Typical Day
Bark of dog,
Meow of cat.
Mama-san
takes care of that
with pop of can
and clink of dishes.
After solving
all these wishes,
back to bed.
Write my blogs.
Out of bed.
Put on togs.
Make a smoothie.
Read E-mail.
Into town
for writers’ meetings.
Lots of words
and lots of greetings.
Home again
to write some more.
Pepe’s ringing
at my door.
Once a week
a heavenly rub.
Body restored,
soak in the tub.
Pat the cats,
throw balls for Morrie.
Write some more,
the same old story.
Talk to Dux
many a time
throughout the day.
Sometimes with rhyme.
Midnight finds me
in the pool
under stars
and Morrie’s rule.
Throw the ball
for him to fetch.
Exercise, then
reach and stretch
to retrieve the ball
he throws at me.
Then loft it over
bush and tree
to lower garden
for him to find.
This is our nightly
pool grind.
Go in to bed
to write some more.
Get up to check
I’ve locked the door.
Other events
often occur.
Trips to the vet
to trim or cure.
Coffee with friends,
or dinner out.
trips to the shore,
without a doubt.
Lives grow and change
often with time.
So this is just
the paradigm.
The prompt word today is typical.
Martin, who owns the restaurant where we hold our Saturday writers group meetings, has his sons with him in the restaurant 5 days a week, and sometimes on weekends. He is just an amazing father, as you can see in these photos. You must enlarge to see these darling father/son poses.
Bob in “the” sarong, Bali, mid-1990’s jdbphoto
Fine Fabric
The fabric of my batik blouse seems to have grown too thin
as though what keeps the world out suddenly wants in.
A small tear on the shoulder and a long rend on the hem—
At first I wondered what it was that could be causing them.
Its fabric was durable— a fine hand-dyed sarong
spotted in the market and purchased for a song.
Young travelers in Bali, we had watched them being made—
as they traced the delicate patterns, we stood there in the shade.
And then I remembered it was nineteen seventy three
forty-four years ago that I brought it home with me
still smelling from the wax used as a resist for the dye.
The palm trees and the gamelan, the ocean and the sky
are memories wrapped up in that sarong I purchased there.
I used for a wrap–around, a towel for my hair,
a curtain and a picnic blanket, bedspread and a shawl,
a tablecloth and blanket—it served for one and all
as we traveled with our backpacks, on foot and boats and plane
then I took it with me when I went back home again.
Twenty-some years later, with my husband now along
I returned to Bali and brought my old sarong.
We found another like it—one for me and one for Bob.
Whenever clothes were called for, those sarongs did the job.
For years since then, I’ve used them for tablecloth or shawl,
for coverups around the pool, a curtain for the hall.
I had a caftan made of one. Now on another shore,
I wear it nearly every day and this is how it tore.
The woven equipale chair with tiny nails within it
reaches out for fabric every time I go to sit.
It gets my lovely caftan. and another favorite, too.
I know I shouldn’t sit in them, and yet I often do.
These memories are torn from us. It’s no good to resist.
All the parts of those gone days retreating in the mist.
Its fragile fabric wears away in spite of all our care.
It will not last forever. One day it won’t be there.
Later, I will join it through the tears life’s made in me.
All things are made or born to this inevitability.
(Click on first photo below to enlarge all and read captions.)
Fabric is the prompt word today.
Weaned off Green
Green with envy, soylent green.
Green’s a color I find mean.
When mold takes over a machine,
you can bet that it is green.
Green clogs up locks and fouls my nose.
Leaves a nostril when it blows.
Green is such a rank beginner
that it cannot be a winner.
Green is nasty. Green takes hold.
The color of algae and mold.
It invades when you’re not looking.
Raids the fridge to ruin your cooking.
With other colors you can be friends,
from the beginning, or make amends.
But green is stubborn, nasty, greedy.
If green had eyes, they would be beady.
So if you’re looking for a hue
that will be good friends with you.
Pick yellow or aquamarine.
But I’d advise you don’t pick green!
Thanks to Lynda Early for the prompt of “green” given to me in our writer’s group for our 20 minute writing. I seem to no longer be able to write without a prompt.
For Jennifer’s Color Your World Challenge, Mar 4, 2018
Lest the Love Affair End Too Soon
He’s so suave, my boyfriend Jesse—
trimmed and polished and so dressy—
that no one would ever guess he
lives in rooms so doggone messy.
Ties draped over backs of chairs,
spare shoes tumbling down the stairs,
underwear in places where
you wouldn’t think to find a pair
of crumpled socks or BVDs.
Things piled wherever he might please.
Pizza boxes you’re sure to see
on the divan or Smart TV.
Pockets emptied where he wishes—
piles of coins in dirty dishes.
He’s smooth and debonair, for sure.
I cannot question his allure.
Ladies fawn on him, and flirts
flutter eyelids, swish their skirts.
He’s charming and I don’t dispute
that he is terminally cute.
All those praises, I’d repeat,
but I would never say he’s neat!!!
So if you must, if you’ve the whim,
make a pass. Make off with him.
Hold hands in front of movie screens,
make love in cabs or limousines.
Meet him any place he chooses—
ski weekends, romantic cruises.
Go to Vail, Paris or Rome.
Just don’t let him take you home!
The prompt today is messy.
To Whom It May Concern:
My carry-on’s too heavy to lift above my seat,
so I had to put it under, now there’s no room for my feet.
I request some water (though I’ve been twice rebuffed,)
to take an antihistamine, for my eyes are puffed
from the perfume of my seatmate, which also made me cough.
So I’m already hurting long before lift off.
I’ve squeeze marks from the narrow seats, I’m shivering from the draft,
and when this ride is over, I must board another craft!
Two hours later, two states up, I face another battle
trying to find a decent airport meal here in Seattle.
On my muffuletta sandwich (priced $15.93),
I look in vain for olives, which there don’t seem to be.
My Tim’s potato chips are stale, the sodas are all flat.
The Wifi that they advertise does not know where I’m at.
Air travel’s an adventure but not the one I sought.
I forget this lesson once again, refusing to be taught.
One hour left ‘til I lift off to wing my way on east,
I buy a drink and steel myself to board your winged beast.
I hope this time my seatmate fits in her own seat
so I don’t have to deal again with the impossible feat
of leaning out into the aisle, avoiding every ass
of passengers and stewards that brush me as they pass.
I bitch, I whine, I grouse, I cry, complain and moan and sigh.
‘Til by now I’m sure you wonder why I even fly.
I must admit I’ve asked myself the same as I’ve been talking.
The only reason I have found is that it sure beats walking.
For dVerse Poets prompt: Write a poem in the form of a letter.
The questions below were asked by Cee on her Share Your World blog prompt:
How do you like your eggs? Egg salad made with mayo, mustard, celery, onions, celery seed and sweet pickles. Even better with grated carrots and mild cheddar cheese on whole wheat bread.
Have you ever met anyone famous? Bob Hope, John Wayne, Barbara Kingsolver, Alice Walker, Carolyn Forche, Dom Deluis, Jackie Gleason, Jack Anderson, Ray Bradbury, Macdonald Carey.
What was the first thing you bought with your own money? A savings bond. I was a thrifty little girl. When I was five and six, my 11-year-older sister used to raid my piggy bank and when I’d object, say, “Judy, it’s all coming from the same place! ” (She meant that Dad gave us both an allowance.) I remember saying, “Yeah, and it’s all going to the same place, too—to you!” It seemed important to safeguard my money. A $25 savings bond cost $18.50 as I recall and in ten years made $6.50 in interest. A better investment than losing it to my sister!
What did you appreciate or what made you smile this past week? I loved working with Christine, Fred and Emily—the wonderful musicians and singers who set my rhymed children’s books to music. We have 6 tracks of the first (Sunup Sundown Song) on garage band. I wrote the lyrics, Christine the music. Christine did guitar and lead vocals, Emily did backup vocals and fiddle, Fred did uke and percussion. So fun. Hope to have it available soon. The book is all set up on Amazon and being formatted for Kindle. I need to decide how to distribute the song that goes with it. Any ideas?
To see photos full size and to read captions, click on first photo and right hand arrows.
For Cee’s Share Your World prompt.
jdb photo 2018 frangipani/plumeria
lifelessons - a blog by Judy Dykstra-Brown 