Acceptance
Old age––
Can’t escape it.
We grumble about it,
but the alternative, for sure,
is worse.
The dVerse Poets prompt was to write a cinquain: 2-4-6-8-2.
See how others responded to the prompt HERE.
jdbphoto
Spider on the ceiling, legs evenly spread round,
I can’t help but wonder what keeps you ceiling-bound.
Have you little suction cups welded to each foot,
and if so, has nature adequately put
each one on this spider far above my bed
so it will not disconnect and land upon my head?
For MVB the prompt is “Ceiling.”
How many ways are there for a girl to be seated? On a chair, in front of a stool, on a lap, on the stool, on the floor. So many chances to pull up a seat!
The latest Fibbing Friday prompts are:
1. Which is the highest ever grossing show on Broadway? Sweeny Todd was the grossest Broadway Play I ever saw.
2. How many times has Rafa Nadal won the French Open?
3. Who played the Young Victoria?
4. Who sang the 1957 original of That’ll be the day? The Babylonians, who named each of the days after one of the five planetary bodies known to them (Mercury, Venus, Mars, Jupiter, and Saturn) and after the Sun and the Moon.
5. What’s the Buddhist state of happiness called? California
6. Which lake has a mythical creature named after it
7. Which year was the Chevrolet Corvette introduced
8. What kind of cells are found in the brain? Brain Cells.
9. How many different actors have played James Bond? They’ve never hired a “different” actor to play James Bond. Just the normal ones.
10. Which is the world’s oldest active volcano.
Sorry, I give up on the rest.
To order my newest book, If I Were Water and You Were Air, go HERE. But please note: Amazon says the book’s readership age is 16-18. This is an error. It is appropriate for readers age 16 to adults of any age. I’ve also tried to correct a few other typos in the book’s description on the sales page, but as of this date, Amazon has not corrected them.
You can read more about Bruce at his website HERE.
Helpmates
I’m the first to tell her what to do,
though each morning she pushes my button, too.
“Get out of bed,” I order her,
come back to reconnoiter her.
When she refuses to rise at once,
I sit in the corner like a dunce
and nag and nag until she’s up
to shower and dress and feed the pup.
I keep her clothing crisp and neat
with water mist and searing heat.
I’m a dangerous helper and she knows it.
Dire results if she ever blows it
and fails to heed my hiss and cough
and forgets to turn me off.
When my workday starts, I have no say.
Always ready as she greets the day,
I perk her up and fuel her drive.
She says she needs me to feel alive.
She takes me with her when she leaves.
When she kills the rest, nobody grieves.
I’m strong and flexible and black.
Cause eyes to open and lips to smack.
She holds me tightly every morning—
cussing, yelling, pleading, warning
others who get in her way
as she speeds into her waiting day.
She pushes my buttons and wheels my wheels
with clicks and groans and grinds and squeals.
I carry her inside of me
to take her where she needs to be
and wait outside until she’s done
in rain and snow and baking sun.
I wait at home in the cold and dark,
wondering when she’ll light the spark
that relieves me of my lonely plight—
chilly environs and unlit light.
I hear her footsteps across the floor,
light up as she opens my door.
She reaches in and relieves me
of can or bottle, then goes to pee
restoring me to isolation.
I don’t complain. It is my station.
She turns me on most every night
to wallow in my sickly light,
staring at dramas I provide.
Never does she go outside
to jog or run or bike or walk,
to meet the neighbors and have a talk,
to mow her grass or trim her tree—
she seems to live her life through me.
When at night she seeks her rest,
she always favors me the best.
I cushion her at end of day,
listen as she has her say
about her travails, aches and pains,
her setbacks and all her gains.
All her secrets I will keep
as she covers up and goes to sleep.
for dVerse Poets, the prompt is “I would love to know how you deal with setbacks in life. Share with us in the form of a poem, of course, are you the kind to bounce back, do you curse and rant when things go wrong or do you wallow in self pity. As always you are free to interpret the prompt in any which way.” Image by Jessica Mangano on Unsplash.
Elements of Story
Each myth, legend or fairytale
from “once upon” to “fare thee well”
shares some elements of story
be they sad, uplifting, gory.
Always a damsel in some distress—
Rumplestiltskin’s name to guess,
for straw once spun out into gold,
or another story to be told.
Too much sleep may be her curse,
ugly stepsisters, or worse.
Murder, treason, sloth and pox
were emptied from Pandora’s box.
These troubles spread from near to far,
(although, in fact, it was a jar.)
Zeus forgave Pandora’s shame
and the imp revealed his own strange name.
But the other women described above
were saved by cleverness or love.
Scheherazade escaped the hearse
with stories, legends, tales and verse.
Cinderella rose from hearth and ashes
and Sleeping Beauty opened lashes––
both maids saved by daring-do:
one by a kiss, one by a shoe.
So whatever might have been their fate:
loss of child or murderous mate,
wipe tears and fears away with laughter.
They all lived happily ever after.
Elements is the prompt for Esther’s Writing Prompts for Sept. 3
Realistic Wedding Vows
I will abide your ego if you will abide mine—
If you ignore my awkward habits, I can exist with thine.
I’ll overlook socks on the floor or an abandoned shoe
if you promise not to mention an extra line or two
you might detect in years to come, scribed onto the place
where I hope you’ll still plant kisses on my aging face.
I won’t make you eat okra if you won’t bring home fish
expecting me to transform them into a tasty dish.
I’ll try to love your mother if you’ll put up with mine.
Poker evenings with your friends that stretch ’til dawn are fine
so long as you won’t rush on through from front door to the fridge
when I have my friends over for a game of bridge.
Stop and talk awhile. Get to know their names.
The sexes aren’t so different. We just play different games.
Our love is a given, so it requires no vow.
The things that I promise thee, in public, here and now
are fidelity and an effort to be the easiest me
that, given what your vows are, it’s possible to be.
The RDP prompt is marriage.
A bit of late-night reading in the hammock. Luckily, there is an overhead light.
For Bushboy’s Last on the Card, Aug, 2025
Welcome to “The Numbers Game #88”. Today’s number is 210. To play along, go to your photos file folder 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.
Click on Photos to Enlarge and View as Gallery.
lifelessons - a blog by Judy Dykstra-Brown 