So, remember way back in June when I posed Writer’s Challenge #2? It had to do with writing about something that had been witnessed; the form of the piece was left open. I gotta say, though several of you said you were excited about this challenge, I wasn’t exactly flooded with responses; however, since this was only the second one offered, I guess technically it is the second most popular EVER in Smaller Adventure history, so YAY!!!! Keep up the good work, peeps!

The staff here at the blog was delighted to receive three cool witness poems, and so, in no particular order, here they are:

Mary Pierce Armstrong said…
motes float in the gray ray

from the bench, a scowl

turkey neck folds dip and bob

a nod, quick and bored

the witness approaches with downcast gaze

her fingers outline a blur with vibration

oath taken

seat taken

time taken

I become the hostile witness
July 31, 2009 11:45 AM

Alisa R. said…
Mathematical Witness

Simple Tuesday carpool

Is there a math quiz today?

Staring out the window I see him

minus all clothing

plus 1 tangent man part

divided cheeks as he leans over to get the newspaper

adding to my knowledge

but multiplying my wonder.

Did I really see that?
August 2, 2009 5:57 PM

The Forest. RIP. Jan. 24/09
By Liliane Richman

The forest resisting
arching and groaning
under the rush of violent winds
succumbed to the last tree
each mature pine falling
embracing its neighbor
the crush of branches
littering of giants on the ground.

“You should have heard the howling,”
says my dear Paulette.

“The forest is dead.
Killed by a roaming cyclone
imported by global warming.”

Paulette is 82 years old
lives alone and walks with a slow shuffle.
She had no water for a week
no electricity for two
no telephone, no television.
She was cold and stayed in bed all day

And wishes she were younger
to move from her ancestral home
far from this desolation.
“You know how
how long it takes
to regrow such tall pines?”

Ah, Paulette, I’m with you
mourning for the forest, the ferns,
the sap, the deep silence, the cicadas
the pines are cut through
a long incision near the bottom of the trunk

the amber colored resin
collecting in a clay pot
sent to the one existing factory
the commercial hub
of the townlet in its heyday
when you father was CEO

Once upon a time it was
Nineteen forty-two
I appeared in your family
grew up and thrived
and departed again
then returned year after year
as late as last summer
surrounded by you
and the forest

of tall pines that died
on January twenty four
two thousand and nine.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *