Here is yesterday’s hibiscus today For Cee’s FOTD
If you’d like to see what this flower looked like yesterday, go HERE.
My friend is loose but I’m demur.
She has more fun, you can be sure.
Her blinding smile can motivate
a guy to ask her for a date.
She’s best when she is center stage,
but I prefer the written page—
a square hole with a rounded peg
when I am asked to shake a leg,
I got the brains, she got the looks.
She parties on. I hit the books.
One of us was born to party,
but I’m the one who is the smarty.
For Cee’s FOTD
Dark shadows that were yesterday
in flashbulb’s glare have given way
to images where we are kept
on pages where for years we’ve slept.
They apprise us of the past,
employing images that last
to dominate in blinding light
the past that otherwise takes flight.
Not all of the Wild Women Writers were present, but Margaret was visiting and Amelia and Leslie were in town, so Harriet and I, who are always here, joined them for a one day retreat at Leslie’s rented house. Amelia posed interesting questions and Harriet and Margaret came up with some fun writing prompts. Leslie organized the lunch which we all contributed to and I snapped photos. A good and enlightening time was had by all. Judy Reeves, it was good to talk to you via the internet. We missed you…The last photo is a picture of the original Wild Women group at a retreat at Quinta San Carlos before Covid changed our plans for further yearly retreats.
(Click on photos to enlarge.)
The first photo is of my grandparents and two aunts and their families. The third photo is my dad and his cousins, my grandmother Jane and her sister Susie and my oldest sister Betty Jo as a child.
The Old Homestead
Its barn is thick with echoed thrust
of wings long faded into dust.
The barn owl hunts no rodent ghosts,
no drumming wings the still air boasts.
Those boards you walked now topped with blooms
of mildew, mold and wild mushrooms
that cling and spread and flood the room
with peaceful quiet and sombre gloom.
What footfalls that you might have made
are soon absorbed and so they fade.
Your presence, vital long ago
barely interrupts the flow
of time that passes here so slow.
No lowing cattle, no rooster’s crow.
No bleat of lamb, no donkey’s bray.
All that once was has passed away.
For The Sunday Whirl Wordle 590 the prompt words are: barns thick clung topped blooms walked spread drumming faded hunt peace floods
You breakfast, lunch and tea and sup,
hardly ever getting up.
I say that we should take a ride
just to get us both outside,
and thus do I precipitate
a lively marital debate—
you flummoxed by my rude suggestion
that interferes with your digestion.
So I employ another means
to distract you from your franks and beans.
Feeling youthful and impulsive,
I chance your finding it repulsive
and suggest that we go dancing
and perhaps do some romancing,
whereupon you rise and shriek
that your demise I surely seek.
Dancing at our advanced age?
You spit and sputter, in a rage,
and since for minutes you don’t pause,
at least you exercise your jaws.