Poetry vs Prose: Hark, I Hear A Cosmic Overtone

This was suggested by Ramana-  of the Friday Loose Bloggers Consortium-  a very creative bunch of people from all countries, backgrounds, and mentalities  who write on a common topic- as the name says-

every Friday.

So now to poetry versus prose:

First the basics.

Poetry-

contains: meter, rhyme, verse, theme

Prose: character, setting, plot, point of view, theme, and mood.

(I found this on a children’s lit page on the web-  thank heavens)

So, poetically speaking, here goes:

“On creativity, friends, and the passage  of time…”

(by me- not from the web)

“I sing now an ode

to viruses-

computer and nasal:

haikku”

Ah yes:

Poe-try

The kind of thing Edgar Allen would definitely kill to avoid.

Although, as I wrote a fellow blogger this morning,

there are poems for every occasion:

for the Sean Connery type: I suggest John Donne’s “Valediction Forbidding Mourning”

for the lover of mankind, Donne’s meditation 17: “No man is an Island”, containing the famous words- used by Hemingway -“Ask not for whom the bell tolls.”

for those who don’t (love),

or have very little time,

or don’t really like poetry:

Ogden Nash:

The fly:

“The Lord in His wisdom has made the fly. And then forgot to tell us why.”

Also often heard in the church version “Oh my, didn’t God just make YOU special.”

And then, there is my own Ogden Nash favorite:

Excerpt:

“…when called by a panther, don’t anther.”

Ah yes, poetry,

which,

as opposed to

P(lain) (p)rose-

Rose-

and having risen,

moves on.

To new and better things,

Like drama.

Or comedy:

the combination sublime,

the yin and yang,

of all that has been, and will go before.

Perfect wisdom in a nutshell.

Or a belly laugh.

epic, lyric, dramatic, all in one.

From the Divine Comedy to Groucho Marx.

How do YOU write banana peel?

Double Double Toil And Trouble

Sunday afternoon was unusual for us.

An afternoon off, with absolutely nothing to do but drink good tea, and watch a film.

Hoorah.

And since we decided to stay in to do it,

we pulled out a film we had been saving for just such an occasion,

made some fast-made scones with raisins

(If it takes longer than fifteen minutes in this house,

exception fresh cooking vegs,

it’s not likely to show up on our menu.

Exception: when guests arrive.

Which is probably why Harald,

I assume in self-defense,

has a rather large propensity for inviting German friends over,

for that holy of holies: German Sunday afternoon take a long walk and eat fancy cakes with butter cream and rum-soaked cake bases.

But this time,  we were actually alone.

butter dripping scones in hand,

and black tea so strong the English would be horrified,

and…

after the film (an early Who, what else),

enjoying a wonderful interview with Elizabeth Sladen,

one of the most obviously warm-hearted actresses of all time,

(her films are perfect for families-and children of all ages)

where she was talking about how hard it actually was working the kind of serieses she did,

and how one night,

after so much overtime she could nearly pay off her mortgage with it,

she played a scene where she stumbles on a witch’s coven,

mumbling “Hekate, Hekate, Hekate.”

Only it was so late, and they were so tired,

and cold,

the women were mumbling “equity, equity, equity”

Equity being the English actor’s labor union.

We laughed.

And then got in a discussion of who Hekate is.

And looked her up on google.

And….

The last three days, I have gotten ads, in both Facebook, my email account, eBay, amazon,

for:

if you can believe it:

witches,

witches paraphernalia,

books on the occult,

the Wizzard’s auto repair company,

a SPICE shop in Vermont,

a group that wants to establish hegemony,

and a trip to Wales to see the Doctor Who exhibition,

with hotel ad.

Then,

after wondering what would happen if I had looked up The Catcher In The Rye:

baseball? Whisky ads?

I had a sudden vision:

One day,

I suggest the twelfth of Oct,

in which everyone on this planet types in great literature titles, and waits to see what the great computer of Oz complex comes up with:

ie:

For whom the bell tolls, (vacation in a monastery!)

Jane Eyre (find lost relatives and inherit a fortune!)

To kill a mockingbird (Hardy and sons Pest Extermination!)

Hairy Potter (Regain hair growth in just three days!)

The possibilities are endless.

Enter your own ideas below.

(We could call it the  Great Lit No Ads Day)

Spring Has Sprung, Fall Has Not Yet Fell, So Why Am I Putting On Winter Tires….?

Usually I love this time of year.

A cool crisp feel to the air.

The deadliest heat of summer finally over.

Leaves not yet turned.

Nothing to wash, rake, store, de-mothball yet.

Yup, finally time for myself.

Time to get out and enjoy all that luscious green the summer has grown,

the gorgeous colors of the food and flowers in the garden,

the masses of berries and corn and squash,

the long walk through the country lanes.

If only people would leave me alone to do it.

Don’t you just hate it when people who have spent the last two weeks  on vacation

screaming, loud music, drinking, club med type vacations,

come back re-energized,

fueled up,

ready to go,

and decide YOU are what they have to get working on?

First, of course, are the friends and neighbors for whom you have spent weeks taking in mail and checking the house and watering the garden.

Who bring you back a key chain in the shape of a camel with “My neighbor went to Tunisia, and all I got is this camel.”

Hmm.

Thank heavens they didn’t bring the real thing.

Then there are those who went to Majorca, and want to show you how you can drink fifteen quarts of sangria from a bucket with long straws.

Or eat a mound of seasoned rice from the table with no plate or silverware. Along with forty other people.

Or how they learned to hula.

Or…be still my heart…

to play the ukulele.

With a plastic instrument that would make Mickey Mouse blush.

Not that it can’t be fun at times.

If you can get a seat far enough back you don’t get spit on by drunks or rice throwers.

Or stepped on when they put on the flamenco costume they bought and dance on the table.

And then there are the truly wonderful people who think that when their vacation time is over-

ie the entire month of August-

their work week  begins.

With phone calls to you about aluminum siding, earthquake insurance, an appointment to have your teeth cleaned,

or your car inspected,

or winterized.

Enough calls to burn out the blinking light on your answering machine.

And THAT, my friends, is when:

you take it as an act of God,

pull on your tennis shoes,

and get out in the green.

Or on the water.

Or enjoy the corn and squash.

At a place so far away no one can find you.

Where you think about and plan YOUR vacation.

At a time and place where you have it all to yourself.

And enjoying it thoroughly, because:

Everyone else is on the phone:

making the third call back to try and sell you winter tires.