For Monday Window
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Welcome to “The Numbers Game #86”. Today’s number is 209. 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.
Please Click on Photos to enlarge and view as gallery.
Click on photos to enlarge
The first photo is of friend Brad reading my new book…If I Were Water & You Were Air just released on Amazon. You can order it HERE All photos taken with my iPhone 15 Pro Max.
(You can also buy the book directly from me here in Mexico.)
For Cellpic Sunday
First Flight Jitters
He lingers on the runway, doing a little dance
as though he has a virus living in his pants.
Bounds right up the plane steps, wishing they were shorter,
reaches in his pocket and tips the stew a quarter.
Rugged he-man that he is, he cannot veil his terror
over the coming takeoff, for he is is no brave wayfarer.
He quavers as he finds his seat, hoping that it’s right.
Notes its number on his ticket , listed just under his flight.
His fear of flying preys on him, his hands and shoulders shaking.
The papers in his suit pocket are rustling with his quaking.
When the plane lifts off the ground, he fears that he is dying.
The next time, he will take a train. No more will he be flying,
For The Sunday Whirl Wordle the prompt words are: virus dance name note lingers runway rugged quaver paper prey veil wish
How do we mentor our burgeoning youth
in these times of unequalled stretchings of truth?
Teach them to sort out these rash acts of treason,
to approach them with heart and strain them through reason.
Teach them hating is wrong and exclusion is selfish—
that plastic’s destroying our coral and shellfish.
That medical care should be something for all
and that hoarding of wealth brings a country’s last fall.
Teach them the future is theirs to decide.
Teach them the truth of whom to deride.
Teach them that facts being taught by their teachers
may rival what they’re being taught by some preachers
and those who would rule to win their own gain,
lining their pockets again and again
with tax cuts that only extend to the rich
while the trickle-down theory develops a hitch.
Teach them to sort out rhetoric from fact.
Teach them to care and to vote and to act
to stretch out the privilege to blanket us all.
We are not alone on this spinning great ball.
Our former meddling and incredible gall
is why we’re considering building a wall
to keep out the hungry and frightened downtrodden
who come to us weary, exhausted and sodden.
They ask for asylum and our protection
from dictators who have prompted defection
much as many Americans are fleeing south
to avoid the stupidity and the vile mouth
of the dictator who is now ruining our land
with illogical thinking and truth that is canned.
Who will mentor whom in this crazy new world
once the last hateful invectives are hurled?
Our world has been sold out for profit and gain—
overseen by leaders opportunistic and vain.
Perhaps it’s our youth who will now mentor us
to sort out the truth from this internet fuss.
As in the old legend, They’ll teach the uncouth
to forsake propaganda for naked truth.
It’s hoped that our youth wake us up from our doze
to point out the truth of our Emperor’s new clothes!!
The Weekly Challenge Weekend prompt is “burgeoning.”
Where Have They Gone?
Where has it gone, that memory
that matched names to faces,
attached today
to the day of the week
by which we call it?
Where have they gone–
my favorite cape,
my car keys and my iPhone,
the lid to the butter dish
and my reading glasses?
Gone with that wind, perhaps,
that blew away last autumn’s leaves,
then snow from the sidewalk
and that errant downspout
from its final weak attachment.
Where went lost loves,
my parents
and departed friends?
Dogs, birds and cats
and other loved, once-living things?
Gone, too, with the wind?
If so, this final question:
where goes the wind
and someday,
where go I?
For dVerse Poets, the assignment is to construct a poem centered around the line “Where is?” of “Where are?
A pad of paper and a pen––
when these two meet, new worlds begin.
Born in the head of one who writes,
each magic word many more ignites
until at last, the story’s told,
once more as in days of old.
How many years may it have been
since first a poet lifted pen?
May I invite you to lift your pen to comment below?
The SOCS Prompt this week is “Pad.”
For Fibbing Friday, the task at hand is:
1. What is a saga? A menopausal-aged woman without a bra.
2. What is a synopsis? What a female police detective is called by her brother.
3. What is a dialect? A misspelled redial on the phone.
4. What is a goblin? A small amount.
5. What is a pinstripe? A line drawn by a fountain pen.
6. What is a catapult? The fur coat of a feline.
7. What is a mousse? A French Bullwinkle.
8. What is meant by bona fide? What the credentials of a orthopedist certify him to be.
9. What is a sally? Mrs. Fields’ daughter.
10. What is a harem? A stalling utterance by a rabbit.
Would passion carry the same voltage
or heartbreak the sting
if from the beginning we knew
that every extreme
brings us a step closer to its opposite?
It is that great pendulum of the I Ching—
that flowing from the yin to yang—
that foretells the fall of great regimes
glorious in their altruism
who, reaching their summit,
must head back again
towards cruel tyranny.
If we’d known this from the start,
each height would become
a day of mourning,
knowing that having reached one apex,
there is no further height to climb to.
and tomorrow, the start of our slow descent
will bring us closer to that other place
where dark will reign.
Part of the power of youth’s sweet ecstasy
as well as bitter heartbreak is that it seems as though
they’ll last forever.
This is the spice of life.
Its tough gristle comes later,
as we recognize that
everything,
everything everything
changes into its
opposite.
The Word of the Day prompt is “Summit.”