• Skip to primary navigation
  • Skip to main content
  • Skip to primary sidebar
  • Skip to footer
  • About
  • Contact
  • Blog
  • San Diego Momma
  • Nav Social Menu

    • Email
    • Facebook
    • Instagram
    • Pinterest
    • Twitter
San Diego Momma

San Diego Momma

Sharing some humor, a bit of writing and way too much information

Home / Etcetera / PROMPTuesday #9: Poetic Inspiration

PROMPTuesday #9: Poetic Inspiration

Etcetera, PROMPTuesdays

Today’s PROMPTuesday keeps it simple.

 

Read this poem (one of my favorites):

 

Disillusionment of Ten O’Clock

by Wallace Stevens

 

The houses are haunted

By white night-gowns.

None are green,

Or purple with green rings,

Or green with yellow rings,

Or yellow with blue rings.

None of them are strange,

With socks of lace

And beaded ceintures.

People are not going

To dream of baboons and periwinkles.

Only, here and there, an old sailor,

Drunk and asleep in his boots,

Catches Tigers

In red weather.

 

Meditate on it for a minute. Then write whatever comes to mind.

 

Here are PROMPTuesday’s rules:

 

  • You must write your entry in 10 minutes. This encourages top-of-mind, primal thinking before the ego and judgmental brain kicks in. Just set a timer, make your kid count to 600 slowly, whatever. It’s an honor system. And I trust you.
  • Keep to 250 words or less.
  • Please have fun. Don’t put pressure on yourself. Together, let’s rediscover the simple joy in the writing process.
  • Post your submission in the comments OR post in your blog and leave a link to your blog in the comments.

Write y’all. Let those red tigers escape.

 

Meanwhile, here’s a retrospective of PROMPTuesdays past.

 

And here’s the original post explaining the PROMPTuesday concept.

 

Finally, here’s my submission for the week:

 


She placed the fork next to the spoon, the way he liked it. She expected him home by 6 o’clock, and she wanted everything to be ready. Just a few more minutes. The platter of ham sat in the center of the table and scalloped potatoes warmed in the oven. He’d want them set out, with a big spoon ready to scoop them up in heaps onto his plate. She poured a glass of water for herself, a rare luxury, since he always liked to be served first, even before she took a sip. But he wasn’t here yet, and she could drink the whole thing and set the empty glass next to her place, no one the wiser.

 

She hesitated before taking a sip, then drank it all in one swallow. The timer dinged in the kitchen, and she sniffed the first faint smell of burned potato. It was time. She lurched into the kitchen, while her legs would still take her. She needed those potatoes on the table. The casserole dish sent its heat into the potholders and she hurried it to the table, relieved to set it down. She dug a ladle into its tufted center. Then she sat at her place, poured his water, and waited to die.

 

Share this:

  • Twitter
  • Facebook

June 16, 2008 · 20 Comments

Sure I’d love to see you again

Previous Post: « Father’s Day: A Succession of Moments
Next Post: June’s Book Club Book »

Reader Interactions

Leave a Reply Cancel reply

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.

Comments

  1. Deborah says

    June 17, 2008 at 8:40 am

    I’m not familiar with the poem (although I loved it) and deliberately did not read anything about it, so this may be the weirdest interpretation you’ve ever seen, but these were the thoughts that came to mind and I went with them:

    Tropical night air, steaming. Heavy with the scent of jasmine.
    Alive with nocturnal scrabbling, skitter, slither.
    Caw! Caw! Darkness cloaks their extravagant feathered hues, but cannot quiet their calls.
    Bloated insects, sated on the blood of their victims, sleep on.

    Inside ivy covered walls, twirling on tiptoes, gossamer floating in rhythm to unheard music, moonlight casts shadows on cobwebs and furniture, but not on them. Time stopped for the dancers in straightlaced Victorian days. Now liberated, timeless, oblivious. Playful, capricious, cavorting, playing tricks on flesh and blood inhabitants, who leave with fearful, backward glances and never return. As the jungle reclaims the stone and glass intruder, drawing it into its rotting embrace, within the walls they ensnare and then repel trespassers with their heartless games.

    Long ago, the sea captain brought his beautiful prize here to this solid structure carved from the jungle, far from the pitiless ocean where he had lost so much. He yearned for forgetfulness in this extraordinary place, alive with the promise of new memories wrought from new lives. Instead, fever overcame his young bride within months, scarlet with the burn of cruel disease, screaming, contorted in agony. He was transfixed, impotent, eyes wide with the sudden flood of old memories. He followed her soon after, struck down by the thrust of his own dagger. Their husks were absorbed by the jungle they would never leave. But their spirits lived on in wild abandon, unencumbered as they never were in life.

    Reply
  2. Deborah says

    June 17, 2008 at 8:42 am

    Darn it, I have “cruel” twice. I hate doing that. Oh well.

    Reply
  3. Deborah says

    June 17, 2008 at 10:12 am

    Wow, I just read your submission. That was really good. I think I should have waited until I was awake to write mine. What was I thinking?

    Reply
  4. San Diego Momma says

    June 17, 2008 at 10:19 am

    Deborah:
    Your submission was full of great imagery and atmosphere. The descriptions are outstanding. Maybe not being fully awake works for you? :) I’m going to try it next time.

    Reply
  5. chabelamarie says

    June 17, 2008 at 11:02 am

    It makes me feel nostalgic for past times. Times when people were not afraid to be themselves, to let their imagination run free.

    We live too fast, too real. Even entertainment has turned into a debacle of the most unrealistic reality TV shows.

    No one dreams of baboons. Society doesn’t even encourage our kids to dream of baboons.

    Only those with wandering spirits like sailors and only under a gentle intoxication of consciousness, allow their imagination to fly and wander in red weather.

    Reply
  6. Momma Mary says

    June 17, 2008 at 12:37 pm

    Wow. I might have to practice some fiction writing. The places I’ve been tranpsorted to today! Amazing! Do I have to put my link here?? :)

    http://mommamary.blogspot.com/2008/06/promptuesday-9.html

    Reply
  7. Cheri @ Blog This Mom! says

    June 17, 2008 at 3:30 pm

    Deb,
    I Lovey McLovey your choice of poetry and this exercise, although I scared myself more with this one than last week’s (in which pretty much everyone saw something serene and I sensed a monster beneath the surface *sigh*). Oh my. I think my ego and judgmental brain is safer than my primal thinker.
    Love, Cheri

    Blog This Mom! has posted her PROMPTuesday #9 submission here.

    Reply
  8. Cheri @ Blog This Mom! says

    June 17, 2008 at 3:36 pm

    Yo. Deb. Now that I have read your piece (I never read the other submissions until I’ve written mine), I can’t help but think how similar they are. We must do lunch.

    Reply
  9. Tony says

    June 17, 2008 at 6:56 pm

    Ode to Sublimation:
    Fleeting, flitting, fluttering
    Feeling once and still and always
    There and her
    (And things from then),
    Memories strewn and time-tossed notions,
    All spidery in predawn haze,
    With solitude and weight –
    And knowing that today will come,
    As it does each day and brutally,
    And finding yet the power to breathe,
    He arises and he lives.

    Reply
  10. Amanda - The Mom Crowd says

    June 17, 2008 at 7:12 pm

    Okay, like Cheri, I don’t read others until after I have written mine. I was too intimidated to write poetry or fiction… Here is my submission:

    Dreams

    What dreams do you have when you are stressed?

    I dream of waiting tables at Salt Grass Steakhouse. I always have too many tables and too many orders. Or I forgot my bolo tie. Anytime, I dream of Salt Grass I know I am stressed.

    I also dream of college. I see myself on the University of Texas at San Antonio campus. Running in between classes. Cramming for a test.

    I don’t have dreams of being naked in public. Only stressful situations.

    I have dreamt of Daniel passing. A co-worker told me not to tell my husband. I did anyway. That is the scariest dream I have ever had.

    In one dream I was being attacked and I yelled at the attacker “In Jesus name go away!” like they were magical words. It worked in the dream, so I feel like it would work in real life.

    My friend Natalie had a dream about me a few weeks before I gave birth. In the dream an angel came to me and said “Fear not” like Mary in the Bible. I remembered what my friend told me the day before I went into labor and I had enormous peace throughout the entire process, because God had spoken to me through my friend to not be afraid.

    I like to dream, but usually they are scary or stressful. If I could choose my own dream s I would dream of eating brownie and ice cream all day and not getting fat. My daughter to grow up and be a Humanitarian that changes the world. To be on vacation alone with my husband wearing a bikini on my perfect body. Ha! Maybe one day.

    Reply
  11. sallee says

    June 17, 2008 at 9:05 pm

    This poem reminds me of when I was a little girl and black and white tv was all most people had. I could watch this little black and white tv and imagine all the colors. For me, I Love Lucy’s hair was red, the fields in the western’s were green, and Cheyenne’s (Clint Walker’s)eues were blue. It was not something I had to work at…but my mind filled in the colors. As I grew older, the colors in the real world began to pale and become less colorful. As “real life” began to happen, the child like imagination that reminded me to watch a butterfly or just watch the trees dance, started to slip away…like white nightgowns, afraid to fill in with color, afraid to take a chance to be “strange”. Fortunately, I realized this when my children began to be born, and even more with my grandchildren. With them, even black and white tv has beautiful rainbows again.

    Reply
  12. http://www.salleebythesea@blogspot says

    June 18, 2008 at 7:45 am

    Deb, I love your response. It somehow reminds me of the movie The Fisher King, in the scene where the woman is waiting for Jack to come home, dinner is waiting, but he does not come…she “cooks like a jerk”…expecting, hoping and dreaming for what he won’t, or can’t give her.

    Reply
  13. Jess says

    June 18, 2008 at 8:30 am

    Posted my response here:

    http://sockproblems.blogspot.com/2008/06/stolen-prompt-from-cheri.html

    A little darker than usual for me. Who knows how I got there.

    Thanks for the prompt!

    Reply
  14. San Diego Momma says

    June 18, 2008 at 11:34 am

    As usual, brilliance in the making.
    Thanks EVERYBODY for being a part of the PROMPT.
    And so happy to read some stuff from people new to PROMPTuesdays.
    You are all fabulous in the most fabulous sense of the word.

    Thanks! You make this so fun.

    Deb

    Reply
  15. http://www.salleebythesea@blogspot says

    June 18, 2008 at 2:33 pm

    Deb,
    I am just excited to find new friends and as a teacher (high school literature, but please don’t hold that against me when you see my lack of control of the English language!) this was FUN.
    And thanks for visiting my little baby blog. As for plane-a-phobia, one word: Ativan. (I love my doctor).

    Reply
  16. Wade Nash says

    June 20, 2008 at 9:40 am

    Suddenly, he noticed something gleaming down in the bottom of the sink . . . down inside the disposal, actually, under that rubber, flappy thing. A glow, of sorts, lay beyond. He rested the scrubber against the side of the sink, dropping the glass with its clinging, concupiscent curds, and leaned forward.

    It was a spyrograph. And colored pens. And his old rollerskates. Sitting there, untouched, as he remembered them.

    Someone was yammering behind him. A voice he heard most nights. Something about spreadsheets and fuel injection and knee braces and insecticide. Something about the second half of that Kerouac book he never finished that sat on the living room shelf, dust blanketing the top edge of the pages. Or was it boxed up in the attic? Or had it been sold for pennies at some yard sale to make room for the annually-grouped Sunset magazine folios. Why hadn’t he finished it? Something about SAT tests, he seemed to remember. And car insurance. And wisdom teeth.

    Was he really here now? Had he really wanted this? Had he already called the roller of big cigars? Was he that roller?

    He reached deep into the drain, . . . grabbed it by the innards and pulled it inside out, the plumbing slopping out onto the linoleum in globbed intestinal piles . . . the small gear ringlets and pens from the spyograph clattering cleanly to the floor along with the skates, a tablet of Mad Libs, his first velcro wallet. Inside, an ASB card — the laminated photo showing his hair parted in the middle, . . . his freckles darker, . . . more defined. And there was something in those eyes. Something forward looking. Something he had not seen in the mirror in a long, long time.

    He strapped on his roller skates – a tad tight perhaps– stood, and rolled through the dining room, past the open front door, and onto the porch. The queen palms stood silhouetted against the phone lines in the twilight sky, a slightly humid and salty taste to the air.

    There was an unread second half of a Kerouac book to find out there somewhere.

    Reply
  17. Cocktail Maven says

    June 25, 2008 at 9:44 pm

    Woah! Wade Nash – I am fascinated and just a tad disturbed by what lurks in that head of yours. . . but I LOVE it! Isn’t concupiscent another Wallce Stevens word? Wasn’t feeling up to participating myself, but I’m really enjoying the diversity of the submissions.

    Reply

Trackbacks

  1. Okay, I’ll Play « Family of Five says:
    June 17, 2008 at 2:51 pm

    […] I’ll Play Filed under: writing — texasgurl @ 10:51 pm For SanDiegoMomma’s Prompt Tuesday, write something inspired by this […]

    Reply
  2. Team Espinoza » Blog Archive » Tuesday Writing Prompt: Dreams says:
    June 17, 2008 at 7:17 pm

    […] Here is the prompt from Deb at San Diego Momma: […]

    Reply
  3. PROMPTuesday: Exercise #9 says:
    June 17, 2008 at 8:37 pm

    […] minutes or less, 250 words or less. This week, the inspiration comes from a poem, “The Disillusionment of Ten O’Clock” by Wallace […]

    Reply

Primary Sidebar

I love words. Every one, every time. (Except “moist.” That word can go.) …read more

  • Email
  • Facebook
  • Instagram
  • Pinterest
  • Twitter

Sure. I’d love to see you again.

Categories

Archives

Blogroll

  • Blog This Mom
  • Da Goddess
  • Dirt and Noise
  • Discover San Diego
  • Foolery
  • Juggling Life
  • Mama Mary Show
  • Mel, A Dramatic Mommy
  • Mom Zombie
  • Mommy’s Martini
  • Motherhood is Not for Wimps
San Diego Momma

Footer

Archives

  • Email
  • Facebook
  • Instagram
  • Pinterest
  • Twitter

Categories

sandiegomomma

sandiegomomma
Back in Lake Geneva after 36 years… Circumstance Back in Lake Geneva after 36 years…
Circumstances have changed since post-Prom-picnic-circa-1986-vibes…
#WhereIsBryanAdamsNow
Dorm drop! 🏫👩‍🏫🥲💕 Dorm drop!
🏫👩‍🏫🥲💕
💫Travel poster for Saturday wine tasting.💫 💫Travel poster for Saturday wine tasting.💫
Celebrating the new 16-year-old with a quick Santa Celebrating the new 16-year-old with a quick Santa Monica trip.
And now she knows she doesn’t want to live in LA….
#LifeLessons
It’s happening….. It’s happening…..
Barely tolerating me….. Barely tolerating me…..
Beach day with my “little” one while big sis e Beach day with my “little” one while big sis explores Cal Poly…
Life transitions. Beautiful but I haz the olds.
#NotAboutMe #Whhhhyyyyy
A rare Bubbie sighting. Spotted in the wild. #HeDo A rare Bubbie sighting. Spotted in the wild. #HeDoesntLikePictures
Sunset squad. Brought a picnic and drinks to Del M Sunset squad.
Brought a picnic and drinks to Del Mar and watched the waves and horizon. Not too crowded or cold - another good hang with the neighborhood gang! ❤️❤️
Imprinting 2021 holidays on my brain (and in my In Imprinting 2021 holidays on my brain (and in my Instagram) (and in my antibodies). It’s a COVID New Year’s Eve…
Husband and I down for the count(down).
BUT. We’re doing decent and it’s cozy up in here…
Winery times! Winery times!
Guys on couch watching football; girls in kitchen Guys on couch watching football; girls in kitchen talking about everything.
Smells like a Sunday neighbor night. ;)
Line dancing lessons… My two left feet did nothi Line dancing lessons…
My two left feet did nothing right - but they did it with gusto.
Looking for a new book to read! #BookClub Despite Looking for a new book to read! #BookClub Despite the seeming divine intervention from above, we weren’t struck with the “perfect” next book to put on our list…..
Post-white-water-rafting super exhaustion. (Oh my Post-white-water-rafting super exhaustion.
(Oh my gosh you guys…! No! I’m not a sports model! But I totally understand how you might think so.) 😜😜😜
I wanted my hair to do that. #NordicSisters I wanted my hair to do that.
#NordicSisters
Dad’s hats on the people who loved/knew/laughed/ Dad’s hats on the people who loved/knew/laughed/sang with him.
Miss you Dad. Hope we do your hats justice. Lord knows we’ll have fun in them, just like you did. 😇
Paso Robles! Wine tasting beauty. It’s stunning Paso Robles! Wine tasting beauty. It’s stunning here. And the landscape is nice too ;).
Found my brother’s old ad copy. Good fun-writing Found my brother’s old ad copy. Good fun-writing inspiration...
Just in case I wasn’t feeling ancient enough, th Just in case I wasn’t feeling ancient enough, the rainbow jumper and white bobby socks oughta do it. No but wait! There’s a bowl cut. Annnnnnnddd giant gold-rimmed specs.
#CentennialFashion
Load More... Follow on Instagram
  • About
  • Contact
  • Privacy Policy

Copyright © 2023 · Hello Chicky

We use cookies on our website to give you the most relevant experience by remembering your preferences and repeat visits. By clicking “Accept”, you consent to the use of ALL the cookies.
Do not sell my personal information.
Cookie settingsACCEPT
Privacy & Cookies Policy

Privacy Overview

This website uses cookies to improve your experience while you navigate through the website. Out of these cookies, the cookies that are categorized as necessary are stored on your browser as they are essential for the working of basic functionalities of the website. We also use third-party cookies that help us analyze and understand how you use this website. These cookies will be stored in your browser only with your consent. You also have the option to opt-out of these cookies. But opting out of some of these cookies may have an effect on your browsing experience.
Necessary
Always Enabled
Necessary cookies are absolutely essential for the website to function properly. This category only includes cookies that ensures basic functionalities and security features of the website. These cookies do not store any personal information.
Non-necessary
Any cookies that may not be particularly necessary for the website to function and is used specifically to collect user personal data via analytics, ads, other embedded contents are termed as non-necessary cookies. It is mandatory to procure user consent prior to running these cookies on your website.
SAVE & ACCEPT