Monthly Archives: August 2021

Da Judge Is Playin’ Doctor Now!

Okay.. I thought it had gotten as crazy as it could get, but this story takes the cake.

Filosofa's Word

This one came straight out of my local news channel and my jaw dropped to the floor.

A local man, Jeffrey Smith, is in the hospital fighting for his life against Covid.  He refused to be vaccinated, refused to wear a mask, and so this is where all his naysaying got him.  His wife, Julie, asked the hospital to treat him with Ivermectin, the horse de-worming medicine, the latest quack theory among the uneducated.  Doctors and the FDA have issued strong warnings against humans taking this drug, for it is made for animals who have a different system than ours and who often weigh more than five times as much as a human.  Needless to say, the docs at West Chester Hospital refused the woman’s request to give her hubby this unqualified drug.  Funny, he didn’t want the approved vaccine in his body, but he wants this crap that isn’t…

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False Endings

False Endings

His paranoia is one for the books.

He finds disease wherever he looks.
He anguishes over the slightest small sneeze
and the tiniest bump brings him down to his knees.

When his girl left him, the heartbreak he felt
was myocarditis, and the smallest welt
on his neck or his face is cancer for sure,
so he’s off to  to Mayo Clinic to look for a cure.

His fixation’s macabre and his acts supercilious
every damn time that he feels a bit bilious,
for he knows better than all of his friends
that he’ll soon meet his maker, so he makes amends

for all his ill deeds and his slights and his snits,
seeing the light when he’s down in the pits.
He should have done better and eaten less pie,
and now he’ll pay for it, for he’s going to die.

And when he gets better, you can bet he’ll be sure
that repentance has brought a miraculous cure.
So goes the story, and though it’s not his ending,
you can be sure that a new plague is pending!

(Note: I know I’ve used this photo at least a few (?) times before but it’s just so appropriate to this poem that I can’t help using it again. )

Prompt words today are: myocarditis, macabre, anguish, supercilious and paranoia.



One who lives in isolation is only half alive.
We must generate a union if we’re going to survive.
Though it is true the fanciful may take this to extremes
and gallivant to excess, nonetheless it surely seems
that excellence in socializing might extend one’s life,
for nothing gets us through in a time of pain and strife
like family and friends. Perhaps one reason for our being
includes being seen as much as in our seeing.

Prompt words are fanciful, generate, excellence, gallivant and union.

Bar Stool Bozos and the Predictable Come-on Line

Bar Stool Bozos and the Predictable Come-on Line

A new potential conquest is seen falling from her stool
in bodily protection from contact with this fool.
He’s a denizen of single bars, a problem to avoid,
for he’s sure to leave you listless, if not, in fact, annoyed.

How many boring platitudes can one bromide spout?
How may time-worn come-on lines are vying to get out
of lips that move unceasingly, spilling into the night
all the obvious clichés that he’s driven to cite?

Of all the gin joints in the world, why did he enter in
into the one where you came to have a quiet gin?
There should be a law passed that you get to vote on who
gets to wander into bars and saunter up to you.

They should have to pass an I.Q. test, then be sorted and tagged,
from “interesting” to “boring,” and the worst should then be gagged
with a small hole for a soda straw so they could go on drinking
without the ones around them having to know what they’re thinking.


Notable come-on lines that are grounds for gagging:

“What’s a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?”
“If I said you had a beautiful body would you hold it against me?”
“We gotta get you outa that wet dress and into a dry martini.”


Prompt words today are bromide, falling, denizen and problem.

Note: Bromide in literary usage means a phrase, cliché, or platitude that is trite or unoriginal. It can be intended to soothe or placate; it can suggest insincerity or a lack of originality in the speaker. Bromide can also mean a commonplace or tiresome person, a bore (a person who speaks in bromides).

Solitary Interlude

Solitary Interlude

The luxury of time alone.
No lapses for which to atone.
No tasks assigned. No obligations.
Only personal tribulations.
No one to answer to or for.
A bolted gate. A locked front door.
No need to dress or comb my hair.
Leaving my room, no one is there.

Company is glorious,
but, alas, laborious.
The same is true of visiting.
A bird that’s always on the wing
has no time to enjoy her nest.
I leave it up to you what’s best—
company or solitude?
Activity or quietude?

I am no hermit. I crave no den.
I love the places where I’ve been.
A bit of each is what I’d choose.
Sometimes one and sometimes twos.
But as for now, I must declare,
my guest room empty with no one there
gives me the perfect company:
one-on-one, myself and me.

Eulogy for Artichokes

Eulogy for Artichokes

Behold the bristly artichokes scattered through the field—
delicious little thistles when boiled, buttered, peeled.
With our taste buds wakened and when they’re salted slightly,
it takes a bit of discipline to try to eat politely.

Leaf by leaf, we peel them bare, scraping off their meat.
We like them better with each tiny bit of them we eat.
Then scraping off the “chokey” part, we gobble down the heart.
They told us all along that this would be our favorite part.

Who knew these fat green pinecones would turn out to be so tasty?
Now we wish consumption of them hadn’t been so hasty.
And even after plates are bare and not a morsel lingers,
we’d like to slurp the butter up and lick it from our fingers.


Prompts for the day are scattered, field, discipline, bristly and wake. Image by Margaret Jaszowski on Unsplash.