the love he told me (by Rebecca Chasteen) Thursday, May 14 2009 

Uncategorized , , Becca 6:28 am

Today is Tuesday, which means two prompts.

First prompt: Write a love poem. Or,

Second prompt: Write an anti-love poem.

the love he told me

this guy i had coffee with said that love is all the same.
that it all springs from the same place, that it
only matters what we do with it, how we
give it, use it, hold it, move it. i just nodded because
i always thought there were so many different loves that
i’d never considered just one. and now i see he was saying

the same thing. he just changed all my worries that i never
loved anyone enough since i’d spread out my love so much. now,
i see how i fold each heart into mine, how i carry
with me every one. how i choose how i show what i show of
all the love i now know is just the same

thing we all chase, we all have already. it’s just
tap into it, it’s just open it, it’s just hold it, it’s just
what he said.

http://blog.writersdigest.com/poeticasides/2009/04/14/AprilPADChallengeDay14.aspx

 

So We Decided To Have Belief (by Rebecca Chasteen) Tuesday, May 12 2009 

Prompted and Rhyming , , Becca 6:47 am

For today’s prompt, I want you to take the phrase “So we decided to (blank)” and fill in the blank. Make that your title and write a poem.

So We Decided To Have Belief

It’s like coffee-
you wake up,
you want it,
you take it-
as strong as you like it
as sweet as you make it
you get it in your veins
pumping through your chest, your head
you don’t realize how much you use it
until you go without
and your temper is shorter and your vision clouds and
nothing makes sense.

So we decided
to have belief.

http://blog.writersdigest.com/poeticasides/2009/04/12/AprilPADChallengeDay12.aspx

I feel like this poem still needs something, but I’m posting anyways, since I decided to post a poem a day from the April poem a day challenge. I may revise later.

 

The Problem With Procrastination (by Rebecca Chasteen) Monday, May 4 2009 

Prompted , , , Becca 12:00 pm

Today’s prompt: Take the phrase “The problem with (blank)” and replace the “(blank)” with a word or phrase. Make this the title of your poem and then write a poem to fit with or juxtapose against that title.

The Problem With Procrastination

The problem with procrastination
is sometimes
you stay up all night
talking to your boyfriend
or watching movies
or drinking (when you know a report is due)
and the next day
you go shopping
and you spend time with your family
and take a nap (still knowing the report is due)
and finally
you sit down
and tap out the necessary words
(with a few coffee and ice cream breaks in between)
and you turn it in (a day late)
and no one says anything
but “thanks”
so you have no reason
to think this doesn’t work.

link to Day 3:http://blog.writersdigest.com/poeticasides/April+PAD+Challenge+Day+3.aspx

 

F. Scott Fitzgerald (by Rebecca Chasteen) Wednesday, Feb 25 2009 

Non rhyming , , , , , Becca 12:32 am

There are times I wish life
was always F. Scott Fitzgerald
pumpkin loaf
and mocha
with lipstick prints
on the white lid
and time
to take
and breathe
and write
and hear
the way music
does the things
that music does

there’s a hundred
little scenes
I’d be happy
with living over and over

but no one appreciates
what they can always have
and I’d hate to lose
the way it feels
to be here right now

 

Coffee, Chess, Cigarettes: afternoon with the Bible circle (by Rebecca Chasteen) Tuesday, Dec 16 2008 

Favorites and Non rhyming and Rhyming and Stained Glass Journals , , , , Becca 1:21 am

sweet rest
here
moves
without us,
it has
no need
it waits-
knowing
(patience
doesn’t
diminish)

power
sits softly
we push
we run
we fall

quiet
absolute
expanses
of truth
lie
beneath,
beyond
our
home
we build
so sure
we can hide

always

simple
belief
twitches

the fear
of found
permeates
the longing
so instead
it is hide and seek
calling out into the darkness
“come find me”
and as soon as steps are heard
-retreat-

scared,
we
bring
to the table
all we own
and we don’t
know
all
we don’t
and we don’t
know
hope
we only know
what we won’t let go
so we don’t
know

at all.

The title may or may not relate to this poem other than being a reminder to me of where I was, who was around, and what was going on the day I wrote it.

One day, when I was having a hard time with writer’s block, but knew I had something to get out (but was probably trying too hard), I started drawing lines across my notebook paper, making what looked like the design for a stained glass window (to me). I started filling in the sections with words and then took the words and made a poem with them. It seems only having to come up with one word at a time, in no order, helped loosen me up. What’s fun about writing like this is that it’s really flexible and can go in so many directions.

I actually started using this exercise with some of the kids I work with who don’t want to journal, or who don’t ever really say anything in their journal (I had a good day. I went to school, etc).  I tell them to fill in the spaces with whatever they want (but stipulate they use 3 feeling words) and then let them color and name it. Sometimes I do it too, it’s kind of fun.

I mean anything could get into it, in simple little chunks: thoughts, experiences, surroundings, feelings, verbs, nouns, adjectives, adverbs…and the random arrangement on the page makes it easy to grab the words and rearrange them, or even connect them to one another in ways you wouldn’t have before (and you could always analyze why some are in the bigger sections or colored a certain way, or beside certain things, but I just like to use them to create and discuss more than to analyze-though often in creation and discussion some analyzing happens)

Anyways, this poem is the result of one of these activities. I was avoiding preparing for a presentation at the time.

 

Mecca Tastes Like Coffee (by Rebecca Chasteen) Wednesday, Dec 3 2008 

Favorites and Rhyming , , , , Becca 5:32 am

Cloud cover is heavy today
drive fast enough to outrun the rain,
make the pilgrimage to that place you’ve always liked,
where it never hits you, where you feel right.

I feel the fog clear when I walk in
the way absolution gets rid of sin,
I like everything I see and hear,
I feel my blood flowing and my lungs fill.

Kiss these necklace beads like a rosary,
touch the walls, drink the sound,
nothing here brings me down

Sacred, I appreciate
sacred can take so many shapes
and is only as sacred as we make.

I don’t speak prayers right now
not that I can’t, or don’t know how,
not that I need stained glass windows, or hymns-
because I don’t and I never did.

Once I’m here, I have room to feel,
sometimes just feeling feels like enough
and it’s all you have to offer up;.
there are some things words just can’t touch.

Sanctuaries exist
wherever little altars appear,
lifting precisely the thing you kneel;
perceiving creates, and makes them real.

Nobody said church bells had to ring,
Mecca can taste like anything.

After last week’s post I was sure this week I was going to post “Crazy Porcelain Doll” but this poem kept pushing through towards the end of the week, so here it is. (I actually posted this online before, briefly)

To paraphrase a Bible verse: We find what we seek.

It’s not always who, what, when, where, or how we thought or thought we wanted, but we find it all the same if we are open and active in the seeking process. And the more we engage in seeking, the more clarity we begin to gain regarding what it is we are really seeking. And the more we know what it is we’re seeking, the more likely we are to recognize opportunities, paths, and people before us that may lead us closer to it.

I think the key words here are active and open.