Paint Chip Poetry #43: Prompt – To Nightby Percy Bysshe Shelley. “Our paint chip words and phrases are cabin in the woods,deviled eggs, cotton, Aquarius, blossom,showtime, and night owl. The bonus angel card is trust . . . . Use however many of these words and phrases you want. I don’t plan to use them all this week, just to mix things up a bit.”
I don’t know what they are so upset about. It’s not like it’s unusual these days, Gregor fumed to himself. Family traditions are stupid anyway. Isn’t this a free country?
But upset they were at his abandoning of a tradition that dated back to even before family’s arrival from the old country over a century before. Gregor Gregorson had arrived with his father back in 1904, and set up a small butcher’s shop near the town centre. Ever since then, the family had maintained its identity as Gregorson’s Fine Meats. Six generations of Gregor Gregorson’s had provided the community with the highest quality meat.
Gergor the Ninth, now a father himself, had thrown the family into chaos. Not only had he married a vegan, but now he was stepping away from the family firm to open a green grocer’s, of all things. If that was not enough of a shock, he made matters worse with his son’s name. Yes, how could the family ever forgive him for naming the family’s future head – Gregory?
January MorgueFIle b73d79db023d064c929f24196dc3383c
I had been a rather lean year for Taylor Brothers Gardens and Fencing. The new contract was going to be a boon for them. In fact, Jake thought it a good time to bring his son-in-law, Steve on board.
Steve was “between jobs,” and it had been that way ever since Jake had known him. Oh, there had been a few interviews, but Steve always came back still jobless with phrases like, “It’s a tight economy,” and such on his lips.
“Okay, this is going to be your big chance to prove yourself,” Jake told his new hire.
“What is it exactly that I need to be doing?” his son-in-law inquired.
“Really, simple. You will go to the address on the front of the file and replace the rotted fence posts and run some new wire. It really is as easy as that. You start in the morning, and I will see you on Memorial Day.”
“Memorial Day?” Steve queried.
“You’ll see,” Jake said with a contented smile. He never did care much for that boy.
Homeward bound Thoughts like me adrift Gone so long Kith and kin Now to me unfamiliar I’m now a stranger
Colleen’s Weekly Poetry Challenge is to write a syllabic poem on a theme of the poets choice. This week I thought I would give the shadorma form a try. Colleen’s site notes that, “The Shadorma is a poetic form consisting of a six-line stanza (or sestet). Each stanza has a syllable count of three syllables in the first line, five syllables in the second line, three syllables in the third and fourth lines, seven syllables in the fifth line, and five syllables in the sixth line (3/5/3/3/7/5) for a total of 26 syllables.”
With the winter holidays approaching many people will be making a homeward journey. Some to familiar friends and family, and others to more distant childhood homes. For some these reunions are a mix of confusion as well as joy, and I hope I have captured that in the poem.
Unfortunately, I will as like most years will not be able to return to the land of my upbringing and the loved ones there.
Ernie sat in the corner and pouted. He couldn’t believe the unfairness of it all. He had his dreams, and now they seemed dashed. Okay, Dad was a plumber, and Mum was from a long line of electricians, but why should that matter? After all it was his life wasn’t it? But no, his father had put his foot down, and Ernie was going to enter an apprenticeship into a building trade. Yet, all he ever wanted was to go to university and become a librarian.