Prompted by Photos of Abandoned Things...

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.

Spring Has Sprung!

Gardening
by Susan L. Lipson

To help them flower and spread,
I add to the seeds of my ideas
inspirational flow,
figurative fertilizer for nurturing full color,      
and empowering light after germination.

And then I weed,
ripping out random growths
that strangle their laconic beauty,
detract from their tones,
cover their distinctive petals and leaves,
and clutter their well-aligned lines
with verbose foliage.

I try to resist clipping a bloom
or forming a bouquet to share
until each flower's growth has peaked,
to avoid publishing prematurely harvested blooms,
which will wilt in the shadows of disappointment.

In verbal vases
I present the bounty,
hoping that you see Beauty and Truth.

Memorable Miscommunication!

          I shared my daughter's latest YouTube music video (she's a singer known on YouTube, as well as an actress on TV and in films) with my 86-year-old father via email, and when I called him to hear what he thought of it, his questions about the song and her collaborator hilariously exemplify the generation gap in the music world. First, watch, and then I'll tell you his response….

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ioN8ClDI1KE&list=UUcyjBPgV4o-xkrozdwRLZYQ

          "So, Dad, what did you think of Lainey's newest music video?" I asked.

          "I don't know…. I didn't like that guy in the video. I don't why she needed him standing there. He was distracting, and he wasn't even singing along with her--I watched his lips!  He didn't even know the words! And he wasn't even playing the background music with her, so what was his purpose?"

           Trying not to laugh, I replied, "Dad, he was beat-boxing, not singing."

           Before I could explain what beat-boxing is, he asked, "What do you mean he wasn't singing? I saw him moving his lips, but he didn't get the words right."

          "No, Dad, he was making the beat sounds in the background with his mouth. All those drum sounds you heard were coming from him. That's what made the song so cool."

           "What do you mean?"

           "Are you listening? There wasn't any instrumental music in the video, only percussion sounds that he was making with his mouth while Lainey was singing a cappella."

          "Well, I don't know that song, I only know that I didn't like this one because of that guy making weird expressions and keeping me from hearing the music."

          Sighing, I conclude, "Okay, Dad, maybe you'll like her next one better."

          Thinking about that conversation now reminds me of a "text fail"--the kind I'd save on my phone just to laugh over it later. That's why I wrote this post, to save this "phone fail."

Neither Positions Nor Possessions...

Tonight I watched a moving, memorable Holocaust documentary with Oprah Winfrey and Elie Wiesel, filmed at today's Auschwitz. (Please, after reading my post, scroll up again to line 1 and click on the hyperlinked phrase above!)

At one point, Elie Wiesel told Oprah, "What I realized here is that nothing mattered…positions or possessions, nothing." His eloquent words inspired this poem:

Sorry To Burst Your Bubble, but…

By S. L. Lipson 

                                

          P ossessions

          O r

          P ositions

                     P ersuasions                                      

                     O r

                     P ermissions

                                 P olitics

                                 O r

                                 P ontifications

                                          P op!

                                             F izzle!

                                                F ade!

                                                   F ly...

                                                  

                                      Only Love survives.

Digest This!

#NationalPoetryWritingMonth (#NaPoWriMo14)

April 23, 2014Shakespeare's Birthday!

My poem for Day 23 of National Poetry Writing Month simply had to use a literary conceit to honor the great poet! And here it is, full of words not usually considered poetic, to say the least, but in a sardonic, Shakespearian tone.

Digest This!

By S. L. Lipson

If social intolerance for minorities

could be modified by enzymes,

like lactose intolerance,

then the verbal diarrhea

spewed by bloated egos

would be mitigated,

and the acid of cramped minds

would not be regurgitated;

then all would feel settled,

and the growling and discomfort would cease.

In the absence of such enzymes, though,

we might try dietary restrictions:

limiting our slanted media consumption
as a first step.

A New Spin on “Show, Don’t Tell”: How Writers Can Be as Memorable as Their Words

          Most us of have heard the saying, “You’re only as good as your word.” Does that also imply that you’re only as memorable as your word(s), too? Does it matter whether you matter as much as the matter you write? Maybe you’re fine with remaining anonymous, letting your words supersede your self. But most writers have more ego than that; it’s not a bad thing, but a fact. If you’re like me, you write words because your inner graffiti artist wants to leave a mark upon the world, to draw eyes to unexpected views that represent you to others and make them remember you.

[that was my graffiti, yes]

          You have surely been advised to “Show, don’t tell” in your writing. Well, here’s how to apply that adage to yourself, as author, to be as memorable as your words:

1. Show your respect for words via precise word choices, no matter how many revisions it takes to find them.
2. Show your respect for your readers via subtlety and conciseness, to honor their ability to interpret and their appreciation of precious time—both of which are disregarded by superfluous words and overwritten descriptions.
3. Show your depth of observations and psychological insights by developing characters that seem realistic and evoke empathy from readers.
4. Show your wit via well-paced, cleverly worded phrases that carry readers along, rather than force them to follow.
5. Show your intelligence via apt analogies, thoughtful symbolism, and insightful observations.
6. Show your style via figurative language that reflects images the way you’d post pictures on Instagram to reflect your personality.
7. Show your values via your fictional characters’ successes and failures, qualities and faults, their coping methods, and their various points-of-view.
8. Show your personal path in life by noticing and accentuating the thematic threads that run through many of your writings.  
9. Show your artistic influences via your allusions.
10. Show your understanding of your readers by choosing age- and/or genre-appropriate matter to unfold.

Words that Evoke Blushing

Today I happened to come across a nostalgic article by author Kelly Corrigan, "Apparently, My Mom Was Once a Girl." Her story of the day that she discovered the girl her mother had once been, via old letters between her father and her mother, reminded me so much of a poem I wrote years ago, when I was in my 20's and made a similar discovery about my mom. Here's the poem:

Blush

by Susan L. Lipson

Mom? Blushing?!

"Bobbi!" (He calls her "Bobbi"?!)

Then this apparently familiar stranger

Who obviously wishes to hug her,

But doesn’t—

Probably notices me,

Notices our resemblance—

Ogles her and sighs,

“You look just as gorgeous,

as you did…what is it now…25 years ago. Wow." 

That was before I even knew her,

before Dad even knew her--

Dad, who never calls her "gorgeous."

Now she's giggling. Really? Mom?!

"Remember when...,"

he reminds her,

and she beams,

misty-eyed--Mom?!

And this "Al" smiles at her appreciatively--

up and down--

and she lowers her eyes demurely,

but almost smirking. Mom?!

But who IS he--rather, WAS he--to her,

this giddy, blushing "Bobbi" girl,

a.k.a. Mom

a.k.a. Barbara,

a.k.a. Dad's wife?

MY DAD'S WIFE.

She's laughing now.

Flirting? Nah.

Smirking again. Mom!

She's red,

and I'm green,

in every sense of the word.

"Bobbi"

Do you remember when you first "saw" your parent as her/his former, single self, the object of someone's romantic desire, someone other than your other parent? Remember that day in words and write your own memoir or poem to capture that life-altering moment.