My newest adventure is underway. It has lead me to take up residency in a new blog,
Like the Feathers of an Arrow (affectionately known as LFA).

...don't open...don't throw away... is not disappearing completely (not yet),
but postings here will be limited.

Monday, October 8, 2012

2 More on 'Save the C.O.N.E.S.'

In yesterday's Time Capsule post, I made reference to a 'story' which is technically a personal narrative told from the point of view of a road cone. 

The story was written by a close dear friend of mine, Queen Cone.  She was too shy to pose for a picture, but I'm still trying to sneak one.  Queen Cone is a real cone given to me by my friends from high school.  I can't recall if it was sophomore or junior year, but she was a gift they hoped would lift my spirits.  The idea that I'm good at masking my depression is really just a farce to make me feel better.

Anyway, she was kind enough to dedicate her story to me...

In return, I let her use my poem, which I posted yesterday.  Along with some photos I enhanced that depicted her life and story.  It was fun toying with photoshop and all the different effects;  adds a bit of character really to such dismal images.

I know you're all dying to here her story, but I'm not so sure she wishes to go completely public with it.  I'll ask her...maybe if your lucky....  But here is just a taste of the beginning of her story.

One would think the idea of my own kind being torn apart and butchered would horrify me. One might believe seeing them patched haphazardly together in the likeness of the species that brought about their death and destruction would enrage me. One might think that. But it does not bother me in the least. Truth be told I am a bit envious of my fellow comrades; they have transcended our pitiful existence becoming something that provokes an array of emotions from those who abuse us daily. The thought that I might follow, preferably in a less painfully manner, in their footsteps seemed impossible. Nothing is impossible.

I wasn’t so much born into this world as I was made. My first real memory was being stacked with others like me and shoved into a large white and orange vehicle. I recall being like that for quite some time. I immensely disliked being in the back of the vehicle and often wished that I would be released from the restrictive space. It wasn’t long before I realized I should be careful what I wish for.


Sunday, October 7, 2012

1 Time Capsule: Save the C.O.N.E.S.

Title:  Save the C.O.N.E.S.
Date:  01/23/02
Setting:  Life after college--during second post-college job
Form:  Free verse

They were worked to the bone
Their fragile shape
tossed and beaten
left to the elements of nature
drenched and frozen 
They were regarded as tools
Their obvious color
exploited and marred
left to fend for themselves
trampled and broken 
They were more than that to us
Their humble existence
tortured and abused
left us to save them
relieve and relinquish 
They were more than just road cones 

Notes:  When I was in high school...well let's just say we did some odd things, but then again who didn't.  Right?  For the life of me I cannot remember what C.O.N.E.S. stood for, but it was made up well after we had concluded the senseless acts of youth.

Three years ago, I was working with an eighth grade teacher and her class as they wrote narratives; the honors class was challenged to write a narrative from the perspective of an inanimate object.  Inspired by this, I wrote a narrative from the point of view of a road cone.  It was quite an interesting idea, but it had within it a touch of reality.

Artifact I:  A copy of the poem printed with a cone in the background.