Karen R. Sanderson's Blog

Painful Process

Can’t write
I’m blankfamily march 3
Last typed
It stank

Sitting here
Fingers quiet
Cursor blinks
Creative diet

Tapping keyboard
Marking time
Can’t make
Deadline

Fingers stiff
Head full
Imagination
Set to lull

Beers swilled, shots tossed
Slouching now
Completely lost

Laptop
Slammed closed
Deadline missed
I’m hosed

Grab pen
Ink to page
No sense
Growing rage

Rip it up
Start fresh
Stanzas done
Still a mess

Note to self
Bury head
Give it up
Go to bed.

***
Odednews-files-2013-02-gold-nugget-660-jpg[1]

What is an ode?
Just a part of something else.

It’s unearthed in a mother lode,
And buried in a secret code.

Shaped inside a fashion model,
Sung amongst a mountain yodel.

***

Rollercoaster

Topsy-turvy
Stomach rumbles, a little erp
Should have waited on the buttery popcorn.

Topsy-turvy
Mouth opens, roiling burp
Wish I’d passed up that Tex-Mex chili dog, y’all.

Topsy-turvy
My clenching stomach is swilling greasy
Shoulda said…

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Celebrating Sri Lankan Women’s Writing in English on International Women’s Day

The English Writers’ Cooperative of Sri Lanka

in association with

 International Centre for Ethnic Studies

cordially invites you to a Literary Evening

Celebrating Sri Lankan Women’s Writing in English

Thursday, March 7, 2013;  4.00 pm – 6.00 pm

at the

ICES Auditorium , 2, Kynsey Terrace ,Colombo 08

Moderator:

Kamini de Soysa

Programme

Introduction to the EWC  – Vijita Fernando

The Narrator in Creative Writing – Prashani Anjali Rambukwella

Readings: 15writers from their works

Participating Writers

Nanda P. Wanasundera             Summary         Emerged  Kandy Women  

Premini Amarasinghe                 Poem                 Realisation

Rukshani Weerasuriya               Poems               The Birth,  It is no sacrifice

Basil Fernando                              Poem                  A Woman for Other Women

PunyakanteWijenaike               Short Story       Reconciliation

Shireen Senadhira                     Poem                   Where Am I

Sakuntala Sachithanandan    Poems                  Daughter, Rizana, All is Burning

Chitra Premaratne-Stuiver    Poem                    Lechery Machismo for the Birds

Myrle Williams                            Short Story         Investigative Journalism

Jayanthi Kaththriarachchi    Poems                   Patachara Laments,. Gratitude

Faith   Ratnayake                        Poem                      Hands

Jayani  Senanayake                   Poems                   Loku Amma, Lender of Perfumes, The Other Woman,                                                                                           Advice on entering the Adult World, The Gorgon

 Mariam Riza                               Short Story          The Child that Died

 Shirani Rajapakse                    Poem                      December Sixteenth  20/12

 Vijita Fernando                          Short Story           The Prize

 

Karen R. Sanderson's Blog

pamela wight snow

Snow Falls
Pamela S. Wight

Snow falls as silently as stardust on a bright clear night.
Stardust covers the houses and the trees and the ground and you –
if you’re out on a star-filled night.
The sound is a hush.
A hush as haunting and beautiful as a
mother’s lullaby to her newborn babe.
It’s the same sound of snow falling on oak and dale,
on lampposts and driveway, on forest and plain.
But the snowflakes are exposed by their very nature;
they are white and pristine on a background of pewter sky.
The snow shines like elegant moving polka dots
floating with the grace of a thousand ballerinas.
It’s the dance of nature’s beauty,
of the grace of life and death,
of love from the spirit of the universe.
Snow falls silently so we can hear
our own delight at nature’s spectacle.
Snow falls silently so we can…

View original post 122 more words

Karen R. Sanderson's Blog

Etymology

The word Valid comes from the Latin,
(As so many words do),
Originally meaning
Be Strong.

I want what I am feeling
To be valid,
But I do not want to
Be Strong.

Love
Is not so simple as
Validity.
It may be Old Germanic
(With a bit of Latin thrown
in too, just for good measure).
It means many things:
Desire,
Pleasure.
But it is also a bedfellow to the word
Leave.

I desire to pour myself
Into another human being.
To fill up all their dark spaces with
Light and understanding.
To feel pleasure in their company
And in the fact that they are near,
And always will be.

But I do not wish to be left alone,
And I do not wish to be strong.

***

I think of you easilyMairi 3

It is such a relief
Not to care anymore
Not to have that painful catch

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My poems are on today.

Karen R. Sanderson's Blog

Saturday Afternoon

Webster perches on the table
by my side and waits

ever patient. Spell check is
sometimes negligent. I think he

gets into moods. He takes his own
version, tries to impress.

Tells me I am wrong and he’s
right. He never

admits he’s wrong. Not even
once. How like a man. Spell check’s

a young punk with his
pants hanging down to his knees.

“Wassup?” he calls to
the air as he struts around in designer

shoes. Not much help there. So
old Webster hangs out by my side in

dignity. Ever patient. Old is gold they say,
while the newness is oblivious to it all.

***

Inside the Old Room

What would the wallsDSC01711
say if only they
could speak? Would they

tell you of the dreams
I dream when I am
not with you, or my thoughts

that I speak out
for no one to hear

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Poetry Week continues with poems by Beverley A. Hoyles.

Karen R. Sanderson's Blog

Beverley Hoyles CVR and spine

Across the bridge

beat of my heart
like rock n roll band
plummet to acute silent
moment in time
before the scream
a split second
multiple scenarios
the mind have crossed,
penalty weight heavy
tempo and meter
dark in my head
do I dare demand
runnaway
it’s been a long time coming
cannot go gently,
walking across
tears stream down
know first hand
the loud cries
of anguish
truth and substance
haunting deja vu beckon
you hear but not listening
my pleas unheard
secrets disguised
I pound my chest
agony of soul
of futility
devoured by darkness,
travel twisted veins
bleed vestige of hope
jagged rock of defeat
grounding grinding growls
earth bowls of rumble
forever lost,
pointless
it’s mad absurd
my wails of why
unnoticed
I yearn for freedom
how can you pretend
scum of sum prevailed
captive between
shiver and shook
the loss of light and focus
your…

View original post 837 more words

It’s Poetry Week at the Word Shark. Starting today with Karen’s signature piece to her mother and Bocelli. Watch this space for more throughout the week. My poems appear on Wednesday.

Karen R. Sanderson's Blog

img005I kick off Poetry Week with what I refer to as my signature piece, Mom and Bocelli. Today is Mom’s birthday, so I thought it fitting.

Mom was born Lois Jane Holmes in Lansford, PA, February 18, 1921. She loved her family and instilled “loving family” in all of us. She was a seamstress, a crossword and quote-acrostic puzzler, a meatloaf to beef bourguignon chef. She could jitterbug and waltz; she liked the classics and opera and big bands. She studied French and Welsh and could pronounce Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch (it’s a town in Wales and if you don’t believe me, here’s a YouTube pronunciation). And she loved Phillies baseball – she took notes and could discuss trades and stats with anybody.

I miss her awful.

***

Mom and Bocelli

Mom introduced me to Andrea Bocelli several years before she died,
And he comforted her throughout her final days.
He’s…

View original post 245 more words