Ruth, There is no such thing as a God-forsaken Town


November starts
with sugar highs.

-George A. Heidenrich


HALLOWEEN IS OVER

The teacher
sighed with
relief.

-Mary Lee Hahn, A Year of Reading


BOO-HOO

Not enough
Halloween
in Europe!

-Renée LaTulippe, No Water River


Trick or Treat -
Too late?

-Robyn Hood Black, Life on the Deckle Edge

The Witching Hour

We're halfway through the Halloween Countdown, and the suspense is killing me!  Will I survive this Insomnia?

A "weensie" dose of lighter fare may be just what I need to pull through, so I've decided to enter the 3rd annual Halloweesie Contest sponsored by Susanna Leonard Hill.  The rules of the contest are simple: write a Halloween story in 100 words or less.  It can be scary or funny, poetry or prose, but it must be appropriate for children and include the words spooky, black cat, and cackle.

Well, you know me, I took the "little ditty" approach.

          THE WITCHING HOUR

          This is the tale

          of two cats and a whale

          named Spooky, Cackle and Boo.

          Each Halloween

          the trio is seen

          traversing the ocean blue.

          An unusual sight—

          black cats in the night

          on the tail of a whale, it’s true.

          But once every year

          when bewitching time’s here,

          they set sail and admire the view.

          © 2013 Michelle Heidenrich Barnes. All rights reserved.

Courtesy of Eunice and Andrew, Lazy Cats Are Here

Be sure to stop by Susanna's blog, Something for Everyone in the World of Children's Books, to read and enjoy all of the entries.  After the finalists have been selected, there will be a vote for the winner on Monday, November 4th.

Halloween Countdown: Day 1

Limerick Alley, after dark

Lucky, the Halloween shamrock

Halloween has come to Limerick Alley...  

bigtime. 

Ooh, I hope it's not TOO scary!

In the spirit of the Halloween horror franchise and its bountiful series of slasher movies, I thought it would be fun to release a stream of limericks to count down the remaining days until Halloween.  Sooooo...


For the next week, I will be releasing one stanza each day of my seven stanza poem titled Insomnia.

Be sure to return to this post daily to see how the story unfolds!

        INSOMNIA

       It’s 3 a.m., why aren’t I sleeping?

       Odd hours I seem to be keeping.

       My eyes are not closing,

       my mind is composing,

       and limericks, silently creeping…

       Was that just the wind I heard moan?
       Making these walls creak and groan?
       I can't comprehend
       why my hair stands on end,
       till I notice I'm not here alone.

       My eyesight, unfocused and bleary;
       the silence, electric and eerie;
       a whisper, my name,
       "Who's there?!" I exclaim.
       "Just me," she says, "no worries, Dearie."

       From shadows, a hideous sight
       ignites my spontaneous fright:
       a foul surprise
       with sunken white eyes,
       and skin mostly rotted with blight!

       "I once was a dancer, you know.
       Tonight, it's my Halloween show..."
       Her head, it unhinges
       and out jump, like ninjas,
       huge crickets that breed in her toe. 

       I feel the sweat bead on my brow.
       The crickets are everywhere now!
       My heart skips a beat
       but I'm stuck to my seat,
       and I think that I'm having a cow. 

       I'm shaking like autumn's last leaf,
       just hoping the pain will be brief.
       A BLOODCURDLING SCREAM
       wakes me up from my dream...
       and I breathe a deep sigh of relief. 

       © 2013 Michelle Heidenrich Barnes. All rights reserved.