Tonight’s DDoP entry is under 2 minutes and speaks for itself.
Listen to it at SoundCloud or play it in the applet below:
[soundcloud url=”http://api.soundcloud.com/tracks/105819905″ params=”” width=” 100%” height=”166″ iframe=”true” /]
Tonight’s DDoP entry is under 2 minutes and speaks for itself.
Listen to it at SoundCloud or play it in the applet below:
[soundcloud url=”http://api.soundcloud.com/tracks/105819905″ params=”” width=” 100%” height=”166″ iframe=”true” /]
I was looking for something on the ‘net and found this, written October 19, 2007:
Remember that everyone you meet is afraid of something, loves something, and has lost something.
Write either three short verses or one long stanza about these three things – fear, love, and loss. Any form of poetry is fine – haiku, a sonnet – whatever works.
* * * * *
I’m not a poet. I dabbled in verse ages ago, but I generally think in sentences. Still, it’s a good exercise to play with other forms once in a while. I don’t post verse or fiction to my actual blog. That’s what this is for.
* * * * *
I. Fear
Monsters with headlights whizzing by
Cold rain falling from the sky
Hiding for naps
Begging for scraps
Constantly running on tiny feet
This is the life of a stray on the street.
II. Love
He reminds me of the childhood poem
About a little shadow
Up and down the stairs, he’s at my heels.
In the kitchen, he’s underfoot
On the couch or in bed, he curls against my hip
Puppy kisses tell me what he feels.
III. Loss
Day by day, I’m seeing him fade.
He’s withdrawing from us a little
As if he knows his clock is winding down.
His muzzle is grey where it once was black
The “eyeliner” that helped earn his name is nearly gone
He’s taken to barking at the other dogs in town
Ten isn’t old for a Chihuahua, they say
But they forget the epilepsy, the years on the street
And the dental issues, and the heart disease.
They just see the spry little man with the sickle tail
Ears erect, nose a-quiver, eyes all big and round
Like a plumber, the vet never hears him sneeze.
I know our other dog feels second best,
Which is ridiculous because I love them both
Differently, because MissCleo is a dog for play
While Zorro, my little man, is content to be quiet
Always near, his quiet presence warming my heart,
I don’t know how I’ll deal when he finally slips away
Zorro dog died in February, 2009.
Tonight’s entry into the Dog Days of Podcasting project is another piece from the vaults (I plead continued migraine!), this time from the autumn of 2007.
Those folks who used to frequent CafeWriting may recognize the piece – it’s an unofficial prequel to the super-secret project I’m working on. Another cafe vignette.
Enjoy it at the SoundCloud website, or in the applet below.
[soundcloud url=”http://api.soundcloud.com/tracks/105642032″ params=”” width=” 100%” height=”166″ iframe=”true” /]
I hate “Taps.” I hate the way the song makes me feel, and I hate that this lovely piece of music is forever linked with death. I even wrote a Sunday Brunch piece about it, as part of a tribute to a recently departed friend.
Today, though, I rambled about “Taps” in a new way – I associated it with the E. B. White children’s novel The Trumpet of the Swan.
You can listen my ramblings at SoundCloud or play it via the applet below.
[soundcloud url=”http://api.soundcloud.com/tracks/105466011″ params=”” width=” 100%” height=”166″ iframe=”true” /]
Happy Monday.
Today’s entry for DDoP is a reading of my first piece from Medium, “In The Starbucks Doorway”, which I originally posted there back in May.
You can listen to it at SoundCloud, or play it in the applet below.
[soundcloud url=”http://api.soundcloud.com/tracks/105174438″ params=”” width=” 100%” height=”166″ iframe=”true” /]
Every other Sunday, I write a column called “Sunday Brunch” for the ezine All Things Girl. Regular readers of this site have seen me link to it before.
Today, for my DDoP entry, I picked the Sunday Brunch entry from 17 February 2013, and recorded it, with a bit of extemporaneous book-ending.
You can listen to the recording at SoundCloud or play it in the applet below.
If you want to read the original column, you can find it here.
[soundcloud url=”http://api.soundcloud.com/tracks/104966247″ params=”” width=” 100%” height=”166″ iframe=”true” /]
It’s almost midnight, and I had no plans for anything specific to post today, but then I wrote this right before friends came for dinner.
Here’s an excerpt of The Swimming Lesson:
“Don’t let go, Dad!” The boy shrieks as his father tugs him further away from the steps.
“I’ve got you,” the man assures. “Kick your feet. I promise I won’t let go.”
The boy kicks furiously, sending frothy water in every direction, while his father holds his hands, and walks backwards in circles, providing momentum and balance for his child.
You can hear me read it at SoundCloud, or play it via the applet below:
[soundcloud url=”http://api.soundcloud.com/tracks/104905604″ params=”” width=” 100%” height=”166″ iframe=”true” /]
I’m late to the Dog Days of Podcasting party, but I’ve been following it as a listener since it started.
At first, I was intimidated, because while I’ve been involved in lots of other people’s podcasts and audio dramas, I’ve never really done one of my own.
SoundCloud, though, allows me to record stuff right from my iPad – and I’m enough of a technology geek that the notion appealed to me.
So, here’s my first entry. Please be kind.
At SoundCloud: Thursdays with Caroline
[soundcloud url=”http://api.soundcloud.com/tracks/104751974″ params=”” width=” 100%” height=”166″ iframe=”true” /]
I’m not sure when it started.
Possibly it began with my mother photographing her feet in the sand every time she went on a beach vacation, or possibly not.
Maybe my friend Deb and I started it together, or maybe it came from just one of us.
But now, it’s tradition. We get a pedicure, we snap a picture of our toes. (It might have started, actually, the year I began letting the pedicurists do nail art on my toes, something I no longer do.)
Today was the first pedicure I’ve had since June.
As always it was bliss.
And I took a picture.
As befits a bathtub (and swimming pool, and ocean whenever I can) mermaid, I was born in August, in high summer.
My mother says she was on the beach nearly to the moment I was born. I’m not entirely certain that’s true, but I do know that the smells of sea, sand, and sunscreen mean “home” to me as much as Fuzzy’s shampoo, and the wiggly-waggly tails of my dogs.
As I write this, at a fraction of a moment before midnight, the outside temperature is hovering around 90 degrees and the only reason I’m not taking a midnight dip in my pool is that I have to be up at six to take Teddy to be neutered.
I’ve been on a sort of virtual vacation – staycation? – since coming home from Mexico in June.
But now it’s my month. My personal year is starting.
In the words of my favorite fictional president, words I use every year about this time:
Break’s Over.