A new year, a new poem debuted on “Exercise Your Writes”, a podcast from the amazing Angela Yuriko Smith on YouTube. My poem “Trigger Warnings” was shared.
I improvised the reading to keep it under the 5 minute goal and truly screwed up that last stanza with a wrong word but it still worked, overall, somehow, in some universe not our own. The prose was electrifying and hypnotic and added more to my TBR pile. Angela’s reactions to the pieces say it all, throughout the six pieces.
Exercise Your Writes! Episode 1- Six Pack of Creative Goodness
I’m writing a poem a day for January as it’s Poetry Month and doing the Stafford Challenge from the 17th.
I survived the Holidaze. Doppelgänger and I went to his moms. Here is the poem I wrote in the car and when I was at at base camp on Christmas Eve. (We already looked alike when we met. Even his mother mentioned it over the holidays. Blurry photo as that’s as good as it gets when taking iPhone 6s Plus pics of horror writers from another dimension.)
Christmas Eve Poem
It went very weird.
Adults can’t adult well at Christmas.
I’m the youngest in the car at 51, unless you count Cooper, the dog, who is much younger,
not converting to dog years.
The dog, in a Christmas sweater, keeps slipping into “a hole” of some sort in the console or passenger seat door hollow in the front seat.
The dog is enjoying the night drive.
His mother and brother are arguing in the front seats and all roads apparently lead to Macon Rd.
“If you hit Macon Road, you’re there“ from her makes me concerned a little.
I don’t want to go to Macon.
We’ve gone in circles thrice, ellipticals, squares,
Made at least 3 U-turns,
Pulled a couple “honey I’m home’s” in random driveways, not getting shot at by homeowners.
I don’t know but I’m having deja vu as the two of us did an impromptu holiday light lite ride alone earlier.
But it’s everybody and the dog in the car now and we’ve toured the dark countryside
missing every Christmas light admiring goal
by a pine forested country mile.
The gas is getting low.
I have no freaking idea where the fuck I am
And all I know is I’m supposed to know where is and did I like going to
“Ludi’s Christmas Light Spectacular” every Christmas
and I have no idea WTF it even is.
I’m not from around here.
I’m from 1200 miles away.
That’s the ultimate goal.
Yes, I saw the light pollution extravaganza,
it’s the final year of Ludi’s Christmas Light Extravaganza.
The subdivision street has pylons, crowds, dog walkers, cars stopped,
traffic directing people in orange vests and flashlights trying to keep traffic moving on a narrow street.
It’s blinding bright inflatable colorful.
Frogs, trees, candy canes, LEDs, even a Ferris wheel, etc
I don’t know why frogs.
The Chipmunks are playing at the Christmas Light Extravaganza.
It was impossible to miss.
It’s gone full Griswald Christmas Vacation.
I may have sung along under my breath to David Bowie and Bing Crosby’s “Peace on Earth/Little Drummer Boy”,
Slid into Greg stifling a laugh when a sudden right turn occured when County Line Rd
snuck up like a snake and bit the driver.
BBQ is the Christmas dinner.
New traditions.
I’m confused.
But it’s awkward fun and surreal.
I don’t want to die in a ditch in the middle of nowhere
on Christmas Eve because his brother can’t drive.
I hope Greg knows I really love him
because I’m being super chill in the face of true absurdity
I have used a mens room at Circle K,
not finding the ubiquitous Liberty chain,
Kicking the seat down with my shoe
Hover-peeing on general principle.
I have major cojones if they asked -
as I’m in this car with his mom, older brother, the dog and us.
Having wandered around Columbus missing out on many displays of Christmas lights.
This is so not a silent night.
It’s a psychotic night.
Fogelberg’s “auld lang syne” non-radio edit on Christmas music station?!?! Seriously?
That’s on the “slit your wrists playlist”!
There’s not enough drugs or alcohol for this and I don’t even do drugs or drink.
The “acorn, what is the horse with a horn” someone asks the backseat captives.
It was a Yule-nicorn I say “unicorn”. Adorable.
It’s indeed Christmas
I almost gag on the vinegar smell of the salt and vinegar chips Greg picked up when we refueled.
Dramamine needed for motion sickness
We are tweens eternally in their minds
Actually an adult couple holding hands,
In his brothers compact car,
Looking for excessmas lights.
Exchanging looks and rolling eyes,
enjoying the mid-century architecture immensely though,
I try not to giggle. But I get the giggles.
It is not not silent night.
It’s a psychotic night.
It’s Gilligan’s Island but it’s over a two hour tour.
I recognize the street sign that leads to his mothers finally after the circles squares ellipticals we’ve driven around in.
I thank baby Jesus for having ever been born
at any time of the year in any season
because I know we, and the dog, will be getting out of the car very soon.
My next post will be a peek into the bizarre random Google searches an editor does in one day of work and insight into the writing process of poetry. I’m pretty sure Google search is worried about me.
What sort of content do you want to read? Comment below!
Happy New Year, everyone! Let’s write!