I have written about dreams so frequently over the past four years, that in place of once again writing about them, I’m going to give you two links. Here is my very favorite dream photo https://judydykstrabrown.com/2014/10/10/dreamy/ (and under the photo on that link, there is another link to my very favorite dream—one that literally changed my entire life.
I love this photo I took of my friend Pat, my upstairs neighbor at the beach. She was good sport enough to give me permission to use it on my blog. She is not an oddball, but she would agree this photo is a wonderful oddball!!!
https://ceenphotography.com/2016/05/22/cees-odd-ball-photo-challenge-2016-week-21/
Morning Blues
Another day is dawning. The birds are full of tweet.
So I decide to take a little stroll out on the street.
I have no need for makeup. I prefer my features bare.
I choose my clothes most carefully, but do not brush my hair.
With my new haircut, tousled’s in. I’m told to leave it there.
“Just run your fingers though your mop as though you do not care!”
The trees are bursting verdant, dry grass the hue of wheat.
Smiles stretch across the face of every man I meet.
I find their moods infectious, so I smile back at them.
I’m sporting a new haircut, so I feel very femme.
Corner after corner I round to see what’s there.
I straighten out my collar and toss my brand new hair
as I stroll by the house the new guy’s living in.
I check my watch and see it’s only eight-oh-ten.
Perhaps he’s a late riser, so I walk right on by.
If he had been in evidence, I might have murmured, “Hi!”
and maybe he’d have talked to me and asked me for a date.
Perhaps I’m not too early. Perhaps I am too late!
One day I’m sure I’ll meet him, but I am wondering when.
It’s not that I’m accustomed to running after men,
but it’s especially pretty, this block where I’ve just been.
I turn around so I can stroll through it once again.
The second time I pass his door, I see it opening.
As he comes out my spirits soar. My heart begins to ping.
I know this is the man for me. He’s pleasant, handsome, tall.
I’d go and introduce myself if only I’d the gall.
When his eyes light on my face, he smiles like all the rest.
Of all the smiles I’ve seen today, this smile is the best.
I croon hello and smile back and yes, I flirt a bit—
his grin so wide I know that I must have scored a hit.
I pass on by but I am sure we’ll meet another day,
and judging by his smile, he’ll have much more to say.
As I retrace my steps again, I’m feeling very pert.
Perhaps I’ll lose a few more pounds. It surely wouldn’t hurt.
I climb the hill to my house and open up the door.
The perking of the coffee pot drowns out my roommate’s snore.
I pour a cup and take it back to work upon my blog,
and all this time my roomie is sleeping like a log.
An hour passes, she awakes and stumbles by my door.
Until she has her first cup, she’s grouchy to the core.
Five minutes pass and she comes in and plops into a chair,
her grin so wide, I wonder if she’s going to diss my hair.
“I took a walk,” I tell her, and her eyes go really wide.
“Like that?” she said, “You mean that you have really been outside?”
“My hair’s supposed to look this way. The natural look is in!”
I said to her most huffily, my patience wearing thin.
“I finally saw the new guy, and he’s really cute.”
I told her, and I saw her look, because I’m so astute.
“What,” I asked her, “is your problem? Don’t you like my hair?”
I met her answering guffaw with an angry glare.
“Your hair is not your problem,” she said and grabbed my hand,
pushing me into her room, where she made me stand
before a full length mirror, where finally I could see
perhaps why all my neighbors had deigned to smile at me.
For my whole face was covered with last night’s facial goo—
dried upon my face to form a vivid shade of blue!
Not quite the statement I had hoped to make that fateful day,
and since that time I fear my confidence began to fray.
I’ve given up long walks for neighborhoods much nearer,
and I never leave my house without checking out the mirror!
For other sagas, check out this URL:https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/saga/
I knew immediately which photo I would use when I saw this week’s word prompt. This picture was taken of my sister Patti greeting my husband Bob at my nephew Jeff’s wedding. It was taken long before digital cameras were invented. Thanks, technology, for good scanners to translate all these old photos as well as simple editing tools to remove the specks they all seem to contain. I know the quality is terrible, but I could not resist using it.
And since there is no such thing as too much jubilation, here are some more:
(Click on first photo to enlarge all photos.)
A friend sent me this interesting news on the effect on Mexico of increasingly tolerant marijuana laws in the U.S.
Singlish
When Papa grabbed his squeezebox and baby hit the gong,
all the other children ran up to play along.
Henry played the drums and Molly the kazoo.
Oscar blew the tuba ’til he started to turn blue.
Sally on the saxophone and Henry on the flute,
Wanda on the trumpet went rootie tootie toot.
Mama led the singing and Grandma hummed along
as one-by-one the children joined them in their song.
All the kids went swaying, rocking on their toes
as they sang a song embellished by cardinals and crows.
The cattle in the pasture joined in with soothing moos—
the cockerels crooning descants with their cockadoodledoos.
The mourning doves sang background, telling of their woes,
while all the little sparrows cheeped neatly from their rows.
The horses voiced their whinnies and sheep all baaaahed along
until the world surrounding us had joined in on the song.
Woodpeckers beat percussion until our song was done,
joining us in music that proved that we were one.
Goldfinches and burros were next to join the throng,
all speaking the same language in this singalong.
I heard it from the mockingbird who heard it from the jay.
It was a pretty chorus that rose up from that day.
Now most days thereafter, we’ve sung in harmony.
If everyone would join us, how grand the world could be.
Well, six months later, Pasiano still hasn’t cut down the plumeria (frangipani) tree, and this year it is especially prolific, so aren’t I glad he didn’t? As usual, click to enlarge.
https://ceenphotography.com/2016/05/20/flower-of-the-day-may-21-2016-peony/
This poem by K R Staten is shockingly good! See if you agree and if you do, tell her so. My link should direct you to her blog.
I want to dye my hair the color Fearless,
the ocean waves cresting on my scalp.
Black deep enough to drown in on the waterlines
of my eyes. Fishnet skin up my arms
and down my legs, chains like weapons
draped across apostasy thighs. Hands
made of brass bones, collar bones made
of knives, mouth full of daggers.
I want to dye my hair the color
Fuck the System, the color
Pissing Off my Parents, the color
Who the Hell Was I Ten Years Ago–
the color Naive Enough to Be Unafraid,
arson’s handiwork blue-tipped on my scalp.
Black top pavement hot enough to burn
under feet that still don’t know better,
bleeding into lungs young enough
to still hold a measure of the old song.
I think it is fair to run these by one more time–this time in black and white. You can view much larger photos by clicking on the first photo.
https://ceenphotography.com/2016/05/19/cees-black-white-photo-challenge-tongues-and-tails/
