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RE: [ticket2write] While I Swept

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  • Jay Doggett
    Carol, Wow! An excellently executed work. I agree with Jim, it s a poweful piece. Jay ... From: ticket2write@yahoogroups.com
    Message 1 of 9 , Sep 17, 2012
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      Carol,
       
          Wow!  An excellently executed work. I agree with Jim, it's a poweful piece.
       
      Jay
       
      -----Original Message-----
      From: ticket2write@yahoogroups.com [mailto:ticket2write@yahoogroups.com]On Behalf Of carol_emt87
      Sent: Sunday, September 16, 2012 11:26 AM
      To: ticket2write@yahoogroups.com
      Subject: [ticket2write] While I Swept

       

      While I Swept

      After a busy morning at the grocery store I swept the floor, gathering crumbs and fine dust with the thick bristles of the green angled broom.
      While I swept
      a red Coca-Cola delivery truck stopped in front of the store.
      While I swept
      I watched the blonde driver unload a pallet of Powerade and pop. I put the broom and dustpan behind the counter.
      The driver was pale and his hands were shaking and
      I asked him what was wrong.
      He told me that a teenage boy barreled toward him on the wrong side of the highway. He told me how he had to pull his truck onto the gravel shoulder, almost rolling the semi, to avoid a head-on crash.

      While I swept
      my kitchen floor that evening, I thought about the teenage boy and the Coke driver and how their meeting almost ended in tragedy.

      While I swept
      my teenage son arrived home after school.
      I put the broom and dustpan away. Sitting at the dining room table, I listened to my son tell me about his friend at school whose parents were getting a divorce, whose girlfriend just broke up with him, who came home, found his father's pistol, put it in his mouth and pulled the trigger.

      That night, with my youngest son safely sleeping in his bed, the shadow of the moon poured through the kitchen window. With tears dashing down my face, I gripped the wooden handle of the yellow broom
      while I swept.

    • Wings081
      Dear Carol Re: Found his father s pistol.Put it in his mouth and pulled the trigger A poignant reminder for me of a recent event concerning a young married
      Message 2 of 9 , Sep 18, 2012
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        Dear Carol
        Re: "Found his father's pistol.Put it in his mouth and pulled the trigger"
        A poignant reminder for me of a recent event concerning a young married man near me.
        His wife had left him for another man and taken their son with her.
        Poor man couldn't handle it. Climbed through the open trap door to the
        loft; tied a rope around his neck;attached the rope to a roof rafter and jumped,breaking his neck.
        The sad part about this was that when he was found,his feet were less than three inches from the floor and relative safety.
        Such was the local popularity of this man that the local church
        one mile from my home,was packed to capacity and many mourners had to stand in the aisles.
        Sitting in a pew,listening to Chris our vicar as I admired the polished coffin of my late neighbour,I contemplated whether I would ever get so low in spirit as to take the ultimate decision to 'end it all' by my own hand.
        I honestly believe I would lack the courage, determination or dishonourable intent to destroy a life given me by two loving parents.
        To this end I have often told my family: never accept a verdict of suicide if I'm found dead in suspicious circumstances.Insist with all your vigour that an inquiry into 'Murder most foul' be instigated.

        Great piece of writing Carol.
        As always
        Wings.


        --- In ticket2write@yahoogroups.com, "carol_emt87" <carol_emt87@...> wrote:
        >
        > Dear Jim,
        > Thank you for your response. From a writer's perspective, we find many of our personal crumbs while doing dishes, driving (I always pull over), sweeping, and other tasks. I think it's in the repetition that our mind wanders and we discover new paths, new inspiration. It also gives us a means of therapy, something to keep our body busy while our mind processes daily occurrences. This poem, I hope, demonstrates this process and plays on the words "while I slept" and "while I wept." glad you enjoyed the piece. And yes, the formatting changes in the posting process.
        > Carol
        >
        > --- In ticket2write@yahoogroups.com, "Jim Lamoreux" <jlamoreux@> wrote:
        > >
        > > Carol,
        > >
        > > One of the most powerful poems I have seen posted here. I recall a short
        > > story by one of my teachers at the JC written about an abducted child that
        > > had the same sort of haunting imagery. He had lost a child himself to crib
        > > death. His story had the same kind of ring of personal experience that this
        > > poem has. It makes the piece genuine and proves the point. I like the
        > > repetition of "while I swept." It comes in just the right places and draws
        > > the piece into a focused image of what you must be trying to say. I stumbled
        > > on "tears dashing" until I read it again. Not sure why I bring that up. One
        > > of the things I find is that an important part of a poem is how it looks
        > > structurally. Often I discover that something I compose in Word gets all
        > > messed up when cut and pasted into an email. I'm not sure how to combat that
        > > unless you publish in HTML maybe. It looks like some of the poem's structure
        > > might be tweaked in places for this reason. I have a large space between
        > > "crumbs" and "and." There are long lines that I suspect are shorter or
        > > truncated in an original version. I could be wrong though. In any case none
        > > of this detracts from the beauty and poignancy of this piece. A lot of
        > > thought and skill went into it, that is apparent. Extremely well done.
        > >
        > > Jim.
        > >
        > >
        > > While I Swept
        > >
        > > After a busy morning at the grocery store I swept the floor, gathering
        > > crumbs and fine dust with the thick bristles of the green angled broom.
        > >
        > > While I swept
        > > a red Coca-Cola delivery truck stopped in front of the store.
        > > While I swept
        > > I watched the blonde driver unload a pallet of Powerade and pop. I put the
        > > broom and dustpan behind the counter.
        > > The driver was pale and his hands were shaking and I asked him what was
        > > wrong.
        > > He told me that a teenage boy barreled toward him on the wrong side of the
        > > highway. He told me how he had to pull his truck onto the gravel shoulder,
        > > almost rolling the semi, to avoid a head-on crash.
        > >
        > > While I swept
        > > my kitchen floor that evening, I thought about the teenage boy and the Coke
        > > driver and how their meeting almost ended in tragedy.
        > >
        > > While I swept
        > > my teenage son arrived home after school.
        > > I put the broom and dustpan away. Sitting at the dining room table, I
        > > listened to my son tell me about his friend at school whose parents were
        > > getting a divorce, whose girlfriend just broke up with him, who came home,
        > > found his father's pistol, put it in his mouth and pulled the trigger.
        > >
        > > That night, with my youngest son safely sleeping in his bed, the shadow of
        > > the moon poured through the kitchen window. With tears dashing down my face,
        > > I gripped the wooden handle of the yellow broom
        > > while I swept.
        > >
        > >
        > >
        > >
        > > ------------------------------------
        > >
        > > Learn more about ticket2wite at http://ticket2write.orgYahoo! Groups Links
        > >
        >
      • carol_emt87
        Thanks Jay. It was several years ago, but true nonetheless. Carol
        Message 3 of 9 , Sep 18, 2012
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          Thanks Jay. It was several years ago, but true nonetheless.
          Carol

          --- In ticket2write@yahoogroups.com, "Jay Doggett" <jmdoggett@...> wrote:
          >
          > Carol,
          >
          > Wow! An excellently executed work. I agree with Jim, it's a poweful
          > piece.
          >
          > Jay
          >
          > -----Original Message-----
          > From: ticket2write@yahoogroups.com [mailto:ticket2write@yahoogroups.com]On
          > Behalf Of carol_emt87
          > Sent: Sunday, September 16, 2012 11:26 AM
          > To: ticket2write@yahoogroups.com
          > Subject: [ticket2write] While I Swept
          >
          >
          >
          > While I Swept
          >
          > After a busy morning at the grocery store I swept the floor, gathering
          > crumbs and fine dust with the thick bristles of the green angled broom.
          > While I swept
          > a red Coca-Cola delivery truck stopped in front of the store.
          > While I swept
          > I watched the blonde driver unload a pallet of Powerade and pop. I put the
          > broom and dustpan behind the counter.
          > The driver was pale and his hands were shaking and
          > I asked him what was wrong.
          > He told me that a teenage boy barreled toward him on the wrong side of the
          > highway. He told me how he had to pull his truck onto the gravel shoulder,
          > almost rolling the semi, to avoid a head-on crash.
          >
          > While I swept
          > my kitchen floor that evening, I thought about the teenage boy and the
          > Coke driver and how their meeting almost ended in tragedy.
          >
          > While I swept
          > my teenage son arrived home after school.
          > I put the broom and dustpan away. Sitting at the dining room table, I
          > listened to my son tell me about his friend at school whose parents were
          > getting a divorce, whose girlfriend just broke up with him, who came home,
          > found his father's pistol, put it in his mouth and pulled the trigger.
          >
          > That night, with my youngest son safely sleeping in his bed, the shadow of
          > the moon poured through the kitchen window. With tears dashing down my face,
          > I gripped the wooden handle of the yellow broom
          > while I swept.
          >
        • carol_emt87
          Dear Wings, Thank you for your kind words. I also cannot imagine ending my own life, but I do sympathize with the anguish. I have several friends who suffer
          Message 4 of 9 , Sep 18, 2012
          • 0 Attachment
            Dear Wings,
            Thank you for your kind words. I also cannot imagine ending my own life, but I do sympathize with the anguish. I have several friends who suffer from depression and other mood disorders. Their illness is real and causes them great pain, both physical and emotional. One of my friends described depression as "being inside of a dark, closed box without knowing the way out."
            As I told Jay, the events in the poem took place several years ago.
            Always,
            Carol

            --- In ticket2write@yahoogroups.com, "Wings081" <wings081@...> wrote:
            >
            >
            > Dear Carol
            > Re: "Found his father's pistol.Put it in his mouth and pulled the trigger"
            > A poignant reminder for me of a recent event concerning a young married man near me.
            > His wife had left him for another man and taken their son with her.
            > Poor man couldn't handle it. Climbed through the open trap door to the
            > loft; tied a rope around his neck;attached the rope to a roof rafter and jumped,breaking his neck.
            > The sad part about this was that when he was found,his feet were less than three inches from the floor and relative safety.
            > Such was the local popularity of this man that the local church
            > one mile from my home,was packed to capacity and many mourners had to stand in the aisles.
            > Sitting in a pew,listening to Chris our vicar as I admired the polished coffin of my late neighbour,I contemplated whether I would ever get so low in spirit as to take the ultimate decision to 'end it all' by my own hand.
            > I honestly believe I would lack the courage, determination or dishonourable intent to destroy a life given me by two loving parents.
            > To this end I have often told my family: never accept a verdict of suicide if I'm found dead in suspicious circumstances.Insist with all your vigour that an inquiry into 'Murder most foul' be instigated.
            >
            > Great piece of writing Carol.
            > As always
            > Wings.
            >
            >
            > --- In ticket2write@yahoogroups.com, "carol_emt87" <carol_emt87@> wrote:
            > >
            > > Dear Jim,
            > > Thank you for your response. From a writer's perspective, we find many of our personal crumbs while doing dishes, driving (I always pull over), sweeping, and other tasks. I think it's in the repetition that our mind wanders and we discover new paths, new inspiration. It also gives us a means of therapy, something to keep our body busy while our mind processes daily occurrences. This poem, I hope, demonstrates this process and plays on the words "while I slept" and "while I wept." glad you enjoyed the piece. And yes, the formatting changes in the posting process.
            > > Carol
            > >
            > > --- In ticket2write@yahoogroups.com, "Jim Lamoreux" <jlamoreux@> wrote:
            > > >
            > > > Carol,
            > > >
            > > > One of the most powerful poems I have seen posted here. I recall a short
            > > > story by one of my teachers at the JC written about an abducted child that
            > > > had the same sort of haunting imagery. He had lost a child himself to crib
            > > > death. His story had the same kind of ring of personal experience that this
            > > > poem has. It makes the piece genuine and proves the point. I like the
            > > > repetition of "while I swept." It comes in just the right places and draws
            > > > the piece into a focused image of what you must be trying to say. I stumbled
            > > > on "tears dashing" until I read it again. Not sure why I bring that up. One
            > > > of the things I find is that an important part of a poem is how it looks
            > > > structurally. Often I discover that something I compose in Word gets all
            > > > messed up when cut and pasted into an email. I'm not sure how to combat that
            > > > unless you publish in HTML maybe. It looks like some of the poem's structure
            > > > might be tweaked in places for this reason. I have a large space between
            > > > "crumbs" and "and." There are long lines that I suspect are shorter or
            > > > truncated in an original version. I could be wrong though. In any case none
            > > > of this detracts from the beauty and poignancy of this piece. A lot of
            > > > thought and skill went into it, that is apparent. Extremely well done.
            > > >
            > > > Jim.
            > > >
            > > >
            > > > While I Swept
            > > >
            > > > After a busy morning at the grocery store I swept the floor, gathering
            > > > crumbs and fine dust with the thick bristles of the green angled broom.
            > > >
            > > > While I swept
            > > > a red Coca-Cola delivery truck stopped in front of the store.
            > > > While I swept
            > > > I watched the blonde driver unload a pallet of Powerade and pop. I put the
            > > > broom and dustpan behind the counter.
            > > > The driver was pale and his hands were shaking and I asked him what was
            > > > wrong.
            > > > He told me that a teenage boy barreled toward him on the wrong side of the
            > > > highway. He told me how he had to pull his truck onto the gravel shoulder,
            > > > almost rolling the semi, to avoid a head-on crash.
            > > >
            > > > While I swept
            > > > my kitchen floor that evening, I thought about the teenage boy and the Coke
            > > > driver and how their meeting almost ended in tragedy.
            > > >
            > > > While I swept
            > > > my teenage son arrived home after school.
            > > > I put the broom and dustpan away. Sitting at the dining room table, I
            > > > listened to my son tell me about his friend at school whose parents were
            > > > getting a divorce, whose girlfriend just broke up with him, who came home,
            > > > found his father's pistol, put it in his mouth and pulled the trigger.
            > > >
            > > > That night, with my youngest son safely sleeping in his bed, the shadow of
            > > > the moon poured through the kitchen window. With tears dashing down my face,
            > > > I gripped the wooden handle of the yellow broom
            > > > while I swept.
            > > >
            > > >
            > > >
            > > >
            > > > ------------------------------------
            > > >
            > > > Learn more about ticket2wite at http://ticket2write.orgYahoo! Groups Links
            > > >
            > >
            >
          • Wings081
            Dear Carol Along the same lines as my last post: I would never pay one penny ransome money. Neither would I pay a blackmailer for his silence. I recall the
            Message 5 of 9 , Sep 18, 2012
            • 0 Attachment
              Dear Carol
              Along the same lines as my last post:
              I would never pay one penny ransome money.
              Neither would I pay a blackmailer for his silence.
              I recall the case of the Lindbergh baby way back in the thirties, when $100,000 was demanded for the return of Charles junior, a baby of just 20 months old..
              The money was a massive amount back then and only $50,000 could be raised. The sad result was the baby was discovered dead with his head caved in.
              Blackmail, to my mind, is the worst crime on the statute books.
              As a fairly law abiding person I can never envisage a situation where I would allow myself to be entrapped.If however the occasion should arise, my response would be:"Do your worst and for the rest of your miserable life keep looking over your shoulder because that shadow
              behind you will be me".
              Let's for instance, take a typical case:A man is caught 'in flagrante delicto' by a typical blackmailer.
              The best recourse to action is for the man to admit everything and beg forgiveness for his fall from grace to the woman with whom he promised to forsake all others.
              Women are the most resilient creatures on this planet and with the right inducement may eventually forgive her man's lapse because,
              especially if children are involved,he was her chosen life partner.

              Let's face it,we men are weak when it comes to the opposite sex and the apple on the tree is ripe for picking.
              To end this diatribe let me assure you that during all the years I enjoyed with my late wife, I might, like many men,have peeped over the hedge but never considered laying on the lawn.
              Had I the temerity to do so,I'm sure my fathering days would have ended abruptly.

              As Always
              Wings.
              nahoogroups.com, "carol_emt87" <carol_emt87@...> wrote:
              >
              > Dear Wings,
              > Thank you for your kind words. I also cannot imagine ending my own life, but I do sympathize with the anguish. I have several friends who suffer from depression and other mood disorders. Their illness is real and causes them great pain, both physical and emotional. One of my friends described depression as "being inside of a dark, closed box without knowing the way out."
              > As I told Jay, the events in the poem took place several years ago.
              > Always,
              > Carol
              >
              > --- In ticket2write@yahoogroups.com, "Wings081" <wings081@> wrote:
              > >
              > >
              > > Dear Carol
              > > Re: "Found his father's pistol.Put it in his mouth and pulled the trigger"
              > > A poignant reminder for me of a recent event concerning a young married man near me.
              > > His wife had left him for another man and taken their son with her.
              > > Poor man couldn't handle it. Climbed through the open trap door to the
              > > loft; tied a rope around his neck;attached the rope to a roof rafter and jumped,breaking his neck.
              > > The sad part about this was that when he was found,his feet were less than three inches from the floor and relative safety.
              > > Such was the local popularity of this man that the local church
              > > one mile from my home,was packed to capacity and many mourners had to stand in the aisles.
              > > Sitting in a pew,listening to Chris our vicar as I admired the polished coffin of my late neighbour,I contemplated whether I would ever get so low in spirit as to take the ultimate decision to 'end it all' by my own hand.
              > > I honestly believe I would lack the courage, determination or dishonourable intent to destroy a life given me by two loving parents.
              > > To this end I have often told my family: never accept a verdict of suicide if I'm found dead in suspicious circumstances.Insist with all your vigour that an inquiry into 'Murder most foul' be instigated.
              > >
              > > Great piece of writing Carol.
              > > As always
              > > Wings.
              > >
              > >
              > > --- In ticket2write@yahoogroups.com, "carol_emt87" <carol_emt87@> wrote:
              > > >
              > > > Dear Jim,
              > > > Thank you for your response. From a writer's perspective, we find many of our personal crumbs while doing dishes, driving (I always pull over), sweeping, and other tasks. I think it's in the repetition that our mind wanders and we discover new paths, new inspiration. It also gives us a means of therapy, something to keep our body busy while our mind processes daily occurrences. This poem, I hope, demonstrates this process and plays on the words "while I slept" and "while I wept." glad you enjoyed the piece. And yes, the formatting changes in the posting process.
              > > > Carol
              > > >
              > > > --- In ticket2write@yahoogroups.com, "Jim Lamoreux" <jlamoreux@> wrote:
              > > > >
              > > > > Carol,
              > > > >
              > > > > One of the most powerful poems I have seen posted here. I recall a short
              > > > > story by one of my teachers at the JC written about an abducted child that
              > > > > had the same sort of haunting imagery. He had lost a child himself to crib
              > > > > death. His story had the same kind of ring of personal experience that this
              > > > > poem has. It makes the piece genuine and proves the point. I like the
              > > > > repetition of "while I swept." It comes in just the right places and draws
              > > > > the piece into a focused image of what you must be trying to say. I stumbled
              > > > > on "tears dashing" until I read it again. Not sure why I bring that up. One
              > > > > of the things I find is that an important part of a poem is how it looks
              > > > > structurally. Often I discover that something I compose in Word gets all
              > > > > messed up when cut and pasted into an email. I'm not sure how to combat that
              > > > > unless you publish in HTML maybe. It looks like some of the poem's structure
              > > > > might be tweaked in places for this reason. I have a large space between
              > > > > "crumbs" and "and." There are long lines that I suspect are shorter or
              > > > > truncated in an original version. I could be wrong though. In any case none
              > > > > of this detracts from the beauty and poignancy of this piece. A lot of
              > > > > thought and skill went into it, that is apparent. Extremely well done.
              > > > >
              > > > > Jim.
              > > > >
              > > > >
              > > > > While I Swept
              > > > >
              > > > > After a busy morning at the grocery store I swept the floor, gathering
              > > > > crumbs and fine dust with the thick bristles of the green angled broom.
              > > > >
              > > > > While I swept
              > > > > a red Coca-Cola delivery truck stopped in front of the store.
              > > > > While I swept
              > > > > I watched the blonde driver unload a pallet of Powerade and pop. I put the
              > > > > broom and dustpan behind the counter.
              > > > > The driver was pale and his hands were shaking and I asked him what was
              > > > > wrong.
              > > > > He told me that a teenage boy barreled toward him on the wrong side of the
              > > > > highway. He told me how he had to pull his truck onto the gravel shoulder,
              > > > > almost rolling the semi, to avoid a head-on crash.
              > > > >
              > > > > While I swept
              > > > > my kitchen floor that evening, I thought about the teenage boy and the Coke
              > > > > driver and how their meeting almost ended in tragedy.
              > > > >
              > > > > While I swept
              > > > > my teenage son arrived home after school.
              > > > > I put the broom and dustpan away. Sitting at the dining room table, I
              > > > > listened to my son tell me about his friend at school whose parents were
              > > > > getting a divorce, whose girlfriend just broke up with him, who came home,
              > > > > found his father's pistol, put it in his mouth and pulled the trigger.
              > > > >
              > > > > That night, with my youngest son safely sleeping in his bed, the shadow of
              > > > > the moon poured through the kitchen window. With tears dashing down my face,
              > > > > I gripped the wooden handle of the yellow broom
              > > > > while I swept.
              > > > >
              > > > >
              > > > >
              > > > >
              > > > > ------------------------------------
              > > > >
              > > > > Learn more about ticket2wite at http://ticket2write.orgYahoo! Groups Links
              > > > >
              > > >
              > >
              >
            • Jerry S
              My dear lady, You have captured a moment in time and painted it for all to see and feel. Well done! As always, Jerry
              Message 6 of 9 , Sep 18, 2012
              • 0 Attachment
                My dear lady,

                You have captured a moment in time and painted it for all to see and feel. Well done!

                As always,
                Jerry


                --- In ticket2write@yahoogroups.com, "carol_emt87" <carol_emt87@...> wrote:
                >
                > While I Swept
                >
                > After a busy morning at the grocery store I swept the floor, gathering crumbs and fine dust with the thick bristles of the green angled broom.
                > While I swept
                > a red Coca-Cola delivery truck stopped in front of the store.
                > While I swept
                > I watched the blonde driver unload a pallet of Powerade and pop. I put the broom and dustpan behind the counter.
                > The driver was pale and his hands were shaking and
                > I asked him what was wrong.
                > He told me that a teenage boy barreled toward him on the wrong side of the highway. He told me how he had to pull his truck onto the gravel shoulder, almost rolling the semi, to avoid a head-on crash.
                >
                > While I swept
                > my kitchen floor that evening, I thought about the teenage boy and the Coke driver and how their meeting almost ended in tragedy.
                >
                > While I swept
                > my teenage son arrived home after school.
                > I put the broom and dustpan away. Sitting at the dining room table, I listened to my son tell me about his friend at school whose parents were getting a divorce, whose girlfriend just broke up with him, who came home, found his father's pistol, put it in his mouth and pulled the trigger.
                >
                > That night, with my youngest son safely sleeping in his bed, the shadow of the moon poured through the kitchen window. With tears dashing down my face, I gripped the wooden handle of the yellow broom
                > while I swept.
                >
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