Keep it Simple

Mrs. Backyard Poet was watching some movie the other day. I couldn’t tell you what the name of the movie was or anything else about it, except the closing theme song. It was simply the words ‘you can do anything’ repeated over and over again for what seemed like a thousand times. I was so irritated with it that I got up and left the room. But now, many days later, those words are still stuck in my head. Proving the analogy ‘keep it simple stupid’ is still the best practice and it reminded me of how our lives can be defined by just a few lines or even a few words.

Of all the eloquent speeches and writings of Martin Luther King, Jr. most people can sum him up with the simple phrase “I have a Dream”. Very few of us remember much more. What about Abraham Lincoln? If asked what words from ‘Abe’ do you remember, a vast majority would say “Four score and seven years ago” When we hear, “Elementary my dear Watson”, we immediately think of Sherlock Holmes even though it was never said by that character. Who can tell me the person responsible for, “What is the use of living, if it be not to strive for noble causes and to make this muddled world a better place for those who will live in it after we are gone? How else can we put ourselves in harmonious relation with the great verities and consolations of the infinite and eternal? And I avow my faith that we are marching towards better days. Humanity will be cast down. We are going on swinging bravely forward along the grand high road and already behind the distant mountains is the promise of the sun.” Hardly anyone; but what about, “You make a living by what you get; you make a life by what you give” then we instantly think of Winston Churchill.

Because it’s simple and easy to remember.

Not yet convinced…let me give you a few simple words and see who comes to your mind. Disclaimer…some are not actual quotes from the person accredited for saying them.

“Let’s make America great again”

“Read my lips, no new taxes”

“I am not a crook”

“Walk softly and carry a big stick”

“We are bigger than Jesus”

“Play it again Sam”

“Life, Liberty and the pursuit of happiness”

“You get a car, you get a car, and you get a car”

Even when talking about our neighbors we shorten them to a few words. ‘He’s the bald guy that has the poodles’ or ‘the woman that drives the red minivan’ or ‘the couple with all the kids’. I can remember my father telling an acquaintance about me once.,“You know…the one that lives in the city. He’s married to Deb”. Thing is, everyone knew who he was talking about.

So I’ve been thinking, as us old people often do, about how I would like for my epitaph to read.

Father, Husband, Son, Poet…Friend.

Simple.

How do you want to be remembered?

The evolution of a story!

A while back, I was asked by some friends how I came up with the stories I tell. So I thought I would put this out in cyberspace to let anyone, who might be interested, into my mind for a little visit. This is my seat of the pants process. It works for me. I’m curious to know how do other writers come up with their ideas?

First, I start off with an object.

A table

I just keep asking myself, Who, What, When, Where, and Why and keep expanding.

*There was a table in the corner

*There was a table in the corner with red Formica top and chrome edges.

*The bright afternoon sunlight slanted in through the dirt streaked window. It reflected off the red Formica and exposed the scratches and dents left by thousands of customers in the ancient table in the corner.

*The bright afternoon sunlight slanted in through the dirt streaked window. It reflected off the red Formica and exposed the scratches and dents left by thousands of customers in the ancient table in the corner. One mark, right on the edge closest to the window drew Jerry’s attention. It was a heart with the words Jerry + Deb inside it.

*The bright afternoon sunlight slanted in through the dirt streaked window. It reflected off the red Formica and exposed the scratches and dents left by thousands of customers in the ancient table in the corner. One mark, near the edge closest to the window drew Jerry’s attention. It was a heart with the words Jerry + Deb inside it. Jerry chuckled and a smile creased his face. He remembered the night that Deb scratched that into the table. Everyone called her Debbie goody-two-shoes because she was always so prim and proper. Jerry was probably the only person on earth that really knew her.

So there are many places you can take the story from here. Perhaps I will go this way.

So it was no surprise to him when Sheriff Johnson announced that Debbie had embezzled money from her bank and fled to Mexico. This too made Jerry smile. He looked at his phone again. The text read “Please call me. I am in trouble and need your help…Deb”

Or maybe this way,

It had ripped the heart from Jerry’s chest when Sheriff Johnson knocked on the door that evening twenty years ago. Those words still echo in his mind. “I’m sorry Jerry. On her way home from work, Deb was hit by a drunk driver. She was killed instantly.” Tears rolled down Jerry’s cheek.

Or,

Memories of the past twenty years flooded his mind. It had certainly been a roller coaster ride of emotions for him. Jerry was still lost in his thoughts when the little bell above the door dinged. It startled him back to reality and he looked up at the door to see Deb walk in. She was as beautiful now as she was the day she scratched their names into this table. His heart skipped a few beats as he watched her walk toward him.

“Happy Anniversary!” she whispered as she kissed his cheek.

A wide smile broke across Jerry’s face.

Sunflowers

I journeyed deep along mountain paths

Contemplating life’s complexities

By chance, a wondrous meadow did pass

Its perfume afloat a restful breeze

 

Widely I gazed yet could see no end

Swaying and moving to nature’s strain

Wildflowers surfing on summer’s wind

Their brown faces crowned in yellow reign

 

With poet’s hand I devoured the scene

But words to their song I could not lend

Yet I watched them dance upon the green

My saddened heart rose and I did mend

 

Though I could not capture the repose

With failing words I sadly moved on

My tablet filled with half-written prose

And pen eager to sing unheard songs

 

The Train

Through shoeless feet I feel

The ground trembling

I thrust my fist into the air

And pump it up and down

The blast of the horn drives me back a step

I yell, but my voice will not rise above the beast’s roar

My heart’s beat begins to match the rhythm from the sound

Of its massive wheels and my head swoons as I watch the cars gently roll from side to side…Powerful and terrifying

It seems to lift me off my feet and pull me closer

I am afraid the steel monster will devour me

My legs will not let me back away

At last I see the bright red caboose

I wave my arms wildly and in answer

To my exaggerated welcome

A grey sleeved arm

Slips out the window

The gloved hand waves

The roar subsides

The trembling vanishes

On weakened knees

I cross the tracks

Rain

A lot of people are like a soft summer rain. They blow into your life and everything is refreshing and exciting. But eventually the clouds move on and you are left wet and miserable.