This was a door in my friend Audrey’s house that was bare wood––pretty worm-eaten. I applied 4 or 5 layers of paint to achieve this aged effect. In the background is a party in full swing that I’ll post pictures of at some later date.
https://miscellaneousmusingsofamiddleagedmind.wordpress.com/2016/04/14/thursday-doors-april-14-2016/
Please click on images to enlarge.
https://ceenphotography.com/2016/04/12/cees-fun-foto-challenge-the-colors-blue-and-white/
Mother’s Song
Left in our wake, hushed water parts like wings,
leaving behind us this brief afternoon.
With every oar stroke, I feel our parting
hushed as the falling darkness brings
through the departing wings of birds, the moon.
In this hushed darkness, my thoughts are spinning,
for as the rest of your life has its starting,
you leave behind you its beginning.
Phew! The prompt today was a doozy. Here it is: Today your optional prompt is to write a seven-line poem called a san san, which means “three three” in Chinese (It’s also a term of art in the game Go). The san san has some things in common with the tritina, including repetition and rhyme. In particular, the san san repeats, three times, each of three terms or images. The seven lines rhyme in the pattern a-b-c-a-b-d-c-d.
http://www.napowrimo.net/day-fourteen-3/
Since this is a poem about leaving, which suitcases always suggest, I’m posting this on the WordPress Daily Post site as well:
https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/suitcase/
Suitcase
Like a worn suitcase
so stretched from countless trips back and forth
between the scattered parts of my life
that there is always room for one garment more,
I close around your memory.
Tomorrow I will take you out
and fold you like an old comfortable shirt
over my shoulders.
Lesson from the Garden of Eden
When Adam tripped on Eden’s portal,
Eve could not resist a chortle.
She found she loved this new sensation––
her first encounter with jubilation.
Day by day, she watched him jiggle.
Without clothes, he made her sniggle.
Meanwhile, he admired her wiggle
and secretly, he learned to giggle.
Day in, day out, behind their knuckles
they resorted to these chuckles
privately, not knowing the other
also had tee-hees to smother.
Where things before had made her bitter,
now they simply made Eve titter.
And when occasionally they bickered,
instead of shouting, Adam snickered.
Thus did laughter come to save
these first children of the cave,
and when they became ma and pa,
they taught their children to guffaw.
Then each succeeding generation
increased their sense of jubilation––
enjoying each others’ flubs and gaffes
with chuckles, chortles and belly laughs!
As friends and family still use humor
to solve discord and dispel rumor,
would that nations forever after
Replaced their guns and missiles with laughter.
https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/giggle/
https://silverthreading.com/2016/04/13/writers-quote-wednesday-writing-challenge-laughter/
Thirteen Unfortunate Fortune Cookie Fortunes
–Your ingrained habits are not gluten free.
–You will be the life of your friend’s party this weekend when you mistakenly consume gluten and start making rye comments.
–Your mother-in-law will join a motorcycle gang and become your mother-out-law.
–The roots of your problems are showing.
–You will be asked to sing “Hello Jung Lovers” at the next synchronicity symposium you attend.
–Your children are engaged in a conspiracy to turn you into your parents.
–Seventy-six trombones are seventy-five too many.
–Cadets are advised that participating in naval maneuvers will not make your outie an innie.
–The reason why your cat is always trying to trip you is because he does not like your shoos.
–Taking time to smell the roses does not necessarily guarantee that there will be roses to smell.
–At your next poetry reading, you will drop a page of your manuscript on the way to the stage and be requested to remove your feet from the aisle.
–Just because you know how to read a meter does not mean you know how to maintain one.
— At your awards ceremony for being a prolific sperm donor, expect your recipients to give you a standing ovulation.
And One Fortunate One:
–You will outgrow your ingrown toenail.
http://www.napowrimo.net/day-thirteen-2/
And, since I hope this post will furnish a few giggles, I’m posting it on the WordPress site as well.: https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/giggle/
For National Poetry Month, we are asked to write a poem a day for one month. Today the prompt is to write a poem based on the index of a book. At first I was uninspired by this prompt. I wrote several that seemed lackluster, then had chores and an appointment. In the middle of the afternoon, I decided it was time to get out of the house. I headed to one of the fish restaurants on the lake and picked one from the road that looked peaceful and cool and atmospheric. When I walked in, however, the TV was blaring some sports match. When I took a table furthest from the TV, the waiter asked if I’d like to try one of the palapas. We walked out of the large restaurant and I discovered my perfect environment to write. I’d grabbed a book of Ginsberg poems–one of the few books I could find that actually had an index. I settled in under the palapa roof, ignored the young men first working on their jet ski and then swashbuckling in circles in the water below the palapa, ordered a couple of quesadillas, anejo rum and Coke and this is what transpired.
These poems are comprised of selected lines from the first lines and titles index of Allen Ginsberg Collected Poems 1947-1980, Harper and Row, 1984
I met Allen Ginsberg in 1985 at a concert at McCabe’s Guitar Shop in L.A. when, after waiting in line for too long, I knocked on the door to ask if I could use the ladies room. He was the one who opened the door and graciously let me in. Later, he read his poems to the strum of some instrument—perhaps a sitar.
The book I took this from is signed: Allen Ginsberg, 3/12/85 HH (or perhaps AH) Los Angeles. There is a little doodle of a plant and some bees that looks like it is there to cover something else—perhaps a flub when he started to date it again. I don’t know if I bought the book that night or whether I had it and took it for him to sign. Or, perhaps I bought it in a bookstore later and it wasn’t signed for me at all. I prefer to remember that this reading/concert in the famous guitar shop was a promotion for his book, which had just been published, and that he signed this for me.
Plucked from Line, Five Poems
A bitter cold winter night
after dead souls,
after 53 years,
after thoughts fall,
after All, what else is there to say?
All afternoon cutting bramble blackberries––
a new moon looks down on our sick sweet planet.
#
An imaginary rose in a book
an open window on Chicago
as orange dusk-light falls on an old idea
at gauzy dusk, thin haze like cigarette smoke.
Aunt Rose––now––might I see you?
A very dove will have her love.
#
Because we met at dusk,
Buddha died and
cars slid minute down asphalt lanes in front of
city flats, coal yards and brown rivers.
Coughing in the morning,
covered with yellow leaves,
delicate eyes that blinked blue Rockies all ash
don’t grow old.
Do we understand each other?
#
Drive all blames into one.
Go back to Egypt and the Greeks.
Green air, children sat under trees with the old.
Green valentine blues––
have you seen the movie?
#
High on laughing gas,
how come he got canned at the ribbon factory?
How sick I am.
I am a Fake Saint.
Bedtime used to mean one thing––
all the pleasures sleep can bring;
but now life’s not so cut and dry,
and yes, I’m going to tell you why.
A smart TV up on the wall
turns bed into a shopping mall,
a cinema or library,
transmitter of pornography,
a research center or gaming table.
Anything that you are able
to conceive of, and then more
now waits behind your bedroom door.
lifelessons - a blog by Judy Dykstra-Brown 