“August 8″for the Throwback Edition

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This is the reblog of one of my posts from today’s date in 2016. Still a vaid comment, I think, as much of what I predicted has come about.

Version 2

The Lap

Mothers with children in your lap,
snuggled safely for their nap,
or joggers slowing down their laps
so their sons can fill the gaps
and catch up to take their father’s hands,
consider parents in other lands
as well as children of your own.
Consider what seeds might be sown.

Those who assign Hillary
to whipping post and pillory
bring charges that are spurious
which is especially curious
when the other candidate
who spreads these messages of hate
has led a life luxurious,
exploitative and usurious.

When he claims to be for the masses,
how can we be such senseless asses
to vote for this self-serving fool––
misogynistic, crude and cruel?
How can you listen and not see
how dangerous this man could be?
His fake statistics, groundless rap
spewed from his seat in luxury’s lap?

Please with the election nearing,
consider what you should be fearing.
I hope that every dad and mom
pictures his finger on the bomb.
Do you want this master of derision
making that supreme decision?
This man who overlooks the facts,
and simply rushes out and acts—

could act to end the world for good
and thereby end your parenthood.

Version 2

 

“Lazy Bones” for Friday Writings

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Lazy Bones

The greater portion of the day
had already passed away
by the time she raised her head
and deigned to quit her lonely bed.
She fed the cat and fed the dog,
then hit the button and fed her blog.
The words poured out like kibble, then
she went back to bed again!
It’s true she is a lazy bones,
ignoring doorbells, texts and phones
until it is her choice to rise
to face the possible surprise
that the night might still present—
wondering where the daylight went.
‘”Here sleeps,” her epitaph  will say,
“one who slept her life away.”

In case you are wondering,

(This is not me. I’m up at eight
to answer pounding on my gate.
It is my alter-ego, perhaps—
that side of me that I let lapse—
that draws me into daylight naps
and tempts me to ignore the phone.
That asks for afternoons alone.)

For Poets & Storytellers United, the prompt was “Bones.”

Paint Theory

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Paint Theory

Stubborn as a . . . . for “Classic Material” Prompt

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This blog was published on Aug 6 ten years ago.


images-1

Stubborn as a . . . .

I must admit I’m stubborn, argumentative and such.
All these adverse qualities have me in their clutch.
But my mother’s from Missouri and my dad’s family is Dutch,
so they’re  the ones to blame for it, thank you very much!

If you call it tenacity it ends up sounding better.
I go from being mulish to being a go-getter,
and my stubborn tendencies cease to be a fetter.
They serve me as an asset instead of as a debtor.

As dogged as a pit bull,  determined as a cat.
A bull can be most bullish, you can’t argue much with that.
You can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make him drink,
and nothing’s stubborn as a pig, no matter what you think.

So if you say I’m mulish, it’s neither here nor there.
Stubborn is one quality that’s not so very rare.
And when you point a finger and say I’m being rancorous,
the animal you’re channeling might be just as cantankerous!

“Unscheduled Visitor ” for : Cracking Open the Content Time Capsule for Aug 5

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This blog was posted  on this date (Aug 55) in 2017. I am reposting it for the prompt,”Cracking Open the Content Time Capsule.”

 

Unscheduled Visitor

I hear a rapid rapping and I’m wondering, “Who is it?”
It’s too early in the morning for a casual drop-in visit.
I’m still in my pajamas and the dogs and cats aren’t fed.
How can company be calling while I’m still here in bed?

The knocking is insistent but I have no way to spy
upon whatever passer-by refuses to pass by.
My intercom is broken, so I call out from the door,
“Who is it?” but it’s obvious they aren’t there anymore.

I wander back to bed again, feeling somewhat tense.
Only when I’m sleeping does the knocking recommence.
“Who is it?” I scream out again, accenting every vowel.
The dogs sense my frustration and they begin to howl.

My bedroom sliders are open, so my voice soars over the wall.
Any passerby could hear if they could hear at all.
But still nobody answers. This Saturday morning’s still.
There are no other noises up here on my hill.

No car horns and no dog barks. No children’s noisy play.
No birdcalls. No construction to mar this quiet day.
Except for my invectives as the rappings start again—
louder, oh much louder than they have ever been.

As I charge out of my front door, I grab for an umbrella—
in case I need a weapon to fight off some unknown fella
intent on ruining my day, but when I turn the key
and open wide my front wall gate, there’s no one there but me!

I roar in my frustration. The whole town must hear my wails.
I throw that damn umbrella. Over the wall it sails.
I stalk back to my room and pull the covers over my head,
praying for more silence, but what I get instead

is the steady rat-tat-tatting that now upon reflection
seems to emanate from a different direction.
I draw aside my bedroom drapes and wonder, “What the heck?”
sweeping my sight across my yard, I finally crane my neck

and see it far up in a palm—an industrious woodpecker
whose ruthless drilling is the thing that’s been my sleep-in wrecker!
I cannot throw a shoe at him for I can’t throw that far.
If I tried to knock a golf ball up, I’d be far over par.

At last I view with humor this ridiculous affair,
and so I pull on Levis and smooth my ruffled hair.
I shuffle off to feed the dogs, the kittens and the cat
and just accept as music this rat-a-tat-tat-tat.

 

The prompt today is casual.

12 comments
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    I Love this! Beautiful writing!!!
    

    

    

    

    

    

    

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    lifelessons
    

    

    lifelessons
    

    

    

    

    

    Thanks so much. After I finished the poem he/she continued his knocking into the afternoon.
    

    

    

    

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    Christine Goodnough
    

    

    Christine Goodnough
    

    

    

    

    

    One morning a woodpecker aroused me from my comfy recliner by hammering intermittently on the steel chimney cap of our wood stove. I thought someone was banging on the pipes!
    

    

    

    

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    slmret
    

    

    slmret
    

    

    

    

    

    It’s a long time since I’ve heard a woodpecker! This is a wonderful poem, and a great photo of your visitor!
    

    

    

    

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				Hesitation, for dVerse Poets
			

										

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Hesitation




As I recite my Sunday Psalms,

two butterflies alight like balms

upon the leper’s outstretched palms.


Thus nature intervenes and calms

the remainder of my qualms.

I fill the beggar’s hands with alms.


 


For the dVerse prompt today, Merril inspired us to write about butterflies.

See how others responded to the prompt HERE.

					

		
		
	

							
	

				

			
						

				The Journey Within for dVerse Poets
			

										

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A man travels the world over in search of what he needs and returns home to find it. ~George Moore


This quote says succinctly what I have been saying to friends lately.  I no longer feel the push to travel but would rather stay home and think and write.  At first this made me feel old and then I started to realize that it is in the natural order of things to seek and then reflect.  It is not just a question of energy, but more a matter of the direction of one’s curiosity.  The more I traveled, the more I found that things do not vary that much.  Everywhere I’ve gone, the same personalities are sprinkled over the landscape.  Only the landscape and the percentages change.  Once you’ve found a place where there are the greatest number of people who appreciate you for who you really are, you have found home.  Then the task is to go inwards. That is where the real journey exists.


The longest journey

that I have ever gone on

is within myself.


For Haibun Monday the prompt is “Journeying.”

					

		
		
	

							
	

				

			
						

				Wanderlust, for Rewind: Posts from Previous Years for Aug 2
			

										

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Wanderlust


When I was a little girl, no more than just a snip,

I longed to be up in the air or on a sailing ship.

I lusted for adventure––for travel and for more.

I brooded over my dull life––such a crushing bore.

At five I was a dreamer. A backyard visionary.

I imagined me as gypsy, tourist or missionary.

My fantasies weren’t random. In all of them I traveled.

Year after year more restless and wandering dreams unraveled.


Tarzan was my hero and Superman my crush––

their journeys through the jungle or air currents a rush.

I longed for all their freedom––to fly and move at will.

All of their adventures dreamed from my windowsill.

All night I took such pilgrimages over hills and ridges,

crossing raging rivers over extension bridges.

At sixteen I sneaked out at night in my father’s car

and drove for hours through the night, going just so far


that I could be back home before he arose at five

to snuggle back into my bed in our familial hive.

Then slowly I transitioned into who I longed to be.

I swung down from the branches of my family tree.

Trips to far-off places: Australia and Japan,

Africa, Sri Lanka, Bali and Bataan

all came true. As time passed, I ended the charade

of my stationary life and joined the grand parade.


The world one grand excursion, for many years I quested,

thinking that the life that I was born to could be bested,

until at last I learned the truth that what I journeyed for

was simply to unlock the lock and open up that door

that led me deep into myself to find that private world

that lived inside me all those years, so securely curled

that I only found it by first venturing afar.

Thus do we wander far afield to discover who we are.




This was a post from Aug 2, 2019




					

		
		
	

							
	

				

			
						

				“Daily News” for the Sunday Whirl Wordle
			

										

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Daily News


Voices from the underworld weave in spirals through my dreams

like a current passing through my bones, prompting silent screams

that echo through the temples of my former faith,

their desolate chambers now the home of this hopeless wraith.

Sparks of past enlightenment now simply shed sparse light

in this pit of loneliness whose shadows fade to night.

What dreams may I yet follow to light my upward path

Dispelling enough darkness to cancel out my wrath?


for the Sunday Whirl Wordle #768, the prompt words are: screams desolate temples bone sparks pit voices follow underworld spiral weave current

					

		
		
	

							
	

				

			
						

				Dia de Muertos in Mexico for Lens Artists Challenge
			

										

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No celebration in Mexico is bigger than Dia de Muertos. Shrines, parades, painted faces, decorated graves, special art.


For Patti Moed’s Lens Artists Challenge Celebrations Around the World prompt.