Friday, May 28, 2010

7 Day Writing Challenge - Day 5

Sorry, I'm a bit late today...

5th Day. Nearly there. Don't give up : )

1. A few red poppies between the leylandai at the edge of the garden, and one, completely on its own, in the centre of the lawn, though by the time I walk out to look at it close up the petals have been blown from the stem, or brushed off by the cat, and scattered in the grass. Such things that are beautiful but so quickly disappear.

2. Trim the fat from a magret de canard, score the skin in a diamond pattern, press crushed green and black peppercorns, crushed coriander and cardamom seeds into the flesh. Cook in a hot skillet, skin side down to burn off the fat, for 6 minutes, then turn and cook for 6, 7 or 8 minutes depending on whether you like it rare, medium, or well done. Let it rest on a wooden board for 5 minutes. Fry thin slices of apple in a small amount of butter for 1 or 2 minutes on each side. By now the juices will have started to ooze from the duck. Slice the duck thinly and fan out on the cooked apple. It was delicieux.

3. an armful of fresh laundry these days I feel I am waiting for things to happen


Helen said...

1. So much to understand today. I take heart that even the lavender sea loses clarity.

2. Tiny china dogs in my display cabinet. Dust-protected but as fragile as my daughter’s pinky as she reaches up to stroke them.

3. The tender excitement of my sister’s visit to come. To see her face containing my mother’s and father’s features, still smiling.

Helen said...

Lynne, what time is lunch ? Mmmmm

Erin Lee Ware said...

1) Walking into the grocery store, an old man catches my eye. He smiles, raises his eyebrows, and loudly says, “Hello!” I find myself still smiling minutes later while turning over peaches in the produce section.
2) Early afternoon. Rolly-pollies on the hot pavement.
3) Bending over to kiss me goodbye, my husband’s skin is cool and smells of soap, his hair still wet from the shower.

Glenn Buttkus said...

It is still early on the other side of the globe,
in America, in Washington State. My day is topsy-turvy, and will not be able to get to the office until later to add my official (3) observations. So my entries will arrive late as well, late but lush with simile and sardonic splendor. Thanks Lynne for coming up with yet another terrific writing exercise. I am enjoying all the posted gems. Good work all!

frankthepoet said...

1. I slouch off my blanket of sleep, leave it crumpled in the bed. The sun is low in the window, my shadow long in the room. I should be dreaming. Even the plants look fast asleep, quietly tucked into their pots. Outside the streets are empty. I need to go back, start again.

2. She lives beside her picture on the side table. I've taken to sitting there more often - sometimes, like now, in the early morning, other times, in the dark of the room. "You wouldn't like this programme" I might say, if the TV's on, or I might try out a raw poem, to no response. There are times I pick her up and put her to my ear. If she is in, I can wake her voice. But sometimes she's just miles away.

3. The fridge never loses its look of heaven - all that celestial light when I open its doors. It is keeping little pieces of my life safe for me - a half sausepan of soup from the day before yesterday, a loaf of bread in a bag, a row of eggs like small surprises, marmalade, opened cheese growing thick armour. It's all there. When I open the freezer, frost pours out and beneath, boxed meals she left with me for days like these.

Lu said...

You have so much to write about, Glenn! I enjoy reading all the posts here, so different, so colourful.

Lu said...

1. He narrowed his eyes in the Saturday sun. “… I was wrong”, he cleared his voice, “you’re right, Mike. A great decision to marry our beautiful daughter.” Applause, laughs, cheers, and of cause, tears. “I made another two errors in my speech”, he shook his head, whispered to his wife.

2. May rain, our dinning table is flooded with letters from school admission offices.

3. No aroma diffusers smell better than the scent of the sun as I slip under my blanket.

Lu said...

Sorry, a typo - of course.

Glenn Buttkus said...

Thanks Lu, like your stuff too.


A coyote, skinny with scruffy
yellow-gray fur, eyes first
red from the sting of my
seal beams then flash-white
with reflex, caught for a
wild instant in the LED glare
from my Suzuki. He had been
slinking from yard to yard
at the end of my alley,
running free in the suburbs,
giving up the hunt for dog
scraps or stray cats
It stopped for a pregnant
moment, staring mean at me,
informing me that even here
it had dominion and power,
and I was only a diversion,
a nusance, before it bolted
back into the thick green
belt on the edge of town.

Today there was another
panhandler at the freeway
exit, this one in a sad
wheelchair, rubber on his
wheels shabby and gray
duct tape covering cracks
in the vinyl of his seat,
the naked stump of his
below-the-knee amputation
riding proud on the left
arm cover, wearing a greasy
camouflage hooded poncho
that mantled most of his
UofW sweatshirt, a John
Deere ball cap pulled
down over his eyebrows--
his shaded eyes looked feral,
red-rimmed with dark circles
under them, an addict's thin
cheeks with four day's growth
of gray-red beard, just sitting
in the rain holding a very
wet cardboard sign, hardly
readable as the ink ran
and the letters smeared:
"Disabled Veteran--Homeless--
Hungry--Any Amount Would Help
--God Bless." As I rolled
by hearing my radials on
the wet pavement I took the
easy way out, and avoided
eye contact.

Strolling through the newer
section of the Puyallup
Tribal Cemetery, I came upon
an odd stone, with the
inscription written in gold
leaf on Italian marble:
"Infant Marcus Sixkiller.
April 1964--June 1964.
An only son who brought us
tremendous joy during every
day we spent with him--
who one day sprouted Cherub's
wings and flew home. See you
soon, Junior. Don't forget us."
Someone had erected a tiny
white picket fence around the
child's plot, and several
kinds of colorful daisies
were planted in the black nurturing soil. A carnival
fan stuck in the middle of
the flowers spun hard in the
breeze, and at its base
wooden cars and trucks
circled it. There was a yellow
plastic turtle with an orange
shell on its back. A one-eyed
weather-beaten vermin-knawed
Teddy bear was propped up
near the headstone. I baptised
it with my own hot tears.