These sculpted bougainvillea bushes run up the center divider at the entrance to the fraccionamiento where I live. Quite an artistic and sculptural effect. Click on the first photo to see them better.
Whenever my older sister’s friend Karen came over to spend the night with her, she’d bring her Bonnie Braids doll to sleep with me. It kept me out of their hair and gave me someone to talk to. Perhaps it established a precedent? When I went to visit her in Minneapolis 60 years later, she still had Bonnie. Here, we reminisce. She still lets me do all the talking.
Prattle Practice
I don’t have any roommates since I lost my spouse,
so I chew the fat with animals and objects in my house.
“How did you get way over there?” I mumble to a spoon.
I converse with my potted plants, complete with off-key tune.
Sometimes I jolt myself awake, talking in my dreams.
What I have to say at least I want to hear, it seems.
I’ve had a conversation with the sidewalk, face-to-face.
I’ll have another talk with it once they remove this brace.
I hold my kittens in a trance by talking in their ears,
and though they do not answer in the manner of my peers,
they have their personal language of meows and purrs and squeaks.
While I speak back in high-pitched tones like baby talk for freaks!
I hope the neighbors have not heard as I advise the trees
to only shed their debris on their own lawns, if they please.
I sometimes gripe to flowers that they are too soon dying
and to potatoes in the pan that are too slowly frying.
I grumble to my router and cold water from the tap.
Soundly, I upbraid them in my own domestic rap.
I talk to nestlings from below as they cheep from their nest,
but, dive-bombed by the mother bird, I give our chat a rest.
When I prattle to the furniture, the cook pots and the cactus
in lieu of human company, in fact it is just practice.
All my other blatherings just keep me there on track
for when I meet with human folks who no doubt will talk back!
Don’t know where else this photo of the Bonnie/Judy reunion would ever fit in so here it goes into fun photos, along with the poem I wrote to go with it.
Remember Dagwood making those midnight trips to the fridge, piling his “Dagwood sandwich” high with most things edible that came into his vision? Or slumber parties where you tried to do the same and everyone ended up ill, to you mother’s great chagrin? We crave the memories almost as much as the tastes, and perhaps this is what continues to drive us out into the night from our warm beds—exploring the hidden depths of our refrigerators for something special to savor.
Midnight Light
I wear darkness like a second skin.
It is the cloak that hides my midnight sin
as I make my way, barefooted, through my house.
Silent, lest I wake my dogs or spouse.
This way I know most well and so I bridge
in seconds that long gap between my bed and fridge.
Pull open that snug door and hear the plop
first of the rubber gasket, then the top
of the carton that has been my goal.
Spoon out its richness without benefit of bowl.
This darkness both of me and of the night
something the fridge dispenses with its light
as tears of joy and guilt and pleasure stream
down cheeks distended with this chocolate dream.
For minutes, I stand caught up in the hold
of this trio of pleasures: chocolate, creaminess and cold.
Until some motion jolts me from their grip.
I feel its pressure at my shoulder and my hip.
My spouse rolls over, shattering my dream
of midnight tryst with frozen cream.
Its chocolate savor is one that I try to keep
as I roll over once again to seek my sleep.
Whatever course my next dream serves, I’ll try it.
For I’ve already been one long day on this diet!
The prompt today was savor. (Yes, you have perhaps read this poem before. I wrote it three years ago.) The photos were harvested from the Internet.
doll by Louie Gann, jdbphoto
Sleight of Knees
When the circus clown was lauded,
marveled at, praised and applauded
for hanging from the high trapeze
for 24 hours by his knees,
though he was admired for his moxie,
it turns out it was just epoxy!
The prompt today was moxie.
This fella sitting on rebar rising up from the lot next to my friend’s house was huge. Is it a Kingfisher? Closest I can come to identifying it.
For Nancy’s A Photo a Week Bird Challenge.
Doll by Judy jdb photo
Tailor of Mankind
He thought he would be a tailor of men.
Then, “Woman!” he thought,
laughing as he
extracted a rib, seaming
hills and valleys, taking a subtle tuck
here, folding an excessive curve there
and there. Smoothing it over, shortening
a length. Extending another.
Making them fit and not fit.
Not a perfect pair but rather
thesis and antithesis,
yin
and
yang.
Anima
and
Animus
he shaped into each
in different quantities.
Then, he clothed perfection,
sheathing it and obscuring
differences to be discovered
under falling leaves, in darkness,
setting a whole world in motion.
Then he wept.
The prompt today is tailor.
Hola to Judy’s readers. Some of you know me here as okcforgottenman, Judy’s (mostly) behind-the-scenes/curtain techie, keeper of secrets, and spotter of misspellings. I also like watching her blog stats daily as I try to figure out what specifically draws viewers/readers in. A few minutes ago I saw that someone out there in cyberspace today found Judy’s blog by typing in an interesting keyword search into some search engine:
In case your screen is too small (or, like me, your eyes are too mature), here’s a closer view:
Might this yield further insight as to how Judy acquires more readers?
Judy? –
(Judy speaking now.) Well, over-60 female viewers might agree that we need to find our thrills where we can find them and a little fermented sugar cane mixed with a cola beverage seems a pretty socially acceptable way to find our bliss. Do you agree, ladies?
As for forgottenman, you have no idea how many things in stats I would miss if it were not for him. He pointed out a milestone in views reached yesterday, has found reviews of my poems in a New Delhi newspaper and he was the one who spotted the article in a British online news magazine that did a comparison between my stats and Donald Trump’s. Now how unlikely is that and how would I have ever known? Nice to have someone backing me up on my blog. He writes a pretty mean blog, as well–quality-wise if not quantity-wise. You should check it out HERE.
He is also the one responsible for fishing your comments out of Spam, where they have unfairly been filed by WordPress. So let’s give him a big round of applause. okcfm, I’d like to see you do another guest blog on the weirdest search engine terms you’ve seen on both of our blogs.. and challenge others to check theirs out for oddities to share as well.
Ball’s in your court, forgottenman. –Judy
The combined effect of living above an inland lake surrounded by mountains and being 40 miles from Colima Volcano—one of the most active volcanoes in North America—makes for interesting weather during hurricane season. No wind, but our usually sunny mornings turn overcast and misty. The air is a bit cooler than usual, and when the volcanically-heated mineral springs empty into my pool and hot tub, it makes for some very atmospheric scenes. Pasiano was in the process of clipping and cleaning up, getting ready for the lush growth of the rainy season. Morrie, as usual, made his mark on the occasion. Who could have staged that? Who would want to? Hope you enjoy these scenes of my terrace, pool and garden.
lifelessons - a blog by Judy Dykstra-Brown 