Definition

One must make a distinction however: when dragged into prominence by half poets, the result is not poetry, nor till the autocrats among us can be “literalists of the imagination”—above insolence and triviality and can present for inspection, imaginary gardens with real toads in them, shall we have it.

Friday, May 25, 2012

Snap, Baby!

Hey! It's time for Fireblossom Friday once again. I know this because my life got crazy and I freaking missed it (almost)! So let's talk about stress, pressure, the stuff that sends people around the bend and over the edge. 

Let's talk about (and write about!) the sort of stuff that makes ya snap.

There are days and then there are days. You know the ones. The days when you feel like you should be wearing a big warning sign.

The stuff that makes ya say, "I'm gonna need a bigger boat!"

Lots of things can push a person too far. A screaming child,

A boss from hell,

You name it! In fact, that's just what I want you to do. Write about things that make you or your fictional character lose it or come close.

Clear?

 



 Oh, and by the way. Everyone have a nice relaxing weekend!

___ 

19 comments:

hedgewitch said...

Great prompt, Shay--I must go brood on it now and see what hatches.

Teresa said...

You might regret giving me free reign to unstress. Hmmm....work or farm....

Hannah said...

Oh, WOW!!! You must've had a magical ball and glimpsed the madness of MY day. I just let it ALL go. Phew...and thank you, Shay!!! Perfect timing. :)

Susan said...

I enjoy your illustrations of this prompt--especially needing a bigger boat!

Lorna Cahall said...

I enjoy the poem I linked to...or, should I say it is how I get sometimes. I mostly snap when there's no way out!

Kerry O'Connor said...

Thanks, Shay. Real Toads always come through - even on crazy mad days. That's the magical part of the garden.

DEZMOND said...

I'd love to live in a hell in which Meryl is my boss :)))

Fireblossom said...

I apologize for being late with my challenge, and I hope everyone who wants to take part will still be able to!

Mama Zen said...

Wouldn't miss it, girlfriend!

Laurie Kolp said...

Glad everything's okay, Shay.

De said...

LOVE this! :)

Kerry O'Connor said...

I'm not sure mine really fits the theme, but it's what I wrote today, the first thing I've written all week. Have at it.

Kerry O'Connor said...

Susan, the page of your current post didn't load. I had to go to your home page in order to read the last poem you posted.

Susie Clevenger said...

Shay,I so needed this..someone has had me flying my broom and I finally had enough of it..I can now return to my sweet..well less caustic self again. :)

Susie Clevenger said...

BTW I am glad to be back...

Ella said...

wow, I have felt this way lately...
Off to read everyone's and figure out how best to express mine...okay
not best, lol

Kay L. Davies said...

I did it, I did it, I did it. I was sure I couldn't (now there's stress) but it came to me in a flinding bash.
Good prompt, Shay.
K

Margaret said...

This is so funny. I WILL write about this, but it will probably be posted after this busy-crazazee weekend with family and friends. Thanks for hosting

Susan said...

Amazed by the #'s of "I can't even imagine it" responses to my "Snap" poem "Sculpture," I responded with another poem. It is on my site, but also here:

"I cannot even imagine it" we echo in comment and response while thinking of the latest news of moms and grand moms and fathers killing children. And so, of course, I try to imagine it, but I start small.
I have no problem imagining squashing a mosquito--I've done it often enough--red with my blood or empty--but we are not of the same blood.
A little larger? I think I am ready. I have seen dead birds often, I have picked them up and moved them to the side, limp heads hanging from strangled necks. But that hurts more than all the mice I have killed over the years, eventually learning to place the trap inside a brown-paper bag so the blood is contained.
What if it were my gentle little kitty, whose legs are so delicate I can feel the parts sinewy and strong in my fingers. I love her like family, though she was invented to teach me the guilt of neglect. And I think of Dog abuse and pet abuse in general, a training ground for human on human violence.
I hold your hand and put myself through the old ritual of the Empowerment movement: This is the hand of my friend. This is like the hand that throws grenades and straps on bombs. This is similar to the hand crushed under the boot heels of tanks. This is the delicate hand I smooth, the one that cradles me, the one I comfort. Can this hand kill a child? I can not imagine it.