I’m pleased to announce that all the friends I’m spying — er, cheering — on at NaNoWriMo now have words to their names. Yay!! The public guilting shall abate for a time.
This morning I programmed this article to run on the homepage of NewMoon.com. Check it out — this 12-year-old will cut through all your wimpy excuses for not writing (I don’t have time, I’m not a good speller, my grammar sucks, etc.)!
And, here’s my poetry attempt from last night, using the help of my picto-journal:
Religious though he is, even he can see the
hyporcrisy of praying to the Lord Almighty
when no one has a prayer
left anyway. They mostly all
turned away the summer the
war tanks rolled over the
many fields so pains-takingly planted that spring,
taking away the one thing that had
always made them trust in the
Goodness of the Lord,
from whom came the soil, the rain, the growth.
“Too much sin,” proclaimed the preacher.
“God has his reasons,” the old women’s voices murmur
as they rock on front porches
just as they’d said when Baby Dawn was born
with her parts all in the wrong places
when Mary’s husband left for groceries
and never came back
when Nyla’s son got so drunk
that he didn’t think to check for the train.
This is bigger, perhaps, but no different
makes no more sense,
so they clack rosary beads between their fingers
which tremble from palsy
The image was from some religious publication — a pic of an old preacher in a black robe with a massive cross spreading his arms in prayer while a tank rolled over a field in the background and with an explosion in the distance. The caption said, “Religious hypocrisy has turned many away from God.” I used the words from the caption as the original “spine” of the poem, although I think the poem would be better off without them in later drafts.