The Prayer of the First Astronaut Poet
There is no Wifi in space
and so I send my words
out into the Universe
hoping that each syllable
will emit a ray
somehow connected
to all my other syllables,
and if quantum entanglement
is right, they will one day
find each other
again.
For the diverse Poets Pub the prompt is to write a Sci-Fi Poem
Within
Although they stand stiffly at attention,
these walls reach out
and hold me safe within their middle.
They stand guardian,
cushioning sound,
deflecting sharp edges.
Lucky me to have their protection.
Foolish me to leave their arms.
Yet the butterfly
soars over and away.
for dVerse Poets, the Quadrille Challenge prompt is “With.”
Relax, it’s only henna! I get a tattoo on my lower leg every time I go to the beach. It fulfills all my contradictory impulses.
Change of Mind
Tattooed pierced and branded, or to be marked for life
with patterns carved into the skin with a sterile knife?
I cannot help but tell you that I find it very strange–
this trend to decorate ourselves by means that we can’t change.
When I was in my twenties, I bought a gorgeous hat
of pink and blue with colored plumes that swayed this way and that.
But what if I had had it sewn forever to my head,
so when I desired a wedding veil, I had feathers instead?
What if those chandelier earrings I found so cool in my teens
were implanted so I couldn’t take them off by any means?
So when I trekked across the jungles, weaving through the trees,
those earrings caught upon the vines and brought me to my knees?
My hair would be a helmet, and my eyes would look so queer
if worn like I did at twenty with eyeliner ear to ear.
So I cannot help but think this child with corks stretching her lobes
might regret them in her forties as she dons her judge’s robes.
Or the youngsters with the tongue studs, one day when they are men
might regret it as the shots they drink leak out onto their chin.
I’m so glad those mini skirts I wore—a poor choice even then––
are not still sewn upon my hips now that I am more Zen.
Thank God those darker outlined colors that made our lips less thin
and those psychedelic tie-dyes are not printed in our skin.
For although our taste was laughable, at least we can repent–
for the choices that we made in youth were not permanent.
And, that hat mentioned in the poem? It really existed and still does, although no, I have not worn it in over 40 years. Here it is, a side view!
The prompt for My Vivid Blog today is “Mind.” (Hope is is ok that I am rerunning a poem I wrote in 2015. Just seemed appropriate!
Forgottenman says I need to explain this Bobby Jerry photo in today’s Numbers Game Post. . I thought I’d written about it before and sure enough, found it in an old Skype conversation with him. This is part of that conversation::
[7/3/17, 11:21:59 PM] Forgottenman:Tell me about Bobby Jerry?
[7/3/17, 11:28:11 PM] Judy: When I was born, my sister Patti was not quite 4 yet. Earlier, as they were discussing what to name me, my dad had teased her that he wanted to name the baby Hazel. Later, She dictated this letter to add to a card to send to my mom and me in the hospital. She said, “The bees is buzzing from flower to flower today. Please don’t name my baby brother Hazel. I want to name him Bobby Jerry.” (She refused to believe I was a girl.)
So, I had told that story to Forgottenman and the first time I flew out to see him after that, he met me at the plane holding a sign that said, “Bobby Jerry Dykstra-Brown.”
UPDATE from Forgottenman: I held up that Bobby Jerry sign at our second airport meeting. At our first, I greeted her with a single rose and a Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup. (Man+Woman+Chocolate+Peanut Butter is a sure recipe for romance! The rose was just a feint.) HERE is a photo of that first magic meeting.
Welcome to “The Numbers Game #49.” Today’s number is 170. To play along, go to your photos file and type that number into the search bar. Then post a selection of the photos you find that include that number and post a link to your blog in my Numbers Game blog of the day. If instead of numbers, you have changed the identifiers of all your photos into words, pick a word or words to use instead, and show us a variety of photos that contain that word in the title.
This prompt will repeat each Monday with a new number. If you want to play along, please put a link to your blog in comments below. Here are my contributions to the album.
In case you are wondering what the Bobby Jerry sign is about, here is an explanation: https://judydykstrabrown.com/2024/11/25/who-is-bobby-jerry-and-how-did-he-get-into-the-numbers-game-the-rest-of-the-story/
Click on photos to enlarge and read captions!
Dressing For Attention
Purple pedal pushers and a yellow skirt.
For a hat, a fascinator, and a tartan shirt.
A fur stole that’s a relic of another age—
when they didn’t raise them in a tiny cage.
Platform shoes to raise me up in elevation
so the band will see me during their ovation.
Great big shades to block the sunlight from my eyes
and so my date can’t see me flirting with the guys.
Bright pink polish on my nails and rhinestones on my lashes.
A girl has got to dress up right for these special bashes.
I will match the music—loud and brash and brassy.
Bands don’t notice groupies whose style is too classy!
For Poetic Bloomings, we were to write a non-culinary poem making use of the name of one item from our thanksgiving meal. The word I chose was, of course, “dressing.” It’s my favorite part of the meal!
Word Salad
I salvage stories from my history and take them for a walk,
measuring their power as I try them out in talk.
But some words are frayed and tattered by rampant overuse,
their colors dimmed and emptied of their vital juice.
Fresh fruits plucked from my garden feed a hunger in my soul,
filling up my spirit’s vast collecting bowl,
yet this garden of the world does not belong to me.
I simply walk its corridors while waiting to be free.
Until that time, my body makes do with what it finds––
plucking out the fruit of words from their obscuring rinds,
mixing them together and hiding them away
to create fresh word salads to serve another day.
for The Sunday Whirl Wordle 682 the prompt words are: hungers until garden frayed tattered belonging spirits body salvage history walk stories
lifelessons - a blog by Judy Dykstra-Brown 