Prompt #59: Memory is Tricky

After all the business I give to Amazon in shopping and services, they finally reciprocated this month by sending me a gift of their own. As a Prime member I received a free-with-no-strings-attached Audible of James Taylor's Break Shot: My First 21 Years. I kid you not. I didn't need to start an account or even give them a credit card to start my "free trial."

I knew this would be something I wanted to give uninterrupted time to, so I hung onto for several days without even clicking the link. A couple of friends made sure to tell me about it in case I had missed it, but I was well ahead of them. Waiting for just the right moment.

I opened it up, then cooked and ate my breakfast while listening. I took it to the shower and then on a commute to a work meeting 45 minutes away. As much I thought I knew about James Taylor, I learned a lot I didn't know. I also learned from his story that some of what I thought I knew was wrong- myth or urban legend. JT was the perfect company for my rush hour highway drive. I laughed, I cried, and I wrote this down. I knew this would be my offering for this month's prompt:

Memory is tricky. We remember how it felt and not necessarily how it was... I think many of us keep trying to work out just exactly what happened in our early years. We want to go back and fix something that has already vanished, and can never be corrected. But we can correct it in a song, and a book, and a poem, and a play. One of the nice things that art does is to make things rhyme, to tie up loose ends. Sometimes you can even slap on a happy ending.

This is our prompt. To recall a memory of our own and fix it, change the ending. Or to create a fictional character who wishes to change the course of events in their own lives. You may even choose a character you know and love, or hate, and change their story or their ending. As James tells us, the artist can do that. Choose your genre, choose your path.

Rebel Spirit

Response to Prompt #58, Killer Riff

It gets me every single time--that killer riff that opens Rebel, Rebel by David Bowie. I think it's common knowledge that I was not a rebel--save a few drinking parties I had to lie about. And, for the longest time the real message behind the song completely escaped my limited, naive worldview--one that is expanding at lightening speed lately. Even though the lyrics don't tell my story, the song is still one of my favorites and stirs up the desire to rebel against the status quo of ignorance, strict definitions of what is "normal" or "right," and a mean-spirited world.

This poem reflects that rebel spirit--my alter ego--my own little Rebel Yell.

She started off the quiet one
seen not heard
shy and reserved
afraid of her own shadow
hurt by the taunts
terrified by what others thought
but a little flicker started
as she stood up for others
finding some power
in her words
typically kind and inviting
turned witty and biting when needed
the flicker turned to flame
sick of the bullies
tired of the social order
set by morons undeserving of admiration
the flame ignited a fire
she still fights for the vulnerable
and even sometimes for herself.