Poor Little Homeless Bat

If you missed this morning’s prompts post, I’m responding to Let the Bats Out of the Attic.

For today’s images, I played with some rubber bats I found at the Grocery Outlet. They are supposed to stick to any surface by the little rubber discs under their wings. They don’t, but I still like them.

OctPoWriMo

My Sad Heart Circles with the Bat

I don’t remember the sound of the giant fir falling
falling across the end of my driveway tearing
tearing down the power lines or being pulled
pulled by the others that fell further down
down it fell unbelievably safely without blocking
blocking the road or causing harm, and I

I don’t remember when the power went out
outside the neighbors began the work
working their chainsaws through the limbs
limbs that had been so high in the sky I
I hadn’t seen what had made them into homes
homes now shattered on the pavement where I

I don’t remember what woke me that morning
that morning of shock that I hadn’t heard the sound
the sound of the falling crashing giant fir and I
I wondered how I didn’t feel the earth shake in response
response to such a devastating loss when I

I don’t remember the violent, powerful wind
wind like that must have shook the house
the house that usually howls when wind blows
blows through the giant firs and the seal-less panes
panes that have shattered in lesser storms
storms that have never taken down a giant fir before when I

I don’t remember when my father arrived
arrived with his chainsaw to join with the clearing
clearing away what was tree now is wood
wood discussed and doled out to the neighbors
neighbors who acted as one without words
words would have only slowed down the action and I

I don’t remember the exact time I came in
inside the house when the clean up was done
done to even my father’s satisfaction, but I was surprised
surprised at the time because it was still morning
morning had clung to the day like sweat to our limbs
—limbs were where all of this unmemory began and I

I don’t remember when I first noticed the bat
the bat that passed each of my windows as I sat
sat staring and wondering how I hadn’t heard
heard the wind or the falling of the giant fir
giant fir tree that the bat was also grieving
grieving he circled we circled still living

dVerse Poets Pub

Today is also Poetics at dVerse Poets Pub. Kim from writinginnorthnorfolk.com provided an exciting prompt befitting the season that she called “Dead Poets Society”. The prompt is to respond to a dead poet’s poem. She supplied three fabulous poems to choose from. I chose the one I hadn’t read before, When I’m among a Blaze of Lights by Siegfried Sassoon 1886 (Matfield, Kent) – 1967 (Heytesbury, Wiltshire).

When I Think of Darkened Haunts

When I think of darkened haunts
with jukebox leaners and oldies crooners
and sweaty oglers slurring taunts
and the dejected rejects in life-ruiners,
Sometimes I remember more sequined wants
and feel this life’s lacunas

Your dream of a glowing space alone
with books to keep as friends
is where I live and call my home
and each full day safely ends
Though a bit of me, it longs for night
and the dangerous within it
the rest of me in fear takes flight
content with my reading chair’s fit

Writober

Logline: A young musician nervous about a musician searches for an easy way to be great, because he doesn’t believe that practice is enough.

To Have What It Takes

Jonah threw his bow to the floor, and instantly regretted it. He put his cello in its travel case then gently lifted his bow. “I’m sorry,” he said, loosened the tension and secured it in its place in the case. There was no more time. He had to leave for his audition. His last chance. He couldn’t take another rejection and there was nowhere left to reject him. If he didn’t get this, his life as he dreamed it was over. With his grandfather’s cello over his shoulder, he looked at his filthy closet apartment and sighed. Then he turned all the locks and trudged down the stairs.

Of course it was raining. A cold drizzle mingled with his nervous sweat made him sticky and moist. His hand-me-down suit couldn’t have felt more uncomfortable, his pant legs twisting between his thighs as he hurried to the subway station, his cello bumping and aggravating the people he passed.

The platform was crowded, but as he waited, trying to visualize his perfect performance, he felt entirely alone. And in his personal life, he was. Farhad, the last of his friends, had stopped calling after he blew off his wedding because he was practicing. He had texted two days later on his honeymoon just to say, “Practice isn’t making you perfect.”  And that was the last he had heard from anyone. Music was his only friend, and even his cello had betrayed him.

I hope you’re having as much fun as I am. See you tomorrow!