Trying (tenaciously) to fit all last week’s words (and no others) into a single haiku.
pause, cusp denial
heal tenacious champion
prudent outlier
Hoping some will reply with different versions. 🙂
Copyright © Thomas Ward 2017
Tag: creative writing
How Are We to Heal?
Haiku (of sorts)
how are we to heal
bleeding planet gashed by hate
one heart at a time
how are we to heal
weeping planet asking love
one heart at a time
how are we to heal
reaching now to different ones
one heart at a time
Explanation, skip if too boring: I typically don’t explain what I write. The words will either stand or fall on their own, but I wanted to give a bit of background on this. First, I thought about the old parable about the grandfather telling his grandson that there are two wolves always at war inside each of us, one representing hatred and fear, the other representing love and bravery. When the grandson asks which one wins, the grandfather answers “the one you feed.” Let us feed our loving wolves. Second “one heart at a time” is an adaptation of the story from which the title of Anne Lamott’s book, Bird by Bird, derives. She describes how her brother was daunted by needing to complete a long report on birds, and her father kindly advised “Bird by bird, buddy. Just take it bird by bird.” None of us can accomplish the seemingly daunting task of healing the world alone. But we can each take it heart by heart, one heart at a time. Finally, I’ve never tried haiku before but the phrase “how are we to heal” would not leave me alone, so its five syllables was a start.
Copyright © Thomas Ward 2017
Outlier Than Thou?
In H. G. Wells’ World War I novel, Mr. Britling Sees It Through, Hugh Britling writes home to his father, grousing about British military officers, “…they do not think hard, and they do not understand that doing a job properly means doing it as directly and thought-outly as you possibly can.”
What can we say about the officers’ limited approaches? If they weren’t doing their jobs as thought-outly as possible, then we are forced to conclude that they should have been doing things, in a word (or two), thought-outlier.
Outlier: (out—lee—ur), adj. the quality of being more outly or possessing more outliness. 😉
To extend this outlier construct, things that are more extraordinary or wonderful in some way must be far-outlier. And so on…
And one more stretch, now that outly is an adjective, we should all strive to be as outly as we can be…
Ok…so this post was a cop-out, but perhaps not too cop-outlier than some others. 😉
PS – Kudos (or partial blame) to Orange-Haired Woman for the question about pronunciation that led me to think of outlier as an adjective, and thinkinkadia for proposing the new personality trait of out-liar that provided more inspiration.
Copyright © Thomas Ward 2017
Rationalization, Not Denial
Dialogue from The Big Chill
Michael: I don’t know anyone who could get through the day without two or three juicy rationalizations. They’re more important than sex.
Sam: Ah, come on. Nothing’s more important than sex.
Michael: Oh yeah? Ever gone a week without a rationalization?
Rationalization, Not Denial
“You interrupted me tonight. A lot.” She tossed the accusation into the chill space between us in the car on the way home. “Everybody noticed. Did you see the way they all looked at me?” Her favorite means of leverage in an argument. Everyone on her side, no one on mine. “Well, if you would take a breath between words, maybe someone else could speak without talking over you,” I sulked as we pulled into the driveway. “We’ve been through this before. You talk too slow.” “Slowly,” I mentally corrected her, rolling my eyes as I walked to the front door without turning.
As she crossed the threshold, I turned and spoke deliberately, “It’s not my fault. You just never let me get a word in edgewise.” Snorting, “You pause between every word. It’s like you have to think about each one before you say it.” I closed my eyes, then softly “Precision is important to me. Sometimes the exact right word …takes time to find.” Not buying my tired excuse, “You’re in denial. You talk slow. It’s just that simple” A deep inhale before the words flowed out from me in one long gust, “First of all, I’m rationalizing, not denying. Look it up. If you’re going to play armchair psychologist, at least get it right. And for God’s sake, learn some grammar. It’s slowly. Not slow.” She hated it when I pulled the grammar card. So did I. My words had finally flowed smoothly but hurtfully. I was tired and frustrated, another rationalization. We had been down this path many times before.
I knew it was coming. “You…talk…slow…ly,” smirking. “You should join the Slow….Talkers…of…America…………Society,” pausing an extra second before the last word. Tired of the battle, tired of this particular taunt, I muttered, “I did. I’m even running for president.” I had caught her off guard, the first traces of a smile creasing her lips, head tilting in question, “How’s that going for you?” Suppressing my own grin, “It’ll be a while.” “They’re doing a roll call vote.”
Her smile broadened, warming and dissolving the chill. We hugged, grateful for the closing of the distance between us. A soft kiss on the neck. Then the lips. And another, lingering. Then longer, slower, warmer. Our eyes locked onto one another’s. Rationalization could wait. This was too important….
Copyright © Thomas Ward 2017
Free Form Thoughts About Champion
Champion?
Musing
Perusing musings
Winnings
Losings
Choosings
Don’tings, Do-zings
Floozing?
Boozing
Doping, Coping, Hoping
Goals. Tolls, Roles
Training, Gaining
Refraining
More musing
Off and on
Snoozing
Thrice achoozing
Pollen’s amusing
Many thoughts
Ink Blot
Champion
Copyright © Thomas Ward 2017
What Would You Do?
Several years ago I stumbled on a way to express what many of us on the far side of middle age know intimately; time is as precious as it is relentless, ever striding forward whether we choose to keep up or not. I called it the 30-30 principle. None of us knows whether we have 30 seconds or 30 years left to live. So, how shall we spend our time? What really matters? As is obvious from the absence of a written record in the interim, writing about the idea was not on the list. I thought about it, but put it off for later. Well, later is here. Gotta love these prompts!
What if I knew I had only 30 seconds? What then? Living alone there is no time for one last comforting hug in the arms of a lover. Maybe a frantic group text to my kids, “I love you. Carry on, Dad.” And what about 30 minutes? Some phone calls to family, friends and former lovers? A quick drive to a close friend’s house for that hug? Though that small Dutch Apple pie on my counter is calling out for attention too ;-). 30 days would be a lifetime, plenty of time to travel to see old friends, with some left over for quiet time at an outdoor café in Paris. So, why am I not doing any of these things right now? I can blame it on the realities of still working for a living, or generalized inertia. Still, it’s worth a thought.
And you, my newfound family of bloggers. What about you? What would you do? If so inclined, please reply to this post with what you would do with a time interval of your own choosing. It need not even be within the bounds of the 30-30 principle. But, please, share.
(Not sure how all this pingback stuff works, but do that too if so moved.)
Copyright © Thomas Ward 2017
Provisional Territory
We laugh in unison as the door to the Bunk Room swings open, revealing the roughly 8 x 10 foot room that is to be our quarters for the night. 
Four travelers – two couples – eight eyes scanning the two sets of bunk beds on either side of the room, delineating the walk-in-closet-sized space that remains between them.
I enter last but glide to the bunks on the left, skirting my partner to toss my black bomber jacket onto the top bed, provisionally claiming that territory as my own. I also secure a spot for my backpack under the only other furniture in the room, a low bench made of a bisected tree trunk with smaller branches for legs. Not much territory, but it is mine. The others also mark their spots, with a sweatshirt here, a backpack there. We left our suitcases in the car just to check in, but now understand the prescient wisdom of that choice. We will get by with bringing in just PJs and a change of socks.
There is no real tension as we collectively agree, implicitly, on our separate territories. We have shared small spaces this whole trip, having driven the hundreds of miles from Anchorage to Whittier and Seward and back, then North to Talkeetna in our tiny rental hatchback. Our Bunk Room at the Talkeetna Roadhouse is just a continuation of that intimacy of space. We smile at one another as our mutual division of the territory proceeds.
Later, the others walk to the Talkeetna River, but I opt for a draft beer at the Wildflower Café across the street. As that elixir reaches my lips in the graying light of evening I realize my good fortune. Life is good.
When my companions rejoin me, we remark on the odd juxtaposition of our tiny quarters in the vast expanse that is Alaska.
I sleep soundly, hugging my special anti-snore pillow to my chest, comforted by the soft rustlings of friends, and surrounded by hundreds of pictures and postcards from other travelers who have called this bunk room home for a night or two.
In the morning we have coffee and fresh baked pie before setting out to witness the wonders of Denali, hoping to see a bear or caribou or at least the wide open enormity of that wilderness.
Copyright © Thomas Ward 2017
Creativity for You 