On Facebook, I discovered a page called "Abandoned," featuring mysterious and/or thought-provoking photographs of abandoned things and places: a cornucopia of writing prompts for me! I just wrote this poem about this photo, and want to share it with you now:
Retired Phone Booths
by S. L. Lipson
The out-crowd rusts together,
around the corner from smirking cell phone towers,
who've made the booths superfluous,
unnecessary for anyone
but the nostalgic,
or the technophobic,
or the Superman wannabes.
Metal huts replaced by
metal rectangles the size of candy bars,
with powers that the booths
never contained.
Like the callers who used to feed them quarters,
the booths, too, have been pushed aside
to make room for Today.
WRITING MEMORABLE WORDS is about connecting with readers and leaving memories behind. TO COMMENT, CLICK ON THE TITLE OF THE POST, PLEASE.
Monday, June 16, 2014
Prompted by Photos of Abandoned Things...
Wednesday, June 4, 2014
Manners Make Us Memorable
Manners make us memorable, either as courteous, compassionate folks, or as people who practice acceptable social customs out of obligation and respect for traditions, or even as hypocrites who use politeness to disguise disdain. Here, in poetry, are some thoughts about manners:
Definitely!
by Susan L. Lipson
They agreed that it was fabulous to reconnect after so long,
that they needed to get together--DEFINITELY!
And that old sentiments renewed should be called "resentiment."
They laughed together, then exchanged phone numbers, emails, smiles, and hugs.
She texted her long-lost friend the next day, to say how thrilled she felt to be back in touch.
The text evoked a "ditto" and a smiley face in reply.
And that reply evoked an invitation to get together,
which remained unanswered for two days,
before being re-sent, along with the words, "You probably didn't get my text, so…".
A day later she re-sent the text again, and then re-sent a new one,
and finally, "resentiment" became RESENTMENT.
And "definitely" became a lie.
You’re Welcome
by Susan L. Lipson
You’re welcome—to take your place
below her,
once you’ve finished gushing,
“Thank you so much for your help--thank you!”
and she replies nonchalantly,
“You’re welcome,”
but never, “Thank YOU—
Thanks for asking me.”
No, that would mean
you’re welcome
to bother her again,
and clearly you’re not.
To thank someone for effusive thanks
creates balance,
equates giving and receiving,
and negates power of one over another.
“You’re welcome,” blithely uttered,
implies a privilege granted,
a favor tallied,
and only rarely a follow-up offer
to “feel free to ask again, anytime.”
Sympathy Cards
She called to ask whether we received her sympathy card,
and whether we knew that
she had made a donation in memory
of our dearly departed.
She didn’t ask how we are
coping with the loss.
She didn’t even mention my mom-in-law's name,
or any memory of times
spent with her.
She was just wondering—“no
pressure, of course!”—
since she’d never received
a thank-you card.
“But that really doesn’t
matter, of course,” she assured me,
“since I’m sure you’ve
been so busy since….”
And then she assured me
yet again: “You know, dear, that you have
my sincere sympathy, in
any case—
card or no card.”
Whose card did she mean?
And why must I thank her
for mere sympathy,
which is like a carefully
wrapped package of nothing,
without the true gift of
Empathy rattling within.
Sympathy is what you SHOW
to others; Empathy is what you FEEL for them.
Sympathy is external;
Empathy is internal.
Sympathy is a polite
action; Empathy is a compassionate one.
Sympathy is expected in
polite society; but Empathy is a welcome, cherished surprise.
Sympathy can be expressed
by greeting cards; Empathy is only expressed in sincere words and/or hugs.
Sympathy is announced;
empathy is understood.
Sympathy shows caring;
Empathy creates sharing.
Sympathy is to shine
another’s beaten-up shoes; Empathy is to wear those shoes.
Loss is cluttered by the
sympathetic shoe-shiners,
But simplified by those
who share our burdens,
Leaving us a smaller
fraction of grief to bear alone.
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