jillypoet: mom trying to write

Each day I wish I had invented waterproof sticky notes (for shower inspiration) or pen-friendly diapers to get down all my quirky thoughts that I am sure are relevant and publishable. And so God (actually another writer-mommy) sent me The Blog.

Sunday, November 25, 2007

Overheard in the bathroom

Who says children have to hinder your writing? I challenge anyone who stops by and reads the following American sentence to use it in a poem! *

Let me squirt your hands with a water gun to help you clean them faster.

* bonus points if you use any of my new favorite words in your poem...

A list of words I like, culled from my father's dictionary:


And, I think if I--when I--have a first book of poems I will call it Glad Rags.


Blogger January said...

WHEN you get your first book published, not if!

Love your AS.

4:09 PM  
Blogger Just Jen said...

That's hilarious! Is it a supersoaker?

1:25 PM  
Blogger polka dot witch said...

at my house, with three boys, everything is boy code for peepee. i'm not sure THAT water gun would be the best choice. :)

but i agree with january ... WHEN you get your book published. you have enough spectacular work. put it together.

can i tell you what to do? make one resolution for 2008. send out a manuscript.

2:13 PM  
Blogger pepektheassassin said...

I can hardly wait!

12:26 AM  
Blogger SA Storm said...

I have enjoyed your page and I love a challenge also slipped in 3 of your favorite words nothing like a bonus!
"Laurent's First Case"

the last bit won’t fade
pretends a welcome home
in my lifeline
and lounged spiraled on a finger tip

kneeled and needing
one last time oblivious
to autumns last smile
or the wind that plays
at my hem

or Laurent

angelic but menacing above me
in the blue and brass
of a Paris gendarme
tout de suite mama

let me shoot you
let me shoot you
let me squirt your hands
with my water gun to help you clean them faster

hands up i turn
he gives me all he’s got
the soil is stubborn
Laurent is stubborn
his slender finger works the trigger

still the last bit wont fade
i look at the suns reflected sheen
trapped on the water over the stain
that’s trapped on my hand

i am an oracle of feeling and sight
on this last day of autumn
as we walk from the garden

12:20 PM  

Post a Comment

<< Home