Today’s Fibs

                                              Wrinkles Can Be Beautiful

for Fibbing Friday, today’s  word chores are:

How would you define these words?

1 Biblioklept: The theft of a Bible.
2. Acnestis: Small clusters of facial pimples.
3. Wrest pin: A bracelet.
4. Agelast: Initial name for Botox.
5. Peristeronic: An area surrounded by buildings of historic significance.
6.  Limerence: The act of constructing Limericks.
7.  Sonder: As far beneath as possible.
8.  Vellichor: Incredibly in tune.
9.  Petrichor: A stony silence that comes between two musical choruses.
10. Lugubrious: Given to carrying heavy objects.

“The First Day of School” for dVerse Poets

What demands a list more than deciding what to put in your book bag for the firt day of school..and what is more necessary than a list in relating the story of that big day?

First Day of School

In our house, a pencil sharpener fastened to a shelf
with a little handle I could turn myself.
All the curls of wood and lead safely caught within,
as I gave the pencil sharpener one more little spin.

Five newly sharpened pencils, clutched tight in my hand,
then bound into a secure bunch with a rubber band.
Dropped into my school bag with eraser, tablet, ruler.
Everything unused and clean.  Nothing could be cooler.

The school warning bell rings out as my saddle shoe––
crisp black and white, unblemished, for it’s stiffly new––
makes its first step out my door to cross across the street
and with other six-year-olds, to find my proper seat.

Lynnie, Henrietta, Sheila, Diane, Sharon.
Clevie,  Meridee and I, Rita, Linda, Karen.
Lyle, Keith, Clinton, Jeff, Georgie, Jimmie, Billie––
come from all directions, running willie-nillie

to get to school before the bell sounds its final peal.
All those years of playing school finally here for real.
We stand in lines inside the room as she calls our names.
No more days of playing random childhood games.

Reading and arithmetic, that little cardboard store
where we learned to count out change, make shopping lists and more.
Spelldowns standing up in front, facing towards the class.
Your hand up when you had to ask for the bathroom pass.

Marching all around the room singing “Charming Billy.”
Can he bake a cherry pie? Those lyrics were so silly.
Then we stomped and pointed–our volume without match
as we sent the boys out yonder  to the paw paw patch.

Are you too young to remember? Or is it that you’re old,
your remembrances supplanted, your memories grown cold?
Do you not recall  the ink wells and chalk erasers?
The recess bell, the sandbox, the swingers and the chasers?

The teeter-totters creaking and the merry-go-round?
Every playground adventure? That cacophonous sound
of shouts and jeers and teasings, the tether ball and slide.
All the joyous sounds before we were called inside

to spend time with Alice and Jerry,  and with “Run, Spot, run,”
reading words over and over before the day was done?
They swirled around in all our brains––phonics, words and numbers
stirred our active childhood minds from their former slumbers.

It was so many years ago that we set out that day
upon a road that later would carry us away
from that square white building with its tower and tolling bell
that for the first eight years of school we would mind so well.

Streaming in from all the sides of our little town––
brilliant students, dunces, class bully and class clown.
It was a collaboration that ultimately made
eighteen little boys and girls ready for second grade!

The dVerse Poets prompt was to construct a list poem.

“First Guest” for The Ragtag Daily Prompt “Trifle.”

First Guest

On a load of firewood brought in from the brush,
I found a hidden passenger–a tiny woodland thrush.
Her chest was full and spotted, her voice was pure and sweet.
She fluttered down from  mossy branch to hop around my feet.

Now and then her piping voice insistently orated
whatever controversy it was that birds debated.
Then patiently she stopped her motion and commenced her waiting
as though she found my company a trifle irritating.

I admit it was despicable I had no food to offer—
no caterpillars, spiders or woodlice in my coffer.
No elderberries in my fridge. No pokeweed in my cupboard.
I fear I do not qualify as avian Mother Hubbard.

The cabin I vacationed in was small and isolated.
A solitary traveler, I was neither matched nor mated.
And so this avian visitor was much appreciated,
although my talents as a host were somewhat addlepated.

I opened up the cupboard and found a millipede—
a meager little morsel—a paltry little feed.
But the thrush dined most politely, then dove into the dirt
of a nearby planter in search of her dessert.

A fat green salamander rounded off her meal.
And though I somewhat questioned their culinary appeal,
I mined a nearby cobweb for beetles, ants and flies,
then set a tiny plate of them before my small guest’s eyes.

She gobbled down each tidbit, then hopped up on a chair
(as though I’d placed it there expressly for her derriere)
and gave a lovely concert—her tones both clear and bright
before she took her exit—flying into the night.

The rest of my vacation, I had guest after guest,
but of all companions, that wood thrush was the best.
Hers was the very easiest meal for me to cater
and she the only guest who served as an exterminator

The Prompt for Ragtag Daily Prompt for May 15 is “Trifle.”

“The Massage” for RDP Thursday

The Massage

On the table in the peaceful room,
I  wait  to see what this new creator will make of me.
I  experience a virtual reality–
each stage of her touch
a different story.
Body and soul, I am
the medium for her message: the massage.

Standing over the table in the stove-warmed room,
she is the cook.  I am the bread dough she is kneading.
My leg is a green onion
having its outer skins pulled gently off.

In  the very warm, peaceful, quiet  room,
her fingers knead and fold,
rocking  my separate parts into
one whole ball of clay.
There is artistry in her touch as she folds my left arm
out  like a wing, then in like a handle,
and I am well on my way toward being a teapot
as she forms  my right  arm into the spout.

In the quiet room gone back in time,
I am Dad in his easy chair after a long day mowing hay,
saying, “Rub Pa’s head.”
She is me, scratching  fingers through his hair
kindly, lovingly, with just the right amount of vigor.

On the table in the warm room,
I am hot taffy being pulled by the well-buttered hands
of four little snowbound girls
In Clara Brost’s kitchen.

From this room now expanding,
I am stretched by her fingers through both space and time.
She is sea brine. I am protoplasm,
buffeted back and forth,
and when at the end she cups my ear,
I can hear the ocean
As from a shell.

 

For RDP Thursday, “Peaceful.” Image created making use of AI.

Welcome to “The Numbers Game #124.” Today’s number is 246.

Welcome to “The Numbers Game #124.” Today’s number is 246. To play along, go to your  photos file folder and type the number 246 into the search bar. Then post a selection of the photos you find that include that number and post a link to your blog in my Numbers Game blog of the day. If instead of numbers, you have changed the identifiers of all your photos into words, pick a word or words to use instead, and show us a variety of photos that contain that word in the titleThis prompt will repeat each Monday with a new number. If you want to play along, please put a link to your blog in comments below. 

 

Here are my photos for today. Click on photos to enlarge.

Foggybaby Dreams for dVerse Poets

Foggybaby Dreams Clarified

(For My Nephews––now Six Feet Tall.)

You flinched from my touch,
hated the red cowboy hats
I bought for you,
preferred the hundred
tiny grass frogs
to the cows we tried
to introduce
into your city lives,
had eyes only for the trucks
carrying salt for the cows
to gather after.

Early mornings,
you leaned against
my sleep.
And oh,
your sleep-wicked
hair
and your
sweet sour milkbreath
and the
slight fart smell
of your warm bunny p.j.’s,
your impeccable smiles.
Daylight
had barely
bedeviled
you yet.

Five minutes until
you melted
back into your
foggy baby dreams,
and I became
your
nostalgia.

My foggyybaby nephews, Craig and Jeff, many years later.

For dVerse Poets, we were to write a poem inspired
by Carl Sandburg;s most famous poem about fog. 

“Lost” for The Sunday Whirl Wordle 756

Lost

The whole wide world feels hollow.
We trudge as in a trance,
those tracks that our forefathers
followed without a chance
to eye their lives and twist their fate
and get themselves in line
to test rare truths in vintages
like a rare old wine.
The wines have all gone stodgy,
the casks powdered within,
so we know not where we’re headed,
nor know where we have been.
]

The Sunday Whirl Wordle 756 prompt words are: wide line self hollow rare track twist eye trance trudge powder empty. Image created with AI

Family Reunion

Today we got to meet the newest member of our family, Thamies, who married my grand-nephew Ryan. We had such a good time.

Contrast, for SOCS

IMG_2458

Sun or moon and smooth or rough,
old or young and clothed or buff––
opposites contrast each other––
tough or easy, breathe or smother.
Shadows can be made with light,
though sun is opposite of night.
Sarcasm depends on this:
words that praise, but really diss.
Life consists of contrasts that
give yin for yang and tit for tat.
If you can’t find a life to fit,
just change into its opposite!
Reach for the hidden, release the found.
Contrasts make the world go round.

The prompt for Stream of Consciousness Saturday is: Contrast

Tragic Morning

I am in Peoria, a suburb of Phoenix, AZ for doctor appointments and a family reunion. Today I went grocery shopping at Safeway with my nieces and sister, and when we exited the Safeway store, we found four police cars, an ambulance and a firetruck in the lot and more emergency vehicles arriving. Our car was inside the taped off area around a crime scene and police officers were talking to a woman in the row behind our car.  Police did lift the tape to let us exit and we took my nieces home and came back to my doctor’s office in the same center. When we exited my doctor’s office an hour later, the area was still taped off  with a number of policemen in evidence. We looked online to discover this headline: Woman dead, man critical after shooting near Peoria Safeway. Detectives believe the individuals were known to one another. Here is the rest of the story:

https://www.azfamily.com/2026/05/08/police-searching-suspect-after-man-shot-outside-north-peoria-gr…