New Poem

I’m calling this one Epitaph–and yes, it’s morbid. I’m not sure if it’s considered a prose poem or free verse, though. 😊

I hope you enjoy!

Epitaph

Cry not for me,

when I’m old and senile

with graying hair and wrinkles

and gapped memories

and painfully failing knees.

Cry not for me,

When I have more medicines

Than I can remember taking

For all chronic illnesses

In all letters of the alphabet

That are Hardly worthy mentioning.

Cry not for me,

When I drift away

On silent wings

Of downy dove gray

Colored for my wonders and sins

Filled with joys and tears

Of a life well lived.
Cry not for me,

For I’ve had a great life

Maybe long, maybe short

My regrets remain mine

My annecdotes, around I assigned

In morning recaps, drinking  coffee and tea with ice

And chocolate cookies and triangular pies.

Cry not for me,

When I’m gray and weathered

For I leave behind

A clutch of children

Hatched with every emotion

Ever born across the ocean

To carry my memories.

Cry not for me,

For I’ll always be present

Perpetuated in the actopms

I leave behind

As The legacy of my life.

Copyright © 2022 Jina S. Bazzar

Image taken from Pixabay.

Warning: Writing is bad for readers

Aside from cutting my free time short, writing has affected my reading habits in a lot of different ways, and they aren’t all nice.

Back in the day, I’d pick up a book and just read until I reached the other cover – I’d even read the copyright statement, acknowledgement, biography and, if included, the bonus chapter from the next book.

When my time got shorter and books got available with a bigger variety, the only thing that really changed was the fact that I got pickier. Back then, I didn’t mind if there was a typo, a plot hole (small one) or if some paragraph didn’t make much sense. I simply ignored the mistakes – because they happen, we’re human after all – and went on with the story. My rating of that book was the result of my overall enjoyment, meaning, I didn’t try picking the book apart – writing style, plot, character and so on; if I enjoyed the story as a whole, it meant that was a good story and that’s it.

Then I started writing. And so, I began paying attention to other author’s style, the way they described things, the tone of the story… you know, big and small things that appealed to the writer within. Now, everything’s changed.

For one, I’m always on the lookout for mistakes. The grammar, the spelling, the formatting – any typos. That should be a good thing, being able to identify others mistakes. For a writer, that is, and I like that I can tell the difference.

But, for my reader? It kills the reading mood. I still rate a book by my overall enjoyment of the story, but sometimes, if the typos are many, my enjoyment of the story dims, especially if I find a plot hole.

And when I find any typo on a best seller? I’m crazy enough that I do a happy dance.

What about you? Do you rate a book by your overall enjoyment of the story, or do you take note of the typos and then deduce stars from your rating?

When you sound like an idiot

When you sound like an idiot, do you turn around and act like that incident never happened, or do you look forward to when you’d be able to prove that you aren’t?

There’s an old saying that goes like: If it looks like a duck, moves like a duck, quacks like a duck…

What are the chances it’s not a duck?

Have you ever made a complete fool of yourself with someone you have just met? You go home wondering what the hell was wrong with you, and you promise yourself the next time you’ll act sane and normal, meaning you’ll make an effort to  behave.

And the next time, there you are, a fool again?

You’re not alone. Sometimes a duck will turn out to be a swan – it did happen in the movie…

And then you come here to wp and hope the sort of anonymity will take away that first meeting awkwardness.

And it works. Most times anyway.

Unfortunately, I’ve come to realize that there are times when I make a fool of myself, no matter how furious I try not to.

Sometimes I read something I can relate, something I understand, something I’ve been through, I.e., writing. And when I try to impart my wisdom, out goes all the typos, spelling and grammar mistakes… none of which compare with the mishmash of words that make little to no sense at all.

And there I am, wishing fervently and desperately that I could delete that comment, or hope that spam will snatch it away, or that no one will see it there, displayed like a badge with my name. I could unfollow that blogger and act like that disaster never happened, but I’ve never been a quitter, and the feeling that I need to correct that impression would always nag. So I stay, and when the next post is published, I pounce to make a smart comment. And nope, I’m still embarrassing myself.

I know that when I’m old and gray that I’ll be able to look back with a fond smile, but, oh, it’s embarrassing. Has this ever happened to you?

Alarm clocks are… alarming

Ever read a book where the protagonist wakes up with a start when the alarm goes off? Or ever read when the alarm doesn’t go off and because it didn’t, all hell breaks loose?

In a story, alarm clocks signals a start of something, the change in a scene, or just a reference that time has moved on.

In fiction writing, I’ve used alarm clocks and the incessant beeps once or twice.

But I’m here to talk about reality.

I’ve often wondered about the benefits of alarm clocks and why people use it.

To be truthful, I’ve never used an alarm in my life. (Not really never, but almost doesn’t really count, right?).

It may be a hereditary thing, or just the way I was brought up. My parents never – or almost – never used alarms in their lives before. And no, they didn’t always miss their appointments; we (the kids) were never late to school.

I wake up every day (on week days) between 5:10 and 5:30 am without the assistance of a watch. I may wake a few minutes before that, or a few minutes late, but that twenty minute window is when I wake up 90% of the time – weekends are different, of course.

I don’t mean we have something extra; it’s just the way people are. You know when you’re used to waking up at a specific time every day? Suppose you turn off that alarm, even if you wake up late, you won’t miss that timeframe by much. You’ll moan and groan and try to cover your head and go back to sleep, but no matter how much you wish for it, sleep will never come.

In the beginning of this year, my oldest, 11 years old, decided that he wanted to start waking up on his own. Because he still doesn’t have control of his “inner alarm”, he decided he needed to turn on his physical, very loud alarm.

And every morning, at 5:00 his alarm would go off. I’d wake up with a start, disoriented, break out a cold sweat,  and stumble blindly (pun intended), heart pounding in the froze of a pre-attack and search his room for the ringing device among the piles of clothes, candy wrappers and weird gadgets. And my son would go on, peacefully sleeping, unaware of the end of the world.

Now he’s twelve, and he thinks he’s old enough to wake up on his own. This time around, he came up with a plan. He read about this clock that jumps off the nightstand and runs away when the alarms rings, banging into furniture and bouncing in opposite directions. To turn it off, you have to catch the thing first.

Hmmm, I don’t think so.

Have you ever heard about “Clocky” before? Out of curiosity, I did a search on it and found it sells on Amazon – and comes with free shipping. I wouldn’t get one even if I was paid to take it!

How do you feel about alarm clocks? Do you depend on them or is your inner alarm reliable?

 

Dreams, reality or fiction?

When dreams are published on pages, can you say that it’s been, somehow, realized?

Have you ever had a dream that you thought would make a great movie/book?

Dreams are illusive images our subconscious conjures and shows us while the body is in stasis. Most people know this, and most remember their dreams as unrealistic thoughts.

When I read a book I really like, I research the author, the reason she wrote the story, where he/she came from, what they like, what they don’t, how many kids/pets they have,  and anything else I can find about them. Basically, I turn into a stalker.

It never struck me as strange that some of those writers based their entire story on a dream they had (I.e., Twilight). After all, most of what I read is fantasy and fantasy is where you let the imagination fly.

But now that I’ve started to write, I wonder how this dream-turn-into-fiction works.

So I had a dream the other night. I remember, during that dream, telling myself this would make a great story. I remember waking in the middle of the night and thinking about that dream as a vague memory, something that happened so long ago, I could only recall glimpses. But in the morning, all I could remember was the part where I thought the dream would make a great story, nothing else. This actually happens with more frequency than I’d like.
A while back, I remember telling myself I should write down this dream – while I was still dreaming – so that I’d remember in the morning. The moment that thought crossed my mind, I was awake, and the dream was sailing away faster than I could grasp it.

In fact, ever since I started writing, all the dreams I do remember are nothing but rubbish, no non-sense stuff that would make the ‘mad tea party’ sound sane.

I do have my day dreams, and from those, I’ve gathered quite a lot of interesting thoughts, but the nightly ones… it makes me wonder if I’m the anomaly or if these other writers have a way of recording their dreams.

Do you remember all your dreams? Do you think they’re worth writing down?

So then I took an IQ test…. I flunk!

*Are IQ scores supposed to lower as you age?

*What happened to growing old and wiser?

Back during my senior year in high school, I took an IQ test. Now, I was never a nerd. I was – and still am –, observant. I take notice of things… and I’ve always been an avid reader. Back then, fiction was not the only thing I read. No, I liked to read literature books, biology, philosophy, geography…. There was a time I even read part of an economics book, and when younger, I enjoyed reading this Atlas book we had, full of the world’s topography and geography stuff. And again, I wasn’t a nerd, I just liked to understand how things worked. I also paid attention to people. And no not that creepy kind that watches someone wherever they go. I just, notice things, small and big, and I commit them to memory.

So, back to the IQ test, I can’t say how long it took me to finish, but I remember it was a really long test. When I got a 133 score, even I was impressed.

For one, I was not first in my class. I didn’t even count as one of the smartest kids – I was more on the troublemaker side.

But, like my friend Nicole likes to say, I digress, my school years are long behind, and I’m here to talk about the latest IQ test I took, about two years ago. It was just as long as I remembered, and … I admit thinking I was going to get a really high score, I was older, wiser, I had travelled a lot, experienced things… however, this time I got a score of 98. True, I couldn’t answer all the visual questions like trigonometry, figures of some sort that my screen reader didn’t read, or the puzzle questions, but, this score comes back every now and then to haunt me. Had I lost all these brain cells while I grew?

Could the questions I didn’t answer make all the difference?

And then a few days ago while my mind taunted me, I had this genius moment: Why not take an IQ test for blind people?  I know this idea should have been the obvious one, so maybe my IQ did slip with time, but…

Well, IQ tests for blind people aren’t available online. At least, none that I could find.

So, embarrassingly enough, I’m stuck with an IQ with a score of 98.

Have you tried taking an IQ test only to realize a few years later that the newest score not only don’t match with the oldest, but are horribly lower?

Do you think your IQ score is on par with your intelligence?

 

Kid logic – it makes sense

And when he looked, he discovered the moon

The other night my son ran up to his grandmother and told her there was a light chasing him around.
Naturally, she thought it was lightening bugs – because, what else?
But she obliged, and she went to check on it. Instead of searching around the bushes, my son pointed up to the sky.
‘See, it’s waiting for me still.’ He said.
My mom told him that the moon is everywhere, that it goes where everyone goes, chases everyone.
My son thought about it for a second then shook his head. ‘Nah uh, (insert cousin’s name here) ran to the back of the house and the moon didn’t go. It’s waiting for me so it can chase me’.

Some – a midnight muse

Some people move on and never look back
Some people move on, but leave mind and heart in the past
-*-*-*
I have been absent lately from the blogosphere working on the second book in the Roxanne Fosch trilogy, Heir of Doom.
The edits and revision are going well, and I hope I’ll have the manuscript ready for the betas very soon.
Meanwhile, I woke in the middle of the night and the two phrases above flowed in my mind like water. Groggy and sleepy, I typed them on my laptop (half were typed wrong), knowing I’d forget all about it in the morning.
When I read them again with an alert mind, I knew I’d be sharing it here with you guys.
Until next.
Tchau.

The opposite to my equal – the equal to my opposite: Yin and Yang

So, everyone has heard at least a few times that a person needs his opposite in life, his yin to his yang. Everyone also heard, at least a few times, that we need our equal in life.

The opposite to my equal

Usually people wish for someone who would always agree to what they say, think alike, and who would never refuse them a wish.
But would they be happy if there was never an argument to make up for later, if there was never someone who would provoke them into thinking ‘out of the box’, if they never had to argue and make a point?
I happen to know a woman who met such a man.
He loved her so much, he never argued with anything, always agreeing with whatever crazy or foolish or serious thing she wanted to do, never denying her a wish.
He was so in love with her, she divorced him.
I can not say if he just never wanted to argue, if he was keeping his disagreeable thoughts to himself, or if he just thought the way she did.
All I know is that she wasn’t happy, that after a few years of this she just broke. She wanted someone who she could argue with, who would tell her that she was wrong, and who she could have a fight and make over later.
I also have a friend who went nuts because he and his wife disagreed a lot, and who also divorced after a while, because they couldn’t see eye to eye.
Clearly saying a person needs his opposite, or equal, isn’t as simple as that.
There are things, important things that a woman, or a man, need others to agree with.
I think that it’s when these fundamental things, be it small or big, don’t clash with others that problems may arise.
Some people you can just walk away from, but others, like family members, work colleagues or a husband/wife are not so easy.
I am not an expert, and I know things aren’t explained these easily, or that a person can just go asking around what someone agrees or disagrees with prior to a relation, be it intimate or friendly or professional.
But I know this applies to every aspect of a person’s life. Family bonds, friendship, work-related or intimate.
Is there such a thing as Yin and Yang – in a relationship, I mean?
Is there really the opposite to an equal, a person who can complement the other completely,?
It is true that, a shadow cannot be without the light, a night can not be without the day, the rich can not be without the poor – without the balance, this just can’t be. Otherwise everyone would be poor/rich – and the poor/rich class wouldn’t exist; the day would never come if the night never happened, the light would never shine if you couldn’t see the shadow.
But these are laws of the universe, nature, life.
To us humans, does this really apply?

Yin and Yang, female and male, femininity and masculinity, woman and man.
Does a woman really need a man, a significant other to be complete – I’ve seen proof of the contrary. Yet, I’ve never really seen a man who could live without a woman – a significant other, for too long (sorry to the male readers, I know you wouldn’t agree – or most of you wouldn’t).

Time

Time is a vast beast with far reaching tentacles.

Its eyes are all seeing, indifferent, unfeeling.

Its tentacles are long, infinite, growing and growing and growing.

It’s an uncaring, untouchable monster, capable to harm and heal with equal measures.

It can comfort, help a wound to close.

It can inflame, help a wound to fester.

And it can do both, by leaving a scarring mark.

It can keep a secret throughout lifetimes and beyond the grave,

It can spread a scandal back and forth like a gossiping neighbor.

It can bring tears of joy and sadness through equal measures,

It can be kind and cruel.

Time, that abstract creation, that molds and shapes and help us grow, that give of itself to help us become what we are today.

Time, that capricious monster we all want more from . . . and can never have.

*********

Time is vast.

It has no vanity, it cares not if its ugly or pretty.

It has no sympathy; it cares not if it’s cruel or kind.

It has no humor; it cares not for laughter or tears.

It is pure, it cannot be corrupt.

It is fair; it gives as much as it takes.

It is fickle, uncaring of the changes it brings.

It is all seeing, unfeeling and indifferent.

It is an infinite  beast with long reaching arms that touches every individual, big or small, rich or poor, past, present and future.

 

By Jina Bazzar