Monthly Archives: November 2019

Tabachine: FOTD Nov 23, 2019

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For Cee’s FOTD

Sub-tropical Skies: Open Book

Open Book

Here beneath the Tropic of Cancer,
the sky is a book opened to the wrong pages.
The Big and Little Dippers?
Pages ripped from the spine.
Orion a well-thumbed page,
held directly overhead like a book
read lying on my back.

And is it fact or fantasy
that once I saw the Southern Cross
stretched on its back
near the horizon 
to the south?

Floating half-asleep with mists
of water hot from the volcano
rising around me,
was it a dream or real,
those four twinkling stars
seen just once before that night our boat
slipped over the equator?

Then, as now,
all time seems wedded—
afloat in a universe
of stars and water—
tiny no-see-ums
forming their own active constellations
as they whirl up over the water
and back down in clusters.
Wee moving
stars.

Mr. Havisham

photo by Phil Hodkinson on Unsplash, used with permission

Mr. Havisham

His eggs and toast at breakfast are balanced out with kippers.
He dines on them in satin robes and tiny velvet slippers.
Later, it’s his riding habit, whip securely fisted,
although hinted-at stables have never quite existed.
Fantasy and artistry consume his waking world,
as though it’s here that childhood dreams are finally unfurled.

That unexpected ostrich plume, this candle-scented air?
What we see as ostentatious, he maintains is flair.
This flair abounds around him everywhere he goes.
He waves it like a banner from his hair and clothes.
Lacy collars, pompadours and velvet tailored suits
match French provincial furniture and tiny pointed boots.

He hardly knows the difference, now that he is older,
and does not notice as those dreams begin to fade and molder.
His costumes growing threadbare, his candles melting down,
he no longer draws attention wandering through the town.
He has become a fixture, slowly fading in,
shuffling into the future, forgetting where he’s been.

All the single people, constructing lonely lives
creating their personae in unique little hives,
all of us so busy we fail to heed each other,
seeing as a stranger who might have been a brother.
We concentrate on all those differences we see,
choosing to see difference instead of what could be.

For more eccentric behavior, go here:  https://judydykstrabrown.com/tag/eccentricity/  Too bad these two never met.

Prompt words today are ostentatious, flair, unexpected, difference and clothes.

Bah Humbug and the Sadly Mismatched Couple

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Bah Humbug and the Sadly Mismatched Couple

Right after Thanksgiving, up the tree went.
She loved all the trimmings. She savored the scent!
The outside of the house was embellished with lights,
snowmen and angels and other delights.

Once she was done, she was charmed and elated—
the garlands all hung and the tree decorated.
Christmas delighted her, yet all the fuss
just prompted her husband to grumble and cuss.

The lights hurt his eyes. He bemoaned the excesses.
He skulked and he pouted. He spurned her caresses.
Just the sight of the tree made him nasty and surly,
and yet every year, she put it up early.

How this tale ends is hard to relate.
I fear that a split was their ultimate fate.
She found her a mate who was cheerful and newish
and he found a wife who was blessedly Jewish!

 

Prompt words today are decorated, skulk, nasty, surly and delighted.

Face Lift: Thursday Doors, Nov 21, 2019

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For Thursday Doors.

Wildflowers: FOTD Nov 21, 2019

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The ditch on my corner is filled with these lovely little daisyish flowers.

For Cee’s FOTD

Ashes

Ashes

A handful of memories, discounted by time.
Five for a nickel and ten for a dime.
Burned down to ashes, their bodies erased
along with the dreams they achieved or they chased.

How we incorporate thoughts of the past
into our lives may alter and cast
the present in molds that are better off shattered.
Better new memories than those aged and tattered.

Life is for living, so best throw away
corpses of the past that get in the way.
Living is glorious, but it’s not portable.
By merely living, we become deportable.

Thoughts hoarded in dreams should dissolve in the day.
Think too much of the past and it gets in the way.
As hard as it is, it seems that we must
render ashes to ashes, return dust to dust.

 

Prompt words for today are ash, portable, glorious, incorporate and erase.

Ghostly Happenings

In answer to Fandango’s Provocative Question about whether we believe in ghosts or not, here is my ghost story: https://judydykstrabrown.com/2018/10/26/ghostly-happenings-at-a-12th-century-scottish-abbey/

Wild Women Writers at the Quinta San Carlos

I just sent this batch of photos off to the 7 other women who were the  participants of our last writing retreat as well as Judy Reeves, our leader. Thought you might enjoy seeing them as well, and perhaps later I’ll publish a few of the dozen or more timed writings I wrote during the retreat as well. Service, food and facilities were amazing. At any given meal, we had a minimum of 4 waiters standing to cater to our every need. If our glasses emptied, they were filled without asking. Special dietary needs were catered to. When we retired to our meeting room after every meal, there was already a buffet set out with cookies, chips, veggie plates and sodas, water, coffee and tea. There was literally food available at every minute of the day from 7 a.m. when we went to breakfast until 9:30 p.m. when we finished dinner. And, when we went for a bonfire after dinner, they had a huge cauldron of corn on the cob set up with all the fixings for Mexican corn on the cob–mayonnaise, chili, limes and parmesan! This was our sixth retreat together–each one in a different place in Mexico. We’ve already decided to return back to Quinta San Carlos for next year’s retreat. (The subject was Micro-memoirs and everyone did wonderful work. We’re trying to get Judy to offer an open workshop next year in addition to ours and if so, I heartily recommend it.)

 

Click on any photo to enlarge all.

Here’s more information on Quinta San Carlos: https://www.tripadvisor.com/Hotel_Review-g667915-d1028385-Reviews-Quinta_San_Carlos-Jocotepec.html

They also have their own website with more photos, but it is in Spanish.

If You Can’t be Real, be Surreal (I Just Get My Religion from People)

 

I Just Get My Religion from People

She hooks one long red fingernail
and her left ear disappears.
She points the nail tip to her thumb
and the table rises into the air.
She wrinkles her nose and the table
comes down but the lights go out.
When they come on,
she’s gone but her shoes are still
under the table,
one toe pointed backward––
one heel broken.

Music shows in the air,
hung there by its black tails.
I open a window, blow
jazz to the corners of the room.
I open the door and her shoes walk
out on the wrong side of each other.
“How’s she doing today?” asks the doorman
on my way out.
“We’re getting her act together,” I say.
Catch up to her shoes at the
taxi stand at the corner,
hail them a cab.

For the dVerse Poets Surreal Poetry prompt.

 

 

 

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