The Vile Effects of Cabbage
I love eating cabbage, but its end results are crass.
It may affect digestion with propensity towards gas.
Between you and your closest friends it may create a scism
as you rival wild leaves in the wind with your psithurism.
Prompt words today are cabbage, propensity, psithurism (the sound of the wind in the trees and the rustling of leaves) and affect. Illustration thanks to Ibuki Tsubo on Unsplash. Used with permission.
Detritus
Not given to unicorns and eloquent language,
my melodrama is fueled with common things:
more bad news from the media,
a baby possum murdered by the cats,
the shattered precious wine glass from a dwindling set.
Friends fall like drying petals from a bougainvillea vine,
the world grown more cruel
not only from the brutalities of age,
but by the decisions of short-sighted power-brokers
throwing out the baby with the bathwater.
(The choice of that inelegant, time-worn phrase
the result of too many months of isolation—
giving up first the makeup and the hairbrush,
then the bra,
then the bother of digging
for the perfect unique metaphor.)
Cities of books and projects
started but not finished,
albums full of photos I mean to scan,
pile up on tables
and the floor.
Bougainvillea petals
scattered
over the terraza
by the still-laid table,
obscuring tiny shards
of delicate glass.
Click on photos to enlarge.
Prompt words today are eloquent, unicorn, media and melodrama.
Shelter in Place
I’m balanced on the precipice. Should I plunge or not?
I don’t know how to fly, and for sure I won’t be caught.
I’ll be disappointed if I don’t, but frightened if I do.
One says to remain while the other prompts adieu.
Every life decision is a choice between
leaving to see more or staying with what I’ve seen.
Both choices irresistible. Which one do I chose?
Either way I win and either way I lose.
Time and time again I’ve chosen the same choice.
“Be off to your future self” speaks with the loudest voice.
Only now does nature make my choice for me—
instead of changing places, to stay and explore “me.”
Words of the day are adieu, plunge, disappointed and precipice.
This is such an important message. Especially if you live in L.A., but surely this is happening elsewhere as well. Why haven’t we heard this before? Remember the scene in The Clockwork Orange where the man’s eyes were taped open and he was forced to watch the horrible videos? I think this is a case where it might be appropriate for those opposing masks and insisting Covid is a hoax.
I’ve debated whether to post this video, but after seeing news of the covidiots blocking access to vaccinations in Los Angeles (No, I won’t post links), I think this is an important message.
(Thanks to BEAU for pointing me to this video.)
Pills or Porn
My Spam mail’s always full of it, midnight, day or morn.
Who told them I’m in need of a daily dose of porn?
If I took the Viagra that they offer to me daily,
I wouldn’t be in need of porn to end my evenings gaily.
I’d simply cruise the malecón in search of company
flirting with each senior dude that I happen to see.
I’d freeze him with a subtle wink and flash one of my smiles,
then win him over quickly with coquettish wiles.
If he has any qualms at all, due to his advanced age,
I’d flash further encouragement that’s come to be the rage.
With great sophistication and a sense of calm,
I’d show him the Viagra I have stashed in my palm.
But this poem is misleading if you think I’m reliant
on you as a supplier. I’m not a likely client.
For vendors of Viagra, I have a tale of woe:
I can get it cheaper right here in Mexico!
Thanks to Lisa Coleman of Our Eyes Open for the suggestion that I turn a comment regarding Spam mail into a blog. I was commenting about receiving 96 Spam messages in one day and most of them being about pills or porn. Oh man, is this blog every going to bring in a lot of Spam concerning Amoxicillin, Viagra and pornography!!! See how I sacrifice for you?
Non-inherited Tendencies
I am forty-three years old. Why is it that my mother still feels it is her purpose in life to educate me?
She stands in front of the junk drawer in my kitchen, “There is no excuse for anyone to have a drawer like this in their house,” she says. With one finger, she rifles through the drawer, moving a pair of pliers closer to fifty peso bills for the water vendor that are piled to its left, sending loose screws rolling across the bottom of the drawer.
I reach around her to hand her the pair of scissors she seeks. Then, once again, I careen into the precipice of self-doubt. Surely, others less-perfect than my mother have drawers such as this one.
My qualms deteriorate as I readjust my thoughts to coincide with the actual world, but as I restate mentally and silently my oft-repeated mantra. “What the eyes don’t see doesn’t matter,” my mother, briskly and methodically, starts arranging the drawer.
Word prompts for today are What the eyes don’t see doesn’t matter, deteriorate, educate and precipice.
Accountability
You excel in tendencies of aplomb and civility
and I’ve had no complaints about your overall virility.
You aren’t a complainer. I admit you aren’t a mooch.
I love your chili verde and I love the way you smooch.
I adore your sense of humor—your playfulness and jive,
your artistic fervor, your energy and drive.
In short, you are a paragon of fun and versatility,
and in our years together, you have had accountability.
But, your claim to innocence when I begin to holler
due to my discovery of lipstick on your collar,
leads me to declare that my past trust in you is over
now that you have turned into a liar and a rover.
You would truly have to turn into a necromancer
to convince me that you aren’t a cheat and a romancer.
Though your sex appeal’s an asset here in your abode,
it became grounds for divorce when you took it on the road!
Prompts for the day are accountability, drive, mooch and jive. (I think this is the first time in seven years that I’ve written to two prompts that happen to rhyme with each other.)
