Friday, November 3, 2017

Friday 55 November 3 2017

Another Friday journey begins with 55 steps into/out of the imagination. We gather here each week to remember Galen Hayes, host extraodinaire who knew exactly what TGIF really meant, and to practice our craft together in that spirit of friendship and fun he bequeathed. There are no rules of engagement other than that your contribution of prose or poetry must be built with 55 words, no more no less. Comment moderation is on to repel invaders, and the prompt will remain live from Friday through Sunday, so please link your effort in the comments below (should you accept this mission) and I will be by to check it out.




And here is mine to start us off...





 On The Dryline




The sky's a stone
neither one color
nor the other;

on one side 
July

on the other 
November,

ahead 
throat-pulse warmth,
summer's wheezy death-pant,

behind 
the storm-horses
white-eyeballed in terror, 
 hooves hailing down green winter wheat;

but here
on the dryline

we sip coffee,
wear layers
 and labor

to keep our grip
on the edge.


~November 2017











(I've also used four words in this poem provided by angie for her Get Listed prompt at real toads.)






Images: November First, 1950, by Andrew Wyeth   fair use
Neptune's Horses, 1893, detail, by Walter Crane    public domain






24 comments:

  1. The contrast between the terrified madness in the horses' eyes and the comfort of coffee and layers is almost shocking. As extreme as the difference between July and November (in place where the seasons play hard and serious), as extreme as people existing in different worlds. I love what I see in the last stanza. A reminder, which suggests (to me) that everyone is caught in the same storm... Some just get lucky, and find a way to keep from being swept away.

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    1. Thank you dear Magaly. We are having a week where the low will be 33 degrees and the high 82. We have them all the time, when the dryline comes through, and they become part of the fabric of our expectations. I was relieved to be able to write something that did not reek of gloom, agony and despair this week. ;)And I absolutely love the dance you made your chosen word do--unexpected, adroit, and totally delightful.

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  2. This week, I wrote "A Secret Pocket":

    http://magalyguerrero.com/a-secret-pocket/

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  3. Intersting vantage here, between such mythological extremes pent toward the same end, holding a "dryline" of normality, going about what folks do about now. Loads of coiled power in the long-smoothed stone. Rocking 55 and may the weekend ditto the shout.

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    1. Thanks B--I imagine your mental muscles are a bit sore after lifting and positioning the weight of all those Stone Ghosts you wrote for us over the last week--may this weekend soothe them, and good luck and best wishes for your father.

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  4. Every line in this describes me right in this early November moment, ahead of "summer's wheezy death-pant" (!) and bracing for the violence of winter. *sips coffee*
    Joy, I'm so glad you are hosting Flash 55. I've been wanting to play but it's taken until now for me to kick myself into actually writing. Thank you.
    Here's my link: http://www.runawaysentence.com/2017/11/going-home.html

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    1. Thanks so much. So delighted to see you play Marian--and your 55 was exceptional. Welcome to the party.

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  5. "labor to keep our grip on the edge" Oh this really speaks to me. This poem has a mythological tone, but the hooves of our reality. Brilliant writing as always.

    This is my 55.
    http://blackinkhowl.blogspot.com/2017/11/temple-moan.html

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    1. Another amazing poem, Susie--thanks so much for playing and bringing it to us.

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  6. I really love what you packed into a mere 55 words, especially starting with the horses' eyes on through the ending. The beauty of a short form is the opportunity to re-read a piece several times, and this one certainly merits that. In fact, I am off to read it again.

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    1. ps--I forgot to say how much I like both images you used.

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  7. I hope you like fwowa.

    http://fireblossom-wordgarden.blogspot.com/2017/11/marry-me-when-im-dead.html

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    1. I <3 fwowa, even the flowers of Dorian Grey. Thanks so much for adding this gem to your and our repertoire this week, Shay. You know I am always thrilled when I see you work your magic, in a 55 or any other way.

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  8. epic description of November's formidable wall strength. and i love how you hid away four words from my Get Listed prompt. i've got nothing to write for a 55, so i may just rest knowing i inspired yours in a teensy weensey way. i love it when i live up to my own name... have a kickass weekend Joy

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    1. Thanks, angie--and your words truly improved this poem, so many thanks for that as well as your kind comment. May your weekend also be of the kickass variety.

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    2. so, Kerry's photo (or my deluge of sinus congestion medication) unblocked my block...so I will play, and keep my kleenexes to myself. Thank you very much. https://angieinspired.wordpress.com/2017/11/04/im-not-sentimental/

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  9. the edge has its grip on us, though, doesn't it?

    roost

    thanks, Hedge

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    1. Yes, it's a two way edge--maybe if we all hold on hard enough neither it nor we will slide away...thanks for adding your personal genius to the mix, my friend.

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  10. My grip seems very tenuous at present so this poem really speaks volumes to me.

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    1. I feel for you, Kerry. I know how draining those health issues can be--hope things start looking up soon.

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  11. We do seem a bit caught in between the seasons. Up until now it has been an unseasonably warm autumn. It was like 89 degrees one day last week. Today is cool and raining. I sincerely hope we get some snow this year.

    Now on to the metaphor as well. Nice description of the horses. Geez, don't want to get in their way. If only there was a dry line we could walk without stepping into the shit they leave as they run on. We have to hold on or be consumed by the chaos.

    Sorry to have been remiss the first couple weeks, but I will take pen to paper and be ready for next Friday. I am only just beginning to scribble again.

    Hello Joy.

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    1. Thanks, and for making me laugh at the horseshit, especially. There is no such thing as "remiss" here, X. One of the things that has crippled my own writing is all the obligations involved in blogworld--I have come to hate them. There are therefor none here--please know you are always welcome, joyfully so in fact, should you decide to play, but if not, there are absolutely no worries. I miss your poetry, but no one has given more--so, I'll just say, have a kickass weekend.

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  12. 2 days late but not a dollar short--you can never be short a buck when you have none and don't care.

    Love the Wyeth painting. I once hung a traveling show (Helga) by him at the DIA in Detroit. The first of many I had the privilege to hang there when I was much younger.

    It relates, this particular painting because as evening fell here there was rain and thunder storms for a few hours. What have we done to the atmosphere to make it warm where it should be cold and cold where it should be warm? I get the sense mankind has gone intolerably insane.

    I AM FREE WHEN MY SIDE OF THE PLANET IS DARK

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    1. There's no rule about when your 55 has to appear,Mark, as long as it's before I turn the comp off on Sunday night. ;) I try to have as few rules as possible, as few strings, as few weights, on this meme as possible. I also love Wyeth, and this painting truly does seem to epitomize November--that stony, color-stripped sky...I'm glad you had the pleasure of working with his art, and thanks for giving us the pleasure of your 55.

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'Poetry is an echo asking a shadow to dance' ~Carl Sandburg