tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-69896774698868780532024-03-15T18:10:51.535-07:00Artsenta WritersThis blog features creative writing by people from Artsenta, an art studio based in Dunedin, New Zealand. The work presented is by a mix of writers and often posted immediately following our weekly writing session.
Artsenta is a creative space for people who are receiving support for their mental health. We believe that creative expression is an essential part of every person's well-being. For more information on Artsenta please visit www.artsenta.org. Artsenta Writing Grouphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06683553336459401951noreply@blogger.comBlogger85125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6989677469886878053.post-37918733121098143512023-09-25T17:10:00.004-07:002023-09-26T16:54:12.691-07:00Zen & the Art of Lawn Mowing<p><i><br /></i></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTQ8uWE7fsCWjOwIRP_R2QgShhAurgkVBloygVkn88sUydJaGmVjTnELtJVSeJ3M1PzrbhesD1NQD0oU-Y6_WF3NgdDl0HgdqEduglwrxaauaUXQWZd3-jz1BucgvquzsqAmLpCndysZNkoCvFwRICTLsxMVQDkhfrj5Zs0nqJv7O083S2Dk8THIFC79Y/s1200/lawn-patterns-main.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1200" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTQ8uWE7fsCWjOwIRP_R2QgShhAurgkVBloygVkn88sUydJaGmVjTnELtJVSeJ3M1PzrbhesD1NQD0oU-Y6_WF3NgdDl0HgdqEduglwrxaauaUXQWZd3-jz1BucgvquzsqAmLpCndysZNkoCvFwRICTLsxMVQDkhfrj5Zs0nqJv7O083S2Dk8THIFC79Y/w400-h300/lawn-patterns-main.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p><i>'Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance' was a hallowed book in the 1970's counter-culture scene. </i><i>Perhaps not the easiest book to read but it did inspire this week's writing session. Well we couldn't resist once we heard an account from one of our writers about their experience mowing the lawns at their croquet club and the challenges of their ancient ride on mower which sounded more like a cross between a chainsaw and a bucking bronco than a mindful Zen-like experience! So we started with lawns and quickly moved to blossoms which was much more... ahh... Zen. </i></p><p><br /></p><p>SWEET CUT GRASS</p><p>Up and down</p><p><span> </span><span> </span><span> round about</span><br /></p><p><span>Thrust here</span></p><p><span><span> </span><span> </span><span> push there</span><br /></span></p><p><span><span>Over and about</span></span></p><p><span><span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span>Oh the smell</span></span></p><p><span><span>Of sweet cut grass</span></span></p><p><span><span><br /></span></span></p><p><span><span>Mum did it</span></span></p><p><span><span>Dad did it</span></span></p><p><span><span><span> </span><span> </span><span> sometimes</span><br /></span></span></p><p><span><span><span>At Cherry Farm</span></span></span></p><p><span><span><span><span> </span><span> </span><span> they did it too</span><br /></span></span></span></p><p>And at Shetland Street </p><p><span> </span><span> </span><span> round and under the trees</span></p><p><span><br /></span></p><p><span>Oh how I love listening</span></p><p><span><span> </span><span> </span><span> to the loud mower </span></span></p><p><span><span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span>in bed</span><br /></span></p><p><span><span>And it will be back</span></span></p><p><span><span><span> </span><span> </span><span> again</span><br /></span></span></p><p><span><span><span><br /></span></span></span></p><p>- by June</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p>SPRING</p><p>Cherry blossom</p><p>Like clouds passing</p><p>In the sky</p><p>Fluffy too</p><p>And pink </p><p>Marshmallow-yummy</p><p>Lightly moving</p><p>Individually</p><p>How I like to be</p><p>Under the dappled shade</p><p>Always welcoming me</p><p>Heartily Spring</p><p><br /></p><p>- by June</p><p><br /></p>Artsenta Writing Grouphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06683553336459401951noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6989677469886878053.post-66066246181075130062023-07-19T16:10:00.000-07:002023-07-19T16:10:33.281-07:00Writing with handcuffs<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXSMPMI3jatPiyicnWcpf1UEWRA3DDqytElb24v1X46ltwfr94OA78eCE8B56umnZVTuoyW8kiaV2mdhTFQ8PbRsbiCRs8Z58w1XjE58UJq9FN5t3TeNP_I0INR70uTdlS2yzVMqgwYKbQwpK8YhtUjLgSpPjrxXVRrfWCaKhi7UBjOCrw7hviUcv2d-A/s257/handcuffs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="178" data-original-width="257" height="222" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXSMPMI3jatPiyicnWcpf1UEWRA3DDqytElb24v1X46ltwfr94OA78eCE8B56umnZVTuoyW8kiaV2mdhTFQ8PbRsbiCRs8Z58w1XjE58UJq9FN5t3TeNP_I0INR70uTdlS2yzVMqgwYKbQwpK8YhtUjLgSpPjrxXVRrfWCaKhi7UBjOCrw7hviUcv2d-A/w320-h222/handcuffs.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><i><br /></i><p></p><p><i>This week we imposed restrictions (the handcuffs) on our writing. Known in writing circles as a lipogram, this is where a letter is ruled out of use and to make things challenging ours was the letter 'e'. The last two sentences had 17 e's so you can imagine some trepidation within our group. It's incredible to think that in 1939 Ernest Wright wrote a 50,000 word novel without a single e! How hard can it be? Our second lipogram-like challenge was to 'flatten the dictionary', in other words write a poem with no tall letters - that's b, d, f, h, k, l, t. None of this was easy but we did it and some great work ensued. The first poem below is the no-e number and the next two are the flattened poems.</i></p><div style="text-align: left;"><br /><br /><p style="text-align: left;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;">Hang with human</span></b><br /><o:p> <br /></o:p>In a room</p><p style="text-align: left;">You saw a human</p><p style="text-align: left;">That is a girl</p><p style="text-align: left;">You walk up towards</p><p style="text-align: left;">To talk to this girl</p><p style="text-align: left;">It's amazing how the girl and you click so fast</p><p style="text-align: left;">You both got a lot in common</p><p style="text-align: left;">All day you hang out</p><p style="text-align: left;">At night</p><p style="text-align: left;">In your room</p><p style="text-align: left;">You think</p><p style="text-align: left;">What a fun day you had</p><p style="text-align: left;">Starting in that room</p><p style="text-align: left;">Spotting that human</p><p style="text-align: left;"><o:p> <br /></o:p>- Julia Godfrey</p></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
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<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><br /><p></p><p><b><br /></b></p><p><b><span style="font-size: medium;">exposure</span></b></p><p>privacy, none</p><p>open, exposure</p><p>anger rage pain</p><p>worse case scenario</p><p>so many nosey eyes</p><p>see me</p><p>exposure</p><p>privacy gone</p><p><br /></p><p>- Jenn</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><b><span style="font-size: medium;">a new way</span></b></p><p>a new way</p><p>viewing no anger</p><p>owning peace in you</p><p>a mirror in me</p><p>seeing a new overview</p><p>unseen in our now</p><p>a vigor as never</p><p>was in our scene</p><p><br /></p><p>- S B P Davis</p>Artsenta Writing Grouphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06683553336459401951noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6989677469886878053.post-77695652892348178522023-05-18T21:01:00.003-07:002023-05-18T21:02:42.440-07:00Dancing in the moonlight<p> </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGscgyKfse_uFNxmu_HPNkj9r9OPhiNgvjjb8S3eDNGupcJLpxEgMjGG-wH4PUTlcfBYg89Jp0JlCbLnavW3lJ93sD4ZnymDQDZRLgEYZ22jan_s2E7-BLgi6zYul1bqerMUa6eXubRhtnZZqnhmmyyVsId4kfn6kHHmGs3pKzJ8_9s3drSGp4xJbT/s794/Moonlight%20moth.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="794" data-original-width="794" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGscgyKfse_uFNxmu_HPNkj9r9OPhiNgvjjb8S3eDNGupcJLpxEgMjGG-wH4PUTlcfBYg89Jp0JlCbLnavW3lJ93sD4ZnymDQDZRLgEYZ22jan_s2E7-BLgi6zYul1bqerMUa6eXubRhtnZZqnhmmyyVsId4kfn6kHHmGs3pKzJ8_9s3drSGp4xJbT/w400-h400/Moonlight%20moth.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><i><p><i><br /></i></p>Moths are the poor cousin of butterflies but they have their own beauty and a mysterious quality linked to their nocturnal natures. The challenge this week was to write an epic tale or poem about moths full of drama. Here's two quite different responses - a narrative poem and a poetic piece of prose! Thanks for reading.</i><p></p><p><br /></p><div style="text-align: left;"><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">CATCH ME IF YOU CAN</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Batting
wings briskly under a back porch light<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Seemingly,
a million moths appear out of nowhere each night<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">While
some fly slow and others dart quicker<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">But
watch your wings little moths near the door mat<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">For
you're being eagerly eyeballed by a caramel coloured cat<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">He's
stealth and quick, quicker than the spray of a sneeze<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">And
he'll stalk and hunt you, with untold ease<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">He's
mastered the art of catching many things, including you guys<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">As
his senses heighten and he widens his eyes<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Many
moths dance teasingly around his head<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">But
he's quick to swipe, leap, prance and swat them dead<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">With
his claws out, sharp at the ready <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">He
watches one intently, keeping his body stiff and steady<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Then
with one leap he bounds in the air<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Sending
the moths into a chaotic frenzy up there<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">He
hops and bounces around the porch like a wild bunny<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">To
witness all this commotion is actually rather funny<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">And
just like that he's caught one, a magnificent prize<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">As
it wriggles under his paw, he watches with deep black eyes<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Then
all of a sudden, the movement stops<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">He
lifts his paw slowly and to his paw his nose drops<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">It's
not moving.....is it deceased?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">As
he stands up from the floor and his inhaling is increased <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Just
like that, the game is over, it's no fun anymore<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">As
he walks away, the moth lays still on the floor<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Then
out of nowhere, the moth flickers and flutters away<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Smart
little bugger, who gets to live another day!</span></p>By Jacinda Hurring</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div>JUST NOT MY TYPE</div><div><br /></div><div>The lights were everywhere. Dazzling, they glittered in the low-drifting mist, split into sintered glass fragments, dropped onto the lawn and glowed on blades of damp grass.</div><div><br /></div><div>A wet macrocarpa leant slowly towards the dull full moon, which glared down, its light dispersed across the mist, stolen from its beaming face and scattered, to be lost on the haze. Flickering colours ran up and down the tree as carnival decorations switched on, and the soothing mist waited expectantly.</div><div><br /></div><div>As the people walked in, quietly, hopeful, two moths awoke from their caterpillar-sleep and crawled from secret places burrowed in the macrocarpa, to sit watching, waking, stretching. Wings unfolded and lengthened and, as night drew darker their patterns and spots were revealed; to any who could see in the dark.</div><div><br /></div><div>First flight was exhilarating, weaving around the tree, moving quickly from one light to another. They wove around each other, and away, and back.</div><div><br /></div><div>“Ugh moths” roared a woman, as her swinging handbag sliced through the air, knocking one to the ground. Gathering wings in quickly it sat stunned on the planet as the Handbag moved on.</div><div><br /></div><div>Reoriented, it lifted and fluttered quickly to a tree branch, blending its browns and greys. A rest, reinvigoration. More light now, the mist was blowing, slowly. The moth fluttered, again chasing the lights, checking for the right wavelengths. Above the moon shone through clearly, full-spectrum reflection. </div><div><br /></div><div>The two fluttered around each other eyeing the greys and browns, purples and yellows, iridescent in the moonlight, then split away, still searching.</div><div><br /></div><div>- KJ</div></div>Artsenta Writing Grouphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06683553336459401951noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6989677469886878053.post-90527855847152860922023-03-09T14:55:00.004-08:002023-03-09T15:20:45.353-08:00Bibliomancy<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2YfW_AitLu9ttzyhByQDWMS43pLNSMUGrDPEY1853OGdKne4l2aAtclYbS4yNo1Lb_mlRt9zBqH97CmgSQfUsuTjeI8DztQVltX70rzwF7nR9bVkE-5UhnCh36kFgr13tHi0QMK54hNSveU5NMicPgX2nrxyGpc_0KF1H7kL1kEwaa5PMDfb3WsFY/s1024/Book-Magic-iStock_000048859126_Medium-1024x682.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="682" data-original-width="1024" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2YfW_AitLu9ttzyhByQDWMS43pLNSMUGrDPEY1853OGdKne4l2aAtclYbS4yNo1Lb_mlRt9zBqH97CmgSQfUsuTjeI8DztQVltX70rzwF7nR9bVkE-5UhnCh36kFgr13tHi0QMK54hNSveU5NMicPgX2nrxyGpc_0KF1H7kL1kEwaa5PMDfb3WsFY/w400-h266/Book-Magic-iStock_000048859126_Medium-1024x682.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><i><p><i><br /></i></p>Bibliomancy is to use a book to make a prediction just by holding a question in your mind and opening the book at random and seeing what turns up. In our case we used a dictionary, opening it three times to find three words. We then used these as prompts for a poem or a short story. Writers were challenged to add an element of prediction to what they wrote. Here's a couple of pieces from what turned out to be a very enjoyable session!</i><p></p><p><br /></p><p>THE STYLE OF THE HEART</p><p>
</p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-top: 0.05pt; mso-line-break-override: restrictions; punctuation-wrap: simple;"><b>Nestled<span style="letter-spacing: -0.35pt;">
</span></b>within<span style="letter-spacing: -0.35pt;"> </span>our<span style="letter-spacing: -0.35pt;"> </span>hearts,<span style="letter-spacing: -0.35pt;">
</span>lays<span style="letter-spacing: -0.35pt;"> </span>the<span style="letter-spacing: -0.3pt;"> </span><b>style<span style="letter-spacing: -0.35pt;"> </span></b>of<span style="letter-spacing: -0.35pt;"> </span>the<span style="letter-spacing: -0.35pt;"> </span>mind;<span style="letter-spacing: -0.35pt;"> </span>embedded<span style="letter-spacing: -0.3pt;">
</span>within<span style="letter-spacing: -0.35pt;"> </span>darkness<span style="letter-spacing: -0.35pt;"> </span>of<span style="letter-spacing: -0.35pt;"> </span>self<span style="letter-spacing: -0.35pt;"> </span>beliefs<span style="letter-spacing: -0.35pt;">
</span>that<span style="letter-spacing: -0.3pt;"> </span>make<span style="letter-spacing: -0.35pt;"> </span>us<span style="letter-spacing: -0.35pt;"> </span><span style="letter-spacing: -0.1pt;">blind.</span></p>
<p class="MsoBodyText" style="line-height: 103%; margin-top: 0.05pt; mso-line-break-override: restrictions; punctuation-wrap: simple;">There<span style="letter-spacing: -0.5pt;"> </span>is<span style="letter-spacing: -0.5pt;"> </span>a<span style="letter-spacing: -0.5pt;"> </span>light<span style="letter-spacing: -0.5pt;"> </span>that<span style="letter-spacing: -0.5pt;"> </span>shines,<span style="letter-spacing: -0.5pt;">
</span>a<span style="letter-spacing: -0.5pt;"> </span><b>diffract</b>,<span style="letter-spacing: -0.5pt;"> </span>cutting<span style="letter-spacing: -0.5pt;">
</span>away<span style="letter-spacing: -0.5pt;"> </span>the<span style="letter-spacing: -0.5pt;"> </span>dark.<span style="letter-spacing: -0.5pt;"> </span>Revealing<span style="letter-spacing: -0.5pt;"> </span>ourselves<span style="letter-spacing: -0.5pt;">
</span>from<span style="letter-spacing: -0.5pt;"> </span>within,<span style="letter-spacing: -0.5pt;"> </span>of<span style="letter-spacing: -0.5pt;"> </span>who<span style="letter-spacing: -0.5pt;"> </span>we<span style="letter-spacing: -0.5pt;"> </span>were;<span style="letter-spacing: -0.5pt;"> </span>to<span style="letter-spacing: -0.5pt;"> </span>reveal<span style="letter-spacing: -0.5pt;"> </span>to<span style="letter-spacing: -0.5pt;"> </span>us
who we can become.</p>
<p class="MsoBodyText" style="line-height: 103%; margin-right: 5.05pt; mso-line-break-override: restrictions; punctuation-wrap: simple;">The<span style="letter-spacing: -0.4pt;"> </span>diffract<span style="letter-spacing: -0.4pt;"> </span>embedded<span style="letter-spacing: -0.4pt;"> </span>with<span style="letter-spacing: -0.4pt;"> </span>the<span style="letter-spacing: -0.4pt;"> </span>style<span style="letter-spacing: -0.4pt;"> </span>of<span style="letter-spacing: -0.4pt;"> </span>the<span style="letter-spacing: -0.4pt;"> </span>soul<span style="letter-spacing: -0.4pt;"> </span>and<span style="letter-spacing: -0.4pt;"> </span>all<span style="letter-spacing: -0.4pt;"> </span>the<span style="letter-spacing: -0.4pt;"> </span>possibilities<span style="letter-spacing: -0.4pt;"> </span>that<span style="letter-spacing: -0.4pt;"> </span>lay<span style="letter-spacing: -0.4pt;"> </span>before,<span style="letter-spacing: -0.4pt;">
</span>in<span style="letter-spacing: -0.4pt;"> </span>a<span style="letter-spacing: -0.4pt;"> </span>glittering<span style="letter-spacing: -0.4pt;"> </span>blaze<span style="letter-spacing: -0.4pt;"> </span>of<span style="letter-spacing: -0.4pt;"> </span>hope. </p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="line-height: 103%; margin-right: 5.05pt; mso-line-break-override: restrictions; punctuation-wrap: simple;">Shattering the darkness of past days revealing in the hour of our need, what we
ourselves require to see.</p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="line-height: 103%; margin-right: 5.05pt; mso-line-break-override: restrictions; punctuation-wrap: simple;">To reach beyond all that we held
in belief that made us blind. Opening<span style="letter-spacing: -0.25pt;"> </span>our<span style="letter-spacing: -0.25pt;"> </span>eyes<span style="letter-spacing: -0.25pt;"> </span>to<span style="letter-spacing: -0.25pt;"> </span>the<span style="letter-spacing: -0.25pt;"> </span>truth<span style="letter-spacing: -0.25pt;"> </span>we<span style="letter-spacing: -0.25pt;"> </span>hold<span style="letter-spacing: -0.25pt;"> </span>and<span style="letter-spacing: -0.25pt;"> </span>always<span style="letter-spacing: -0.25pt;"> </span>did,<span style="letter-spacing: -0.25pt;"> </span>setting<span style="letter-spacing: -0.25pt;"> </span>us<span style="letter-spacing: -0.25pt;"> </span>free.</p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="line-height: 103%; margin-right: 5.05pt; mso-line-break-override: restrictions; punctuation-wrap: simple;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.25pt; text-align: center;">- </span><span style="letter-spacing: -0.4pt;">S.</span><span style="letter-spacing: -0.05pt;"> </span><span style="letter-spacing: -0.4pt;">B.</span> <span style="letter-spacing: -0.4pt;">P.</span> <span style="letter-spacing: -0.4pt;">Davis</span></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="line-height: 103%; margin-right: 5.05pt; mso-line-break-override: restrictions; punctuation-wrap: simple;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.4pt;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="line-height: 103%; margin-right: 5.05pt; mso-line-break-override: restrictions; punctuation-wrap: simple;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.4pt;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="line-height: 103%; margin-right: 5.05pt; mso-line-break-override: restrictions; punctuation-wrap: simple;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.4pt;">THREE WORDS ... SINCE 1975</span></p><p></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="line-height: 103%; margin-right: 5.05pt; mso-line-break-override: restrictions; punctuation-wrap: simple;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.533333px;">Flood Slip</span></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="line-height: 103%; margin-right: 5.05pt; mso-line-break-override: restrictions; punctuation-wrap: simple;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.533333px;"><b>Inexperience </b>was Master</span></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="line-height: 103%; margin-right: 5.05pt; mso-line-break-override: restrictions; punctuation-wrap: simple;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.533333px;">the dull, distant rumble beneath</span></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="line-height: 103%; margin-right: 5.05pt; mso-line-break-override: restrictions; punctuation-wrap: simple;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.533333px;"> the constant dropping of rain</span></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="line-height: 103%; margin-right: 5.05pt; mso-line-break-override: restrictions; punctuation-wrap: simple;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.533333px;">Vibration, house-shaking, earth-sliding</span></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="line-height: 103%; margin-right: 5.05pt; mso-line-break-override: restrictions; punctuation-wrap: simple;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.533333px;"> evoking queasy-danger</span></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="line-height: 103%; margin-right: 5.05pt; mso-line-break-override: restrictions; punctuation-wrap: simple;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.533333px;">not quaking, not rolling, unlifted-unlowered</span></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="line-height: 103%; margin-right: 5.05pt; mso-line-break-override: restrictions; punctuation-wrap: simple;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.533333px;">unlike a rolling earthquake through banked grass</span></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="line-height: 103%; margin-right: 5.05pt; mso-line-break-override: restrictions; punctuation-wrap: simple;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.533333px;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="line-height: 103%; margin-right: 5.05pt; mso-line-break-override: restrictions; punctuation-wrap: simple;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.533333px;">Acres of <b>retrospection </b>don’t do justice to memory</span></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="line-height: 103%; margin-right: 5.05pt; mso-line-break-override: restrictions; punctuation-wrap: simple;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.533333px;">A story told and retold doesn’t live the fear, the doubt</span></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="line-height: 103%; margin-right: 5.05pt; mso-line-break-override: restrictions; punctuation-wrap: simple;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.533333px;">the anxiety driving thought to weird action</span></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="line-height: 103%; margin-right: 5.05pt; mso-line-break-override: restrictions; punctuation-wrap: simple;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.533333px;">Events infrequent, <b>rarefy </b>and scatter emotions tied to aloneness</span></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="line-height: 103%; margin-right: 5.05pt; mso-line-break-override: restrictions; punctuation-wrap: simple;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.533333px;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="line-height: 103%; margin-right: 5.05pt; mso-line-break-override: restrictions; punctuation-wrap: simple;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.533333px;">Again with the rain, the flood, the slip</span></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="line-height: 103%; margin-right: 5.05pt; mso-line-break-override: restrictions; punctuation-wrap: simple;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.533333px;">not rare now are fear, doubt, experience</span></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="line-height: 103%; margin-right: 5.05pt; mso-line-break-override: restrictions; punctuation-wrap: simple;"></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="line-height: 103%; margin-right: 5.05pt; mso-line-break-override: restrictions; punctuation-wrap: simple;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.533333px;">Again?</span></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="line-height: 103%; margin-right: 5.05pt; mso-line-break-override: restrictions; punctuation-wrap: simple;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.533333px;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoBodyText" style="line-height: 103%; margin-right: 5.05pt; mso-line-break-override: restrictions; punctuation-wrap: simple;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.533333px;">- Kate Jenkins</span></p>Artsenta Writing Grouphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06683553336459401951noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6989677469886878053.post-75502839484819367342023-02-13T17:22:00.000-08:002023-02-13T17:22:22.222-08:00Next level acronyms <p><i></i></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKzIh8m_pqtJzEPUMkI914F1pUECWgF7zUgYggTjiuEPDHj8jF5c4nsVLKGuCw1SK9NMol2G7YKpYk-qr4UvG5Xcq4LLWzsMHYYbjpMdyAld5mvY2RNvbg9bBmRbeZs8NQIpo0--bpeo0Ou3w1Q6xMWDo86M3rjKFSqY4yNcO0kv6kW6It9SPMuJa5/s1200/trh_jumpstarting_creativity_artwork-ebb4a998de60547621d8d1882d145b8cdfd48abe-s1200.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="899" data-original-width="1200" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKzIh8m_pqtJzEPUMkI914F1pUECWgF7zUgYggTjiuEPDHj8jF5c4nsVLKGuCw1SK9NMol2G7YKpYk-qr4UvG5Xcq4LLWzsMHYYbjpMdyAld5mvY2RNvbg9bBmRbeZs8NQIpo0--bpeo0Ou3w1Q6xMWDo86M3rjKFSqY4yNcO0kv6kW6It9SPMuJa5/w400-h300/trh_jumpstarting_creativity_artwork-ebb4a998de60547621d8d1882d145b8cdfd48abe-s1200.jpg" width="400" /></a></i></div><i><br /> </i><i>Acrostic poems are indeed like long acronyms with each letter standing for a word or sentence. They're a great starting point for poetry where the poem often encapsulates the meaning of the word. Here's a few poems from a recent creative writing session. In case you wondered, the title is the combined first letter of each line!</i><p></p><p><br /></p><p>Circulating feelings, emotions, thoughts</p><p>Racing</p><p>Enthusiastically</p><p>About</p><p>The</p><p>Innermost deep</p><p>Voids of my soul</p><p>Igniting</p><p>Terrific </p><p>Yearnings to escape and be free</p><p><br /></p><p><i>- Rachel</i></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p>Fire</p><p>Raging</p><p>Under</p><p>Solitary</p><p>Truths</p><p>Rendering</p><p>Attractions of hope, passion, and dreams</p><p>Tearfully </p><p>Incapacitated</p><p>On the cold, empty road that will only take you down the path of</p><p>Never</p><p><br /></p><p><i>- Rachel</i></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p>Climb</p><p>Outside</p><p>Meet</p><p>Me</p><p>Under</p><p>Neath</p><p>The</p><p>Yellow </p><p><br /></p><p><i>- Anon</i></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p>Music plays bedside</p><p>It flows in like soft scent as</p><p>Natural as a breath, a</p><p>Deep well of density</p><p>Filling my bones</p><p>Uplifting my spirit</p><p>Leaving me lightly, wafting</p><p>Nowhere but here</p><p>Eyes closed, but</p><p>Still</p><p>Searching</p><p><br /></p><p><i>- Anon</i></p>Artsenta Writing Grouphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06683553336459401951noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6989677469886878053.post-24765498380113140842022-09-01T19:36:00.001-07:002022-09-01T19:36:30.497-07:00<div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdhman1r9I0VB51NqsUdD_UgMHE8PBm7FwP0HnQux0TZqA9EG1wPAESaIMT-KOXq7e0mD_vN1EgCGOG-JZM0CKfEIwfAsJ4kybqNh8TBsaSiLlY5OguqyeLDPxb58hKMxhd2bhnHWpPy0038d72oWC_7HCiJe3PeujykJtiXEWzUnUIc9Vlq27gBbe/s637/Shark%20light.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="358" data-original-width="637" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdhman1r9I0VB51NqsUdD_UgMHE8PBm7FwP0HnQux0TZqA9EG1wPAESaIMT-KOXq7e0mD_vN1EgCGOG-JZM0CKfEIwfAsJ4kybqNh8TBsaSiLlY5OguqyeLDPxb58hKMxhd2bhnHWpPy0038d72oWC_7HCiJe3PeujykJtiXEWzUnUIc9Vlq27gBbe/w400-h225/Shark%20light.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><i><div><i><br /></i></div>Radio NZ ran a cool little comp for National Poetry Day recently. They give you six random words and you have to write a poem no longer than six lines using all the words. Easy except some of the words don't quite fit together, but it's a great challenge. We ended up doing the words from the last three years of competitions and the good news is - it get's easier as you practice! We were too late to submit these but we had fun! </i></div><div><br /></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i><b>2021 Word List - Cloud, Sound, Orange, Clear, Shark, Break</b></i></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Cloud break shows orange</div><div>Rays of sunshine</div><div>I can hear the sound of a shark </div><div>Thrashing through the clear waters below</div><div>The shark breaks water</div><div>And reaches up to the sunlight.</div><div><br /></div><div>- Gail Palmer</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>WHAT WAS THAT?<br />Skittering sounds, like orange pips skating on shark skin,<br />break clearly onto a cloud-free beach<br /><br /></div><div>- Kate Jenkins</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i><b>2020 Word List - High, Still, Stick, Train, Can, If</b></i></div><div><i><b><br /></b></i></div><div><br /></div><div>If the train can stick to its schedule</div><div>We can be there by high noon.</div><div>If the train is slow we will still</div><div>Get there some time.</div><div>If the train stops altogether</div><div>We will be left high and dry.</div><div><br /></div><div>- Gail Palmer</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><br />HABIT<br />We stick to the same train<br />but I care not for the high price<br />If I can I will be still, and stay<br /><br /><div>- Kate Jenkins</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><i><b>2022 Word List - Melody, String, Wave, Rumble, Tennis, Decision</b></i></div><div><br /></div><br />RANDOM<br />His sentences bounce like a wanton tennis ball<br />rumble through, as if on a bass string plucked<br /> <span> </span><span> </span><span> </span>or a long slow wave crawling ashore <br />They trip on a rock of floundering indecision<br />Less a melody then an orchestral diffusion<div><br /></div><div>- Kate Jenkins</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br />The rumble of the crowd<br />The ball hitting the string<br />A game of tennis<br />With a wave going around<br />A final decision has been made<br />A melody of cheers going at the same time<br /><div><br /></div><div>- Julia Godfrey</div></div>Artsenta Writing Grouphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06683553336459401951noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6989677469886878053.post-40674242026484026332022-08-25T20:42:00.002-07:002022-08-25T20:45:18.452-07:00Through the Mist<div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA2qoMVvnBE0_I8amNCDoszEEOAvDoVFvABcFYtzed3k5J_-f4WgLvylze4t_5S8oH8BWuutX1ektd3pD9fUqlx_gyqm3oQ_cTJRJ2mXtNwPLCwvjd5BJfWYlL3uS_rxgHk9O5UrNmOovGd6GjmCZd6U0p1TMl6u7_w-BiaAU2t94_JBVY_9ZvVO_c/s1743/Kohukohu%20Library%20Comp%20pic.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="785" data-original-width="1743" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA2qoMVvnBE0_I8amNCDoszEEOAvDoVFvABcFYtzed3k5J_-f4WgLvylze4t_5S8oH8BWuutX1ektd3pD9fUqlx_gyqm3oQ_cTJRJ2mXtNwPLCwvjd5BJfWYlL3uS_rxgHk9O5UrNmOovGd6GjmCZd6U0p1TMl6u7_w-BiaAU2t94_JBVY_9ZvVO_c/w400-h180/Kohukohu%20Library%20Comp%20pic.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><i>This week we were invited by the Kohukohu Library in the far North of the North Island to enter their poetry competition. What a surprise! So we did. Here are some of the poems created in response to their theme of 'mist' which is something special anywhere - the atmosphere, the mystery, the sense of isolation, perhaps even a spiritual experience? Mist is many things to many people. Enjoy these four poems from our creative writers!</i><div> <div><br /><br />FRIEND OR FOE <br /><br />Mist<br />Is it a friend?<br />Is it a Foe? <br /><br />To me<br />Mist is a friend<br />Because it's very helpful<br /><br />At night time, if you're up late<br />Mist will be there to save the day<br />Why? <br /><br />Since night time is dark<br />Especially at midnight<br />It's the best time for mist to appear<br /><br />Mist appears in different colours<br />But is very light<br />Also big <br /><br />So if your travelling<br />Late at night<br />The mist can guide you home <br /><br />That is why<br />I think mist is a friend<br />Because it always can appear <div>In your time of need <br /><br /><br />- Julia Godfrey<br /><br /><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><p class="MsoNormal"><br /><br /><b>m i s t </b><br /><br />Descending stealthily <br /><br />On valley ridge <br /><br /><br />Spreading damp white fingers into <br /><br />Crags and crevasses of <br /><br />Eroded landscape <br /><br /><br />Softening pointed caps of <br /><br />Planted pine <br /><br /><br />Spreading quietly with <br /><br />Loud effect <br /><br /><br />m i s t . . .</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><br /></div><div>- Pauline</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><br /><br />MIST<br /><br />shapes forms <br /><br />emerge dissolve <br /><br /> ethereal <br /><br /><br />creatures trees <br /><br />ridge lines <br /><br /> shapes <br /><br /><br />mist substance <br /><br />liquid light <br /><br /> reflected <br /><br /><br />sunshine moonlight <br /><br />cold water <br /><br /> upright <br /><br /> <br /><br />- Kate Jenkins<div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><br /><br /><b>v1a <br /><br />Kapuka Taumahaka ki Otepoti <br /><br /> - Mt Cargill, Dunedin - </b><br /><br />the cloud forest on the hill <br /><br />soaks up moisture <br /><br />sets itself for scratch growth <br /><br />between volcanic boulders <br /><br />unseen in the blanket of droplets <br /><br />frequenting the upper slopes <br /><br />sun fractures and reflections <br /><br />shine grey or white <br /><br />chilling rare micro-plants <br /><br />moulded by this solitary climate <br /><br />leaflet, moss and lichen <br /><br />incredible wee shapes peek from <br /><br />this mist pendent beneath the summit <br /><br />wilting damp onto farms below <br /><br />a halo light bright <br /><br />emerging fading dissolving<div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>- Kate Jenkins</div></div></div>Artsenta Writing Grouphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06683553336459401951noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6989677469886878053.post-4864967676389416582022-07-06T19:12:00.000-07:002022-07-06T19:12:32.123-07:00Matariki Poems<p><i> </i></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUiab6nTyF--S6EU2qMztkQQTdwdn01URUsx5RfpClwDr3wBod5WMH2bOgwggl-SElgvrY-EtF2vmdZPnxG95-iT9Z6eG4UP11JTViRoY4nTtbKdPQwNOZc-tXfF3b_zsbG64CWr_Ktv8OrPp0skbMPsfrafmbQWAd1HluIT3DAmmydrXG3elbLJS4/s1232/Matariki%20Poem%20Pic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="870" data-original-width="1232" height="283" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUiab6nTyF--S6EU2qMztkQQTdwdn01URUsx5RfpClwDr3wBod5WMH2bOgwggl-SElgvrY-EtF2vmdZPnxG95-iT9Z6eG4UP11JTViRoY4nTtbKdPQwNOZc-tXfF3b_zsbG64CWr_Ktv8OrPp0skbMPsfrafmbQWAd1HluIT3DAmmydrXG3elbLJS4/w400-h283/Matariki%20Poem%20Pic.jpg" width="400" /></a></i></div><i><br /></i><p></p><p><i>We've spent a couple of weeks writing about Matariki and what it means for us. We've thought about dawn ceremonies and getting up early, and times when we've being up late under the stars. We've given the word Matariki an acrostic treatment (that is we used each letter as the start of a poem) and we've explored the whakatauki or proverb 'He waka eke noa' to think about our shared purpose. This loosely translates as 'We're all in this together'. Some of this poetry features in a Matariki display in the Artsenta windows along with waka sculptures, poems and paintings. Awesome work!</i></p><p style="text-align: left;"></p><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><b>M</b>eaning full<br /><b>A</b>ttribute<br /><b>T</b>winkling gathering of stars<br /><b>A</b>ttending the dawn<br /><b>R</b>eviewing of year past<br /><b>I</b>nterest in what beckons from the new<br /><b>K</b>issing goodbye to creatures passed over<br /><b>I</b>nward-journey-eyes gaze upward . . .</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">- Pauline</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
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<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><p style="text-align: left;"><b>M</b>ystical<br /><b>A</b>nnual<br /><b>T</b>radition,<br /><b>A</b>tmosphere<br /><b>R</b>eaching<br /><b>I</b>nwards,<br /><b>K</b>nowledge<br /><b>I</b>ncreasing</p><div style="text-align: left;"><b><span lang="EN-NZ"><br /></span></b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b><span lang="EN-NZ"><br /></span></b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b><span lang="EN-NZ">M</span></b><span lang="EN-NZ">um and Dads’
birthdays have recently passed<br /><o:p></o:p></span><b><span lang="EN-NZ">A</span></b><span lang="EN-NZ">t the time I
missed<br /><o:p></o:p></span><b><span lang="EN-NZ">T</span></b><span lang="EN-NZ">heir many little
doings<br /><o:p></o:p></span><b><span lang="EN-NZ">A</span></b><span lang="EN-NZ"> garden
overhaul<br /><o:p></o:p></span><b><span lang="EN-NZ">R</span></b><span lang="EN-NZ">ecent
newspaper cuttings<br /><o:p></o:p></span><b><span lang="EN-NZ">I</span></b><span lang="EN-NZ">nterruptions
by phone<br /><o:p></o:p></span><b><span lang="EN-NZ">K</span></b><span lang="EN-NZ">isses and
hugs<br /><o:p></o:p></span><b><span lang="EN-NZ">I</span></b><span lang="EN-NZ">n touch</span></div><p class="Standard"><span lang="EN-NZ">- Kate Jenkins</span></p><p class="Standard"><span lang="EN-NZ"><br /></span></p><p class="Standard"><span lang="EN-NZ"><br /></span></p>STAR GAZING AT DAWN (MATARIKI 2022)<br /><br />One time I rose early<br />Sleep would not come, Vexation driving it out<br />A quiet relaxing drive, no traffic on the road, to<br />A dark mountain blocking out the night<br />The challenge: to walk, reach the height, watch for dawn<br />It was a cloudy night<br /><br />Two times I sat outside the tent<br />reveling in starlight, cursing my limitation,<br />What star is that?<br />Then Alpha Centauri, then Crux, and<br />the long line to Achernar, telling me South<br />I know my way <br /><br />New times; I will rise early<br />Search the Eastern horizon for the promising stars<br />Rigel and the Seven Sisters – Puanga and Matariki<br /> <span> </span><span> </span>for those who mourn<br /> <span> </span><span> </span>the Hope Bringer<br /> <span> </span><span> </span>the Gardener<br /> <span> </span><span> </span>the Singer of Forest Songs<br /> <span> </span><span> </span>the Watcher over Water<br /> <span> </span><span> </span>the Team Builders<br /> <span> <span> </span></span>the Enthusiast<br />Then will I draw back to Earth, to Papatūānuku<br />Begin again, anew<div> <br /><br />- Kate Jenkins<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> <div>FOR SYDNEY - JULY 2022, 1</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />Having this water to deal with<br />each person must / should / could play a part<br />When Earth moves, or rain doesn’t stop falling<br />all of us together (he waka eke noa) can practise<br />kindness, comfort, giving, sharing – as our<br />attachments to Things wash away in this flood<br />Endless losses scour our hearts<br />kindle doubt, fear, horror, amazement and<br />excruciating shock<br />Now is the time to clasp tightly<br />onto the living – friends, pets, neighbours, loved ones, God<br />allowing Presence to bring a smaller sense of Life</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /><br /><br /><br />FOR SYDNEY - JULY 2022, 2</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />Here we are<br />Everything shaken up<br />Wondering, why?<br />Affected, emotional<br />Knocked out of life<br />Are we safe?<br />Each person changed<br />Known spaces destroyed<br />Everyone challenged<br />Nothing will be the same<br />Ordinary now extraordinary<br />All we can do is watch</div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">- Kate Jenkins</div>Artsenta Writing Grouphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06683553336459401951noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6989677469886878053.post-49845675862401128222022-06-14T14:24:00.001-07:002022-06-14T14:25:10.078-07:00<div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBDwlLUGBQMOEz3kwpOxDA0iur2uQ1_X9f2N6jSOQMKCZbfude78iGGeQFBcIwV2ZPdhfSgWk4n46Uy9r6DuVKv7BMrSwPxvSAih2yDXprbss5pgMXQC6J-5-wkVuWQ_9zlo0fn4h8tlChfmlH0CIlGlxGuQ_7euHDN8HLkzh1IHGEFjkHYdJPBwEq/s1232/forest-floor-covered-in-fallen-autumn-leaves-WIF04366.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="821" data-original-width="1232" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBDwlLUGBQMOEz3kwpOxDA0iur2uQ1_X9f2N6jSOQMKCZbfude78iGGeQFBcIwV2ZPdhfSgWk4n46Uy9r6DuVKv7BMrSwPxvSAih2yDXprbss5pgMXQC6J-5-wkVuWQ_9zlo0fn4h8tlChfmlH0CIlGlxGuQ_7euHDN8HLkzh1IHGEFjkHYdJPBwEq/w400-h266/forest-floor-covered-in-fallen-autumn-leaves-WIF04366.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><i><br /></i></div><div><i>Today we feature one of our regular writers who has diligently written up the poems she has developed at the Artsenta Writer's Group over the last few months. This writing traverses a range of topics from shadows, exhibitions, and Autumn to the recent Queen's Birthday. All writing is by Kate Jenkins - thanks for sharing with us Kate!</i></div><div> <br /><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><p class="Standard">* S P A C E *</p>
<p class="Standard">Standing under the solid stars, brightly twinkling in a black
sky. Who makes their shadows?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Standard">On a blacked-out night when sun is down and moon has ebbed,
if I stand in the light of only stars will my shadow be beneath my feet or
scattered broken all around?</p>
<p class="Standard">The sounds of Earth impinge and echo, as cars pass and
person-walking dogs patter by, but those diffuse light beams, millennia old,
are absorbed into the neons and LEDs of 21st Century days, and extinguish.</p>
<p class="Standard">My soul always reaches up when my head is raised to see those
stars. Broken shards of pain and doubt
scatter with my broken shadows, each a cloaking contribution to night. That black cloak falls off and light-ness
lifts my breath, steaming out into the airlessness of space.<o:p></o:p></p></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">EXHIBITION<o:p><br /></o:p><o:p> <br /></o:p>An exhibit hangs, carefully mounted<br />Aligned to floor, ceiling and wall<br />A prospect, an incoming breath<br />Exposed to view<br /> to
critique<br /> or
amusement<br /> to
confusion<br />Open to comprehension and incomprehension alike<br /><o:p> <br /></o:p>An artist stands, not too close<br />Ready to speak, to explain, to elucidate<br />Fearful of
being seen<br /> of
incomprehensible criticism<br /> of
mockery<br /> or
misunderstanding<br />Hoping for delight, or awe, or just a simple ‘that’s good’</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><p class="Standard"><o:p></o:p></p>
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<p class="Standard"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="Standard">A GLIMPSE OF GREEN</p>
<p class="Standard">Downed leaves, the rotten, composting, mould-ridden end of
last Summer are trampled in the door on my shoes. Brown, yellow and black they drift
absent-mindedly on the wind, not staying at home but congregating in the
corners and around the objects of everyday life, like teenagers out on the town
for a Friday night.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Standard">My garden’s trees are nearly bare now, just a few lifeless
stragglers swaying drunkenly on branches, then catching a passing zephyr they
drop and mingle, onto my carefully ignored bulb patch. Its occupants mutter together words of
encouragement, sharing visions of Spring life, beauty and replication. They are the shopkeepers, the place
holders. They will not drift away. They cannot wait beneath this blanketing
protection but drive upwards towards the Winter’ chill to exhibit,
eye-catching, a glimpse of green.<o:p></o:p></p></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>DUNEDIN, QUEEN'S BIRTHDAY<o:p> <br /></o:p><o:p> <br /></o:p>Four layers – still not warm<br />Four layers – now heated up, as<br />cold morning swings into a hot afternoon<br /><o:p> <br /></o:p>Three layers, two,<br />Our blasting winter sun is<br />not enjoyed by our Northern friends<br />Each island, province, city<br />watching for the signs of warmth<br /><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>clearing of
grey skies<br /><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>the end of
the rain, fog,<br /><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>and those
dull dull clouds<br /><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> <br /> </span>But here we take our Holiday<br /><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>- Thanks
Ma’am -<br />And wear our cloudless sky<br />like a blissful flower-trimmed hat<br />as we race around, enjoying<br /><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Indian
Summer, La Nina<br /><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Global
Warming<br /><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Dunedin in
Winter<br /><o:p> <br /></o:p><o:p> </o:p></div><p></p><p class="Standard"><o:p></o:p></p>
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<br /><p></p>Artsenta Writing Grouphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06683553336459401951noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6989677469886878053.post-39701821503137911002021-12-20T19:09:00.008-08:002021-12-21T12:40:08.442-08:00Words for Trees<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi77YXBSlyJC61ZwtDTBbMdoJQLcG92kEIpMp-xML0ejeOliaotHbcGZXtxhiUoAl6khVtYfMKv1eQ_wM41aXQobOgCG32tTrDxT7nOxNjJ8vn5h6OR3k8PbXTPhNyKTDTd3qKNFA20xIrd8WS2sh1JL9YgKIFzSdA1UdJQC8IgoXbF8QZo-5ko1h5-=s1600" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi77YXBSlyJC61ZwtDTBbMdoJQLcG92kEIpMp-xML0ejeOliaotHbcGZXtxhiUoAl6khVtYfMKv1eQ_wM41aXQobOgCG32tTrDxT7nOxNjJ8vn5h6OR3k8PbXTPhNyKTDTd3qKNFA20xIrd8WS2sh1JL9YgKIFzSdA1UdJQC8IgoXbF8QZo-5ko1h5-=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></div><i><p><i>Dunedin is blessed to have many beautiful trees and the green belt like a wreath around the city hills. Trees are even more significant at this time of year with most of us decorating a special tree for Christmas. But beyond Christmas most of us will have special memories of a particular tree where something happened in it or under it or to it. So trees were the topic this week with the optional challenge of shaping the poem itself.</i></p></i><p></p><p><br /></p><div style="text-align: left;">DECORATION<br /><o:p> <br /></o:p><o:p> <br /></o:p> *<br /> fold<br /> fold &
fold<br /> & fold<br />
fold & fold
& fold<br />
fold & fold
& fold &
fold<br /> fold &
fold<br /> fold &
fold & fold
& fold &
fold & fold<br />fold & fold
& fold &
fold & fold
& fold and fold<br />
how much do I have to do?<br /> So
much work; so little result<br /> The
concertina’d squares of blue and red<br />blue red blue
red blue red
blue red blue<br /> clash together<br /> - only one foot<br /> - now two<br /> - nearly three<br /><o:p> <br /></o:p><o:p> <br /></o:p>Crepe paper crushed by tight little fingers<br />Impatience rewarded by
l e n g t h e n i n g b r a i d<br />Cellotaped ends will stop all that work<br /> un rav e lling<br />
where the paper has run out<br /><o:p> <br /></o:p>And now the tree! but
no, all must wait for Dad<br />His carefully placed lights and glass balls<br /> Not to be
Touched by minor hands<br />No fires here. He
will place the paper length delicately,<br />balanced, correct, away from HOT bulbs and breakable GLASS</div><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
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<p>- Kate Jenkins</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p>GOLDEN BELLS</p><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: left;"> kowhai<br />you don’t belong here<br />yet you s d r<br /> e o
o<br /> n w
o<br /> d n
t<br /> s<br /><o:p> <br /></o:p>and you s p r a w
l l a n g u i d l y across my space<br /> Spring’s burst
of vibrant green growing into long trunks of summer<o:p><br /></o:p><o:p> <br /></o:p> l<br /> a<br /> c<br /> i<br /> t<br /> r<br /> e<br />no vertical challenge is accepted; and<br />not content to bear just once;<br /> <o:p> </o:p><o:p><br /></o:p>
once twice<br /> your golden
bells your golden bells<br /> burnish leafy
branchlets burnish
leafy branchlets<br /> not enough to
joy-fill once you have
to show off again<br />and bring midsummer’s golden days into the cloud and rain of winter</div></div><p class="MsoNormal"> - Kate Jenkins</p><p class="MsoPlainText"><br /></p><p class="MsoPlainText"><br /></p><div style="text-align: left;">PUNGA<br /><o:p> </o:p><o:p><br /></o:p> still angry<br /> He brought you down<br />Your years of growing tall<br />now cut<br />
down<br />
Trunk<br />
bisected<br />
Annual<br />
rings’<br />
final<br />
year<br /> In<br /> the<br /> (water) stream<br /> not (water)<br /> beside<br />
(water) it<br /> Maybe you can<br /> still
grow,<br />
devastated<br /> but
alive</div><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoPlainText">
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<div style="text-align: left;">Decorating the Christmas Tree<br />Was so much fun this year<br />My sister and her boyfriend<br />Were finally back home<br />So I got to decorate the tree with them<br />It came time to put up the star </div><div style="text-align: left;">I heard people sometimes lift the youngest up to put the star on </div><div style="text-align: left;">I
accidentally said it out loud </div><div style="text-align: left;">My sister & her
boyfriend suddenly picked me up by the legs </div><div style="text-align: left;">I was frightened and scared </div><div style="text-align: left;">Mum
gave me the star </div><div style="text-align: left;">While I was wobbling up in the air I put the star on </div><div style="text-align: left;">It was a crazy yet fun adventure </div><div style="text-align: left;">Putting the star on top of the Christmas tree this year</div><div style="text-align: left;">So be careful of what you say out loud!</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">- Julia Godfrey</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: left;">THE TREE THAT CAME DOWN WITH A CRASH!<br /><o:p> <br /></o:p>There once was a tree as large as a barge<br />I climbed up as high as the sky to see where to cut from<br />I examined it closely up and down, side to side<br />Should I forget or should I abide?<br />Was it safe to cut this tree down, or should I leave it
and hide?<br />I climbed down with a frown right down to the ground<br />How would I begin to cut down this huge huge tree?<br />There was danger with no harness, but I grabbed the
chainsaw</div><div style="text-align: left;">And held on with dear life and kept out of strife<br />I clung hard to the big branches, cutting them down one
by one</div><div style="text-align: left;">Crash, crash, crash, one by one they came down with a smash!<br />This would be hard earned cash for me and my friend as a
guide at my side<br />I think he wanted to hide out of the way and stay that way
till the end of the day<br />Thank God and hooray! I cut it down to the trunk where there
was a bit of gunk</div><div style="text-align: left;">But we worked together and each of us knew we had
succeeded and neither had flunked!</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">- Greg Maynard</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-NZ"> </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-NZ"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-NZ">OUR CHRISTMAS TREE - THE TREE OF THE YEAR</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-NZ"><br /></span><span lang="EN-NZ">Once there
was a family <br /></span><span lang="EN-NZ">who
gathered together with glee,<br /></span><span lang="EN-NZ">why? to
celebrate with their tree<br /></span><span lang="EN-NZ">the tree
would not walk or talk<br /></span><span lang="EN-NZ">but if it
could it would say:<br /></span><span lang="EN-NZ">"gather
all your gifts and cards<br /></span><span lang="EN-NZ">stockings,
wrap them, label them,<br /></span><span lang="EN-NZ">cover them
with beautiful paper,<br /></span><span lang="EN-NZ">glitter and
stickers, with names<br /></span><span lang="EN-NZ">with tokens
of love and kindness<br /></span><span lang="EN-NZ">scratch them,
place them on me,<br /></span><span lang="EN-NZ">around me,
upon me, underneath me<br /></span><span lang="EN-NZ">Gather all
the children and parents<br /></span><span lang="EN-NZ">to share
the joy of the baby boy<br /></span><span lang="EN-NZ">born in a
manger to save all people<br /></span><span lang="EN-NZ">and the
trees.<br /></span><span lang="EN-NZ"> <br /></span><span lang="EN-NZ"> -</span><span lang="EN-NZ"> Greg
Maynard</span></div>
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<p class="MsoPlainText"><o:p></o:p></p>Artsenta Writing Grouphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06683553336459401951noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6989677469886878053.post-36289688551702614772021-11-03T19:05:00.004-07:002021-11-03T19:07:04.255-07:00Artistic Inspiration<p></p><p style="text-align: left;"><i>The Artsenta Annual Exhibition was used as a starting point for this weeks writing. We were asked to choose an artwork that spoke to us and to write a poem that encapsulated four tasks: to describe what we can see; to reflect on what the art made us feel; to interpret what the artwork was telling us; and to relate the art work to something in our own life. Some people did four lines for each task creating a structure for their poem in the process, while others just let the inspiration flow. Art is a great place to start writing! </i></p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-1gUyEyK3dXNTn0qqoFnYrVJJGCd2b8HR7qFmvZ5AEJAy3vbIWHjPLrvZfPHIeGS7IzruR5YqGVQF_0oNycYiv4MCod16W0WdtP86gTXpSl9PpsLpRM2pQOlg59_Wow0e5Azdesodz3U/s805/Ruru.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="791" data-original-width="805" height="314" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-1gUyEyK3dXNTn0qqoFnYrVJJGCd2b8HR7qFmvZ5AEJAy3vbIWHjPLrvZfPHIeGS7IzruR5YqGVQF_0oNycYiv4MCod16W0WdtP86gTXpSl9PpsLpRM2pQOlg59_Wow0e5Azdesodz3U/s320/Ruru.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p style="text-align: left;">ON TAKU RUA RURU</p><p></p><p></p><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Two warmly comforting occupants of the night<br /><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>-
side by side-<br /><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i>a take on Taku Rua
Ruru; and a memory roused<br /></i><o:p> <br /></o:p>A painter’s brush of green<br />Dark and Light, it’s all the same<br />Feathered owls, two ruru, sit<br />tinted green in a forest flood of<br />matching feathers and strangling leaves<br /><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Larger than Life<br /><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Staring, Unblinking<br /><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sightless<br />For each, a cape of feathers wrapped tight<br />Claws like forest tendrils twine around<br />A cruel curving beak like a haughty nose<br />and the always watching eyes<br /><o:p> <br /></o:p>Sleep is now Awake:<br />You hide among the matching leaves<br />Watching, staring, silent<br />I sleep, almost<br /> Time held by the chiming clock<br />Wrenched awake by your violent screech,<br />adrenaline bites with your feathered flight<br /><o:p> <br /></o:p>- KJ<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4vc4tkiOrrA3W2F615uYLI3qqOL6FwDP3YF3Mpr6Za6R7-mB10gBwHeRqh-pJfpVirUqpf0Y5oVWry7aq81vIY-9o3pF0D3V6TRfHg4zdS8LQ-g6DdDKrOoceBM5FPnl98VOlXGA40a0/s545/Fairy.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="383" data-original-width="545" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4vc4tkiOrrA3W2F615uYLI3qqOL6FwDP3YF3Mpr6Za6R7-mB10gBwHeRqh-pJfpVirUqpf0Y5oVWry7aq81vIY-9o3pF0D3V6TRfHg4zdS8LQ-g6DdDKrOoceBM5FPnl98VOlXGA40a0/s320/Fairy.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span>A SAD FAIRY</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
The fairy’s glow has gone<br />
Big grey wings hanging low<br />
A long purpley/pink dress<br />
That goes to her feet<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">
She’s cradled herself on the floor<br />
Her hands against her knees<br />
That are against her chest<br />
With her hair drooping low<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">
Seeing this fairy<br />
Makes me feel sad<br />And I can’t see her face<br />
Since her head's between her knees<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">
I feel exactly like this fairy<br />
As when I lost someone close to me<br />
I cradled myself in the same position as her<br />So I could be silent and pour the sadness out<br /><o:p> <br /></o:p><div style="text-align: left;">- Julia Godfrey</div></div><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
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</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>Artsenta Writing Grouphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06683553336459401951noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6989677469886878053.post-13228275921926652942021-09-19T18:43:00.001-07:002021-09-19T18:43:38.461-07:00Conflict resolution<p><i></i></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9PXpthtN0KkfEZDPWsVRzrdvjz5c0k95xFg8nT9cJIV6KMJcUV26NGaMIMqIM4g-E4887tYap6M2kmQgB78zlYP2LPdDM28wqkyFYh_WYuZg04p4JpTiFFoxX-FK-PQurRhenDUJW7rk/s400/how-to-stop-cats-fighting-with-neighbours-cat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="267" data-original-width="400" height="269" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9PXpthtN0KkfEZDPWsVRzrdvjz5c0k95xFg8nT9cJIV6KMJcUV26NGaMIMqIM4g-E4887tYap6M2kmQgB78zlYP2LPdDM28wqkyFYh_WYuZg04p4JpTiFFoxX-FK-PQurRhenDUJW7rk/w400-h269/how-to-stop-cats-fighting-with-neighbours-cat.jpg" width="400" /></a></i></div><i><br />Conflict is an inevitable part of life, but it doesn't always need to be bad or unhappy - it can be constructive; we can learn and grow through conflict. This week in our writing roopu (group) we took on the challenge of writing about conflict but to make it easier we focussed first on a conflict between two animals and then followed that up with people. We were asked to write a short story that incorporated some level of conflict and also how it was resolved. Like positive conflict it was challenging but rewarding!</i><p></p><p><br /></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-NZ" style="line-height: 107%;">STANDOFF <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-NZ" style="line-height: 107%;">Lost
in her own world, Rubi rounded the corner and climbed the first step. She heard
a low growl. Startled, she looked up and there was Bobbi, huddled up against
Rubi’s cat door. Rubi’s hackles rose and she swished her tail angrily. Bobbie
had no business sitting there! It was her door, Rubi’s door, and Bobbie did not
belong. Rubi expressed her displeasure with a rumbling growl. Bobbie continued
to sit there, her way of escape blocked by an angry Rubi. So, Bobbie just held
her ground. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-NZ" style="line-height: 107%;">Bobbie
was hungry and she knew from past experience that Rubi would complain but that
she would not come any closer. Just to be sure she emitted a low growl and
swiped a warning paw in Rubi’s direction. Rubi did not back away, but she
didn’t come any closer either. Both cats gave a low growl and then began to
complain loudly. It was a standoff!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-NZ" style="line-height: 107%;">The
ruckus attracted the attention of the house’s occupant. Time to feed Bobbie. As
she opened the door Bobbie made a mad dash to hide in the garden. A human, even
one that fed her, was much scarier than Rubi any day. Rubi gave her a parting
swipe and then trotted inside through the open door straight to her bed. With
Rubi gone, Bobbie came a little closer. She was so hungry. The scary human put
some food out for her and then disappeared, closing the door behind her. Now
Bobbie felt safe. Time for a meal.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal">- AMH</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-NZ" style="line-height: 107%;">CARING & COOPERATION<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-NZ" style="line-height: 107%;">Jane
looked up from her computer as her flatmate blundered in through the front door.
She had a fast approaching deadline for her assignment and she needed quiet to
concentrate so she could finish it on time. Sally continued to blunder through
the room, kicking off her shoes and dropping her bag onto the floor with a
thud. She collapsed onto the sofa and muttered,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span>“Phew, what a day I have had. I must tell you all about
it.”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-NZ" style="line-height: 107%;">Jane
felt herself cringe. Once Sally got going there was no stopping her. Maybe
distraction would work.<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“You sound as if a soak in
a hot bath is just what the doctor would order. Then we can talk.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-NZ" style="line-height: 107%;">Sally
loved a long soak. This should give her time and the quiet she needed to finish
on before the deadline. She was so close. But Sally wasn’t interested. She had
too much to tell.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-NZ" style="line-height: 107%;">Jane
tried again.</span> “Why don’t you make us a cup of
coffee.”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-NZ" style="line-height: 107%;">This
time Sally trekked off to the kitchen and Jane tried to refocus on her task. It
wasn’t easy with Sally crashing about in the kitchen. The noise was really very
disconcerting. But she had to get this done. Even so, she did not want to upset
Sally by seeming to brush her off when she so obviously needed to talk. Sally
was a good friend and ever so sensitive. And she seemed pretty upset already. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-NZ" style="line-height: 107%;">How
was she going to handle this? Maybe distraction was not the best way. Maybe she
needed to be clear about her own situation. She had to get this done before she
cooked dinner and time was ticking away.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-NZ" style="line-height: 107%;">Sally
brought her coffee to her and then plonked herself down on the sofa. Jane took
a deep breath,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-NZ" style="line-height: 107%;">“Sally I have an important
assignment which I must email in before 8pm tonight. I am not quite finished
but I can see that you really need to talk. If we talk now do you think you
could cook tea tonight to allow me to get it finished? Everything is prepared
and ready to go.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-NZ" style="line-height: 107%;">Sally
looked up from her coffee:<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-NZ" style="line-height: 107%;">“Oh Jane, I am so sorry that I am
disturbing you. I just don’t know what to do with myself until I get this off
my chest. Of course I can cook dinner.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-NZ" style="line-height: 107%;">Sally
smiled.</span> “And I will do my best to cook really
quietly.”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-NZ" style="line-height: 107%;">Jane
and Sally settled in for their talk.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-NZ" style="line-height: 107%;">- AMH</span></p><br /><p></p>Artsenta Writing Grouphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06683553336459401951noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6989677469886878053.post-66037981878478957572021-08-05T19:26:00.000-07:002021-08-05T19:26:08.271-07:00Olympic Poetry<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3wNozkskGEfxlWDe-owkHvj2jSWOxtiIopxKTdxER_c4BrX2ZahIMgKRzCFZKaYGWmH_Z7e5uwVyRzMIqYwy-hwtOA3RqDmbviJJVKNbLtyDj0OP-QrZ34xwaz0X9Z7-1g3O8EbARhk0/s2000/iCE+SKATING.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1353" data-original-width="2000" height="270" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3wNozkskGEfxlWDe-owkHvj2jSWOxtiIopxKTdxER_c4BrX2ZahIMgKRzCFZKaYGWmH_Z7e5uwVyRzMIqYwy-hwtOA3RqDmbviJJVKNbLtyDj0OP-QrZ34xwaz0X9Z7-1g3O8EbARhk0/w400-h270/iCE+SKATING.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p><i>Well the Olympics is on and there's some amazing athletes doing some incredible things. Much of their performance is beautiful to watch and contains highly choreographed movement with artistic flourishes. So our group was tasked with choosing an Olympic sport and writing a poem or short story about the athlete's prowess, poise, determination and perhaps their hopes. We then had to imagine we were the athlete and write about the moment just prior to the big performance and what was going through the athlete's head.</i></p><p><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-NZ" style="font-size: 12pt;">GOING FOR GOLD</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-NZ">I feel the nerves take hold,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-NZ">Breathe, I tell myself.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-NZ">Forget the skater now competing,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-NZ">I have no control over what she does.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-NZ">Maybe she will give a better performance,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-NZ">Maybe she will not,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-NZ">That is outside my control.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-NZ">But my own programme is not!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-NZ">Don’t watch.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-NZ">Just breathe and breathe again.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-NZ">What do I need to do?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-NZ">Think girl, think.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-NZ">I need to land my triples, <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-NZ">All of them!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-NZ">I can do it,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-NZ">I know I can!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-NZ">This is no time to doubt.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-NZ">I can do it.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-NZ">I know I can!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-NZ">Do I try for my triple axel?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-NZ">Do I, do I?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-NZ">I have landed it in practice,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-NZ">I have landed it in my programme.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-NZ">It’s hard, but I have done it.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-NZ">But do I take the risk?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-NZ">I am sitting fourth now.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-NZ">Can I move up?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-NZ">A triple axel and clean programme would do it.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-NZ">Can I do it.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-NZ">Yes, I have done it!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-NZ">I can do it again!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-NZ">What if my landing is shaky?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-NZ">What if, what if?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-NZ">I could tack on another jump.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-NZ">Yes, I could.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-NZ">It doesn’t need to be a triple, <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-NZ">A double will do.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-NZ">Yes, that is the plan.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-NZ">I have nothing to lose.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-NZ">I only have something to gain.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-NZ">Yes, I can do it,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-NZ">I can really do it.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-NZ">And I will.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-NZ">My coach believes in me, <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-NZ">And so do I.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-NZ">My goodness, it’s my turn,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-NZ">My turn to be the best I can be.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-NZ">I am ready.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<span lang="EN-NZ" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-NZ; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br clear="all" style="mso-special-character: line-break; page-break-before: always;" />
</span>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-NZ" style="font-size: 12pt;">- AMH</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-NZ" style="font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-NZ" style="font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">INSPIRATION </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-NZ">The skater takes his pose<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-NZ">Waiting for his music to begin.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-NZ">He glances at his coach<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-NZ">Who nods his support.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-NZ">His music begins and his body sways<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-NZ">As the music appears to become a part of him.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-NZ">He begins to move<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-NZ">As the music takes him with it.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-NZ">He becomes caught up in the story<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-NZ">His music and his moves tell.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-NZ">The music builds<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-NZ">As he prepares for his first jump.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-NZ">His focus is intense.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-NZ">Set it up,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-NZ">Wait for the beat.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-NZ">He summons the strength,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-NZ">And he takes off.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-NZ">Lift and twist.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-NZ">Round once, twice, three times.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-NZ">Landing backwards he lifts off again<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-NZ">Using the momentum from his landing<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-NZ">To gather the lift and speed needed.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-NZ">He takes off.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-NZ">Lift and twist.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-NZ">Round once, twice, three times.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-NZ">He lands with a smile on his face.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-NZ">Perfect.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-NZ">One element achieved, the hardest.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-NZ">He feels on a roll.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-NZ">His body works to the music<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-NZ">Flowing effortlessly with the beat.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-NZ">He feels strong and in control.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-NZ">Wait for the beat.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-NZ">Now spin.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-NZ">Wait for the beat.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-NZ">Now change position.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-NZ">Another element, <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-NZ">Perfect.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-NZ">He feels strong and in control.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-NZ">Again, and again,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-NZ">Perfect.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-NZ">He is near the end, <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-NZ">Now the music is all that matters.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-NZ">It flows around and through him<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-NZ">Taking him through his movements<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-NZ">To that final dramatic sound and pose.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-NZ">As the music fades away<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-NZ">He slowly becomes aware of the standing ovation.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-NZ">In this moment he knows,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p>Knows he has achieved a personal best.</p><p><span style="font-size: 16px;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 16px;">- AMH</span></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p>THE HIGH JUMP</p><p>As the high jumper poised himself </p><p>and got into his stance</p><p>he gathered his thoughts </p><p>by having a glance at the bar </p><p>and how far and how high. </p><p>He thought, oh my</p><p>I will try and try </p><p>to jump so high, </p><p>I will even try to fly. </p><p>Over the jump and </p><p>over the lump and the bumps </p><p>on the way to glory I will go.</p><p>Go for gold </p><p>for gold is the best colour </p><p>to seek and secure </p><p>valour, prestige, honour. </p><p>No guts, no glory. </p><p>So I gather my prowess </p><p>and try to jump </p><p>as high as the sky</p><p>To jump and leap </p><p>whether I dance </p><p>or hold my stance </p><p>in such a way to play </p><p>and compete. </p><p>To extend my arms and legs</p><p>to stretch and move </p><p>as high as a kite.</p><p>To jump with all my might </p><p>and to gracefully </p><p>win to my delight.</p><p><br /></p><p>- G Maynard</p>Artsenta Writing Grouphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06683553336459401951noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6989677469886878053.post-75543221284916408412021-08-03T18:01:00.004-07:002021-08-03T18:07:45.979-07:00A walk in the country side<p><i></i></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixOTv_NxhbTI_N_jZWaA0NGyQFuzlQn7G_0b3ONa6vBZ94UAxxDHmqiaXqpQdWZ1-VYCJasvi98CqZhRZ7JNtMjz08ybKTpMZL0ZiAu9NkM02euMgsgLssyqtFeaNyUAX8KS7xz-c4M2w/s960/Countryside.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="613" data-original-width="960" height="255" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixOTv_NxhbTI_N_jZWaA0NGyQFuzlQn7G_0b3ONa6vBZ94UAxxDHmqiaXqpQdWZ1-VYCJasvi98CqZhRZ7JNtMjz08ybKTpMZL0ZiAu9NkM02euMgsgLssyqtFeaNyUAX8KS7xz-c4M2w/w400-h255/Countryside.jpg" width="400" /></a></i></div><i><br /> </i><p><i>This weeks we took inspiration from the natural world and some writing of one of the artists at Artsenta who had written a detailed account of his walk in the country. So our writers were tasked with remembering a time they did the same and writing a short story based on that experience and trying to bring the sounds, sights and smells that went with it. We then were tasked with turning that prose into a poem that captured the experience in a more fleeting way.</i></p><p><i><br /></i></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b>Walk in the countryside</b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The cowpat is glooping over my shoe - yes, I am using gloop
as a verb, no other verb seems to capture the visceral, unsettling sensation
while the brown turns to green as it spreads over my previously cleanish
shoes. And here I was, more concerned by the ripped trousers and the
bleeding thigh that I had just given myself trying to scramble over the barbed
wire fence. Why is there even barbed wire? At least the next fence
coming is one of those orange ribbons of modern temporary electric wiring, no
barbs on that.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The smell from my shoe is so very 'rural'. A smell I
had tricked myself into thinking I had escaped. A smell I had hoped was
trapped in my childhood. I smear it ineffectually across the grass,
failing entirely to get my shoe remotely clean. There is no escaping this
smell. Last week's grass. Even the nearby brush of tussock is proving
no help.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The big dumb eye of a cow dispassionately watches my awkward
flailing. I anthropomorphise it, tell myself it is enjoying my suffering,
the unpleasantness it has caused. But I can't fool myself, that eye is
too stupid to know malice, too stupid to know anything.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I should have stayed in town.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">- MJR<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b>Confidence is Power, Misplaced</b><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The orange ribbon sparkles<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> with
interwoven metal<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Modern<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Manufactured glory<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Sparkling across the verdant earth<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Held in place<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> by plastic
posts<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">
stabbed into the dirt<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">A reminder that man has conquered nature<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> with
this flimsy<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">
temporary<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">
obstacle<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Stepping over it<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> man
is quickly reminded that he<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">
too<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> is
nature<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The pulse hits<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">
somehow both sharp and dull<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Simple<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> but
with panic inducing confusion<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Tightening the muscles against escape<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Why did we do this to ourselves?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> We
too are nature.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">- MJR<o:p></o:p></p><i></i><p></p>Artsenta Writing Grouphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06683553336459401951noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6989677469886878053.post-32209013574932537582021-05-27T21:27:00.005-07:002021-08-03T17:56:58.344-07:00Repeat it if it's good<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheTKNrzbLHhQIrTSakJkApGqkJRGxiXFM_zmKgrdtdPMYKJsdwDM_JSy57laA4e7CK0xeRN8ZFW0hRvFgTJbUXONy_0f0NDSxfpXWlRpET9jUEYOGFsFh6aPlSOWugYv5W6TG-S59tSTk/s638/Shelter-from-the-storm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="488" data-original-width="638" height="306" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheTKNrzbLHhQIrTSakJkApGqkJRGxiXFM_zmKgrdtdPMYKJsdwDM_JSy57laA4e7CK0xeRN8ZFW0hRvFgTJbUXONy_0f0NDSxfpXWlRpET9jUEYOGFsFh6aPlSOWugYv5W6TG-S59tSTk/w400-h306/Shelter-from-the-storm.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><i><br /></i><p></p><p><i>Inspiration for this week came from a song by Bob Dylan called 'Shelter from the Storm' which includes a repeated line similar to the title - 'Come in she said, I'll give you shelter from the storm'. The line is repeated at the end of each verse and creates a powerful structure. Repetition can be a useful device in poetry so the task was to use a repeating line. Thanks Bob!</i></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p>
</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p>THIS NEEDS TO BE HELD... NOT QUICKLY SPENT</o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">This needs to be held</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Not quickly spent...<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The warmth as I enter <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">My new home<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The shaft of sunlight<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Widening<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">As the sun glides around<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The "other building"<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The green, tenderly painted<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Cast-iron ends of my<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">grandmother's seat<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Standing guard<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Offering rest<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">My mother's<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Carefully chosen birdbath<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Standing to the south<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Reflecting sky<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">And shells<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">thoughtfully placed<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">All this<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Needs to be held...<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">not quickly<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">spent.<o:p></o:p></p><br /><p></p><p>- Pauline</p>Artsenta Writing Grouphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06683553336459401951noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6989677469886878053.post-64519831914740968942021-05-24T20:30:00.003-07:002021-05-24T20:32:18.371-07:00If I was a Unicorn...<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-xZV6LENla8vX3hzfSYGtLU_F3EPpcSEq92jjyJvgXIa1Omu05zlAtd2lKmqitT8tMWjiBOUyWKBXTEWn9naenxQl9lL44J4bfhw24t8F28_OBXLcN7HacJkSeg9PuyZWKyJ5KiTXO6U/s1683/Unicorn.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1309" data-original-width="1683" height="311" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-xZV6LENla8vX3hzfSYGtLU_F3EPpcSEq92jjyJvgXIa1Omu05zlAtd2lKmqitT8tMWjiBOUyWKBXTEWn9naenxQl9lL44J4bfhw24t8F28_OBXLcN7HacJkSeg9PuyZWKyJ5KiTXO6U/w400-h311/Unicorn.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p><i>A chance meeting with a unicorn led to today's topic - unicorns! Okay it wasn't a real unicorn but what if? The challenge set for our writers was firstly to write a poem with the title "If I was a unicorn..." The poet could become the unicorn or look from the outside in a more detached way. And how does a unicorn move, think and feel anyway? So we had a bit of fun with that and then doubled down on the unicorn theme with a second poem that had to feature not only a unicorn, but a fluffy cloud, a sheep and a snowflake. These ideas were inspired by a lantern installation in Dunedin in the month of June at the Meridian Mall as part of the 2021 Dunedin Midwinter Carnival.</i></p><p><br /></p><p>CLOUD SHAPES</p><p>From grassy bank, sky clear blue</p><p>in whose fluffy clouds imagination sees</p><p>a sheep jumping over a snowflake</p><p>a crystal tearing off, becoming a horn</p><p>ovine legs grow strongly long</p><p>now bouncing tail flows long and free</p><p>a fast and running unicorn, until</p><p>fluffy clouds reform, and all are gone</p><p><br /></p><p>- Kate Jenkins</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p>IF I WAS A UNICORN</p><p>Unique horn</p><p>Pointed</p><p>Sharp</p><p>Piercing eyes</p><p>Inward</p><p>To the heart</p><p>Lit from within</p><p>Shedding light outwards into</p><p>The dark and cold</p><p>Blackness of</p><p>night</p><p><br /></p><p>- Pauline</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">IF I WAS A UNICORN</p><p class="MsoNormal">If I was a unicorn.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">I would talk to animals.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">Gallop along a field of grass.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">I would jump over fences to explore the rest of the world.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">I would feel free as my mane blows in the wind.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">I would see animals in a different light.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">I would meet people brave enough to meet a unicorn.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">If I was a unicorn.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">I would be happy forever.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">Living in this fantasy world.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p><p>
</p><p class="MsoNormal">- Julia Godfrey<o:p></o:p></p><p> </p><p><br /></p><p>IF UNICORNS DIED OUT</p><p>Clamped in sediments am I</p><p>Old bones still strong and tight</p><p>Once in a forest I laid down</p><p>caught by storms of disbelief and doubt.</p><p><br /></p><p>Historic? Mythical? Gone.</p><p>This life did not exist</p><p>But words held my pulse, and</p><p>Art kept my being light</p><p><br /></p><p>A nursery tale, wandering, sought</p><p>Stories wished into open thought</p><p>I wait the day when scraping trowel</p><p>reveals my bones to show the 'now'</p><p>that I exist, I have not gone</p><p>Your dreams, your hopes</p><p>will trot my song</p><p><br /></p><p>- Kate Jenkins</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Artsenta Writing Grouphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06683553336459401951noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6989677469886878053.post-19689647425614207322021-05-10T20:01:00.005-07:002022-09-01T15:05:14.666-07:00Micro Fiction<p><i>This week we were inspired by the national Flash Fiction competition which we didn't enter but at least it prompted us to write! We limited ourselves to 100 words and had four topics to choose from. Below are three using 'Night creature' and one for 'A letter in the wall'. The aim was to tell a dramatic short story in as few words as possible and to brush up on our editing skills as we often had to cut the story back to fit the required word length. We also focussed on ensuring our first and last lines were compelling as this is especially important when using so few words. Well done all!</i></p><p><br /></p><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">THE NIGHT CREATURE</span></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222;" /></span><span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">Her eyes were lost in a cloud of darkness. </span></span><span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">She blindly felt for switches. </span></span><span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">Scrabbling silence like a muted thriller.</span></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"><br /></span></span><span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">All she could hear was a creaking floor board. Her creaking?</span></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"><br /></span></span><span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">She was alone surely. Torch, she’d found a torch. It flickered like a dying candle.</span></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"><br /></span></span><span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">Creak!</span></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"><br /></span></span><span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">She desperately pressed the button on and off.</span></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"><br /></span></span><span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">A giant shadow moved torward her. She screamed as someone grabbed her around the body.<br /></span></span><span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">She pulled an arm free and shined her stuttering torch at a maniacal laughing face.</span></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"><br /></span></span><span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">“How dare you,” s</span></span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: inherit;">he shouted in frustration as her husband hugged her tighter.</span></div><div><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: inherit;">By Julia Godfrey</span></p><p><br /></p><p>NIGHT CREATURE</p><p>He woke, afraid, black silence slicing dark holes in his mind. Intruders? Earthquake? Flood? Rain drummed heavily on the cast-iron roof, pulsed by incoming wind gusts, poured along the channels, cascading where the down-pipe wasn't.</p><p>Detected again; a scratchy snuffling, wheezing, below the overlaying rain and wind. He sat up, feet on the blanket, stretching for his shotgun. <span>Blast! He flicked the bed lamp; only darkness. Bollocks! He leaped, and stamped his feet heavily, drumming the floor; books from the untidy shelf </span>cascaded into a literary mound. Silence grew between the sounds of wind and rain.</p><p><span>- Kate Jenkins</span></p><p><span><br /></span></p><p>NIGHT CREATURE</p><p>It was dark and the path was steep. The gradient climbing upwards, hugging the predator-free fence that wound around the eco-sanctuary - a ribbon draped on the rounded hills of Orokonui.</p><p>My breathing was becoming increasingly laboured. I needed a rest but was afraid of stopping. It was late and a warm hearth beckoned. Although the short-cut home had seemed like a good idea at the time, doubts were now creeping in.</p><p>From the quiet of dusk, night noises were beginning. A rustle here, a snuffle there. The crunching of gravel underneath my feet. The thumping of my own heart and then came <i>that </i>noise, the one that chilled my blood...</p><p>- Pauline</p><p><br /></p><p>POSTE PAST</p><p>Chisel and crowbar worked around the chimney; mortar blew powdery onto face and arms; bricks crashed down. David wiped dust from his eyes. Among the bricks, a paper corner showed. He drew it to the light.</p><p>"<i>My Dearest Joe,</i></p><p><i><span lang="EN-US">I
heard today of the passing of your dear Mother.
A lovely lady; so kind to me, particularly at that dreadful time. </span></i></p><p><i>I do wish we might have stayed together. </i></p><p><i>My thoughts are with your family. Please convey my sympathy to dear cousin Elsie.</i></p><p><i><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> Yours faithfully,</span><br /></i></p><p><span><i><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span></i><i> Florence </i> "</span></p><p><span>David slid the letter back into the envelope and, opening the wood burner, threw it in.</span></p><p><span>- Kate Jenkins</span></p><p><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE7DLam_TVUFLF4M00B1kb6TcukA60r1T-Ga40kTjabS-_pzXHEAjb-YTFwNFxsd9lQNRUAOPzZ24-nHiTZGYAHsKbqSVwBZ6WMrbTOyaXK5VJUnhPhAug3bq9dDI2gG5M9CW2KMZ8P3U/s889/possum.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="667" data-original-width="889" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE7DLam_TVUFLF4M00B1kb6TcukA60r1T-Ga40kTjabS-_pzXHEAjb-YTFwNFxsd9lQNRUAOPzZ24-nHiTZGYAHsKbqSVwBZ6WMrbTOyaXK5VJUnhPhAug3bq9dDI2gG5M9CW2KMZ8P3U/s320/possum.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span><br /></span><p></p>Artsenta Writing Grouphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06683553336459401951noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6989677469886878053.post-71784653878812779022021-03-02T17:57:00.004-08:002021-11-03T18:43:53.769-07:00Creative Keys Part 2<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZztCiXqtOkhPy6au8u6k_Ai3vh-1knSMuYkG_uouYSF_KlFYXKUOnEw6zBycRglSwG8TwBVJI6hjk1i9Jo4qv0pswpAfXVZ6iQu9NrVpZ4oMtZ9QxPhpNAjnNVY2D3lU5YDuYMhEpiyw/s1296/Lagonda+reduced.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="864" data-original-width="1296" height="325" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZztCiXqtOkhPy6au8u6k_Ai3vh-1knSMuYkG_uouYSF_KlFYXKUOnEw6zBycRglSwG8TwBVJI6hjk1i9Jo4qv0pswpAfXVZ6iQu9NrVpZ4oMtZ9QxPhpNAjnNVY2D3lU5YDuYMhEpiyw/w490-h325/Lagonda+reduced.jpg" width="490" /></a></div><p><i>This is the second session we have focussed on our old upright piano and its impending fate to be transformed into a multitude of artworks. The aim was to describe the piano in detail and then attempt to tell its story. </i> </p><p><br /></p><p><b><span>LA GONDA </span> (we'll stop here for a break)</b></p><p>Honeycomb interior peeks out from </p><p>dark varnish, its smooth polish shining</p><p>Soft hammers, creamy above the dirty ivory keys </p><p>Strings like a harp, their spine curving, metallic, </p><p>clamped, restrained, restricted by many solid screws</p><p>Holes behind the strings let sound cascade,</p><p>less like honey oozing, into the sound box</p><p><br /></p><p>- Kate Jenkins</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b>[75385]</b></p><p class="MsoNormal">Naked strings exposed to eye<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"> and dust<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">Felted hammers waiting<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"> Promises unfulfilled floating in the air<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">Your skin, much absent<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"> otherwise beaten, battered<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"> abused<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">Tattooed with identity<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"> patronym<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"> and slave trader<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">Exposed organs<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"> dusty<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">But no, not an organ<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"> no pipes<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">Just heartstrings taut, quivering in the air<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"> as you await execution<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal">- MJR</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p><b>END NOTE: 75385</b></p><p>When your screws yield to the electric drill</p><p>your nails and glue will give to hammer blow</p><p>tinkling ivories will clasp to ebonies, and a</p><p>melee of tangling strings knit a new design.</p><p>The pressure bar that binds LaGonda strings</p><p>will twist and warp; dissonance new </p><p>and the four, six, twelve large bolts will fall</p><p>peeling pin block from warm wood</p><p>into cold sound-shimmering air</p><p><i><span> <span> </span> </span>don't sit on that stool, </i></p><p><i><span> <span> </span> </span>its legs will succumb to weight</i></p><p>and metal pedals will walk to another's tune</p><p>where octaves run no more</p><p><br /></p><p>- Kate Jenkins</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><b>UNTITLED</b></p><p class="MsoNormal">Once in a forest<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"> and a mine or three<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"> the
back of a sheep<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">
the face of a great beast<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">Gestated by active hands<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"> in New Castle, Indiana<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"> in a
nation with no true castles<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">And cast out, over the sea<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"> a servant to strange fingers<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"> in
strange lands<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">
making strange cacophony<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">Old torments to new torments<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">Assemblies disassembled<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">Never again to be a forest<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"> or mine<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"> or
creature<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>But perhaps something<o:p></o:p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"> gestated anew<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"> by
new active hands.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">- MJR</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><div><br /></div><br /><p>PIECES POETICO</p><p>Fragments of a tune scatter</p><p>beneath the tunemaker's resting components</p><p>fractured, stretched, aniente-to nothing</p><p>disassembled, sognando-dreaming</p><p>Timbre, that unique character, resonating now</p><p>as light and colour and shape</p><p>Turned up words</p><p>Design abstracted</p><p>Textures once pounded, rest</p><p>Work done. Score Al fine, ends</p><p><br /></p><p>CAMOFLAGE</p><p>Hidden rocket launchers</p><p>beneath a shield of green</p><p>fire with purpose another time</p><p>Once these worked their blast</p><p>Within the bowls of The Piano</p><p>Deep resonance</p><p>Ear startling volume</p><p>Danger! watch out</p>Artsenta Writing Grouphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06683553336459401951noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6989677469886878053.post-10866994511907884742021-02-01T15:43:00.002-08:002021-02-02T13:34:36.597-08:00Creative Complaints<p><i>Complaining is seen as negative but with a little creativity it can be very amusing and somewhat satisfying. We started today's writing session with a letter to the editor with a minor concern that probably doesn't warrant writing a letter to the editor about. We then moved on to a letter of complaint to a company about a product or service we have experienced that was too successful or had some unintended consequence. Finally we wrote a letter of complaint to world leaders - so much to say and so little time!</i></p><p><br /></p><p>DEAR EDITOR</p><p>I am distraught after recently riding a bus into town and failing to swipe on. A gasp of fear was followed by nervous laughter, then hysterical cheering. The Bee Card sensor was missing. I scanned of course but instead of relaxing and checking out people's backyards, I had to spend my ride editing QR notes - times, bus stops, number of persons getting on, number of persons getting off, their gender, proximity to each passenger, and to the driver. I didn't have enough time to sanitize! </p><p>I cannot stress enough that a free trip is not worth the trauma, the devastation, of a ride without swiping on and off.<span> </span>Come on ORC, you must have some spares sensors you can swap in!</p><p>Yours Kate Jenkins</p><p><br /></p><p>DEAR MAINLAND</p><p><span> Your cheese it is creamy</span> and quick to delight</p><p><span><span><span> but your TV adverts have caused quite a fright</span><br /></span></span></p><p><span><span><span><span> Two hoary old men with their corer in hand</span><br /></span></span></span></p><p><span><span><span><span><span> testing a block 'til there's naught left but sand</span><br /></span></span></span></span></p><p><span><span><span><span><span><span> I cannot report I enjoy eating cheese crumbs</span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></p><p><span><span><span><span><span><span><span> as I see each fine block consumed by the bums</span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></p><p><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span> You sell only dregs while they eat up the best</span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></p><p><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span> Come on Mainland, don't just give us the rest</span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></p><p><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span> Your ads I observe are both scenic and lovely</span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></p><p><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span> Just be sure you sell us good cheese in entirety</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></p><p><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></p><p><span><span><span><span>- Kate Jenkins</span></span></span></span></p><p><span><span><span><span><br /></span></span></span></span></p><p><span><span><span><span><br /></span></span></span></span></p><p><span><span><span><span>DEAR EDITOR</span></span></span></span></p><p><span><span><span><span>Just the other day I was happily strolling along ' Is it just me? ' street when my eyes were assaulted by a mural - a busy, virtually colourless, unbeautiful "painting" of gigantic proportions that was exceedingly hurtful to mine eyes.</span></span></span></span></p><p><span><span><span><span>This monstrosity seemed to serve no purpose but to irritate. And it did.</span></span></span></span></p><p>Where was the braided river...? the stretching plain...? the wood pigeon in her maroon/green waistcoat...?</p><p>Where were the flowers, the rata etc etc ?</p><p>I sign myself your most offended citizen/reader.</p><p>- Lucy Anne</p><p><span><span><span><span><br /></span></span></span></span></p><p><span><span><span><span><br /></span></span></span></span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span><span><span><span>DEAR DONALD</span></span></span></span></p><p>As a non-poetic president</p><p>Do you know what you've missed?</p><p>Justice and peace</p><p>are high on the list</p><p><br /></p><p>Your light </p><p>hidden by shadow</p><p>falling heavily </p><p>upon the nation</p><p>you lead</p><p>astray.</p><p><span><span><span><span>- Lucy Anne</span></span></span></span></p><p><span><span><span><span><br /></span></span></span></span></p><p><span><span><span><span><br /></span></span></span></span></p><div style="text-align: left;">DEEPLY CONCERNED</div><div style="text-align: left;"><span><span><span><span><br /></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span><span><span><span>I note in your article titled `Missing man found' (printed on 26/1/2021), that your first sentence did not end in a satisfactory manner, ie there was no full stop. Now, while some may view this as a minor concern, I see it as an example of the decline in journalism, and the lack of care given to the work produced. Surely even a simple grammar check would have picked this up!</span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span><span><span><span><br /></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span><span><span><span>- Christine</span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span><span><span><span><br /></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span><span><span><span><br /></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span><span><span><span><br /></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span><span><span><span>DEAR SIR/MADAM</span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span><span><span><span><br /></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span><span><span><span>Please find attached one large screw. I found this in a can of your `Chunky Tomato Soup' - a very unexpected chunk as you can imagine! I hope you can find where it goes, as I would hate for your machinery to fall apart due to this missing screw.</span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span><span><span><span><br /></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span><span><span><span>Yours</span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span><span><span><span><br /></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span><span><span><span>Christine</span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span><span><span><span><br /></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><p><br /></p><p><span><span><span><span><br /></span></span></span></span></p>Artsenta Writing Grouphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06683553336459401951noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6989677469886878053.post-31857113275248936102021-01-25T15:50:00.006-08:002021-01-25T15:50:39.909-08:00The Secret Life of ...<p><i>Today we wrote in the vein of Steve Braunias' column 'The Secret Diary of...' and chose a politician to make fun of - going through each day with a short diary entry. This formulaic approach is a great way to put yourself in someone else's shoes and have some fun with creative writing.</i></p><p><br /></p><p>THE SECRET DIARY OF... JACKIE A</p><p>Monday: 53 reports down and four hours in the House. Definitely not giving any money to those wankers from the Southern DHB</p><p>Tuesday: Must have coffee with Judith sometime. We need a strategy for livening things up in the House - it's soo boring</p><p>Wednesday: I thought I was getting a quiet meal out with Clark but the restaurant insisted on social distancing us, and everybody else - such a nuisance</p><p>Thursday: I should have put my hand up for Government Whip instead of PM. I'd like to give those National boys a good whipping, they're so noisy <strike>in class</strike>, in Parliament</p><p>Friday: Still got heaps of fans, I think I nearly outrank Jodie Whittaker. <span> Three schools to visit. At least small children ask sensible questions - the ones I know the answer to</span></p><p><span>Saturday: Just another working day. 45 reports read, three to go. The one on the Dunedin waterfront Cockleshell is a bit bizarre. Where do they think they are living? Wellington? <span> Fat wallets down there, they can fund it themselves</span></span></p><p><span><span>Sunday: Neve's got the runs again, I wonder what Clark's been feeding her. Must go for a run myself later - good thing I spotted that foldaway treadmill on the infomercials, no need to go out with actual people</span></span></p><p><span><span>Monday: Damn I looked good on that Facebook page! Better than the original clip when I had to be so straight-faced.<span> But the money! I must get the SIS to find out who ripped off my video and make the lawyers sting them, or send the DPS to lean on them</span></span></span></p><p><span><span><span>- Kate Jenkins</span></span></span></p><p><span><span><span><br /></span></span></span></p><p>THE SECRET DIARY OF... LEE</p><p>Monday: I parked on the 5 min outside Council. I wasn't expecting to be there long - Council meetings are pretty short these days - before I leave in disgust or get kicked out. Five hours later I got back to the car and headed for home. I had to turn the wipers on to get rid of the confetti - must have been a street party. No doubt the contractors forgot to clean up - just wait till tomorrow boyo.</p><p>Tuesday: I spent two hours looking for a park this morning. It's outrageous! There's no parks in this town. Even my Council park ws taken by a car that looks similar to my other car - some sort of sick joke no doubt.</p><p>Wednesday: I calmly explained to the parking staff that I was legally parked. They must have had sore ears to be covering them so often. Quite a few people were getting in the way, stepping in between us so I had to point lots so they knew who I was talking to.</p><p>Thursday: I sat in the mayoral chair. It felt warm and I wondered if it was heated - more Council waste - the list goes on. The chair felt good. It felt right. I imagined my subjects eyes looking at me devotedly, hanging on every word, staff jumping to do my bidding. I heard a noice and noticed he cleaner vacuuming around my legs. Where does the time go?</p><p>Friday: Finally got back to my car. It was covered in tickets. Must have blown off some other cars. I drove off with a bump. I heard someone cry out but I only saw a parking warden lying on the ground behind me - lazy bugger. I turned around and gave him an earful out the window but he didn't move. Must have been asleep on the job. Just wait till I get to work on Monday.</p><p>- P.S.</p>Artsenta Writing Grouphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06683553336459401951noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6989677469886878053.post-25635515953515917562021-01-11T15:59:00.004-08:002021-01-11T20:07:20.574-08:00New Year Resolutions<div style="text-align: left;"><i>We all make resolutions and we all fail to keep them. So we decided to mix it up and write a poem that featured both real and imaginary resolutions, that way no-one will be able to hold us to account and it's a bit more fun!</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: left;"> <br /><br />THE RESOLUTION TO END ALL RESOLUTIONS</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />This year I resolve to speak feline<br />So when my cat verbalises I will be able to cater to his every whim</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />I resolve to walk more<br />If my newly understood cat follows me I will be very happy<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I resolve to go vegetarian<br />Self explanatory - good for the pocket, good for the world<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I resolve to read every day - oops already broke that one<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I resolve to learn a new handicraft - no this time I really do<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I resolve to give up smoking<br />By the way I have a smoke in my hand while I am writing this</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I resolve to stop making resolutions I can't keep.<br /><br />- M.F.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">RESOLUTION</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">This year will be different</div><div style="text-align: left;">I'm going to be healthy</div><div style="text-align: left;">I'll give up smoking, booze, coffee and sugar</div><div style="text-align: left;">I'll eat five servings of fruit a day</div><div style="text-align: left;">I'll get the house organised</div><div style="text-align: left;">I'll wash all the blankets</div><div style="text-align: left;">I'll dust every day</div><div style="text-align: left;">and mop the floor twice a week</div><div style="text-align: left;">I'll clean the oven</div><div style="text-align: left;">I'll organise my wardrobe by colour</div><div style="text-align: left;">and take the clothes that no longer fit me</div><div style="text-align: left;">to the op shop</div><div style="text-align: left;">I'll save money</div><div style="text-align: left;">Seven thousand to paint the house</div><div style="text-align: left;">Ten thousand for a trip to Ireland</div><div style="text-align: left;">Twelve hundred for new washing machine</div><div style="text-align: left;">and fifteen thousand for a rainy day</div><div style="text-align: left;">Oh, I see it's raining now</div><div style="text-align: left;">I'll just put my feet up</div><div style="text-align: left;">and do a bit of knitting</div><div style="text-align: left;">until it's a better time to start</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">- Helen</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">EXPLORING THE POSSIBILITIES</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Exploring the possibilities of collecting antiques sometimes has it's problems.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Exploring the possibilities of being a contemporary artist searching for found objects doesn't always pay off.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Exploring the possibilities of being a poet makes me cringe and I dont like it. Yet it maybe the right path to take</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Considering that I may be a billion miles away from where I should be, I'll take my chances with one of these, but only if it can draw in a serious fee!</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">- Haki S Davis</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I RESOLVE....</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I resolve to never bitch</div><div style="text-align: left;">Or react to every itch</div><div style="text-align: left;">And every slight that I might hear</div><div style="text-align: left;">No matter how far or near.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I resolve to stand up tall</div><div style="text-align: left;">And not to crumble or to fall</div><div style="text-align: left;">When things go wrong, as they do</div><div style="text-align: left;">I will not cry "boo hoo".</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I resolve to put away </div><div style="text-align: left;">All the things with which I play</div><div style="text-align: left;">Creatively I put things down</div><div style="text-align: left;">Never again to be found.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div>I resolve to ignore</div><div>The dribble from a certain jaw</div><div>As he declares the vote's a farce</div><div>I will imagine him on his arse.</div><div><br /></div><div>I resolve to not resolve</div><div>As annually they do revolve</div><div>And come back with sharp teeth to bite</div><div>New Year's resolutions - "yeah, right".</div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">- Christine Philp</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: left;">RESTART MY PAST RESOLUTIONS<br /><o:p> <br /></o:p>Last year I nearly got through my New Year Resolutions<br />I nearly watched a full movie series<br />I had watched 5 of them but over and over again<br />Kept away from 2 of the other movies from the series<br />I had read 5 books from the same series<br />kept away from 2 of the other books from the series<br />My New Year Resolutions for This Year<br />I Hope to finish off what I started Last Year<br />To Read 2 books from the same series<br />To Watch 2 movies that are from the same movie series<br />Cause my biggest fear is reading and watching scary scenes<br />But once I watch and read the Movies and Books<br />My New Year Resolutions will be complete <br />And My Fear of watching and reading scary scenes will be
gone<br /><o:p> <br /></o:p>By Julia Godfrey</div><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
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<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div>Artsenta Writing Grouphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06683553336459401951noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6989677469886878053.post-1815277973575333872020-12-07T15:32:00.001-08:002020-12-07T15:32:22.451-08:00Creative keys<i>A planned, and unusual, exhibition provided the inspiration for today's writing. Artsenta has an old piano that will be dismantled and transformed into many individual artworks to be displayed at the 2021 Dunedin Fringe Festival (18-28 March). The challenge was to write a short story or narrative poem involving the destruction of a piano but with something unexpected, beautiful or inspiring coming about as a result.</i><br /><br /> <br /><br />SONOROUS START<br /><br />Her performance was over,<br />the audience's applause faded,<br /> dispersed.<br />The stage in darkness.<br />But the show is remembered,<br />music absorbed into the wood,<br />pianist's love soaked into the ivory,<br />resonance of the crowd's enjoyment hums in the strings.<br />A cacophony beyond human hearing,<br />beyond human knowledge,<br />feigning silence.<br /><br />The cacophony rises,<br /> until strings break.<br />One by one.<br />Twang by twang.<br /><br />The rollers beneath her three legs spasm<br /> and spin,<br />dancing across the stage.<br /><br />Once pregnant with musical possibilities,<br /> now dying, spent<br />with keys tumbling to the boards.<br />Her polished black shell rent open,<br /> sundered.<div><br />The violence of new life replacing old.<br />A vengeful phoenix of sound.<br /><br />By MJR</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><p class="Standard">SONG OF STRINGS</p>
<p class="Standard">“It needs to be tuned anyway.” she said, chords and quavers
dancing in her memory as she saw again the gnarly hands of her grandfather
tinkle the ivory and slide down the ebonies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He had been gone a long time now, and his piano was full of dust and
spiders from its storage in the back shed</p>
<p class="Standard">“We’ll put it in the lounge” he promised “vacuum it out and
dust it off and I will get a piano tuner in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It will sound as good as before.”</p>
<p class="Standard">Moving day arrived.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>They were filled with anticipation and excitement at the prospects for
their first home, as they watched the ‘stuff’ of their lives going on the
truck, then later being moved in.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Standard">A quick picnic lunch on the back lawn and back to work
unpacking.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Timed moved by and the
kitchen clock was hung with care on the wall.</p>
<p class="Standard">Next off the truck was the piano.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With care, six bulky men lifted it down and
started up the path.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As they navigated
the steps a black and whit cat darted, scared, from under the bushes, tripping
the team leader.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He fell sideways and
the others toppled, like dominoes, the piano crashing down between them,
splintering on the steps, twisting and irretrievably broken.</p>
<p class="Standard">They all stared in dismay.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He stepped forward; <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Put all the
pieces up by the back fence” he said to the men quietly, his arm sliding around
her waist, a comforting handkerchief proffered.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Standard">They went inside and sat, as at a wake, while the broken
pieces of that dream were placed up against the fence.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He took the box which had held the kitchen
clock and gathered up the ebonies and ivories, the hammers and the pedals and
stored them on a dwang in the woodshed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>
<p class="Standard">When spring came she planted beans and peas against the
fence.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The broken pieces of the piano
were no longer there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She wondered what
he had done with them but didn’t want to know.</p>
<p class="Standard">“Your beans are up” he reported, one day in November.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Standard">Later she wandered up the garden for a look.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Beside the bean fence stood the heavy
cast-iron frame of Grandfather’s old piano, upright, mounted on a slab of
timber which was supported by concrete blocks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The ‘top’, the back end of the strings, was braced against the fence
with more timber and strong bolts.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="Standard">The strings were taut.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Indulging memory she allowed her fingers to slide backwards across the
strings, now like a harp.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Tuned and
ready to play!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span> </p>
<p class="Standard">Amazed she studied the
hanging pieces and watched in awe as the wind caught one of light wooden hammer
and bounced it across the strings, speaking chords and quavers! </p>
<p class="Standard">- Kate Jenkins<o:p></o:p></p><br /></div>Artsenta Writing Grouphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06683553336459401951noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6989677469886878053.post-19102499566173768712020-11-26T16:14:00.010-08:002020-11-30T15:37:40.916-08:00A fob watch, A penny farthing, and, A one-armed man.<p><i>Inspired this time by Oamaru's Victorian Heritage Celebrations we undertook to write a short story that had to include a one-armed person, a fob watch and a penny farthing. Setting restrictions can help get us started and provide some really interesting results.</i></p><p><br /></p><div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; text-align: left;">DANS LA ZONE</div><div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; text-align: left;"><br />Monsieur Sebastian Cavrot took one more gasp of air then exhaled through pursed lips as he shunted his new model Penny farthing two more steps before bounding up its spine via the newly adapted foot-up, now with serated grooves cut in by father Jaque. The father and son team were desperate to break their main rival’s two-time champion of the Pigalle to The Arc De Triomphe, Penny farthing race, Pierre Badeaux’s record time of 15.12sec.<br />As his legs spun and pumped groundward with all the strength he could muster, he noticed his lungs pump with every four rotations of the crank shaft. He was in la zone.</div><div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; text-align: left;"><br />Seb now had time to take in le mise en scène. As he raised his dome to gaze upon the road ahead, he got sight of a string of dancers outside the infamous Moulin Rouge, hitching up their skirts , kicking Can Cans and crying at the top of their musical lungs ‘Ride like the wind’! Sebastian locked into his now long practised meditative state and kept his derrière glued to the saddle, blood now coursing through his veins.</div><div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; text-align: left;"><br />Now, riding through the heart of cobblestoned Parisian streets is no easy feat, but still Sebastian pursued his and his father’s dream with a whole-hearted eagerness unbeknownst to most mere mortals.</div><div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; text-align: left;"><br />It was time. A small furl appeared on the right side of his mouth, a smirk perhaps.</div><div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; text-align: left;"><br />He took a hand off his steering apparatus and fidgeted around in a small waste pocket sewn onto his riding shirt. A fob watch slowly appeared, glinting and attached to a chain. He caught a glance, He was on track. His smile grew, he raised his tight little French buns out of the riding stool for the extra surge, sat, pressed on, picking up the pace while scanning for cracks on the now well-ridden route.</div><div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; text-align: left;"><br />Behind his smile was a true happiness he had rarely felt before. All the effort the father and son team had put in was finally coming to fruition, and they could finally rest on their laurels after the race, regardless of the result. Jaque had come up with the ingenius idea of attaching the fob watch to a waist pocket he had sewn into the racing shirt so Seb could monitor his own progress. And this idea, all came from a truly dreadful accident the year before.</div><div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; text-align: left;"><br />Jaque had been out ploughing the field on their small farm when he stumbled forward over a stone, reached out to catch the handle of the plough, caught his sleeve and let out a staccato’d grunt. The beast pulling the plough lurched forward, his arm dropped suddenly, catching Jaque’s hand in a piece of the plough. As if in one foul swoop, the beast took one more heave and ploughed on, ripping poor Jaque’s arm cleanly out from his shoulder so quickly, that the break was barely audible from within a few short meters. Jaque would later compare it to the sound of three hens having their necks snapped simultaneously. This, he loved telling around the dinner table.</div><div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; text-align: left;"><br />After the recovery from almost dying from loss of blood, Jacque sat by the fireside for the first time since being out of bed, he spied his shirt he had worn the day of the accident. His eyes met part of the chain protruding from the pocket, glinting in the fire’s light. Jaque shuffled, stretched and withdrew the watch. He all at once thought of the training, hard-work, time and money invested into what now seemed a far-flung and doomed to fail, Farthing venture.</div><div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; text-align: left;"><br />He fondled the time-piece in his non-dominant hand, tried to hold, then wind it’s tiny dial. He struggled several times with this before a large tear grew in the duct of his eye and dropped onto the fob itself.</div><div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; text-align: left;"><br />Jaque now swallowed nothing in his dry and quenching throat, lay the watch on the small round table in front of him and exchanged it for a half-empty whisky glass, raised it to the fireplace and took a half-decent gulp, closing his eyes. The moment between swallowing and reopening his eyes seemed like a full minute. He then sighed, and nine years of toil, sweat and pain swept through his nostrils like a team of the most hardened pack horses pulling the devil himself in a thick marble carriage.</div><div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; text-align: left;"><br />When his eyes opened at long last, a large, glorious smile now drew across his fatherly face. He raised the fob and kissed it.</div><div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; text-align: left;"><br />By <span class="il">Jamie</span> Bennett</div><div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; text-align: left;"><br /></div><h4 style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; text-align: left;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">FULL MOON</span></h4><div><span style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></span></div><h4 style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; text-align: left;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">It was a full moon. She hadn't seen it, she was too far inside the building to see the sky. But she could tell the moon was full. It was never this busy otherwise. She closed the curtains around the drunk who had stumbled into a broken tibia, and started examining the dressings on a one-armed man who had been bottled in a bar fight earlier in the evening. Too early in the night for a bar fight. Everything was dry for now - a pleasant surprise.</span></h4><div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; text-align: left;"><div class="yj6qo"></div><div class="adL">She could hear snappish orders being given in the ambulance bay, the night was getting busier. She pulled the fob at her breast pocket, it was still over an hour until midnight, and several more until she could go home for much wanted sleep.</div><div class="adL"><br /></div><div class="adL">She surveyed her charges, checking they were fine for her to step away, and headed after the commotion. The site that greeted her was not pretty. Impact and prolonged abrasion.</div><div class="adL"><br /></div><div class="adL">'What happened' she asked.</div><div class="adL"><br /></div><div class="adL">The ambo, inappropriately smirking, replied 'This idjit took a penny-farthing ride down View St. Ended up using his face as a third wheel'.</div><div class="adL"><br /></div><div class="adL">She sighed and stepped back, allowing the gurney to roll past.</div><div class="adL"><br /></div><div class="adL">She hated full moons. </div><div class="adL"><br /></div><div class="adL"><br /></div><div class="adL">By MJR</div></div>Artsenta Writing Grouphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06683553336459401951noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6989677469886878053.post-78480741202327392012020-11-26T16:02:00.001-08:002020-11-26T16:02:16.339-08:00Victorian Story Prompts<p><i>Inspired by a local short story competition, today we set ourselves the task of writing a short story inspired by a classic line out of a Victorian novel. You may well be able to spot the phrase in the stories below.</i> </p><p><br /></p><p><b>Redemption maybe?</b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Phoebe woke in the night. Her hands were shaking and she had
to call the maidservant to light the candle. She’d had a nightmare. Her heart
was palpitating in her chest. Her dreams usually played out in reality. In fact
the dream was about the downfall of her family. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">One member was to fall then her family would be ostracised.
Phoebe was shaken. Who would fall?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Was it her dear sister Esmay? Or would her brother go to
debtor’s prison. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">She crept slowly through her room into the study where her
father kept his whisky. A couple of mouthfuls and she felt okay. A voice came unbidden into her mind.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Everybody, sooner or later, sits down to a banquet of
consequences.” The family she realised had to be held to account. Every devious
deal they had done with the towns people must be brought to light. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">And so the next day Phoebe walked around the village and the
surrounding countryside, returning dishonestly obtained money and goods. Her
dream did become real. She returned too much. Her family could not pay their
bills and were evicted from their cottage and joined the Romany people on the
road. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">And so they passed from the history of the shire although
people still allude to Phoebe’s generosity and kindness and maybe one day, when
the travelling people pass through the village, they may see in the children a resemblance
of their mother. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">- M.F.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal">AUDIO</p><p class="MsoNormal">Strains of music arc'd through the air, glanced off the windows, fired home to their target. Ears, fraught with tension, muscles of his face tight, jaws clenched in almost permanent rigor. The state of things now! Nothing easy, always strained, no vacation. If anyone told him to relax once more he would ... he would ... he didn't know what would happen. Perhaps existence would implode in a mass of black that would smell of violets, sound like silence, and taste like water.</p><p class="MsoNormal">Dan surged across the room and angrily hit the OFF switch. The music continued - in his head now, a perpetual trace of irritation. In its background he could still hear the chirping hissing of tinnitus no longer drowned out. His jaws still clenched Dan stalked outside, beyond the back door to the hopeful quiet of the garden. If he listened to the tinnitus he could hear cicadas on pine trees. "Have a little compassion on my nerves, you tear them to pieces" he cried to his mind, exasperated. The resinous smell of the old place oozed out from memory, and he breathed deeply. Thoughtless, Dan ventured back for yet another attempt at Part 2 of his manuscript. The damn cat would not shut up. Perpetually squeaking for cheese. Why couldn't it go away and catch a mouse!</p><p class="MsoNormal">Another day. Another morning. The nation was in lockdown now and he was, still. The stereo played the most soothing option he could find. Whistling oscillated in his ears. Compassionate phrases of Vivaldi still arc'd and glanced their meter around the room. His feet gave up their stance and he ventured beyond the bastion of home, his steps retarded as he walked the street. The bells and chirps of birds rang clear over the tinnitus, which submerged into stanzas of the trees. All that annoyance had gone. "It's quiet" Dan finally observed, to himself and no-one else. His jaws released, eyes stopped squinting, and belief emerged.</p><p class="MsoNormal">- Kate Jenkins</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">Who Really Has The Power?</p><p class="MsoNormal">I sit here, watching you. You think you are the boss, but I know the truth. I know that if I ask, and ask, and ask, you will do my bidding, even if you don't know what I want. Doors will be opened and closed for me, as I desire. If I don't want my dinner, I tell you, and you buy me something else. I know what to do to get treats, and extra special attention when I want it. We cuddle on the sofa when the rain drums on the roof and thunder echoes all around. I walk the dark night streets alone. No-one questions me or comes near me. Beware; for I am fearless and therefore powerful. I am Thomas, your beloved family cat. </p><p class="MsoNormal">- Christine</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>Artsenta Writing Grouphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06683553336459401951noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6989677469886878053.post-3192595140990321422020-10-12T16:56:00.000-07:002020-10-12T16:56:20.128-07:00Sounds like...<i>Onomatopoeia is when a word imitates or sounds like how it is spelt, such as pop, cackle, gurgle, sizzle and the like. Our first task today was to brainstorm all the words we could think of and write them on small notes of paper. We then randomly drew three and wrote a poem or short story using them. Finally for an added challenge we attempted another story or poem using as many as we could. It's fun to use these words and it forces us to try new ways of writing.</i><div><br /></div><div> </div><div><br /></div><div><div>AT THE FAIR</div><div><br /></div><div>At the fair I was eating toffee apples </div><div>savouring their crunch.</div><div>I was carrying a toy windmill </div><div>which whirred as it spun from nowhere to nowhere.</div><div>Trapped inside the swish of air </div><div>which propelled it there and everywhere </div><div>but never here.</div><div><br /></div><div>I grabbed a bottle of pop, and it's hiss hypnotised me</div><div>drawing me further and further into its saccharine depths.</div><div>I gurgled, choked by my own greed</div><div>and heard the crackle of my soul which I had sold</div><div>for a glimpse of sweetness.</div><div><br /></div><div>Tick, tock goes the clock</div><div>Fire burning, guitar rock</div><div>I'm stuck in the depths</div><div>And not at the top</div><div><br /></div><div>I had a zip code but I undid it and out fell</div><div>a mass of lies and deceit.</div><div>And that's where the fair turned into fear</div><div>and the clock of my life turned inexorably forward,</div><div>trapped like a match stick in its box.</div></div><div><br /></div><div>- M.F.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><p class="MsoNormal">BARBECUE (onomatopoeia)</p><p class="MsoNormal">Tick tick tick tick tick tick, tick tick<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">pop hiss chink gurgle <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36pt;">crunch pop hiss gurgle chink<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">sizzle crackle crunch sizzle crackle<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">buzz crunch buzz buzz chink<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">pop hiss buzz crunch crackle sizzle buzz buzz</p><p class="MsoNormal">- Kate Jenkins</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p></div><div><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">TASK - use the words 'crunch, gurgle and tick'</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">He stamped his foot,
over and over.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With a heavy crunch his
boot broke through the hard layer of ice and slipped on the wet clay
beneath.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Time was slipping away, tick
tick, tick tick, and his anxiety levels were peaking.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Somewhere under here the burst pipe was
draining all the water from the tank – water he needed for the winter cleanup
of the cowshed. He only had five cows but they made an awful mess when being
milked.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He had to wash down and sweep
the shed floor dry before all the poo froze to it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Tick tick, tick tick.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After breaking two square metres of ice he
found a flow of water, and, stamping harder, he followed the course of the pipe
back up the yard to a split, where the water gurgled quietly out and spread
onto the ground. He glared at the split then took his spade and carefully dug
around, above and beneath the burst pipe.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He’d expected more water to be spurting out, not just this slow flow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Wrapping his hands around the pipe above and
below the break he found it solid with ice inside, bulging with frozen
power.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He wiped the pipe clean and
wrapped the break with tape then, in the kitchen he took warm water from the
kettle and returned to the yard to pour it carefully around the freezing ice,
starting at the bottom to let the water flow again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Three meters down the
yard, where he had first stamped his foot, a small stream of water gurgled
upwards.<o:p></o:p></span></p>- Kate Jenkins</div>Artsenta Writing Grouphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06683553336459401951noreply@blogger.com0