When I come to this place each morning,
I am hopeful I’ll find a word
that attracts other words that are lovely
or heartbreaking or absurd.
I am wishing they’ll gather together
in a community––
to wake this fractured world up
and turn it o’er their knee,
then gather it in loving arms
Sometimes words must shake our calm,
creating stormy weather,
just to come into our hearts
to bring us all together.
The prompt word today was hopeful.
I chanced upon this scene when I came back to the guest room, where I am sleeping tonight hoping it will be less asthma-provoking than my room has been lately. It looked so cozy, I hated to disturb it. I have another confession to make. I bought this cat made of papier mache newsprint in PV. It was made by an artist who would not reduce the pretty pricey price because he was selling them in galleries so couldn’t undercut them. I actually bought it for my friend but when I saw it in my new guest room I decided to keep it. I felt guilty about this while she was here. I had installed it cozily on the bed in the room where she slept. Imagine my delight when I pointed it out after a few days, surprised she hadn’t mentioned it, and she made a rather disparaging comment about it. Relief! I was thinking if she was crazy about it I’d have to give it up to her. She is a cat lady, I should add, of the first order. So, I sent her back to her real cats and she let me keep my hypoallergenic cat. I’m sleeping with it tonight.
This really is the number of meds that are keeping me breathing right now.
Okay, readers, here’s the dope.
Though desolation might reach and grope,
put in my path those bars of soap,
in depressed times, provide the rope,
I choose instead to fight and cope.
I refuse to be a misanthrope.
I really have no cause to mope,
for as long as there is breath, there’s hope.
Background info that I couldn’t fit in without really stretching it to fit in my remaining rhyme words of “ope, lope, Pope and taupe,” is that last night I was taken by ambulance for a night’s stay in the emergency room of the local Green Cross. I started having asthma attacks in the afternoon and by evening I just couldn’t breathe even with the inhalers. None of my friends were home so finally I called a close neighbor who luckily had a sister who is both an asthma victim and a nurse. She got me calmed down and breathing through the inhaler and they went back home to have dinner, saying they’d come back to stay with me afterwards. I tried to call a few more friends, but again, none were home, and I had another attack. Luckily, the phone rang and it was Chris seeing how I was. I could just gasp “Help!” They were there in two minutes, called an ambulance, and since they could not get me to breathe without the oxygen, they took me to the hospital for the night. Twelve hours of oxygen later, plus visits by two doctors, an injection and 5 more bottles of medicine, I’m back home with an oxygen machine I bought, looking for a portable one that doesn’t cost $5,000—what they cost here in Mexico— or $3500—what the model I’d like costs in the states. Never have I been so thankful for the breath of life!
The prompt today is mope.
Everything Old is New Again
To dress passé? A fashion sin,
yet everything old is new again.
So if your dress length’s out of date
all you have to do is wait.
In twenty years, you’ll be in vogue,
in what last year marked you a rogue.
Who dictates fashion is beyond me.
As are those who wait to see
whether ankle, thigh or knee
is where a garment’s end should be
and whether cowl or boat or vee
is the right neckline for the tee
they tuck into their faded jeans—
now ripped and shredded like a dumpster queen’s.
Following fashion’s every word?
I fear I find it most absurd.
I want the knees left in my jeans,
my butt well-covered, by all means.
What clothes you wear should be your passion,
not merely what’s okayed by fashion.
There should be no laws or rules
regarding clothes or hats or jewels
except what shows us who you are.
Each woman her own runway star.
The prompt today is renewal.
These bougainvilleas seem determined to build a wall straight up, like Jack’s bean stalk.
Don’t miss out on seeing Cee’s Lotus photo.
If Poets Named the World
If poets named the world, there’d be
a more precise variety
of names for things that suited them.
For instance, take the common “hem.”
We find it on our skirts and pants
if it is not torn out by chance.
But “upturn”seems to suit it better
In fact, it names it to the letter.
“Houseclump” better names a village.
The waterfall could be a spillage.
Each fresh-plowed field would be a tillage.
The drug store? It would be a “pillage.”
The prompt today was “pillage.”
When my visiting friends Patty and Marti went with me to pick out poinsettias to decorate with for Xmas, Marti at once spotted this hibiscus in a small pot in front of the plant stand. She loved it so I bought it to remind me of her after she left, and planted it where she instructed, in a large planter pot to the side of my kitchen door. I snapped this photo at night, astonished that the petals hadn’t closed up for the night yet. This is the first time I’ve been able to get a good shot of the pistil and stamens of a hibiscus. Because they are so fuzzy, they ordinariiy look out-of-focus. Perhaps the secret is taking the photo in the dark!
Please click on first photo to enlarge and see captions that will guide you through Little Duck’s typical day when in Mexico. (Please remember he now resides in Missouri. We miss him so.)
Little duck emerges from his handy little private condo in the kitchen cabinet..
He supervises Yolanda as she chops up peppers and onions to his exacting instructions.
Learns once more that a watched toaster never pops.
Utilizes other breakfast ingredients as a utilitarian aid in extracting the toast from the toaster.
Takes a wild ride on the kitchen turkey.
Schmoozes with Diego, who is attracted by his aura of kitchen smells.
Takes in a poetry reading by another Duck.
Then a puff on his daily vice,
along with just a sip of Judy’s private stock
And so to bed, to dream of the next day’s adventures.
Perhaps a wild ride on Big Duck’s antique goose? THE END. (CLICK ON X AT THE UPPER RIGHT TO RETURN TO POST PAGE.)
Thanks to okcforgottenman for the last photo of Little Duck off on a new adventure in Missouri. (Sob.) We miss both of our ducks down here in Mexico!!!
This posting is for Cee’s “Duck, Duck, Goose” challenge.