timid animal

I apol­o­gize for the lack of posts this week. On Mon­day I had a king-sized headache, and on Tues­day I took pho­tographs instead.
Back to our regularly-scheduled bust­ing of writer’s block! This prose poem is cour­tesy of my spam folder.
“Too busy to go back to school?” she huffed, dan­gling the high­ball glass between thumb and


domestic life

“Hello? O, hi, Cheryl. No, I’m not busy, just work­ing on the kids’ bed­room at the moment. You know, the same old thing, cat walked through and wrecked the whole left edge. I don’t know what I’m sup­posed to do with what I’m given, Cheryl. I just don’t know. You know Stan, always promis­ing


being three

Some­thing I am learn­ing from this exer­cise: the prompts often launch me in a com­pletely dif­fer­ent direc­tion. I won­der what that’s about.
I am read­ing a book called “How to Be an Adult in Rela­tion­ships: The Five Keys to Mind­ful Lov­ing” by David Richo, and this pas­sage struck me today:
Child­hood forces influ­ence present choices, for the


salad days

Despite all the won­der­ful prompts, this poem did not orig­i­nate from one; it has been rolling around in my head all day, and must be let out.
gar­nish
me with
more than
green

side to side
start with
white plate
blue eyes
flut­ter
lashes
long and
cau­tious
where do
I find you
fresh and
warm
crisp or
wilted
fin­gers grasp
for past
shred­ded
hearts
dressed with
time
[Less than 100 words, but that’s where it wanted to end. Want to


beards

This one from abecedar­ius sur­prised me, sim­ply: “beards.”
I woke up with one clear thought: pain. My face hurt; my lips were being pulled back from my teeth in a jack o’ lantern sneer. Open­ing one eye, I reached up to my lips and felt tiny hands.
“Hey, ass­hole,” some­one very far away said. “Where’s the


slate and stove

Today’s block­buster prompt is from Davmoo: “Please write 100 words on …your favorite child­hood mem­ory.”
The wood stove in our liv­ing room was sur­rounded by pieces of slate. Old radi­a­tors kept the cor­ners of the other rooms warm, but the wood stove, the old gen­eral, boomed forth waves of heat well into win­ter nights. Cats curled


summer blockbusters

And I don’t mean the Trans­form­ers sequel kind.
You and I will bust through my writer’s block this July. We will do this together! All you need to do is give me a prompt, and I will use it to write at least 100 words each day of July.
Send your prompts via com­ments here or via


To live in this world

Years ago, dur­ing a period of griev­ing, I sent this excerpt from Mary Oliver’s poem “In Black­wa­ter Woods” to my father:
To live in this world
you must be able
to do three things:
to love what is mor­tal;
to hold it
against your bones know­ing
your own life depends on it;
and, when the time comes to let it go,
to let it go.
Another period of


something else

My boots are slip­pers, my slip­pers boots.
Uncom­mon to see cars cease at a red;
instead we all inch for­ward, lurch through.
Can I have to I would like:
our exchanges change with age.
Noth­ing is what any­thing is –
traf­fic, shoes, words
– all some­thing else.
HMB © 2009


What vs. Which

When my friends have gram­mar ques­tions, they often ask me for help. I don’t con­sider myself a very good teacher of gram­mar, how­ever, because the rules make sense to me more intu­itively than log­i­cally. Some­times, though, there are rules that make sense on both lev­els. The dif­fer­ence between “what” and “which” is