Approaching Seventy
Careful near the pool edge, careful down the stair.
“Hurry” is disaster’s brand new nom de guerre.
All the things that in the past you might easily dare
are potential dangers hanging in the air;
so don’t stand on a ladder, or even worse, a chair.
It’s different being single than when you were a pair,
for there is no one with you to see how you might fare.
When coming from the pool, be sure the shoes you wear
do not slip upon the tile–this is your worst nightmare.
If your feet are wet and if they’re also bare,
when you plug in your curling rod, I hope that you take care.
Although I know you’ve always been nimble as a hare,
things all change with age. I say this ’cause I care.
Bones become more breakable and muscles tend to tear,
so please take proper care, dear, in your single lair.
At seventy those second chances tend to be more rare.
Today’s prompt word was “Careful.”
We Seem Meant to Argue
We seem meant to argue, to disagree and fuss––
to call each other s.o.b.’s, to blather on and cuss.
Somehow the world needs movement––the hurricanes and tides.
In every situation, there must be clans or sides.
There is a natural movement toward the pack or cult or gang.
Each game needs an opponent, and every yin a yang.
It may be named a congregation, a party or a cause,
but still there will be discord. There always is, because
there is something within us that draws us towards division.
Every peace march draws its crowd screaming in derision.
Some force within the universe that knows the whole of it
has decreed that everything has its opposite.
So though we may crave unity and hope one day to coin
accord between the nations, and for hearts and minds to join,
the truth is that the universe is like a pendulum.
For every radical event, the opposite will come.
if we just wait long enough, it will be peace’s turn,
but in the meantime hate will pillage, conquer, rape and burn
.
We would have it otherwise, but hope won’t make it so.
We may unite in nations, but we’ll still go toe to toe:
nation versus nation, like street gangs in a rumble.
The most sincere peace accord eventually will crumble.
Mere wishing will not bring on peace, but we can make a start
simply by appealing to that attitude of heart
that chooses to forget and start that upward swing
that can pull the whole world with it as it takes to wing.
The answer to the hatred is to start out one-by-one
to try to make the choices to set discord on the run.
To choose the dark sides of ourself is an act of treason.
We must conquer our own petty hates and choose to live by reason.
Today’s prompt is “Argument.”
Can anyone identify this newest bloom in my flowerpot? It has taken this perch for its own, for some reason, although it doesn’t look like it can be too comfortable. He is usually lying down in it, tennis ball in his jaws. The rest of the act is to drop his tennis ball into the pool from it and then dive in after it, swim to the side and haul himself out, then repeat. And repeat. And repeat. He did this 11 times in one hour the other day when I was in the pool exercising… then another 5 times when I was inside at my computer. He noses the ball closer and closer and lets it roll back a bit each time, then suddenly rolls it enough to tip the balance and it goes into the pool. Then if I don’t retrieve and throw it for him, he jumps in and retrieves it himself. This is what you do when your mom won’t throw more than 30 pitches for you in a row. https://ceenphotography.com/2016/10/07/flower-of-the-day-october-8-2016-dahlia/
Last week I showed you Little Duck’s Adventure. This week I want to show you Frida’s. I’ve decided try try to take one of the dogs for a walk every day. Frida got the first turn and did great. After a scare last week when we thought we were going to have to put her down, the miracles of modern medicine saved the day, and she’s like a young dog again. The day after the big rains, we went down to inspect the lake along the malecon. (Click on photos to enlarge and read captions.)
https://ceenphotography.com/2016/10/07/cees-odd-ball-photo-challenge-2016-week-40/
Cee and I are on a hydrangea kick. This one is mine. See hers HERE.
A few days ago, I asked you to send me words you hated. Whether ugly in sound or meaning or overused or incorrectly used, you sent me those words you despised and I promised to make a poem out of them. My apologies to Leland, who made the mistake of sending me a few and who thus became the brunt of it all. Let me say that the situation is completely fictional, the fact of which Leland may rue or applaud. The truth of the matter we’ll never know. (In the poem, I’ve italicized the words you have presented to me.)
Words Pluperfect and Perfidious
(Recycled Words)
It’s amazing at the end of day
when there’s so little left to say,
they still go on with “Blah blah blah.”
Like, he goes, “Just saying, that
it’s fucking perfect that that cat
knows how to rhyme and rap and scat.”
What does this mean? Would it kill you
and would fetid cancer fill you
if you just spit the right words out
devoid of swearing, rhyme or shout?
Leland has said that he hates rap,
but then he’s just an ancient chap.
Not “awesome,” as you young folks say.
(That word used less back in the day.)
He thinks his taste pluperfect, but,
I think he doesn’t know quite what
pluperfect really means at all.
(I bet it’s the same with y’all!)
Yet still he’s very, very cool.
Nuh uh. Surely no one’s fool.
He’s pretty gray on top, but then
his uvula’s above the norm––
different to the usual form.
Shaped like one a them argyle socks,
it kicks right forward when he talks.
“Sweet!” the ladies bill and coo.
“As gigolo, we’re choosing you!”
But Leland is just bored of that.
He’d rather sit around and chat.
“I’ll kill you!” is what he just knows
his wife would scream if ever he chose
a life that was much different to
the life with her he always knew.
But with the ladies texting him,
and pulling at him shirt and limb,
it is impossible to choose
his old life’s slow dependable ooze
over a life so huge and sweet
with all the new gals he might meet.
Then his wife bellers out “As if!”
and waves a fist all coiled and stiff,
suggesting senseless violence
were he to choose pluperfect tense
to describe their perfect marriage
of baking bread and baby carriage.
So his life’s sentence he will parse
sittlng right here on his arse.
Over new love, he will choose
both less and fewer, and drink more booze.
(You can see my solicitation for words HERE.)
https://ceenphotography.com/2016/10/06/cees-black-white-photo-challenge-liquid/
