Thursday, August 11, 2011

I know my poem has nothing to do with the Scrabble assignment. Since I have been able to make it to the meetings, I thought that I would share my latest poem.

I have been to the other side and back.
I have learned how keep my life on track.

I have experienced dark days and teary nights.
I wanted to see heavenly lights.

I felt like letting go.
I would tell God to take my soul.

He showed me signs that
told me it wasn't my time.

I am so thankful for the
love and support that is plentiful.

I am not done with this life.
I am going hang onto it with all my might.

Listen to me God as I now say,
you can take me when I am old and grey.


Tuesday, August 9, 2011

Scrabble Words

       This is my second trip to Mumbia and I am not looking forward to the heat and lack of adequate facilities in this Indian city. I hear the zoom of the engines as we vie for airspace on this transatlantic flight. My name is A.J. Moss one of the purchasing and product managers for a Canadian aerospace company. Upper management has decided to continue it's investigation into what seems a superior brass hex nut that was used in the fighter plane "the Gnat".
       I am thumbing through a flashy magazine and see that Akon has arrived in New Delhi for a concert. His song 'I'm coming ova'(sic) is gaining ground on the Indian pop charts. I think to myself "ya suck" and toss the mag back into the pocket in the seat. Time to think. Need a plan of action and a way to get the ideas in my head in line with what the company is looking for. I slip off to sleep with visions of India seeding my dreams.    What seemed just a bit later I wake up in daze. My mind seems to be playing tricks on me. Maybe I should not have had that last gin and tonic... The pilot announces that we are preparing to land. How long did I sleep ? I get through customs and look for my regular driver Mr Mehra who was to meet me at the airport. Not seeing him there was raising the ire of my already foggy disposition.  A man in a faded jute dhoti came over to me and said he was sent by Mr Mehra to pick me up in the auto rickshaw he pointed at. I did not know what to do. My mode of travel in India at the last trip was always in a regular cab. Certainly not in one of those rough rickshaws. Do I try to call a cab or do I trust this man Amir as he called himself. I step into the auto rickshaw.       Traffic in this city is chaotic. Amir maneuvered around as best he could. All of a sudden we were side swiped by a cab ( of the like I should have been travelling in) I had a deep gash in my brow. Amir was frantic and had some of his friends take me to a healer a few blocks away. I had to duck my head to enter the door which had a tigers head carved on it. After my eye's adjusted to the dim light I looked in awe at all the beautiful Hindu art that covered the walls and ceiling.       Sitting on a stool was this old shaman with dread locked hair down to his waist. He was wearing little but a small dhoti and garlands of flowers around his neck. Amir spoke to him in his dialect and the healer whose name I found out was Buti stood and looked at my bleeding head.  After a few minutes of chanting he said he could rid me of the injury. Buti immediately started gathering an assortment of herbs powders and figs which he beat in a small tin bowl. He told me he would slather this potion on my brow with special prayers and all would be well in my life. As he worked on my brow he chanted. I left feeling much better and the gash on my head was barely visible. Amir quickly took me to the hotel where I rested as per shaman's orders. I was filled with wonder at this new old side of India that I had not experienced before.      The next day was my meeting with Rhohit Shah the CEO of the plant. I'm not sure what happened to my head yesterday but it was exploding with grand schemes and my proposal was greeted with enthusiasm. A done deal was made. The bump on the head must have helped or was it something else...    
1 comment8/4/11by Rosemary

Sunday, August 7, 2011

Scrabble Rousers!

What a great meeting, once again. A group of us - a bit of a motley crew, but we are loveable - met to affirm and encourage each other as writers. Hopefully everyone who came had a super time and we sure did miss our absent friends. We are slowly growing (welcome new members - Barbara, Caroline & Bev)and some are getting braver about sharing their work and pushing toward publication! Hooray...

So the highlight of this past meeting was to listen to the fabulous creations of our Scrabble Rousers! Just to give a brief background - those who were at the June meeting played Scrabble. The resulting words were to be used in a story / song / poem / or in another creative manner and were then to be shared at the next meeting. I think we all enjoyed hearing what everyone had to offer. We are encouraging all Scrabble Rousers to post their creations here. Thanks Janet for starting us off (and thanks for including the list of words after your story!)  Here's my offering:

"That Kind of a Girl"
                                                                               by Glynis M. Belec

It wouldn’t be the first time my crazy ideas got me into trouble. I thought perhaps if I were to get rid of the gray hair, slather on some Oil of Olay Perfect Skin Moisturizing makeup and don a pair of my old faded jeans, then I might just beat her at her own game.

I was barely fifty years old and I wasn’t that type of girl – mind, body or spirit. Besides I was not ready for this. I was able to zoom through any given day and daze the daylights out of anyone who crossed my path. My busyness validated my existence.

“Slow down!” my friends used to say. I guess they were in awe at my ability to leap tall buildings and plan my moments. Some told me that the way I worked if I would go mining for ore I would likely hit gold. I liked that. It gave me a sense of purpose!

But on that particular day, I heard she was coming and I was ready.

“Vie for my spot as lady of the hour, would you? I don’t think so, darling.” 

My ire was in stark contrast to her calm presence, though, and it started to bother me a bit. My mind raced as if twenty tigers were in hot pursuit. What could I say? What should I do? I considered putting a hex on the whole thing but then I remembered that that would not be the Christian thing to do!

I mopped my sweaty brow, rubbing away some of the Oil of Olay mud. I looked at my hands. They felt like mushy figs.

Everyone stood there, just staring at this new kid on the block.  I might as well have been wearing a jute smock…I guess my once girlish figure seemed to suddenly swell into ripples resembling a spare tire or two.

What was I thinking? Who was I kidding?

“Ya’ [sic] know,” I said sheepishly to anyone who cared to pay me any attention, “I guess my gig is up. I’m not fooling anyone with this fa├žade, am I?” I felt like an insignificant gnat.

Then someone touched my shoulder. He was a handsome one, even if he did spit out a pistachio nut shell before speaking to me.

“Hard to believe out of all her ova, God selected the perfect one.”

I looked at him. He seemed sympathetic and gently ignored my kooky attempts at covering up the real me.

“Yes,” he continued, “the fine art of life is not in our hands.”  He pointed to the little bundle.

I stared at the child. She tried to suck her tiny, perfect finger. I was done. I suddenly realized that getting older was just part of life. Gray hair is a sign of wisdom. Wrinkles are laugh lines. Something was seeding my senses.

It was as if moss had been fogging up my vision. My brain cleared and I started to slip into the role that I was destined to be.

This precious little child was my healer. At fifty years of age, it turns out that I was that kind of girl, after all. Grandmother – mind, body, and now…in spirit!

Saturday, August 6, 2011

Scrabble Words...

My ideas are done…
I gaze in awe at the setting sun
Like faded tigers sprawled across the west
I slip my plan to He who knows me best

Life can suck the dreamer dry
I had a bit of dream once, in my eye
Beat the drum low, with gathered brow
Dreams are the ire of dust, ya’ know…

But He who plants the hills with ore
And paints His art across earth’s shore
His way is perfect, pure and just
He sees our dreams slather the dust

His art now tints nut tree and moss
It glows with crimson, like the Cross
Where we can rid ourselves of guilt
Because of perfect blood He spilt…

His way is upright and astute
He bends the will of iron or jute
I grasp His love in humble daze
A gnat cannot escape His gaze

The ova of the devil’s hex
Seeks to torment me and vex
Me with the seeding of a lie
Good and evil seem to vie…

…for fruit upon my trembling lips
Can a thistle tree bear figs?
Clouds of dark fore-boding zoom
To sic their evil lies of doom

But then I lift my tortured eyes
To the Painter of the skies
His glory bathes a sin-cursed land
The Healer stretches forth His Hand…


Here is a list of required words to use..
1. faded
2. awe
3. daze
4. zoom
5. my
6. done
7. ideas
8. hex
9. slip
10. figs
11. vie
12. slather
13. it
14. healer
15. seeding
16. rid
17. bit
18. beat
19. tigers
20. sic
21. ire
22. plan
23. just
24. jute
25. ore
26. to
27. moss
28. ova
29. ya
30. suck
31. know
32. brow
33. gnat
34. art
35. nut

If anyone reading here is interested in joining, check it out!!! Our next meeting is at the Studio Factor in Drayton on Sept. 9.There's is just one thing you need to be there....yourself!...oh, and one more thing about us...we are having WAY too much fun:)) Hope to see you there!