Poetry contest - took third place! STAFF MEETING

 September 16, 2020 – Poetry – took third place!

 

         For the last several years, every Spring I enter the Isothermal Community College poetry contest that is open to inhabitants of Rutherford County, North Carolina.  I sent in my poem in February and I was expecting to see a notice of the winners in May around graduation time in the local newspaper.

          I assumed I must have missed it and, didn’t think about it again.

          Yesterday I received a large envelope from the college  in the mail and at first blush I almost tossed it in the junk mail recycling, but then I hesitated and thought, maybe since I’d enrolled in previous writing classes, maybe they were drumming up students for a writing class and someone sent me a catalog.

          I opened it up and out spilled two Anuran 2020 literary magazines and a letter indicating that I had won third place in the poetry contest, along with a W-9  enclosed for me to sign and return in order to receive the prize money.

          Wow – Published and Paid!

          Without further ado – below is the poem – a personification poem where I assign human attributes to vultures.

 

STAFF MEETING

 

By Teri St. John

 

Vultures congregate in a

dead tree,

in somber suits of black

they settle into

their seats.

The meeting is called

to order.

Discussions open on the

economics of the next

free meal.

Review of profit and loss

statement –

times are tough.

Main livelihood is marginal

from interstate

road kill.

Department of agriculture reports

loss of farmland, acid rain,

feasibility of transfer

again?

Motion tabled for more

review.

Meeting adjourned.

They drop into flight

one by one

to get back to the

business of

picking bones.

 

 

April 15, 2017 – POEM:  Let’s Pay the Taxes with Asparagus

Let’s Pay the Taxes with Asparagus

I shove the signed tax return into the bill basket.

          It’s the same every year – pay, pay, pay.

I tug on my rubber garden boots, mentally scrounging

          for the money to pay, pay, pay.

Sun warms my dismal spirits.  Cut back on groceries,

          and eat lunch in so we can pay, pay, pay.

The mint is fragrant, the chives are shivering,

          and the asparagus is up! Hurray, Hurray, Hurray!

Among old stubble and encroaching weeds tender tips push through

          in response to the sun’s rays, rays, rays.

Succulent green spears, from rhizomes once planted

          in forgotten autumn days, days, days.

Cupboards bare – groceries meager. Yet, we live like kings

          on asparagus, three times a day, day, day.

Taxes mailed by deadline making us poor.  But, we’re rich

          with extra asparagus to give away, away, away.

Note:  This received Honorable Mention in the poetry division of The Anuran, a literary magazine published annually.  May 2017 by Isothermal Community College, Spindale, North Carolina.

On April 13, 2017, I was invited to the 16th Annual Poetry Slam where I "read" my above poem.  And, the judges were KIND and I won First Place, Adult Division for this author reading her poem.  YIPEE! I love competition.  I love winning!!

October 25, 2016 - Another treasure from my archives while I am under the burden of a head-cold

Vintage Potpourri – Thoughts and Observations from the Perspective of the Older Student on Campus.

Column No. 1  

          There is fog in the meadows and heavy dew on the fall grass.  The pungent odor of fallen persimmons and dried leaves gives the air that tinge of autumn.  It’s a new school year with new faces on campus mixed with the old familiar faces. Book bags are fresh and clean; book covers still have that shiny new gloss; pencils have erasers and pens still have their caps.  You hear laughter among old friends, mixed with anxiety, “I’ve got a research paper to do.”

          So much is the same and so much new, but for those who have been on campus before there is something distinctly missing.  That slow, melodic sound of sweep, sweep, sweep of a broom on the steps between Building One and the Library is missing.  That nice old man sweeping away the daily debris of acorns, twigs, and fallen leaves who always paused to greet you with a nod or smile is gone.  John Savino, age 74, a full time custodian at ICC, died on September 14, 1989.  Somehow, passing by those stairs he used to sweep is not the same anymore.  John Savino, you are missed by many.

          The other day an eight year old asked me to name one of her three new gold fish.  “You name the boy fish,” she said, “I think the other two are girls.” Without hesitation I named him “Pyrite.”  Those frustrating Geology 101 labs came in handy.  Now I have great names for pets.

          Already you can look around and start to pick from the new crop of students the excellers, and the scholars – the students whose names will be called next spring at Student Awards Day.  They are huddled in the library in study sessions or already deep in their research papers.  They are the ones who always have a copy of the campus Calendar [which comes out every Thursday if you didn’t know] and are taking note of the upcoming events.

          They are the ones with tight class schedules and are seen running ‘cross campus to make class. They are the ones who are ingenious and tear the accounting manual in half, leaving parts one and two at home now that they are in Accounting 3.  This makes the book lighter.  They are the ones that highlight the text books and write out every answer to the syllabus.  To their surprise, probably they’ll be called out one by one and recognized for their hard work, persistence and excellence on Awards Day in the spring.

          Someone reflected my sentiments the other day exactly:  “I thought the second year would be easier than the first, but it’s not.”  Together we looked back on Western Civilization 101-103, English 101-103 and Geology 101-103, thinking how difficult we thought they were then and how easy those classes seem to us now in our memory, compared to our current class load.  Hopefully, at the end of this year our heavy burden of studying will not seem so bad in retrospect.  We’ll get there, one test, one paper, one exam, one day at a time.  We’ll get to the end of that tunnel.  Take heart and keep at it.

Reprint from The Patriot, Volume XXIV, No. 1, October 20, 1989. [The College newspaper at Isothermal Community College, Spindale, North Carolina.]

September 1, 2016 - First Post

This spring I won First Place in the Poetry Contest at Isothermal Community College which was published in the Anuran, their literary magazine.   Hey, I even got paid for it!  And, I was invited to the Poetry Slam and got 1st place in that too. So, I had my 15 minutes of fame and now have a big head about it and wanted to share it with the world.

But, this is a great way for me to introduce you to who I used to be before I arrived here in this county.  I was a plant manager's wife and continued to be one when I arrived.  In previous locations I gave cocktail parties for salesmen and special tool and die people at a moment's notice even though I held a full time job.  I would rush home to get it all together before the guests arrived. I didn't know that other women didn't do this.  It was an exciting time in my life. I have an extensive repertoire of recipes that I will also share with you in the coming months.

When I arrived here in 1985 I went on sabbatical and eventually ended up going to ICC to obtain my AA degree in Political Science.  I took creative writing classes and loved it as well as worked on The Patriot Staff [the college newspaper].  I wrote a column of observations by an older student on campus called Vintage Potpourri.  I had a fun time and feel one should never stop learning to do new things - thus - here we are at a BLOG!

THE NEW CORPORATE WIFE

The impromptu hostess met us at the door.

She said, “The kids are in bed,

the pizza will be here any moment.”

“You’ve a lovely home,” I said to the wife

of the newest member of the old corporation.

She returned a worried smile to me saying,

“I’m only half unpacked.”

I tried to reassure her having noted the boxes

waiting in the garage unpacked.

“It takes time to settle in.”  Yet, I thought

three weeks is ample time to unpack a two-bedroom

apartment into a four-bedroom house.

We cozied up on the floor with pillows

around the coffee table in the TV room.

The hostess called from the dining room,

“Only my good things are unpacked,

we’ll have to use the Waterford.”

She brought out crystal stemware – the water goblets, not wine,

and set each goblet down with the landing of a butterfly.

Then she produced a chilled bottle of cheap Grenache.

The rose colored liquid gurgled into the glasses.

I thought, “how dé classé”,

the stemware would not improve this meager vintage.”

We saluted to good health and good business!

I set my goblet down firmly.

The hefty weight of the lead crystal

clunked richly on the cherry topped table.

The hostess let out a soundless gasp.

I surmised she’d never used her Waterford before,

and her heart was in her throat.

She couldn’t replace one of them on

her husband’s current salary

since he’d taken a cut in pay to move here.

After the second piece of pizza and goblet of wine,

I set the empty stemware down.

The crystal rang strong, and true, and clear.

The hostess half rose to answer.

She filled it again, half hoping to dull me.

When drained, I slapped the base of the crystal goblet down

to make an emphatic point in my conversation.

It clicked and she came to attention.

Too eager to please she asked, “More wine?”

“No, thank you, I’ve had more than enough,”

of her wine and her Waterford.

Comment about the above poem.  The instructor at the time, Liz Watson, wanted a "voice" poem and reminded us that all good writing tells a story.  I did most of my creative brain storming at my first house in this county at the kitchen sink washing dishes looking down into what I coined "Quail Thicket" and reflected on all the things that I had witnessed as an executive's wife.   This incident quickly came to my mind.  NO, I wasn't the young hostess and I wasn't the old guard corporate wife in the poem either.  I happened to witness this at a cocktail party.