So, we had a fabulous show on Page Turners this month, and we walked with them on their travels, twisted around the roadway, and I continued onto their path, although I had a path of my own all set up to take them, the guys against the girls, well it never happened.
Have you ever watched a tv show or listened to music and you have to get to a keyboard in a hurry, or grab a napkin and start writing, this month both of our guests were candid and open, and willing to share. So out comes the notepad while trying to talk to them. How many times have I mentioned to those following me, to be open, open, open and don't get bogged down with fear - fear is over - you have grown.
I bet you sometimes forget that one word can make a difference? During the show I wanted to think of them as people, characters from their titles of their novels, which were - Addicted to Love, and the other, Love Lust and Conspiracy. Well, the books have fantastic titles, they do attract your attention, but the reason behind the titles will surprise you. Both Ron Politz and CJ West, I tried hard to make it the gals against the guys but if you take a moment to listen to the replay you will understand it wasn't exactly a battle over anything, but a real honest conversation concerning their writing, life, and desires. We could have continued all night, but we already use up from 7 pm to 9:30 pm.
This coming month we have two more fantastic writers from Angie's Diary, and our FEATURE is Nancy Oakley - now jump aboard her heels, travel her path, feel what she felt and then you know what life could be. She went from pennies to owning several companies, you will be surprised, and perhaps give you some ideas about what you have been striving to accomplish. Take some time and listen to her story, her life, and where she has brought herself - and she has done this without a credit card or any bills. Her book is filled with information.
So - to do with Poetic Memoir - more than meets the eye.
You see, once I wrote about the death of a child, a young girl, and the Crazy Lady on her porch would call out to me as if I were her own daughter. Her daughter was killed when a car ran her over, she was in the seventh grade. She wasn't crazy but depressed, although kids in the neighborhood were forbidden to sit with her on her porch. How many people do you know who have gone through bouts of depression?
Today as I look back to my neighborhood, it ended up being those who looked as normal as your mother's cooked fudge, or Grandmother's pie, who you had to be afraid of. No one had to keep us away from the woman with a broken heart.
This following post is poetic memoir, in my book, What Brought You Here, talking about the little girl who drowned in a pond, out in the country.
Before I post this, I want you to understand, people are interesting from those who managed to make it in our world, to those sitting and suffering on their front porch.
And, don't forget the change in time for the presentation in Saratoga and streaming on the net - will be May 6th, Sunday 1-3. Same place. Information can be found on Poetry Is Life on the web.
YOU ASKED ME TO DANCE
A white butterfly -
You - have come home to dance
on my shoulder - high above daisies
to spin in circles
casting our shadows on a pond
a rendezvous of seasons, and
a landscape covered in snow.
You fooled me.
Your sister’s, sister?
No one noticed when she fell
A white picket fence keeps
I feel your wings .
You flutter toward the barn
passing the statue of the
Blessed Virgin Mary.
We dash to skip over holes
in the floor of the barn.
You grab my hand
we skip over light; reflections
on a wide plank floor.
We pass a broken lantern -
red glass shimmers,
and Grandmother’s wedding dress
hanging near our homemade stage.
You grab my hand, and together
we run to the hillside -
we roll into a ball and tumble
“head over heals,” Grandmother said
on over grown grass.
We roll over clover and our toes tangle
we roll near apples left beneath the apple
I hear you laugh -
your tears roll down your face
you’re laughing so hard
you bend to catch your breath.
Your chin captures yellow of a butter cup,
and again - the wings of a white butterfly
leads me to the white picket fence.
The slope disappears.
The apple tree, a twig.
And your face
appears in murky water.
Your laughter still surrounds me.
A stone is tossed, and circles swirl over,
My eyes close as if captured by the
and you were gone.
A yellow eye - inside a white daisy
asked me to dance.
We are leaping across summer grass
near tall weeds and wild flowers.
A dance ends – so,
I snap your stem to take you home.
Nancy Duci Denofio
“What Brought You Here?” and featured on Angie's Diary.