Main

September 08, 2007

a poem to bide the time

So I'm working on a "paper" (for lack of a better post-education word) based on the thesis that the Cowboy is the American Epic Hero. It's something that has been ruminating since the first time I taught World Literature and examined the idea of the Epic Hero in great detail. Since then, I've jotted down ideas, noted epic characteristics in movies and stories, and little else. It hadn't really formed itself into an actual work of any kind until a few months ago when I watched Open Range again. Great western, by the way. Today, I pulled it out again to continue working on it. I'm liking it. It's solidifying, though I am lacking specific examples. I may have to do some "research." (aka watch some cowboy movies) At any rate, it isn't ready for posting, but I hope it will be soon. In the meantime, here's a poem to bide your time:

Corridor
Footsteps echo in the darkness.
I pause, struggling to determine
the nature of the emptiness before me.
I cannot.
The echoes fade to quickly;
change to rapidly.
Hesitantly, I chance a few more steps.
More echoes.
No more enlightenment than before.
Apprehension appears
to check my progress:
what if there is a wall just there?
what if unseen stairs await?
what if...what if...?
I stop, frozen for a moment,
trying to decide what next.
To step forward in the darkness
is filled with risk.
To stand still is to stagnate.
One option is safer, simpler.
The other is life itself.
Cautiously, footsteps echo again.

March 06, 2007

a fragment of elsadore

Part one: Princess Elsadore

“Goodness gracious!” came the exclamation. “What happened to you?”

Princess Elsadore squished her toe into the carpet and did not look into Nurse’s eyes.

“Well? If you think you can avoid answering just by looking at the floor, you’d better keep thinking.”

Elsadore sighed. Without looking up, she explained. “We were doing lessons outside and while Tutor was talking I looked over and saw a frog hopping along and I followed it but I didn’t pay enough attention and I followed it right into Papa’s pond.”

Nurse gazed rather placidly, yet slightly sternly, at the girl was she fled through her description.

“Well, that explains the water, but what about the mud and dirt?” Nurse was tapping her foot just the barely a little.

“You see, Nurse, the bottom of the pond is mainly very muddy and my feet squished in and then I fell again and then one more time and when I finally got the edge”--she took a deep breath--“I tipped right over the little wall and fell flat on my front in the dirt path.”

Nurse sighed and shook her head, but Elsadore could see the teeniest but of a smile at the corners of her mouth. Finally, she turned and went into the bathroom calling, “Trina!” as she went. In a few minutes, a nice warm bath was drawn just for Elsadore.

While she took a grand soak in the tub, Nurse went bustling to find Tutor.

“Nurse, I am deeply sorry. I tried to warn her about the pond, but she just didn’t hear me.”

“Ah, but the question remains: why was she chasing a frog during the middle of your lesson?”

“Well, to be fair, I was going over the Age of Quietness. It really isn’t the most exciting….And I suppose I was just a little engrossed in reading Phineas’ description of King Edgert the Peaceful…”

“Oh. Well. That makes the whole scenario just okay.” Nurse pursed her lips. After staring down the poor flustered young man for a moment, she relented. “Tutor, I realize that you are fervent about your lessons; but, you must also be fervently attentive to what Her Miss is doing. She is a bundle of mischief, and your responsibility.”

“I know. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

Nurse didn’t have the heart to remind him that he had said the same thing last week after Elsadore had wandered to the Library window and let in a startling number of pidgeons. She sighed, shook her head, and walked back to Elsdaore’s room just in time to remove her from her grand soak.

Nurse folded Princess Elsadore into her lap, still wrapped in her large, warm towel.

“Now. Missy, what are we going to do with you? Hmm?”

“You could tell me a story, Nurse.” She sat up and turned to Nurse. “I wish Tutor would tell the History the way you tell stories. Then it might be less boring.” She collapsed back onto Nurse. “I know I would listen better then.”

Nurse chuckled. “That may be, my dear; but, you really should choose to pay better attention anyway. Tutor works very hard on those lessons. No story now—it’s almost supper time and we must get you ready.”

“Supper!”

Downstairs at supper, Elsadore’s father beckoned her over.

“My dear Elsadore, I have heard a story that cannot possibly be true.”

Elsadore looked at her feet.

“Look at my face, Elsadore. I’m speaking to you.” King Sacha’s eyes twinkled through his stern face.

“Yes, papa.” Elsadore looked up.

“Well, my dear? Is the story true?”

Elsdaore twiddled her toe on the floor. “yes, Papa, it’s true. But the lesson was so boring and there was a frog and the frog was so interesting and it looked at me and I just had to follow it.”

“A frog, eh? Well, I do agree with you that frogs are extremely interesting. Even so, Tutor spends a lot of time preparing his lessons. Is he more important to you than the frog?”

“Yes, papa.”

“Then, you should pay more attention to Tutor than the frog, my dear.”

“Yes, papa.” Elsadore hugged her father and raced back to her chair to enjoy the lovely supper.

...to be continued. (c)2007 by Renee Doiron

January 17, 2007

poem

Haunting spirits hold me back,
inflicting spectral pain as I try to step.
Fear creeps through me.
I wonder, "Will this step be a mistake?"
The spirits say, "Yes."
One spirit holds more sway than the others.
This spirit mocks my initiative:
You'll fall;
You'll lose;
You'll give your heart to one who isn't right;
You'll never find someone quite like me;
You'll never be satisfied.
My heart quakes in response.
What if this spectre, all the spectres, speaks truth?
Is my fear a part of who I am?
Or is it only the voices of haunting?
Why can't I turn the voices away?
Instead, I let myself pause
on the verge of each step,
inundated by the haunting spectral pain.

January 03, 2007

suggestions, suggestions

I am working on a story/book right now about a princess named Elsadore. She's 7. She's very curious, and in the story she will discover something that she must investigate because she is so so curious. And it will get her into trouble. But of course, everything will be okay in the end. And I've written a very nice start to the story in which Elsadore gets into some trouble by following a frog away from her lessons and into the royal pond. Here's my problem: I can't think of anything for her discover that's not either really ridiculous or completely out of character for the story. It isn't a magical story. It isn't a very silly story. It's a charming story. So I am shamelessly asking for suggestions. If you were a very curious, seven-year-old who prefers following frogs to listening to Tutor, what would you discover that would lead you deeply into mysteriousness? Or would you overhear something and conjur a wild and off-base interpretation of it? What do you all have to offer to my dear little Elsadore?

August 08, 2006

the gauntlet has been taken up

So I've been tossed the challenge by Jesse G.

1. One book that changed your life: Till We Have Faces by C.S. Lewis

2. One book that you’ve read more than once: Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte

3. One book you’d want on a desert island: The Book of Images by Rainer Maria Rilke

4. One book that made you laugh: By the Light of the Moon by Dean Koontz

5. One book that made you cry: The House of Mirth by Edith Wharton

6. One book that you wish had been written: How to be courageous in confusing situations

7. One book that you wish had never been written: Democracy and Education by John Dewey

8. One book you’re currently reading: Eragon by Christpher Paolini

9. One book you’ve been meaning to read: The Decameron by Boccaccio

10. Now tag five people: Cooper, Marlo (sorry, dear, i'm running out of other options), Kinsey, Kylie, and Rachel M.

Of course, anyone may take up the gauntlet, but these five have been specifically challenged and tasked to take it up. Refuse it at your own peril.

June 12, 2004

Ghost

My mind is haunted by you.
I hear your voice when you aren't there.
I see you in the faces around me.
And when I close my eyes, alone. . . .
I have tried, many times,
To exorcise you from my heart,
From the very corners of my head.
But you always return.
I am hopelessly yours yet. . .
You choose not to come and claim me.
So I watch your spirit cavort
Through the pieces of my heart,
Wondering what to do.
Haunted by you.

The Witness

The noontide is dark,
No sunshine I see;
And all because of
A man on a tree.
All morning O watched
As he hung there so weak,
And then when he died
It seem'd God did speak.

The earthquakes are done,
But spirits still walk.
Who is this man
That makes the earth talk?
He must be God's Son
Just as he said.
But now it's too late:
God's Son is dead.

- - -

It's been three whole days
Since the man on the tree,
But of my despair
No end do I see.
But see, hear the news-
These women are mad!
They say to rejoice;
To no more be sad.
They say He is risen
That man on the tree;
They say from my sorrow
I now can be free.
'How is this true?'
I ask. 'He is dead!'
'Oh no!' they reply.
'It's just as He said.
'He is risen, alive!
And on the third day!'

And then I see Him.
What more can I say.

React

My thoughts lie fallow on the ground.

I cannot react or respond.

The news is too heavy to allow

Me to think on it.

I stare in shock at the bearer.

She waits for response, for answer,

But nothing comes.

My mind is too overwhelmed.

I simply stare at her,

Unbelieving.