The Poetics Of “Murder, She Wrote”

    I adore Angela Lansbury.

“Murder, She Wrote,” is like a tonic for my brain. Feel free to object, but I think its ideal material for social gatherings. (Specifically, ‘Drinking Games’ or relative play such as Twister or eating obscene amounts of Halloween Candy.

The POETICS of each episode are wonderfully fun and according to its story formula, offer many chances to “Drink!”

For example:

Each time a guest-star or character role says, “JB Fletcher, the mystery writer? I LOVE your books!” Eat three handfuls of Candy Corn or chug half a pint.

When Jessica discovers the body, get out your beer funnels or that Giant Pixie Stick and guzzle.

Aristotle, Plato and Socrates postulated why the written form confines and endangers the theory as THE POETCS written by Aristotle mutated into 15th Century Neoclassical Ideals. Break the “Three Unities,” and die.

But in this case, the rules mean more fun, candy, beer, and yes, more people die.

Thanks JB!

Post your “Murder, She Wrote,” Poetics Game in the comments.

Xoxo, Gidgie

FRIEND SORROW, Verse by Adelaide Anne Procter, 1890

Posting for International Women’s Day:

http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/2303

 

Posted at 01:10 EST

Saturday, March 9, 2013

Website © KHC, GidgetWidget™   2013

Goodbye To The House On Peachblossom Creek

Take me back to the days when we would swing

from the branches of dogwood trees,

run down to the dock with our minnow nets

to check the crab pots,

or in early summer, before the jellyfish,

jump off the end of the wooden dock

into Peachblossom Creek

We’d swim across the river to the sandbar

to play in the tidal pools

until we were called in for supper.

`     `     `   No one ever tells children the truth.

That point

It comes at some point and then,

childhood dies.

“`     ““     “

it happens slowly so you don’t notice

and once it’s dead,

`     `     `     `     `     `     it’s gone forever.

Days you can never have back.

`

Freedom as pure as a summer’s evening

stripped away as naturally and steadily 

as winter strips the earth of its green.

`

There are no more summer days

for us

at the house

on Peachblossom Creek.

`

We all grew up, our parents grew old,

and our grandfathers passed away.

It’s been years since that land was sold

with its great magnolia trees

that bloom every spring

“`     “   `

…if they’re still there.

…. Perhaps they bloom each year     for another       happy     family?

____

` ` <“•ª*`¬ ))~~~~>>}

But I don’t dare

turn right off the Oxford Road,

the first right after Peachblossom Creek Bridge,

onto Old Country Club Road,

where the gates to the house are less than a mile in,

I don’t dare go back again

`     `     `     The sight of how the years have changed it

`      `      `   I probably won’t recognize it

The House, The HOME,

where we celebrated so many Christmases

and summer nights catching lightning bugs

those years when we were children

those times that can never happen again

as we scattered apart like leaves on the wind

_

No one

ever

told me

that’s

what

growing up

is.

***

©2010, KHC

WASHED AWAY

If it were up to me ~ I'd quiet the cacophony ~ So, maybe we could see ~ Maybe we could hear.... How close we are ~ To Being ~ Washed Away ~ Washed Away

WASHED AWAY

Lyrics and Music by Kimberly Cox

Let me be

For just a little while

Let me breathe

Let me breathe

~

I’ve seen an angel, fall from grace

I’ve seen the devil in my own face

~

And I know the whispers

Well, they lurk in corners

And they speak of the answers

Without using any words

~

And if

It were up to me

I’d quiet the cacophony 

So maybe we could see

Maybe we could hear:

~~

How close we are

To being

Washed away, oh, washed away

~

We think that we’re lost

All so lost we can’t be found

And it’s not easy, no

To keep believing

But don’t take the answers

As Grace comin’ down

‘Cause there’re no answers

That we have found

~ 

And I know the whispers

Well they lurk in corners

And they speak of the answers

Without using any words

~

And if

It were up to me

I’d quiet the cacophony

So maybe we could see

Maybe we could hear:

~~

We don’t need to

Be washed away

Washed away, oh, washed away

~ 

I just keep holdin’ on

I keep holdin’ on

I keep holdin’ on

Waitin’ for something else to come along

~ 

Let me be

For just a little while

Let me breathe

Let

Me

Breathe

Portraits Of A Millennial: 4 Windows