Put It All Down - A Place for Your Feelings

[Dee]

Congrats on the mastering of colouring your posts, Peggy Baby I Am New Here. Soon you won’t be able to use that as an excuse, by the way. Thanks for the lovely comments on my little starter offering above - and I knew some of this might be too sentimental for you but I can’t seem to help that. I quite enjoy being sentimental and the welling up of tears from time to time. Makes me feel weirdly connected to the fabric of everything really.

I love this writing prompt so much. The possibilities are endless, I feel. Must write another.

One of the things I love most about this exercise is the required use of third person. It immediately allows you to create these personas, and that, for me, takes a lot of pressure off. True, the little baker in my poem has a lot of me in her, but she’s not quite me. I could in fact picture her in my mind in her own home... and I was amazed how much easier it was to write about someone else, even is she’s part me, she also effortlessly became her own character.

[Lori]

So here is my first idea, and first draft of said idea.

The Cake


times like this call for baking
she announced to the walls
the spider and the cat

and put her glass bowl on the table
with a clink of fresh determination
taking a moment to savour the hollow of emptiness
the start of all creation

she broke
the eggs
open

separating white and yolk
easily like truth from lies

in went the golden caster sugar
the last of the summer days

the soft scoop of butter
a caress from a dream she cherished then

a sprinkle of salt into the wound
a tear for the unattainable

the grated zest for life
and a wooden spoon to stir things
up again

some baking powder
and the soaring power
bracing to face
whatever may come

the flour snowed slowly over the bowl
a little hit and miss
like children’s jokes and half written songs

she mixed it all with a steady hand
and poured her heart into the dish

into the hot oven with it she said
and set the kitchen timer

ticking away the disappointments
and broken ambitions

as the scent of comfort slowly
recoloured the house

and the bell rang for the reward
this steaming wonder of chemistry

she apologised before stabbing it
repeatedly with a fork

only to make way for the lemon juice
and tender anticipation
to penetrate every last morsel of hope

a handful of sugar she sprinkled on the top
to sweeten this afternoon of longing

she pulled up a chair
and herself together

it’s gotta be worth the calories she said
and cut herself a large slice of life

Dee, this is enjoyable and indeed delectable line after line. I was in the kitchen with this woman while she gathered and utilized the ingredients she seemed so familiar with. I liked the determination from the beginning, savoring what is to come with the empty bowl.

she broke
the eggs
open

This is where the ride began! I like the way these lines are written: "she broke" this a decisive moment of action - an action much needed "during times like this" "the eggs" the fragile little elephants in the room and in the poet's life - perhaps each egg represents a situation, sorrow, or even joy. "open" Out in the air and ready to deal with in the light of day and ready to be used to create something new and wonderful out of chaos.

Each verse adds to the beautiful whole - the longing goodbye to summer days, folding in hurts and disappointments, and adding anticipation for what is to come. The coils releasing and being replaced by the comforting smell "recoloring the house". I loved this line as it depicts the shift in perspective we have so often as humans where we suddenly see things with a new eye. Beautifully put. The "grated zest for life" is perfection and perhaps the most important of the ingredients!

she apologised before stabbing it
repeatedly with a fork

only to make way for the lemon juice
and tender anticipation
to penetrate every last morsel of hope

Interesting choice to use an apology to an inanimate object. Growth can be painful, can it not? And the pain and growth make way for a deeper existence. This hearkens back to the eggs being broken and open. In this section, it feels as though this action speaks to being open to receive and change, literally infusing lifeblood and calling forth strength and hope, no matter how difficult. Salt in the wound and now lemon juice - yet, it is a positive catalyst, rallying hope and forward momentum.

it’s gotta be worth the calories she said
and cut herself a large slice of life

Love-love this final line. So beautifully telling and succinct. I give this poem 10 *sighs* for its completeness, imagery, and creativity. You know I've always enjoyed your writing big time. It is fun to write in 3rd person. I see you in the subject (woman) and her approach to beauty, simplicity, and proactive determination. Really a wonderful piece, PIC!!!!!

[Dee]

Thanks Pic, for such a super lovely review.

You’ve unravelled the ceremonious breaking of the eggs thing beautifully. I loved the description of them as “the fragile little elephants in the room and in the poet's life”.

And yes, I was trying to show the process of getting a grip on a difficult situation, psyching oneself up to keep going and move forward. The “grated” zest of life turning into a delicious and luxurious slice of life, by simply turning towards and engaging with it fully.

The apologies before the stabbing thing: Yes, it probably is laden with a lot of layered meaning. It’s just a silly something that always crosses my mind when I do it: This lovely new creation just out of the oven, all pristine and beautiful, then I’m required to break that surface over and over creating little holes for the lemon juice to penetrate the cake. It’s necessary, but it’s not pretty, and not a part I enjoy!

[Moonchime]

This enjoyable and deceptively simple piece took me quite by surprise Dee - with a very different take on the "putting it all down" theme. No ordinary place to put things- no floor or table but a cake! What a great idea.

So here is my first idea, and first draft of said idea.

The Cake

times like this call for baking
she announced to the walls
the spider and the cat

Now the question in my mind is what is meant by "times like this" - the pandemic, depression, a sad/bad mood? I get the impression of isolation in the fact that she is "announcing" to her walls and the animal life around her. You can almost here the echo. The determination to find comfort.
Then there is the wonderful image of her "savouring" (great word) the emptiness - before time began...

she broke
the eggs
open

The layout in this verse is different and gives an emphasis to each line so that we could read "she broke" more generally before we know it is the eggs she is cracking, with the yolk and white being compared to truth and lies - apparently easily separated? Certainly true in retrospect.

The next 2 verses have the warmth of summer about them but then the poem turns to thoughts of sorrow, with the pain of salt in a wound and tears for what was never to be.

But then the mood swings around again and she adds some "zest" for life and the energy to keep things going with the "wooden spoon." The determination not to slump too far into the depths of sorrow and recrimination.
Indeed the baking powder that gives rise to the cake is like the power and resilience drawn up to face life's challenges.

She stirs it all with love but at the same time she has matter of fact attitude in what must be done as she says "into the hot oven with it." You can put love effort and into life but you can't control every outcome.
The regrets and upsets of life loom up as the kitchen timer ticks by for the cake; we cannot stop the effects of time or the way in which it shapes us.
But no sooner than we have reflected on those things than we bounce back to the wonderful smell of the baking filling the house with warmth and colour - making everything welcoming and good again.
Ironic then that it is lemon juice - known for its bitterness that adds such a glorious flavour to the cake and transforms it from the ordinary - but it has to be "stabbed with a fork" before this change is possible. The richness of life is woven from all our experiences, good and bad. Sometimes the most beautiful things come from something we did not want or choose.

Of course I love the humour of the those last verses and in the last verse:

it’s gotta be worth the calories she said
and cut herself a large slice of life

So even though we suffer pain and sadness - well - life is one helluva ride!!!!

A fabulous metaphor Mz Dee - just one problem I'm really hungry now!!!

[Dee]

Yet again I’m humbled by the kind words of appreciation and the time you amazing ladies have taken to deep-dive into my little cake mixture of a poem above.

My dear MoonChime-CupCake, thank you so much for your lovely and thoughtful review. Really a pot on.

Regarding truth versus lies... I think recognising the difference is often almost as simple as separating yoke from white. When you dig deep enough, you can answer most things with yes or no or rather! Often I find that the label ‘complicated’ is just an excuse to avoid answering the question.

I really can’t wait to read your ‘Put it Down’ poems. Hope I won’t need to wait too long?

[Peggy]

I consider the below "poem" not a real poem just a poetic excerise for the SHE PUT project and a practise of writing. For me the concept that I came up with was more important than to carefully choose and detail the things that she put... So:

SOMEWHERE

she put the car key, the monkey wrench and the violin clef
into a basket.
she put the ripe peaches – the pride of her garden – in there too.
she put those long-haired girls and
the chestnut that she picked for her dog to play with.
She poured into the basket the smell of the rain
and those vivid shades of green and
the hissing sound of tyres on wet pavement.
Into the basket she put the gnawning uneasiness of the distance
that slinked in between her and a friend
and the taste of the wind (that blows
the long hair of those beautiful girls),
the grey monolith of her tiredness
and finally she chucked his constantly beeping
smartphone in there too.

so she became light like a balloon
and happily flew up high,
somewhere,
over the rainbow.
(and she carefully folded its colours into the basket too).

but then she had a funny feeling…

so with a hook she fished the chestnut out of the basket
and put it back in her pocket. and the peaches. and the tyres.
and so she did with the car key, the monkey wrench and the violin clef.
she reached for the wind and the rain, for the shades of green
and for those long haired girls and tucked them all back into her pocket.
she pulled out of the basket the colours of the rainbow
and even the gnawing distance and the smartphone,
and squeezed them into her buldging pocket.
but she did not find her tiredness.

and so she landed with a smile and smoothly touched the ground.

[Dee]

This is just delightful Mz D!

It might not be fully polished but it has a wonderful feeling of embracing life with all its beauty and idiosyncrasies and even all the crappy parts. First the need to cast all of it aside for a brief while, because of all the hideous tiredness (physical and emotional), and just to feel weightless, dissolve in the moment, and then realising it’s time to embrace it all again, because that’s what life is. A fun twist that the tiredness disappears in the unpacking and reclaiming, but it makes perfect sense that something will remain from the floating feeling that has dispersed the sense of bone tiredness.

Besides the uplifting experience described and the positive message, the poem has some cracking lines and wonderfully chosen images.
So much to love here. The violin clef. The dog’s chestnut.
The long haired girls, and I love how they return later.

This is my favourite part though, exactly as written, this feels super polished to me:

Into the basket she put the gnawning uneasiness of the distance
that slinked in between her and a friend
and the taste of the wind (that blows
the long hair of those beautiful girls),
the grey monolith of her tiredness
and finally she chucked his constantly beeping
smartphone in there too.

This chain of thought here with its poignant observations and associations... Brilliant, Dorka, love it.

Are you planning any more writing for this exercise?

[Dee]

This list style has endless possibilities, hasn’t it?

I’ve been obsessed all my life with the thought that somehow a space you’ve once occupied retains something of you and what’s happened there, long after you’re gone.

With moving house in a couple of months, this poem has been brewing for a while, and this list structure seems to be perfect for it. So here it goes, still in draft stage.

Echoes


what hides inside these walls i wonder
besides the solid bricks and mortar
the plaster and the layers of
paint for all those happy-fresh starts

have they absorbed our children’s raucous laughter
the hugs and kisses and the bedtime routines
does pingu live in there
does harry potter

will the endless board game scores stay
etched into these observant walls
is there an art gallery inside
are poems scattered on the floor

do these bricks resonate with all our music
the piano and the smooth jazz saxophone
the cheerful jigs from a tiny little fiddle
the relentless beat of the african drums

is there a jukebox tucked in there
with echoes of our eclectic tunes
will the obligatory carpenters
continue to play on every christmas eve
when we’re no longer here

will the walking dead roam confined inside forever
do vampires lay there trapped behind the walls
will stuart lee ever find his sodding way out
do the walls feel eternally cursed
‘cause you know
“everybody heard about the bird”

will they crave the scent of our famous apple crumble
the fish curries and late night pancake parties
will those be missed
will the walls wonder where we are

do they hold onto our dreams
like movies on repeat
will they keep our secrets
recall our best jokes
remember our voices
the tears of the darker days

i run my fingers through these walls
i lay my head against them
and listen for us
i wonder what we will leave behind

[Lori]

I am in awe of all of you. Simply amazed (but not surprised). There is so much to treasure in the two writings above. I am in a creative vortex right now and HAVE to finish something but will be back!

[Peggy]

This is just delightful Mz D!

It might not be fully polished but it has a wonderful feeling of embracing life with all its beauty and idiosyncrasies and even all the crappy parts. First the need to cast all of it aside for a brief while, because of all the hideous tiredness (physical and emotional), and just to feel weightless, dissolve in the moment, and then realising it’s time to embrace it all again, because that’s what life is. A fun twist that the tiredness disappears in the unpacking and reclaiming, but it makes perfect sense that something will remain from the floating feeling that has dispersed the sense of bone tiredness.

Besides the uplifting experience described and the positive message, the poem has some cracking lines and wonderfully chosen images.
So much to love here. The violin clef. The dog’s chestnut.
The long haired girls, and I love how they return later.

This is my favourite part though, exactly as written, this feels super polished to me:

Into the basket she put the gnawning uneasiness of the distance
that slinked in between her and a friend
and the taste of the wind (that blows
the long hair of those beautiful girls),
the grey monolith of her tiredness
and finally she chucked his constantly beeping
smartphone in there too.

This chain of thought here with its poignant observations and associations... Brilliant, Dorka, love it.

Are you planning any more writing for this exercise?

thank you, Dee! You really got the core of the poem and what you highlight is the absolute heart of it for me too!!!
You know, I am trained in a method called FOCUSING. There is an exercise there called "Creating Free Space". The She Put Theme reminded me of that excersise, where you listen inside and try to feel what is/are between you and you feeling good/relaxed. And whatever you find, you put outside of yourself. You can even wrap it into sg, if you want and you can feel, how far it feels good to place the certain thing. Is 20 cms enough or do you place the given thing as far as Canada, for example. Once when I did this exercise in a group one "result" surprised me: there was one participant, who - when got rid of everything that was between him and him being calm - started to feel anxious and so he relaized that he has "stockholm syndrome" with his worries...

[Dee]

That's very interesting, Peggy. I know a lot of people who cling to their worries, because they don't know how to exist without them. For starters, what would they talk about if they can't complain, if they can't share their problems? Some people take this to such extremes that it's almost like a competition. "You think you've got it bad? Then listen to my problems, they'll make yours look like nothing in comparison." Seriously, I know some people who simply cannot stop complaining. They appear to thrive on it. Funny old life.

[Moonchime]

I consider the below "poem" not a real poem just a poetic excerise for the SHE PUT project and a practise of writing. For me the concept that I came up with was more important than to carefully choose and detail the things that she put... So:

I find this exercise really interesting because we have all approached it differently and come to it from various perspectives. It is producing rich fruit indeed!!!

I very much enjoyed this piece Peggy and found myself smiling numerous times.

l love the idea of the monkey wrench because it's so down to earth and has a wonderful practical aspect to it - in contrast to the more aesthetic association of the violin clef that it is put in with. That got my mind whirring on different planes.
I agree with Dee that the last few lines of the first section are particularly powerful and the image of her tiredness as a grey monolith was particularly vivid in conjuring up a huge sense of weariness.

However one of my favourite lines as to be:

and finally she chucked his constantly beeping
smartphone in there too.

The fact that she "chucks" the phone in instantly gave me a sense of her frustration and annoyance with the phone's constant bid for "his" attention - excellent - I know that feeling so well.

Then the poem changes mood and takes on a floating lightness which so wonderfully banishes the irritations and tiredness so that she takes everything back again - even that grating upset with her friend; she is refreshed and able to cope once more.

I also liked the way she craftily packs in the colours of the rainbow and then takes them out later. She's certainly an opportunist.
A thoroughly entertaining piece Peggy. Thank you.