Small Stones for Jan. 2 through 4 2013

jan13badgesmallI figured I should catch up while I had a chance, so here are stones for the 2nd through 4th, all inspired by our National Capital Region snow, and the icy cold temps that we’re having right now!

 

 

Furry Things

hibernate in winter, safe
under layers of soft brown

we shiver inside our skins
turn dials to crank up the heat

CS Jan 2 2013

Sun Bright against Blue

intense that sky, white clouds
mirror the snow piled high
our house burrows into it

CS. Jan 3 2013

Discarding Christmas

wadded torn and tattered wrap.
skeletons of Christmas trees, all
their finery packed away, only
errant icicles still cling to boughs,
perhaps a bit of tinsel, all waiting
leftovers to feed the garbage truck

CS  Jan 4 2013

No-Comfort Zone Week ending March 18

Carol A. Stephen

This week I sent off 8 poems for submission to an anthology being assembled by a group I belong to, The Ontario Poetry Society. This was rather a safe move  though, as at least two will appear. But still, it is submitting, so I am counting it!   I have done more submitting so far this year than most years entirely, so I am feeling good about it.

I attended the launch of two chapbooks at Tree Reading Series, and was one of the readers for that. These books came out of the two Master Workshops Tree has put on: November 2010 and August 2011.  Another is coming up next month which I will also be attending. The presenter is John Barton, a well-known and respected Canadian poet and editor of The Malahat Review.

Back in January, when I started this challenge and the River of Stones one, I had attended a pottery workshop here in Carleton Place at the studio of Victoria Jenkins. Some of you had asked me to put up the pictures, which I did so the other day. You can see those in my post titled Pottery Cat and Penguins on March 16th. I have also reposted the small stone entitled: Claywork along with the pics.

POTTERY CAT AND PENGUINS FROM JANUARY CHALLENGES, PROMISED PHOTOS

Here are the promised photos of the pottery pieces I made back in January.

I had written a small stone about them, but working in clay was also a new challenge for me.

 

Here is the small stone again:

Claywork 

finicky fingers hate
to be sticky.
cautious, they hesitate
to work the clay.

but the brick is cool
and moist, waiting
to be poked and prodded,
pounded and flattened.

hands, suddenly eager, begin
to mold pieces into a plate
to hold penguins as they cuddle
and cluster in one corner

do they fear the kiln’s fire
or are they just a little
too far from home?

Carol A. Stephen
January 11, 2012

 

Not sure what happened to my penguins. The two larger ones were supposed to be on either side of the smallest, with the father penguin’s wing sheltering the small one, and the mother’s touching the baby on the other side. But I was warned that they may not be in the same place after firing. I still like them anyway!

And, as you can see, the cat turned out to be more of an impression of cat or memory of cat rather than anything approaching a real one, but at least you get the idea. I think.

Carol

 

 

31st and final stone: letting go

Carol A. Stephen

Well, my river journey for January has come to an end. I will be taking part in a different writing challenge for February. The Southeast Review offers a 30-day Adult Regimen for Writers.  I’ve done it a couple of times before, and it is also a challenge, but in a good way. Lots of good writing came out of it last time. So I am looking forward to it. Today’s stone came from two ideas: first, letting go at the end of a journey. Two, how something of us remains attached to objects and places. We may be able to let go of them, but do they let go of us?
Letting go

a house becomes attached to things.
to routines, beliefs. to people.
they all leave, in one way or another.
the house remains, adding another layer,
a patina of its own history, its own connections.
when a house creaks and sighs in winter
it is dreaming its past, memories sinking deep
into its bones.  When the time comes,
the house lets go, knowing its ghosts remain,
a blanket to keep its story warm.

Carol A. Stephen
http://www.quillfyre.wordpress.com