Writer's Gallery

Wild Writes on this page are arranged by author. They are timed topic writing exercises. Like stretching before exercise, the point of Wild Mind is to warm up creatively, to give ourselves permission to lay it out on the page. The edit process can come later... or maybe not at all.

Pigs Can Fly:
I believe that people crave the company and acceptance of our peers 
like we crave drink on a hot desert day. I believe this craving is 
the instinctive force that underlies our kindest acts, and our most 
foolish behaviors. I believe it makes us malleable. It drives us to 
go with the flock- not matter which way the flock is flying. 
 
I believe this force is so powerful that we use it to power 
great civilizations. Or to destroy them. With the force of 
our longing, we can raise God into heaven.
 
To earn some small approval we will smoke cigarettes, 
wear starchy suits, watch football, drop litter, or eat liver. 
We take up jogging, chew gum, and pretend that Levis jeans look good 
on anybody’s ass. 
 
We will deny global warming, drink mercury water, and leave our 
dog’s shit on the sidewalk if it will prevent us 
from feeling embarrassed. 
 
We will spend money we don’t have yet to buy gigantic cars. 
We will have our noses, breasts, ears, or boobs cut if 
that’s what we think will get the girl, win the promotion, 
or secure that spot on the cheerleading team.
 
We might adopt a starving African child, or burn down our 
neighbor’s house.  We might choose believe that we are members 
of that one special group- the one that has all the right answers 
and is definitely going to Heaven (when everyone else is going down) 
or we might opine that the world is flat.
 
We might sweep our neighbor’s porch, contribute to the Red Cross, 
or donate our time to a food bank.
 
I believe that this force is an elemental feature of human nature, 
and I believe that this is poorly managed. 
Clever marketing campaigns tell us we’ll never get a date without 
Head and Shoulders, we’ll never be loved 
if we don’t look like Uma, and we’ll never get cancer from 
smoking cigarettes.
 
I believe that we could choose to use this impulse for good- 
that we can teach ourselves to evolve into something greater. 
I believe we can build a society where integrity is rewarded, 
and kindness is as common as hair gel. I believe we can end poverty, 
stop war, and give everyone enough love to make it through the day.
 
I believe we can make it cool to pick up our dog shit.

I believe we can do this all by ourselves, without new laws or 
a different President.
 
I believe it starts right here, with my every day choices.
 
 
Rules:
Some rules are obvious because people tell them to you.
“No more giggling, it’s time for sleep!”
 
But some rules- most rules- are things you figure out for yourself.
Like not complaining.
 
One time I complained to my Dad because I didn’t like our babysitter, 
Trudy Peterson. I told him about drinking milk made from a powder 
(and not even cold!) and I complained about the gross behavior 
of her many sons. Particularly, I complained about Darrel, who was 
about my age, and enjoyed inventing creative ways to eat boogers.
 
I’m not sure what else I said to Dad about Trudy Peterson, because 
I’m not sure what else I had to complain about. Trudy was brisk 
and efficient with us, but I don’t remember her being outright mean. 
And I enjoyed playing with Darrel and Dominic just as often as I was 
mortified by them. Whatever my complaints were, they boiled down to 
just one thing: I didn’t feel comfortable with Trudy.
 
Not that this was unusual. When I was a kid I didn’t feel comfortable 
anywhere. I sure didn’t feel comfortable a week later, when I sat in 
the front seat of Dad’s station wagon, watching through the windshield 
as he told her she was fired. I didn’t feel comfortable the whole, 
long ride home thinking about how Dad was going to find us a new 
babysitter. I felt mean. I felt guilty. I felt like a Pain in the Ass. 
 
When I said those things to Dad, I never expected him to actually do 
anything about it. Except maybe give Trudy a stern lecture on 
the dangers of powdered milk.
 
That’s when I learned the Complaining Rule:
Never complain unless you really really mean it.
I didn’t complain to my Dad again for four years. Not until we moved 
to California, and that was serious business. Thankfully the rule 
held true, and Dad took action again, removing us abruptly from 
dread state of California.
 
Other rules I learned on my own include:
Eat what’s put before you. Except liver. Hide the liver.
Don’t talk about Mom
Don’t be any trouble. You never know when you’ll suddenly be 
too much trouble, 
and it will be time to go live with some aunts and uncles.
Don’t tell Dad, “I’ll have whatever you’re having.”
Don’t talk about feelings unless they’re happy ones, like, “I love you”
Be helpful
 
Some of the rules I picked up as a kid are still useful- 
like the complaining rule.
Some of them have had to be unlearned, like the 
‘no talking about unhappy feelings’ rule.
Some rules, I’m still trying to learn.
Like, “Don’t get mad at your husband for not doing something 
you didn’t ask him to do.”
 
When I was a kid, I assumed that grown ups always 
know the right thing to do.
Now I know different. 

Earthquakes:
No place to run to—can’t get away from it.  The earth is no longer 
terra firma ---nope, firma it definitely is NOT.  
Plates rattle like falling children’s blocks.  My feet vibrate and 
toes try to get a better grip on the floor.  
But the floor doesn’t cooperate one little bit!
 
This earthquake business is always unsettling.  Who knows how long, 
how strong, or what will be left standing.  
Come to think of it, my life has been filled with 
emotional tremors and quakes—just like Mother Earth.  
And I’m still standing, not broken.  Shaken, not stirred 
just like James Bond’s perfect martini.
 
 
Genuine Simulated Oak Veneer:
Step right this way, ladies and gents and take a really good gander 
at this truly fine piece of furniture crafted 
by our artisans and made of genuine simulated oak veneer.  
No finer materials are available - guaranteed to last 
at least 6 hours after you get it home.  
It’s a real heirloom to pass on to your kids!
 
 
My Favorite Car:
 
I had never had a car like my little red Miata.  It was love 
at first sight on that September afternoon in 1989.  
It’s the only vehicle that I have ever seen that captured 
my very essence and heart as soon as I laid eyes on it.  
Now, a grand old lady at 17 years of age and 187,643 miles,  
she is still spunky with lots of zip.  She’s still cute 
and all the grandkids want to ride in “Nana’s little red car”.  
Yep, she still got what it takes (as, hopefully, so does her owner).  
While we two do have much in common, 
I rarely appear in public with my top down.
 
 
Music:
  
Pictures in tones wrap time and space into sound—now pleasant melody, 
now strident discord.  Always moving, never static.  
A carpet of sound that embraces the soul and brings a smile to 
the lips and a tear to the eye.  Ever changing and always the same, 
touching heart with delicate remembrance of past and promise of future.
 
 
Senior Moment:
  
Damn, damn, damn!  What did I do with it?  I had it this morning 
right before breakfast.   I remember putting it on 
the nightstand when I went to bed last night so I could find it 
easily in the morning.  I also remember using it 
before I left the office for lunch.  I’d used it off and 
on all morning…but now, I can’t find it.  Damn, damn, damn……..hmmmm,  
besides my mind….What in hell am I looking for?
 
 
Dipping Sauce:
 
My life has been like an afternoon spent at dim sum.  
A little sweet and a little sour, some tart, some hot, others piquant, 
a few like alum and others like plum sauce.  
Experiences and people are like little packages of dim sum, spiced with 
all sorts of dipping sauces for me to sample, explore and enjoy.

Body:
My body, a tired melon
shallow stream moving over pebbles,
rocks, and boulders.
 
My body, here and now
as moonrise breaks tired bones, releasing
shards of glass from aching weary joints.
 
My body exhales, wants 
to cry, float, then sleep
at the smiling feet of lotus walkers.
 
 
Cooked Wieners:
The first time I laid my eyes on a red Hawaiian hot dog, 
snug in its soft starchy bun, I thought I might gag.  
Friends and family know that I am not a fan of the hot dog, 
wiener, or nitrate stick, as I prefer to call them.  
Red.  Why red?  Nothing says "artificial meat-by-product 
like a juicy red hot dog, cooked to perfection, covered 
in mustard and relish.  Delicious!  
 
 
Velvet:
Out on the back porch, I enjoy a glass of red wine and 
sing to the stars with Ella Fitzgerald--a duet through 
time and space.  Bliss, beauty--a red velvet night when 
the planetary alighnment is just right.  I lean back 
in the chair, taking in the scent of night blooming jasmin.  
Mars smiles down at the purring cat in my lap, 
humming a few bars with Ella.   
 
 
Homesick:
A big toothy grin and a deep belly laugh is 
what I miss from my sister.  That smile and laugh reside in the 
Pacific Northwest--three airplanes, two connections, 
and too damn far away.

Sure, I can call her on the phone, but something is lost, 
not translated over the miles and miles of phone 
and fiber optic line.  I can't wrap my arms around that.  
I don't laugh till I cry like that.  

I cry for different reasons now.
 
 
Dishes:
Mist touched my cheek
a gentle caress,
like a lover soft and warm,
like you.
Away in tomorrow’s yesterday
minutes to hours and days.
Away to nights kissed with
ginger, sunshine, laughter.
Away to romance pictured
in the pages of dimestore books.
Away from too much life
and this sink of soapy dishes.
To kiss, to kiss you. Yes! - a kiss.
Hands moving, I sigh,
through blue green water.
Laughter rings, I see your face,
but you will never know.
Hot water breaking over platters
in the tiny kitchen late at night.
Mist touched my cheek
a gentle caress,
like a lover soft and warm,
like you. 
 
 
Seed:
Strange seed, fleshy pod falls to earth, stripped of its 
fiberous shell, sweet-tart flesh, jelly and pulp 
the color of day old blood.  
The tamarind seed, a beautiful thing.  
No decent pad thai without it.
 
 
Beat:
She took the stage,
licked her lips, then
moved the microphone close to her thin red lips.
 
Holding a wad of wrinkled 
paper in her left hand
she started to read
gesturing with her hands 
swaying to the thythm
reading her poetry
about love lost
broken hearts
better days
lessons learned
and tube socks.
 
She read her poetry
her bad, bad poetry
with the flair of
a good good beat poet.
 
Perhaps she should get a beret.
That... might improve things.

Summer:
Fresh cut grass, heavy and green
in the air - Barbequed ribs
and bread fresh from the oven.
Chlorine from the pool
and coconut tanning oil.
 
Cold beer in an icy glass,
the smell of damp dark earth
and the hum of june bugs  
late at night.
 
Ahhh!  Eternal summer
 

Moment:
In the moment before I cared
what you might say -
that little voice inside me,
that little voice that started out
a whisper
and ended in a roar
said
then shouted: Just say it!
 
The hesitation on your breath,
your very being,
it betrays you.