Category Archives: Bad Choices

Disciplinary Action

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Disciplinary Action

Lately, my life is like a fresh peach
at the end of a limb, slightly out of reach.
With an air of foreboding, I reach out to pluck it,
then choose not to pick or bite into or suck it,
fearing fate’s censure if I choose to buck it.

The joy of communion seems lately to dissipate.
Events come and go but I do not participate.
Whereas once I said, “Yes,” now I always say “No.”
The presence of friends is a joy I forego,
for there seem to be dangers wherever I go,

Bamboozled by nature, what choice do we have?
This seems like a wound for which there’s no salve.
Each of us suffers, apart and alone
as if there are sins for which we must atone,
our closest communion carried out via phone.

We sit at our windows viewing the parade
of all of the glories that nature has made.
We Skype and we Facebook, we tweet and we Zoom,
feigning good cheer as we contemplate doom,
all of us children sent to our room.

Will there be an end to this long isolation?
If we mend our ways, will there be consolation?
If we clean up our oceans and clean up our sky,
can we address our sins , having figured out  why
mankind has  been chosen to sicken and die?

Prompts for the day are foreboding, bamboozle, peach, dissipate and presence.

Payback Rhythms

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This picture is taken from my upstairs terrace. The dome you see covers the ceiling of my bedroom.

Payback Rhythms

The rhythm of the world as it tears us all asunder
is of hurricane and fire, rain and wind and thunder.
Fissures, ashes, ruins waterlogged and crumbled—
all advances of mankind his foolishness has tumbled.
What we do to it it does right back to us.
This scientific fact is not so nebulous.

 

Prompt words today are nebulous, fissure, sunder and rhythm. With the exception of the UPI photo of the hurricane, all photos taken by me. Click on any photo to enlarge all. Please give photos a few seconds to load and focus.

Different Strokes

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Different Strokes

Life’s not always better when lived within a bubble.
Boring regularity might be traded for trouble
by some who find that firewalls just hold in what is boring.
They prefer the heat of flames—the crackling and the roaring.
They do not stress the cognitive. The sensual’s what rules.
They consider rational thinkers as the fools.
They do not heed the laws of men nor mind the dull world’s censure.
They behold the world as one long and wild adventure.
It takes all types to fill the world—some to become the members
who put out all the fires while the others stir the embers.

 

Prompt words today were firewall, behold, traded for trouble and cognitive.

Restraint

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Restraint

Lovely one, you wink and tease.
You posture there as if to please.
And though you simply play a game,
thinking the world yours to tame,

there are animals who stalk
pretty girls with pretty talk.
Take care to guard what’s precious to you,
for there are those bent to undo you.

Have your fun.  Enjoy their stares,
but travel safely, and in pairs.
For lovely young ones, fair of face,
the world can be a dangerous place.

Maybe someday, but not now?
Too young to take that sacred vow?
Saving it for someone rare?
We cannot tell by what you wear.

Your clothes so tight, your skin so bare,
you seem to beg the world’s rude stare.
You are a plum—sweet and inviting
and there are those intent on biting.

So take heed. Protect yourself.
You are not goods set on a shelf—
a tasty morsel, a pint of booze
for anyone to pick and use.

You are a vintage sweet and rare—
smart and funny, grown with care.
Value your worth and care for it.
Wait for that match you know will fit.

Things need not happen quite so fast.
Try to hold out for what will last.
So when that stranger whispers,”Baby.”
instead of “Yes,” why not try,”Maybe.”

 

The prompt today was “Maybe.”

True or False?

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True or False?

If every question had an answer clear as yes or no,
and we could more easily know the status quo,
life would not be so puzzling. The answers would be clear
about how we should run our lives. There would be less to fear.

In matters of importance, like college choice or major,
there would be less pondering and mistakes made, I’ll wager.
Our choice of whom to marry and everything we do
could be laid out on paper, put clearly in our view.

No more “to be or not to be.” No more mental maybes
when it comes to our decisions over houses, pets or babies.
Life would be just a check list labeled ” false or true”
with no equivocating over what to do.

The infinite variety of choices we now face
that have us always questioning at a faster pace
would be a simple matter—clear cut with no debate—
an indisputable right or wrong about whom we should date.

The lines would grow much longer for every “true” or “yes”
with all the “nos” and “falses”  left lonely, I would guess.
With all things predetermined and all things black and white,
there would be just two choices over what was wrong or right.

No more essay questions. Each decision plain and clear.
At every choice we’d know exactly which way we should steer.
No doubt life would be simpler and easier in its scoring,
but I am also pretty sure that it would be more boring!

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/false/

Perfectly Formed

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Version 2

Perfectly Formed

We demand perfection in so many things––
performances most flawless, cars that sport no dings,
trophy wives to greet us at the door each night
with Ivory complexions and bodies toned just right.
My kid’s an honor student, your child a beauty queen.
If we have other children, they are more rarely seen.
In our quest for perfection, somehow the TV
Has become our standard for reality.
Silicone injections in our lower cheeks,
surgery reducing our stomachs, thighs and beaks.
If we’re not born perfect, thank God that we can buy it.
Every ordinarily attractive gal should try it!
I heard there was a sale on for tummy tucks and lifts––
promoting them as valentines and other midlife gifts.
And so I declared myself my own valentine
and began to plan a body that was really really fine.
I started with love handles and worked up to my neck.
‘Til I’d made a total rehab out of this old wreck.
If I had been born perfect, I’d probably be blue.
I would have had to figure out something else to do.
Perhaps I would have learned to make those statues on my shelf
instead of concentrating on adjustments to myself!

This poem is a spoof––no tummy tucks yet. When I was growing up, there was a feature in the “Reader’s Digest” entitled “The Perfect Squelch.” In it, they would share perfect examples of verbal “one-up-manship.” Now that’s the kind of perfection I can appreciate. I’d love to hear your examples  of perfect squelches you’ve made or heard in the comments section below. I also have a “perfect photos” piece I’m working on, but I’ve run out of time as I have a birthday party to go to, so come back later for the photos I meant to accompany this poem.

 

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/perfection/

Morning Blues Saga

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DSC08356Morning 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/

Earth’s Verdict

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IMG_4923

Earth’s Verdict

This is the day we laud our Earth
who, from the first day of her birth
has gathered, to increase her girth

around her core, the fertile soil
that, by our labor and our toil,
helps us retain our mortal coil

by giving sustenance to all
residing on our spinning ball.
Yet, we have spread oil’s deadly pall

over this globe that gives us life
until, I fear, our home is rife
with that which cuts us like a knife,

our umbilical to sever.
Always, we deem ourselves so clever
with our improvements, but we never

seem to see the full effect––
how each gain is a defect.
It’s on this day that we reflect

on how we’ve served our mother ill.
And now we swallow that vile pill
and thereby finally pay our bill––

that fine we’re issued as we wait
for that improbable ending date
when all our poisoning will abate.

Knowing still, down in our heart
that all the evils that we start
are but that fatal stabbing dart

that will eventually bring an end
to each family member and friend
as nature’s laws we seek to bend.

Now as we wait in our human queue
to receive the verdict that we’re due,
there is  one fact that’s sure and true.

As we vanish, here and yon,
and as, eventually, we’re gone,
the Earth will still be going on.

Both NaPoWriMo and WordPress gave “Earth Day” as a prompt today.  I’m also using my illustration to fulfill Cee’s Flower of the Day prompt.  Three birds, one stone.

https://ceenphotography.com/2016/04/21/flower-of-the-day-april-22-2016-azalea/

http://www.napowrimo.net/day-twenty-two-2/

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/earth/

 

Endangered Practices

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IMG_4987

Endangered Practices

I fear the future will not stand
for communication writ by hand.
E-mail, Instragram and text
is current and what’s coming next
could well be texting brain-to-brain.
Practice your penmanship in vain,
for in most schools, it’s been junked.
Writing by hand has gone defunct!!

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/handwriting/

Never Never Land

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Things That Make My Teeth Itch!!!

Never Never Land

The term “bucket list” has become so overused that it has become boring, so it was a relief when the prompt given us today was to talk about what we never want to do again.  Here is a copy of a  poem written a few years ago about that topic.

Don’t Make Me

Please don’t ever make me go back to Cancun.
If I never return there, I’ve visited too soon.
Don’t make me go to church again or listen to more rap.
Don’t make me go to bed at eight or take a daily nap.
I don’t want to do those things I don’t want to do.
Don’t make me look at animals trapped up in a zoo.

Brains are meant for keeping up farther in your head.
To have to eat the things I think with fills my mind with dread.
Don’t make me eat anything only adults eat:
liver, caviar, pate, kidneys or pigs’ feet.
All of those are parts of animals I’ve come to fear,
for none of them are meant to put in human mouths, my dear.

I think that I’ll live longer without jumping from above.
For bungee cords or parachutes I have no sort of love.
Even roller coasters present uncalled-for risk.
For me a walk upon the beach is adequately brisk.
Anything that’s bumpy, jerky, swooping, fast or twirly
makes me want to arrive late and go home really early.

Please don’t make me listen to those who rant and rave.
If I meet them in the street, I’ll merely nod and wave.
Let bores much given to monologues find another ear;
because those who never listen, I have no wish to hear.
Tea-partiers, loud mouths, bigots and folks in the elite
are on my list of strangers I do not need to meet.

I hope no radiation or chemotherapy
is ever necessary to make me cancer-free.
No machines to make me breathe and no dialysis.
As little poking, pushing, testing and analysis
as possible is what I wish for on my “do not” list.
Just let me go gently into that final mist.

I’ve grown to hate the overuse of “bucket list” as label
for what folks want to do before their death if they are able.
So please be more original in thinking what to call
that list of things that you most want to do before you fall.
For the thing that I don’t want as “I am” turns into “been”
Is to ever hear the phrase of “bucket list” again!

The Prompt: Never Again–Have you ever gone to a new place or tried a new experience and thought to yourself, “I’m never doing that again!” Tell us about it.
https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/never-again/