Day 13 – Blogging U – Writing 101 – Serially Found

Day 13’s Prompt: write about finding something.

Day 13’s twist: if you wrote day four’s post as the first in a series, use this one as the second installment — loosely defined.

Since I submitted a Petrarchan Sonnet for the previous post in this series, I have attempted to follow it up with a Terza Rima. The Terza Rima form follows aba bcb cdc ded etc repeat with lines the same length.  It is usually in iambic pentameter, but I strayed from this requirement plus I switched up the last stanza.

This is such a formal form, I don’t think my voice rings through.

Charlie

 .

Black and white kitty with a moustached face

Lost or abandoned, feral life of hell

Ferocious hunter, pouncing prey a race

 .

Secret neighbourhood paths you know so well

Hidden from humans your gender a guess

Male, female, spayed, neutered? No one can tell

 .

Well-mannered kitty never leaves a mess

Human wary, those brooms and boots they toss

Warm engine blocks dangerous for a rest

 .

Harmless hands held out, no scent to betray

Sniffs, licks, purrs, a memory of your loss

Soft fur baby move in my home today.

 .

Cheryle  April 2015         Terza Rima

Day 14: To Whom It May Concern – Blogging U –Writing 101

Day 14: To Whom It May Concern – Blogging U –Writing 101

Today’s Prompt: Pick up the nearest book and flip to page 29. What’s the first word that jumps off the page? Use this word as your springboard for inspiration.

Today’s twist: write the post in the form of a letter.

Page 29 – The Woman’s Dictionary of Symbols & Sacred Objects by Barbara G Walker

Sceptre

 Dear Reed:

As you know, our beloved leader, King Loachra lost his life, valiantly defending our fertile land, fresh flowing waterways and the peaceful people of Thislandia against the barbarian invasion from Thatlandia.     It is with heavy hearts we celebrate his untimely passing with the ceremonial breaking of his sceptre and the release of his spirit to the universe.

The Sceptre Replacement Committee has searched far and wide to locate a sceptre suitable for the crowning of King Loachra’s precious heir, Princess Gaiscíoch.  Traditionally sceptres have been gathered from the sloping banks of the sparking river Usquebaugh.  However, Princess Gaiscioch was born and spent her formative years living nomadically in Machair, I believe this is your county.  Her dearest wish is to remain solidly connected to her youthful lessons. The Sceptre Replacement Committee’s sacred duty is to honour her wish and create for her a daily reminder of the joyous days she spent splashing in the waters of the Abhainn.

You, being the strongest, straightest Reed on the banks of the Abhainn have been selected to assume the prestigious role of Royal Sceptre.  This is undeniably a sacrifice every loving subject would be happy and willing to make for their Queen.

Tonight, the Sceptre Collection Service will escort you to the Royal Artisan, who will craft your exceptional fibres into an enduring Sceptre that will guide Her Majesty throughout her rein.  Your rebirth as a Sacred Object of Government, will be forever recorded in the Royal Histories and lend celebrity to the County Machair as the home of The Reed Who Became the Most Famous Sceptre of all.

We the Government are forever in your debt.

The Official Writers of Letters for the Monarchy

OWL

Cheryle April 2015

Day Eleven: Size Matters (In Sentences) – Blogging U – Writing 101

When I lived in Sarcee

Year twelve for me was a year of yet more transition.  We moved across Canada.  Basically, I lived in two homes, in two different cities and provinces, the year I turned twelve.  Most military homes were cookie cutter similar.  Inexpensive government built row houses, three or four bedrooms upstairs, open concept kitchen, dining and living rooms down stairs and a cement floor basement. The only real difference was the specific layout. One house would have everything on the right side of the front door, the next one would have everything to the left side of the door. The rooms were all painted off-white beige with an eggshell finish.  Boring.  So boring in fact, when my father left the military and my parents moved into their own home, I insisted no room be off-white, each room had to be painted a different colour.

No matter where I travel, I can recognize a military home whether it be a row house or not.

In Calgary we lived On Base. A completely separate environment from Civi Street.  We had our own stores, barber shops, beauty shops, Churches, rec centres, schools and of course bars called messes.  There was no reason to leave the base for anything, including socialization, all our friends were families of soldiers and lived within walking distance, inside the carefully structured military community.

Everyone who lived in Sarcee had a 12 ft. raised fence enclosing an area, approx. 15 ft. x 15 ft., located in the back of the house, off of the parking lot.  We called this the bull pen.  In winter it would be flooded.  A place to skate when we couldn’t go to the skating rink. In the summer this is where my parents would BBQ or entertain.  The stoop was out in front, overlooking the common lawn, no one used the front door to drop by for a visit everyone used the back door.

In addition to the amenities, we had exclusive access to an area that is now called the Weaslehead Flats, a natural environmental park.  At the time this was our outdoor play area.  Grasslands, woodlands, the Glenmore Reservoir, the Elbow River, pretty much where ever we wanted to go and do whatever we wanted to do.  The only rule, we had to stay away from the training areas.  There we could pick up unexploded munitions and die.

Not much changed when we first moved to Toronto.  We lived as part of the city, however, accessed what we needed by going to the base, a 2 minute drive away. That is another story.

Cheryle April 2015

Day 9: Point of View and Day 8 – Death to Adverbs – Blogging U – Writing 101

Day 9 – Prompt: A man and a woman walk through the park together, holding hands. They pass an old woman sitting on a bench. The old woman is knitting a small, red sweater. The man begins to cry. Write this sceneTwist: write the scene from three different points of view

Day 8 – Prompt: Go to a local café, park, or public place and write a piece inspired by something you see. Twist: write an adverb-free post.

THE RED SWEATER

Today the sun keeps the clouds at bay, shining heavy on the crowded park.  There are no shadows to follow the walkers, picnickers, dog owners or the disc golfers as they toss their Frisbees into baskets.  Lunch time always sees the park numbers increase, men in suits, grey, black or blue, ties tight against striped shirts, trench coats left open or hung folded on their arms.  Women walk on black pumps clacking against the sidewalk.  Their blouses tucked smooth into pencil skirts, hair tied close to their heads to keep it in line.

Every bench has at least one occupant, a man with his dog, a mother chatting with a friend while pushing a stroller back and forth as her baby cries hungrily. An old woman sits alone, under the gnarled red oak, knitting a small red item.  Her needles flying and clicking with a life of their own as she looks around the park.

Old Woman:

“Knit one, Purl one, carry one over, Knit one, Purl one, add a stitch. I do like this pattern.  Joyce will be over the moon when I give it to Kitty.  Her 1st birthday.  She is such a good baby.  Knit one, purl one, add a stitch, knit one, purl one, carry one over, start a new row.  Always happy.  There’s a handsome couple coming along the sidewalk.  They must be just beginning to date.  I remember holding Martins’ hand that tight, years ago when we started going out.   I was about that girls age, early 20’s.  He looks a bit older than her, 29 or 30 I’d say.   Purl one, start a new row.  I wonder what they are talking about.  I bet it is something intimate, they both have that shy happy smile painted across their faces.  Carry one over, knit one, purl one add a stitch.  This will fit Kitty with enough room for her to grow.  Oh Oh!  Something is not right with the lovers.  His face is twisting, she must have said something.  Oh my his face is wet, he is crying, the tears are flowing.  What did she say?  What happened?  Add a stitch, start a new row.   She is still smiling, doesn’t she know he’s upset?  Knit one, purl one.  Oh there she goes, she knows now.  She looks surprised, interesting.  Hmmm.  Maybe she didn’t say anything at all to upset him.  Hmmm.  Purl one, Look how she puts her arm around him, how sweet.  I wonder what upset him so much.    Start a new row, knit one, purl one carry one over, knit one purl one, add a stitch,  Yes, Kitty will look so cute in this little red sweater,  Joyce will be so happy.  I can’t wait to finish it for them.  Add a stitch start a new row.”

Young Woman:

A  young 20 something woman, walks with a bounce in her step, her thin candy red wool coat swinging against the leg of the older dark haired man walking close beside her.  With her free hand she runs her cherry tipped fingers through her short auburn bob, freeing its’ strands from the stuffiness of the office.

“That was a scrumptious lunch, Don.” the young woman remarks as she looks up into his eyes, then at his full lips.  “I just love that place, they make the best chicken, avocado wraps, don’t you think?”

“Sure do, Sam.” he quips “I know it’s your favourite.”  He looks at her and winks.

Sam smiles, drops her eyes and blushes as he takes hold of her hand and holds it as they walk. She holds his hand back.  Don smiles a grin that stretches from jawline to jawline.

Sam, licks her lips then says “Your hand feels so nice holding mine, it’s warm and comforting.  It makes me feel special, like you and I are the only ones in the park today.”  She looks at Don and smiles a small quiet grin.  He looks at her, smiles back and squeezes her hand.

They walk in silence for a moment, each relishing the new step taken in their budding relationship.

Sams’ mind is reeling.  Wow!  I can’t believe this.  His hand is so smooth, it feels good to be touching him.  I can feel the butterflies flitting around in my tummy.  I won’t be able to concentrate this afternoon.

“What are your thoughts on this, Samantha?” Her mind mimics her the voice of her boss.  “I don’t know Jordon, Don is holding my hand.  I can’t think of anything else.” As she day dreams her coat swings with a little more bounce.

I wonder where we will go tonight.  Last nights’ movie was fun.  It was a little embarrassing when I jumped during that scary scene and hid my face in his shoulder.  Her smile widens as she reminisces about the evening.

It is Friday, maybe we will go to a club.  Oh that new one everyone is talking about.  Maybe we will have a quiet dinner at “Roger Rabbits”.

What!  Don has let go of my hand.  What’s going on?  She turns to look at Don.  His head is bent down, both hands cover his face.

With surprise and concern she asks “Don, what’s the matter?  Are you OK?  What’s wrong?  She gives him a quick once over to make sure he isn’t injured.  She takes his hands and pulls them away from his face.  Shocked to see he is sobbing.  Oh my god, she thinks, did I say something wrong?

“Don, you’re crying” Oh yeah, how obvious, that’s helpful, she berates herself.  “What can I do?”  “Here” she rummages in her pocket.  “Take this Kleenex, wipe your eyes.” she whispers and puts her arm around his heaving shoulders.

Her mind is racing, I cannot imagine what happened.  We were having such a lovely time and all of a sudden he is crying.  What is going on?  I wonder what triggered this.  Perplexed she continues to coo, “It’s ok sweetheart, everything will be ok.” as she rubs his back and shoulder.

The Man:

Man, she is so cute, thinks a 32 year old man walking with a young woman by his side.  His short dark brown hair shows a few grey strands just above his temples.  Around his eyes are the shadows of a few crow’s feet, just enough to herald the number to come as he ages.  His jaw, sharp and square, speaks of a strong back with a touch of stubbornness.  Dressed in the dark suit so popular with office workers, his red tie sets off the thin stripes on his shirt.  Sharp toed shoes finish off his polish with a touch of flair.

Her lips look so kissable.  I just want to touch her, feel her skin against mine. Listen dummy, she’s talking to you about lunch.

“Sure do, Sam, I know it’s your favourite.”  Anything for you baby doll, Wink.  My famous wink always wins a few smiles with the ladies.

Her eyes, so dark, so brown, I could fall into them and never come out again.  Man, you’re grinning like a chimpanzee, stop it and grab her hand.  Wow, so soft, so small, my hand engulfs hers.  I bet those nails can leave a good scratch.  Whoa, she is squeezing my hand.  What a woman, she knows just how to get my blood going.

I could walk beside her forever.  I haven’t felt this free since…… Stop it.  Stop it, don’t go there.  Sam is here.  Look around, get your mind back on track.  Don’t go there.  Distract yourself, look around the park. Anything to take your mind off the past.  What is that old woman knitting?  No no, don’t look there, it’s a baby sweater.  Quick, think of something else.  Don’t let this take hold.

She was just a baby!  Stop, stop, you can’t do this, not here, not now, he pleads with himself.  There was nothing you could do.  It wasn’t your fault.

If Helen had just asked, I would have driven her.  I would have kept them both safe.  I would have….. Oh God, why?  Why?  What did I do?  What didn’t I do?  Our life was perfect, she was perfect.  She was just a baby.  What did she ever do for you to take her away so brutally, so violently?  Oh God. My daughter.  Oh God, my daughter.  I’ll never see her, hold her again

“I’m sorry Sam I’m ok.” he whispers between sobs “You didn’t do anything wrong, It’s me.  Please forgive me, I am so sorry”

Day 10 Blogging U – Writing 101: Happy Birthday Cheryle

HAPPY BIRTHDAY MEAL

I am skipping the assignments for Day 8 and 9, I will get to them later.  Today, I am going to complete Day 10 in an effort to catch up and not put myself further behind.

Day 10 Prompt: Tell us something about your favorite childhood meal — the one that was always a treat, that meant “celebration,” or that comforted you and has deep roots in your memory.

Feel free to focus on any aspect of the meal, from the food you ate to the people who were there to the event it marked.

Day 10 Twist: Tell the story in your own distinct voice.

My favourite Birthday Meal?  HMMMm- What I remember most is that all of my birthdays, at least, until I was six were spent camping in various countries, Germany, Switzerland, Holland and Scotland.  One year I got a pair of Dutch clogs for my birthday, the wooden ones with the toes tips painted in red, yellow, white and a touch of green.

For all my Canadian birthday meals I remember eating hot dogs, served with fries on the side, chocolate milk and chocolate cake with Ice cream.  I never ate hot dogs with ketchup, just mustard and relish, when it was available.  Hot dogs were different then, not so many chemicals in them.  My mother would boil them, we didn’t BBQ like we do now.  My sister used to eat her fries with mayo, Yuck, something she learned in Germany.

While in Germany, instead of hot dogs, which I believe were Canadian or American, we had Bratwurst, or Brockwurst.  I can’t remember which and I get the two mixed up anyway.  One year my Mom made cupcakes in the trailer, I was so happy it was like she had created them through magic.

My birthday is in the summer, so it is always hot, sunny, and everything is green. So much better than a winter birthday, cold, grey and white.

Back then we didn’t have hot dogs all of the time, Ice cream only at celebrations, chocolate milk once in a while and fries, which as time went by eventually became potatoe chips, were a rare treat.  We would drive my mom crazy as we moved around the kitchen like kittens mewing for milk waiting for her to finish cooking so we could eat. mmmm

Now, my birthday meal is either BBQ something, shrimp or something at a German Restaurant.

That’s my birthday meal story, what’s yours?

Cheryle April 2015

Day 7 – Blogging – Writing 101

Give and Take Dialogue

Today’s Prompt: Write a post based on the contrast between two things — whether people, objects, emotions, places, or something else.

Today’s twist: write your post in the form of a dialogue.

Background.  The assignment didn’t request a background, but I felt I needed one in order to pin down the characters of the dialogue.

Cha-Cha, A 20 something sales clerk working in her family’s store, fast, impatient, uses her cell phone constantly, bored, wants to be anywhere but where she is.

Mrs. Glaikit,  An 80’s something women, long time resident of the neighbourhood, slow, specific, well mannered,  shopping at the corner store.

Cha-Cha is working at the store today, a day when all of her friends have gone downtown to watch her favourite band play in the park.  She can’t believe her mother made her take this shift, just because she was late getting home from her cousins house earlier this week.  It is Saturday, she has been looking forward to this outing, hoping to meet up with a music group she and her cousin Tanny met online.

Cha-Cha stands behind the counter, leaning against the shelves that form the back wall, texting furiously, her fingers flicking from letter to letter forming abbreviated words complaining of her lot in life, how hard it is and how difficult her mother has been.

Mrs. Glaikit, an old woman, approaches the cash, a long counter located at the front of the family run corner store.  She shops here on days when she doesn’t have the time to walk the extra three blocks to the SuperMart on the main road.  Today she needs crackers, cheese, extra tea, milk, luncheon meat and a readymade marble cake.  She is expecting visitors this afternoon and wants to make sure she has snacks for her daughter and treats for the grandkids.

So absorbed in her conversation, Cha-Cha fails to notice Mrs. Glaikit approach, stand and wait patiently on the other side of the counter.

Mrs. Glaikit, unloads her basket, one item at a time, placing each purchase just so, one after the other on the glass covering the lottery tickets.

Cha-Cha finally looks up from the phone, enters the items into the cash register.  Without missing a tap on her tiny keyboard Cha-Cha states “That will be $28.35.”

Mrs. Glaikit looks up at Cha-Cha, standing on the riser behind the counter, “Good morning Cha-Cha,”  “How are you today?”

For a millisecond Cha-Cha stops texting and responds “Fine,”  “How would you like to pay for that?” and goes back to her hand held discussion.

“I’ll use cash,”  “How is your mother?  Dear.”  Mrs. Glaikit asks politely. “I haven’t seen her in a while.”

Cha-Cha rolls her eyes, takes a deep breath, drops her shoulders, and as she exhales replies, “Fine.”  “She’s been busy.” Then in the same breath adds “Do you want a bag for this?”

Smiling, Mrs. Glaikit accepts the offer “Yes, Cha-Cha, a bag would be helpful,”  “Thank you, I was so excited my Daughter and her two girls are coming for tea this afternoon, I forgot mine at home.”

Hesitantly Cha-Cha places her phone on the counter with a plop, grabs two plastic bags and pops the crackers, tea, ham and chicken packages into one bag and quickly fills the second with the cheese, cake and the carton of milk.

Proudly, Mrs. Glaikit continues “Dorthea is a busy consultant and doesn’t get to visit often.  I haven’t seen the girls in months, they must have grown inches since then.”

Cha-Cha interrupts the excited speech, “That will be $28.35 cash, Mrs. Glaikit.”  Cha-Cha keeps looking at her phone, incessantly vibrating, bouncing on the counter.  One hand on her hip the other held out waiting for payment.

“Oh yes, $28.35,” “I have it right here.”  Mrs. Glaikit rummages in her bag, worn by use, overfilled with Kleenex, notes, envelopes, and at least one small paperback. As she digs, Cha-Cha bounces from leg to leg, grabs her phone, scrolls through the texts, breathes loudly and flutters her eyes impatiently.

Mrs. Glaikit exclaims, “Here it is, I found my change purse!” as Cha-Cha mouths “Oh my God.” and rolls her eyes, yet again.

“Here we go dear” Mrs. Glaikit counts out the $28.35 as she places each denomination onto Cha-Cha’s outstretched hand.  “One ten, three fives, a toonie, a loonie, three dimes and a nickel.” “There you go, $28.35, the exact change.”

In one swift move, Cha-Cha drops the money into the register, hands the bags over to Mrs. Glaikit along with the receipt.  “Thank you for shopping at QuickMart.”

Taking hold of the bags, Mrs. Glaikit gaily chirps “Thank you Cha-Cha, please say hello to your mother for me.”

Already back texting on the phone, Cha-Cha responds without looking up “ya, ya, I will.”  Lost in her conversation those were the final words she utters as Mrs. Glaikit ambles to the door with her groceries, she turns, smiles, waves, and leaves the store.

Cheryle – April 2015

Day 6–Character Building-Blogging U–Writing 101

Day 6  Prompt: Who’s the most interesting person (or people) you’ve met this year?

Day 6 Twist: Turn your post into a character study.

I must confess I could not recall the person which captivated my interest this year.  In light of my lapse in memory I created a character from my imagination.  I hope you enjoy him and I hope it meets the criteria of  the assignment Character Study.

A Character of My Imagination:

I can still hear his laugh.  Gravel rubbing against his throat, raw from smoke, overpowering the sound of the wind. When I close my eyes I see his wild hair, untamed, uncombed flying free in the wind blowing across the prairie.  Large eyes, painted blue from the sky, filled with salted water as he considered his options.  Hands, rough from cutting, carving, shaping and sanding, cradled a small bird gently, sharing his warmth with the tiny body.  Confused, the baby peeped continually as he carried it away from the carnage that was its’ mother. Food for foxes, the mother diverted the predator from her burrow, protecting this one and only fledgling.

Later when the baby grew into its wings, he would carry it on his square shoulders.  Sweaters, crafted from clean, undyed wool, kept the cold at bay and gave the bird a soft seat.  Inseparable, he held his feathered friend in high esteem.  His voice rumbled on about the day, where they were going, what they were doing as the owl nodded its’ head, rolled its eyes and chippered as if it understood every word.  Bits of meat, raw before cooking, were held out as treats, grabbed by the beak and gobbled down quickly. . The rest was turned into sandwich fillings, stews or meaty soups.

At nights on the bench, built from pine, he would sit, contemplate the world, smoke home rolled cigarettes and watch the owl as it flew hunting its’ dinner.

The last time I saw him, he was raising a maul splitting wood, the owl sitting on a branch above watching his every move.

The owl now sits alone on the bench waiting for that voice, that shoulder those hard hands full of love to reach out to gently caress his feathers.  I see him in my dreams or hear his laugh when the wind blows wild.

DAY 5 – BlOGGING U – WRITING 101 – BREVITY

The Letter

Tears roll unbound down my cheeks

I refold the page, its paper worn

Re-read many times, many years

 .

The letter fell

Lost

Left alone and cold

On the street

 .

I look up,           around

There,

Rounding the far corner

I glimpse

A woman of a certain age

It is her name typewritten in black

Her heart held by the words

Her life bent over backward

 .

My fingers brush her shoulder

Padded for protection

An illusion of strength

Her head turns

Our eyes speak

My tears tell the tale

She knows

Her history struck my heart

 .

I clutch her tightly

Hold her close

Tears flowing freely

She tilts my face to hers gently

Her rough thumb

Wipes away my pain

She whispers softly

It’s Ok, – I survived

 .

She lets go

I am left

Alone and cold

She disappears into the fracas of people

Rushing along the street.

 .

Cheryle April 11, 2015

DAY 3 – BLOGGING U – WRITING 101

COMMIT TO A WRITING PRACTICE

3 SONGS OF INFLUENCE

It has taken me forever to do this assignment.  Partially because I am avoiding it and partially because I am having difficulty picking the three.  For some reason this assignment has me running a little scared, a little too close to me for me.  It is a simple request.  I’m not sure, but regardless of my hesitation I am committing to my writing practice and will push forward to complete the assignment.

As the Police sing “I was born in the 50’s”, grew up in the 70’s, attained my independence in the 80”s.   The 70’s was a time after the drug craze and sexual revolution of the 60’s, when the ideals of the Hippies, the Feminists and Beat Generation began to filter into the minds of young women.  Middle class women began to question their role in life, wanting more, more freedom, more independence, more equality and much more of everything.

I did not pick The Three Most Influential songs of my life.  I couldn’t decide what they were.  I did however, select three song which I still love to hear, continue to make me think and teach me of the big old world out there.

I am listing these in chronological order, not necessarily in the order I discovered them.

The House of the Rising Sun – The Animals – 1964

A widely discussed folk song.  Some say The House of the Rising Sun is an Americanized version of an 18th Century English ballad. The first known American recording is dated at 1934 by Clarence “Tom” Ashley and Gwen Foster.  It has since then been performed throughout the years by many artists, notably, Woody Guthrie, Lead Belly, Pete Seeger, and most famously The Animals.

I was drawn to the sadness, the struggle and the failure of this cautionary tale. His mother a tailor, a strong hard working woman, raised him on her own. Yet, she loses both her husband and her son to the mysterious House of The Rising Sun.  In despair, he begs mothers of the world to warn their children not to follow in the footsteps of his father and himself, gamblers and addicts. We know he struggles, yet he gets back on the train to New Orleans.

I was curious about The House of the Rising Sun it was so very mysterious and somewhat romantic to me. I imagined it as part of the hippie scene similar to Haight Ashbury, filled with stained glass windows, velvet curtains and wisps of smoke. I was a young romantic and naïve at the time.

It was also the very first “modern song” I learned on the guitar.

Musically, I was intrigued by the organs scream, the smooth pluck of the guitar, theTap tapity tap of the cymbals & drums and overriding it all, Eric’s voice of despair

Lou Reed Walk on the Wild Side 1972 – Transformer

The subjects and the raw honesty of Walk on the Wild Side were my introduction to the wild side of life. Having spent most of my first 14 years moving around Canada every few years and once to Germany and back, I was curious to know what was the wild side?  What did it mean he was a she?  What was the hustle?  I believe by the time I heard this song, the hustle was a dance.

Take a Walk on the Wild Side showcased Lou’s raw velvet voice, poetic language, juxtaposed against a smooth pop rhythm.  It inspired in me a curiosity for the other side of life and a tolerance for alternative lifestyles.  It offered me the opportunity to question what I had been taught was socially acceptable.

Pat Benatar, – I Need a Lover – written by Johnny Cougar  – 1979 – In The Heat of the Night

In the Heat of The Night is an important album because it is the first album I purchased in which I solely relied on my own musical instincts.  No one told me it was a good album or who Pat Benatar was.   I heard the music on the alternative radio station, liked it and purchased the album on a weekend holiday.  I was impressed with myself for having such a musical ear. Pat Pat on my back.

I Need a Lover, is a brave song for the time, and still has a message for young woman today.  It is an empowering song for women, who were supposed to go from their father’s house into the house of their husband. Something, I did not want to experience.  This is a strong modern woman who chooses her own lovers, even specifies the criteria, the relationship is on her terms and not permanent.  The raw desire of a strongly independent modern woman empowered to behave as she deems fit.  Up to that time, only a man was allowed to behave sexually independent, without impunity.

This song intrigued me for its independent spirit.  I wasn’t surprised to find out it was written by a man.  When I went to Sam’s on Yonge Street in Toronto looking for more music by the songwriter, no one at Sams knew who Johnny Cougar was.  We now know him as John Mellenkamp.

Cheryle April 10, 2015         citation – Wikipedia

BLOGGING U – WRITING 101 DAY 4

DAY FOUR;  SERIALLY LOST

Yes, I am posting the Day Four assignment before I have done Day Three.  I am having difficulty deciding which songs I want to showcase in the commit to writing assignment.

Day Four’s Prompt: Write about a loss: something (or someone) that was part of your life, and isn’t any more.

This is to be the first of three connected posts, I therefore chose to resurrect a sonnet I wrote a number of years ago while taking classes at the Alexandria Writers’ Centre Society in Calgary.  I hope you don’t mind.  I plan to create two new posts in response to the serial aspect of the assignment when those segments are presented.

For Maggie

Bonnie Magnificent, Puppy Galore,

Teddy bear Beardie  –  not up to standard.

Picking you out of the litter – not hard!

Hide your fright. Deeper in my coat you bore

.

Looking for love  – giving me much more.

With your wizard eyes, the soul of a bard

Touching my heart made loving you –  not hard!

Seasons grow, mature and seasons expire.

 .

A dark sun fell from the sky and stayed

Clouded your sharp bright eyes, silenced your song

Menacing tribulations set you free.

From six years of Addison’s – you – so brave

 .

My heart reveals a hole –  Maggie-dog long.

Still you teach me from beneath the pear tree

 .

Cheryle Baker        Jan 26/ 06 edited  Feb 2/06       Petrarchan Sonnet