Writing Life
MOUTHLESS WONDER WOMAN: COLLECTIVE POETRY, ROUND 11
This week’s piece was inspired by a photo taken during a recent trip to Five Below. I knew this poem was going…
COLLECTIVE POETRY: ROUND 10
On Wednesdays, I post a photograph on my Rasjacobson Art Facebook Page and ask people to add a single line of poetry in…
COLLECTIVE POETRY: ROUND 9
On Wednesdays, I post a photograph on my Rasjacobson Art Facebook Page and ask people to add a single line of poetry in…
COLLECTIVE POETRY: ROUND 7
On Wednesdays, I post a photograph on my Facebook Page and ask my followers to add a single line of poetry in…
COLLECTIVE POETRY:ROUND 6
Every Wednesday at 8am, I post a photograph with a few evocative words on my Rasjacobson Art Page, asking my followers to…
COLLECTIVE POETRY: ROUND 5
Yesterday, I paired the image below with a few evocative words & invited people on my Rasjacobson Art Page to add an…
COLLECTIVE PROSE-POEM: ROUND 1
Yesterday, I paired the image below with a few evocative words & invited people on my Rasjacobson Art Page to add an…
DADDY’S LITTLE GIRL: The 2nd Chapter of my Memoir on Patreon
Just posted chapter 2 of my memoir on Patreon.com! Here’s a teaser: Be neat. Those are my father’s famous words. A child of…
BAGGAGE: First Chapter of my Memoir Posted on Patreon
I just posted my first chapter, BAGGAGE, on Patreon. In this piece, I write about early childhood trauma that confused me and made me…
This week’s piece is partially inspired by a photo of a vase of wilting roses. It is also informed by a great article I’d just read about the toxic messaging in the show Sex in the City, a series which I loved, in which the main character, Carrie Bradshaw, spends a decade chasing after a handsome, charismatic man — who does not does not prioritize her. It’s a real eye-opener, and you can read it here.
It was easy to use the dying flowers as a metaphor for an aging body & (more poetically) a battered heart.
In the end, I used 5 lines from followers, and I even managed to use one suggestion to title the piece.
It all adds up.
All the leaping off ledges,
bad landings, bruised feet
twisted ankles, crushed hedges
jostled bones & joints,
the bloodshot eyes
swollen & blue
& stretching myself thin,
for everyone, for you
pushing & pulling
taking the dagger
those poisonous darts
leaving me
a canopy
of broken parts.
Once upon a time,
everything was fresh & tall
but the sky fell down
scribble & scrawl
now every shooting star
reminds me of you, a spark
too beautiful to last, a streak
across the night sky
life is a drooping bouquet
once carried, faded pink
petals pressed
between a tablet of lies.
Tell me, how
do you love a stone?
How do you know
when to leave him alone?
My hands mangled
from walls of rock.
My heart tangled
as I race the clock,
grabbing at the ghost
of chance, the amalgamation
of a decade long dance, spent
chasing & banging my head
on the ground in a trance
Trying to make you love me.
NOTE:
On Wednesdays, I post a random photograph on Facebook & then ask people to contribute a line of poetry inspired by a photo. Later, I attempt to cobble together a cohesive piece of writing from as many of these suggestions as I can.
If you’d like to get in on the action, follow me on my Rasjacobson Art Facebook Page.
This week’s piece was inspired by a photo taken during a recent trip to Five Below. I knew this poem was going to be hard when the suggestions started rolling in. Most people provided light-hearted ideas, but I got stuck on the fact that this Wonder Woman mask has no mouth. I mean, how can a person speak his/her truth without a mouth?! In the end, I used 4 lines from followers, but mostly I went my own way.
Thanks to everyone who participated.
NOTE: If you’d like to get in on the fun, all you have to do is follow me on my Rasjacobson Art Facebook Page. On Wednesday mornings, I share a random photo and ask people to add a single line of poetry in the comments from which I attempt to cobble together a cohesive piece of writing.
At the Intersection of Snickers, Double Bubble & Halloween Blowups
Her task was to be good
To put on a happy face
The mask kept her performing
And at a breakneck pace, the mask
was there to keep people at bay,
it reassured everyone
she was OK, the mask she wore
since she was a child
reminded her to be nice,
agreeable, not to be wild.
To keep her legs closed,
put a smile on her face,
don’t slow down,
don’t be a disgrace, but
it’s hard mask up every day
& I’ve always been suspicious
of Wonder Woman, anyway
With her fancy silver bracelets
Her lasso of truth
she had stamina & speed
& the empathy of Ruth.
Armed with serum from
the Get-You-Drunk-Tree,
she had flight, healing powers
& telepathy.
A woman, they say,
is not as strong as a man.
A woman, they say,
Can’t do what he can.
But wearing a mask
is exhausting, indeed
It takes courage to remove it
And she took the lead.
Shoulder to shoulder with a marshmallow man,
She challenged him
to leave his mask at the door,
Asked him to open
a little bit more, but
he was an immovable object,
not up to the task
no flawless perfection
just struggles retold
for heroes are human
with shadows & fears
and even a plain girl
can be a Wonder Woman
after a few beers.
They said it wouldn’t last
And they were right
Women are built different
This is their plight.
And man, according to another,
named Freud, seemingly hardwired
to ignore & avoid,
her heart & her alter ego
on display, she softened
for a moment, then
was heard to say,
“Only love can save the world.
This is why I stay.”
So she went on pretending
Every damn day.
On Wednesdays, I post a photograph on my Rasjacobson Art Facebook Page and ask people to add a single line of poetry in the comments from which I attempt to create a cohesive piece of writing.
This week’s piece was inspired by a photograph taken of yours truly, prior to The Purple Painted Lady Festival. Frankly, it’s a miracle I was able to participate this year, given the nature of my back & hip injuries — and I think this photo conveys a lot of joy, even though I know I was in a fair amount of pain when it was taken.
Today’s piece attempts to convey the dichotomy between appearance & reality & it represents the combined efforts of 21 people. Many thanks to everyone who participated.
OUTSIDE THE DAY, THE DRESS, THE DANCE
Summer ended with a thud,
Two bulging disks, and
A pile of mud, a strange dance
we don’t understand
Until we have to do it,
To carry on. September brought
A crushing weight, the scent
Of grapes, and ice pressed
Against her hip, as she crawled
From room to room, holding onto
The wall and affirmations
from people who told her
She would sing again.
“Anything is possible,” they said.
But no one promised she would dance,
Her spine, a brittle stick
In the forest, the center of
her bruised universe
Forcing her to grow
a new backbone
And just keep going.
On dark days, she put on the sun
bent over with laughter
her imagination endless
eyes wide shut, heart wide open.
A stranger in her own life,
She notices new things: the cemetery
Adjacent to her purple irises.
The metal chair
for her to sit on.
A cane in the closet.
Unattractive flat shoes
to hold her feet.
Strutting around
In a wrinkled thrift store gown
she wears Converse high tops
& an invisible crown.
On Wednesdays, I post a photograph on my Rasjacobson Art Facebook Page and ask people to add a single line of poetry in the comments from which I attempt to create a cohesive piece of writing. This week’s collective poem came quickly. Inspired by fall produce & “cuffing season,” this piece represents the combined efforts of ten people. Many thanks to everyone who participated.
UNFINISHED BUSINESS
The day we met, we were damaged.
Bruised fruit, I heard someone say —
but I could see
how delicious we could be
if we focused on our sweet parts.
And so we did, that morning
over coffee and peaches. I watched
your eyes scan the newspaper,
the sunlit glow of illumination.
Afterwards, we paced the perimeter
of the market, with each step
learning more about each other
Like how you left my list
on the table at home, preferring
to touch each melon,
each eggplant, in the moment
your fingers, running up ringed cones of carrots,
I fell in love with you that moment
there, in the produce section
and I would hold your dusty hand,
forever, happily research recipes
to make a perfect vegetable soup,
perhaps someday
I’ll convince you it’s better to have
one bruised piece of fruit than
no sweetness at all.
On Wednesdays, I post a photograph on my Facebook Page and ask my followers to add a single line of poetry in the comments from which I attempt to create a cohesive piece of writing. This week’s poem represents the combined efforts of seven people. Many thanks to everyone who participated.
FORTY DAYS
The semi gods had been
mischievous, sending
a snake disguised as a man,
& everyone wanted to see the spectacle.
Housewives in curlers came running
And men came, too
carrying pitchforks & buckets
preparing to put out the fires, to
wash her bloodstained skirts.
There, bathed in light, we
gathered around her
stone cold beauty,
resolute in her quest,
but the tide was turning. It was
almost out & we could do nothing
but Ring around the Rosie
We tried to dance around it, our
pockets filled with posies, our
Democracy toppling deeper
into the shoal, crushed by the
weight of its own promise, the
laurel wreaths of victory, collapsing
into the ashes ashes of her eyes.
Under a moonlit sky, she stood
a fierce beacon, still
lighting the way
“Do you still believe
in the dream?” she asked. “Or
do we all fall down?”
Every Wednesday at 8am, I post a photograph with a few evocative words on my Rasjacobson Art Page, asking my followers to add a single line of poetry in the comments so I can try to create a cohesive piece of writing from all the bits & pieces.
This poem represents the combined efforts of eleven people. Many thanks to everyone who participated.
THE DAY I DIDN’T DROWN
One day, the world tipped sideways, the talk was
too loud & heavy
with guns & fists & politics.
On that day, I drove
a hundred miles
to where azure skies
touch cerulean blue seas.
On that day, the icy white sun
set in a sapphire sky, the moon
at noon was a tiny wafer, splintering
the sunshine at the earth’s edge.
Soft textured sand, a canvas
for the glistening tide, spilling
a lush coolness over my
exhausted feet. Sweet water
knocks me back to balance.
Yesterday, I paired the image below with a few evocative words & invited people on my Rasjacobson Art Page to add an additional line of poetry in the comments. I then promised to transform our collective effort into a poem within 24 hours.
HERE’S WHAT WHAT I DID
- At 9pm, I sat down to see what I had to work with.
- Eleven people participated.
- I eliminated extraneous words & redundancies to create a unified flow.
- I changed the order in which the entries were received.
THE MOTH
instead of joining the cicadas
& screaming for six weeks straight,
she spent the summer slogging
her way across root & leaf & sod
resting during summer storms
until one cool morning
she decided
it was time
to open, her wings
like a dusty old sweater
wrapped in tissue from
the cedar chest
exposed & fluttering with anticipation, resting with scintillating vision, filtering out
the ego’s mission, drying
atop Joe Pye weed, her eyes
the vibrant hues of autumn’s emerging tapestry, she opened
to a September sunrise.
Yesterday, I paired the image below with a few evocative words & invited people on my Rasjacobson Art Page to add an additional line of poetry or prose in the comments. I then promised to transform our collective effort into a poem within 24 hours.
HERE’S WHAT HAPPENED & WHAT I DID
- At 9pm, I sat down to see what I had to work with.
- Nine people participated.
- If someone added more than one comment or multiple lines of poetry, I selected a single line I liked best.
- I eliminated extraneous words & redundancies & changed verb endings to create a unified flow.
- I changed the order in which the entries were received.
- I transformed the last entry into the title.
NEUTRAL CANVAS FOR INFINITE INSPIRATION
Stacked high upon a table
Dozens of volumes
Foretelling the awakening,
Stories waiting patiently to be discovered.
In the corner chair, I sit and stare
Invisibly awaiting there.
Summer sun glistens through tall windows.
In the gray room, I wait alone.
Just posted chapter 2 of my memoir on Patreon.com!
Here’s a teaser:
Be neat. Those are my father’s famous words. A child of Depression-era parents, my dad learned not to waste anything. Messes were not well tolerated in our house. Spilled milk? That was a serious offense, absolutely a reason for buckets and sponges and dirty looks and blame.
For $1 each month, you can subscribe to read my continuing story of what brought me to benzodiazepines, including how I felt while I was on them, information about my horrendous 30 month withdrawal, what helped me heal (and what didn’t), and how I’m doing now.
There is other content there, too, that can only be accessed on Patreon!
Readers can ask questions which I’ll try to answer in future chapters. Feel free to offer feedback about the content, and if you notice a grammar error, tell me to fix it! You’ll be doing me a favor. Less to edit later!
Check it out!
I just posted my first chapter, BAGGAGE, on Patreon.
In this piece, I write about early childhood trauma that confused me and made me feel home was not a safe place. I couldn’t have been more than 8 years old, and was already inadvertently set on the path toward putting other people’s feelings/needs before my own.
For $1 a month, you will have access to all the chapters that I post.
I’ve posted a PREVIEW chapter for free.
My art is there, too ~ and people who subscribe to different level will receive some cool perks, including recognition on Facebook, coloring book pages, original art, framed prints as well as the opportunity to win prize packs up to $25 in fun WHIMSIGIRL stuff.
Check it out.