Monthly Archives: March 2015

NaPoWriMo 2015 Day 1: At 67–I Guess that It’s Too Late for Me to Live A Life Of Sin.

In case you are wondering why I have two posts, they actually gave us an earlybird prompt on March 31, so we had two prompts for April 1.  No fooling!  Here’s the first one I wrote:

At 67

I guess that it’s too late for me to live a life of sin.
I’m simply going to have to make do with the life I’m in.
Although life’s dance has furnished me with many a wild whirl,
my past is littered with false starts at being a bad girl.

It seems that dirty dancing doesn’t fit my constitution,
for somehow I just seemed to fail the sexual revolution.
Strange sexual positions never seemed to please.
They only did my back in and ruined both my knees.

It’s much too late to try to build a palate for champagne,
for experience has taught me that it’s safer to abstain.
The guilt I felt for shoplifting had just one resolution.
I felt the only answer lay in complete restitution.

Cocaine made my nose drip and pot just made me fat.
And that’s how I got into the position where I’m at.
Too chubby now for hot pants and too frigid for them, too,
I’ve found that there is only one more thing for me to do.

Rather than complete the acts that formerly I would,
it’s easier to only do the tame things that I should.
So though I must confess my bad girl days are at a halt,
I’ll admit I am a paragon merely by default!

Today’s Prompt: Lamentation for the other lives we could have led is something we probably have all felt. Today, why not try writing your own poem that begins “I guess it’s too late to live . . . .

One Word Photo Challenge: Shamrock

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What fun to look back a few years to look for photos to meet this challenge.  The first one of the bird in the water plants was taken on a trip to Peru several years ago.  This particular picture was taken on a pond near the Amazon.  The picture of the ant was also taken in the rainforest on that trip.The Mayan woman is a fountain that I commissioned and that spilled water into my pool.  Unfortunately a workman tipped it over and broke it a few years ago and the new one I paid for  and commissioned has never appeared.  Nor has the artist I paid to make it.  Sob. The gold colored building is my studio and that little cactus in front of it is now at least 30 feet high. The water lilies are on a pond in the Lake Chapala Society in Ajijic–the town I live near in Mexico, and the green moth flew on to my computer screen a year or so ago and actually had a poem dedicated to it.  It was very tiny and only a little bit less green than this picture depicts it to be.  Thanks for taking this journey through green with me! If you want to see larger versions, just click on the pictures.

Tagline Deprived

Tagline Deprived

Rockefeller, Stanislavsky, Jones or White or Brown–
some names smack of commonness, others of renown.
We are born with surnames, then get given names and pet names.
Whether born or given, it is sure that we will get names.

Folks who do not like their names choose names that are more regal,
then change themselves to suit the names once they have become legal.
Mark Twain is a pen name, and Saki, too, was one.
And Chloe Wofford took the name of Toni Morrison!

Writers need names for their pens and actors for the screen.
Afterwards, the names their parents gave are rarely seen.
Allen Konigsberg  shifted his first name to his last,
assumed the name of Woody, and the man became a blast!

Jennifer Anastassakis is difficult  to say,
but Aniston is simple to recall from day-to-day.
Some call others names  that are pejorative or racial,
or names based on peculiarities of form or facial.

Whether we are large or small, hirsute or merely bald–
all these factors might affect what nickname we’ll be called.
“Gordo, Freckles, Skinny, Baldy, Curly, “Hey there, Chubs!”
The ones called by these names find little humor in these dubs.

Crooks and other felons assume pseudonyms because
It hides their identity while hiding from the fuzz.
But in this modern age, the name game is more specialized.
Great-grandmothers and grandfathers would be so surprised

at all the different names we need for social media.
It’s gotten so we need a name encyclopedia
to help us figure out the names for new identities
what’s more, to help us out with all the lingo, if you please.

I do not know.  What is this hashtag? What’s a tagline, too?
When I read this prompt, I swear I knew not what to do.
And so I wrote this lengthy poem of pseudonym and name,
only to look up “tagline” and find, much to my shame,

it has nil to do with hashtags or name tags or of title,
screen names, pen names, pet names or of this whole name recital!
It’s just a simple phrase of who I am and how I cope.
If I had done a little research, I would not be such a dope.
I could have looked it up in Google or in other online books.
Instead, I fear I’ve earned this tag:  “She writes before she looks!”

The Prompt: Tagline–Often our blogs have taglines.  But what if humans did, too?  What would your tagline be? (Would that I had researched this topic before writing.)

Magical Talismans In Sand

This posting is so amazing–both images and words–that I had to reblog it.

The Ambitious Drifter

When I first saw the patterns made by the crabs I thought it was a message for me alone. Now I know differently. I learned to listen to what the tide was telling me. The beach is their canvas, there are many messages as each crab expresses what it feels.


In my dream it was promised

I will be this next.

The tides have told me

I will live in the sun

And make my nest out in the air

The waves will be a memory

Contending clouds

Will be my wide new sea.



The shadow of the hawk

Will keep my nemesis – heron

Away, he will not dare

To land near here

My strong magic

Protects me still



This ocurred in our mothers’ time,

The time of our parents

Beyond our parents.

We watched it fall, that star

Dragging down darkness

Howling as it came.

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My Brilliant Career: How I Found My Proper Place in Film and TV

My Brilliant Career: How I Found My Proper Place in Film and TV

I got bitten by the film bug when I lived in L.A.
and did some sort of movie work most every single day.
On Mondays, Wednesdays, Fridays, I always had a class.
The U.C.L.A. campus is where they came to pass.
I studied film production and took screenwriting, too;
but my class in documentaries was where I scored a coup.
We made a documentary.  In fact, I helped with two,
but I knew by the end of them I hadn’t found my place.
I simply didn’t have the balls to run the movie race.

Then I studied acting at an actor’s studio.
I really did the best at this, but still, it was “no go.”
When it came to trying out for parts, I didn’t have the nerve.
Once again my movie plans took another swerve.
I worked as an apprentice at a Hollywood agency.
There were so many candidates, yet they selected me.
They had me reading novels and sitting in on sessions;
and this was more exciting than my former classroom lessons.
I met some famous actors and tried to be real cool,
and writing out readers reports was easier than school,
but still I knew that in my heart it just wasn’t for me.
After all this time, I didn’t know who I should be.

I’d been in California for three years by then;
and although I hadn’t found my place, still I had the yen.
But I’d run out of money. It was time to find employment
that would involve a paycheck and not just my enjoyment!
I’d heard of a position where I thought that I could cope
as publicity assistant for none other than Bob Hope!
So I wound up in production: typing, phoning, organizing.
The  people in my Rolodex were frankly quite surprising.
I set up radio interviews with the famous Bob.
To read the National Enquirer was required in this job!
I went to filmings of the shows, sent out his Christmas gifts,
ran back and forth to N.B.C. and soothed some office rifts.

But all-in-all though it was fun to be there on the fringe,
to be completely honest, I was not a vital hinge.
And so when I was married, we decided to move north.
I left my life in filmdom and boldly sallied forth,
moving up to Santa Cruz to live by doing art–
never really finishing what I had tried to start.
I had adventures plenty and saw much of the scene
and I enjoy remembering everywhere I’ve been;
but all-in-all, the truth is that there’s one place I’m most groovy.
When it comes to all the skills that have to go into a movie,
the only place that doesn’t make me sort of tense
Is center row and half way back, in the audience!

The Prompt: The Show Must Go On–If you were involved in making a film, would you want to be the director, producer or lead actor?  You cannot be the writer.

Important note to all readers:  I’ve had four followers report that all my comments to them are going into their spam folder.  Would you please check your spam folders today and see if this is so and also check them tomorrow and tell me if this is still the case?

Also, my yesterday’s post would not link to the WordPress Daily Post Site, so if you haven’t read it and would like to, you can reach it through my blog.  Thanks, Judy

Boy Toys

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Boy Toys

If I were a kid again,
I’d ask for an electric train,
erector sets and building blocks,
a cane to take along on walks
for fending off mean dogs and snakes,
a little oven that really bakes,
decoder rings and magic sets,
ant farms and bug-collecting nets,
a chart for looking up the stars,
paraffin and jelly jars.

The main thing that I’d want, you see,
are more forms of activity:
canvas, paints and wood or clay
to help me pass the time of day.
Instead, adventure came in books–
days spent in armchairs or in nooks
and crannies of our lawn or house,
curled up like a little mouse,
reading of the far-off places,
imaginary deeds and faces.

But I would rather have been doing–
drawing, cutting, building, gluing.
Instead I spent my days in dreams,
filling up my mind with schemes
of what I’d do when I was older–
taller, smarter, braver, bolder.
When we are young, if no one shows us,
takes the trouble to expose us
to the world of creativity,
we may never really see

all the ways that there might be
to set imagination free.
It was plain that an erector set
was not a toy I’d ever get.
With “Hello boys,” written on the front,
the message was both clear and blunt.
Girls did not ask for toys like this.
I had no inkling of what I’d miss.
Creativity was slow to dawn.
For years, I simply played the pawn,

doing what others asked of me,
waiting until I was free
to find a path I’d never seen
caught up in the small town machine.
When I was freed into the world,
a whole new universe unfurled
undivided into  girls or boys.
I finally learned to choose the toys
I really wanted: saws and pliers,
sheets of silver, silver wires,

drill presses and dapping blocks,
glues and solder guns and caulks.
I finally have the toys I want–
not toys to look at or to flaunt,
but toys to make things with and do
–things that help me build anew
each day into whate’er I wish:
a paper lamp, a silver fish.
My story boxes tell the story
of all those years in purgatory

before I learned what else there was
to make my life take off and buzz
with focus and activity–
to fill my days and set me free.
Somehow I just got off the track
before I made my own way back,
but If I did it over again,
I’d ask for that electric train.
Around the track, I’d watch it curl–
a perfect pastime for a girl!!!

The Prompt: Gimmee–Was there a special gift or toy you wanted as a child but never received? If so, what was it?If