Category Archives: Daily Post

Donald, Donald

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Donald, Donald

You’ve shown us through your policies as well as how you feed
that the only real emotion you experience is greed.
Everything you come upon you brand with the name “Trump,”
Yet lack of compassion still labels you a chump.
In all your machinations, you attempt to spin the pulley.
Like other gleeful little boys, you have to play the bully.
What you have written on the world is not, Sir, what will last.
The image history makes of you you have no power to cast
unless it’s by your actions, and it’s clear what they have been.
How many evil actions have you endorsed with your pen?
Those fed their pablum with golden spoons may not develop empathy,
but that’s no reason why they couldn’t exercise some sympathy.

Things Donald Trump has named after himself: (Thanks, Wiki.)

Cancelled/never completed

Trump International Hotels

Trump sign on his Chicago Hotel and Tower

Completed/in use

Planned but never built

Former properties

Trump Plaza

In use

Trump Entertainment Resorts

Other buildings

Trump International Hotel – Las Vegas, Nevada

In use

Abandoned/never completed

Golf courses

U.S.

The 18th hole at Trump National Doral

International

  • Trump International Golf Club (Dubai)
  • Trump World Golf Club (Dubai)
  • Trump International Golf Links, Scotland
  • Trump International Golf Links and Hotel Ireland
  • Trump Turnberry (Scotland)

Former

  • Trump International Golf Club Puerto Rico[7]

Food and drink

Former

The prompt word today is sympathy. (Donald Trump during Launch of Trump Steaks at The Sharper Image at The Sharper Image in New York City, New York, United States. (Photo by Stephen Lovekin/WireImage for Hill & Knowlton)

After the Honeymoon

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After the Honeymoon

The bride’s exhausted. The groom is numb.
I think that they have overcome.

The prompt today is overcome.

Glaring Error (Peroxide Blues)

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Glaring Error
(Peroxide Blues)

When she showed up in her new hair,
her friends could hardly stand the glare.
For though she hoped to gain some highlights,
when she stood under the skylights
and shook her head, each brilliant tress
seen without shades could cause duress.
The head she’d chosen to imbue
had turned out such a vivid hue
that every time the power failed,
she was the first one people hailed,
for when the current ceased to flow
her locks still gave off such a glow
that dinner parties could feed by it
and book clubs chose to read by it.
So ladies, heed my warning well.
When dying, please be sure to tell
your hairdresser to watch her throttle
and resist using the whole bottle.

 

The prompt today was glaring.

Unscheduled Visitor

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Unscheduled Visitor

I hear a rapid rapping and I’m wondering, “Who is it?”
It’s too early in the morning for a casual drop-in visit.
I’m still in my pajamas and the dogs and cats aren’t fed.
How can company be calling while I’m still here in bed?

The knocking is insistent but I have no way to spy
upon whatever passer-by refuses to pass by.
My intercom is broken, so I call out from the door,
“Who is it?” but it’s obvious they aren’t there anymore.

I wander back to bed again, feeling somewhat tense.
Only when I’m sleeping does the knocking recommence.
“Who is it?” I scream out again, accenting every vowel.
The dogs sense my frustration and they begin to howl.

My bedroom sliders are open, so my voice soars over the wall.
Any passerby could hear if they could hear at all.
But still nobody answers. This Saturday morning’s still.
There are no other noises up here on my hill.

No car horns and no dog barks. No children’s noisy play.
No birdcalls. No construction to mar this quiet day.
Except for my invectives as the rappings start again—
louder, oh much louder than they have ever been.

As I charge out of my front door, I grab for an umbrella—
in case I need a weapon to fight off some unknown fella
intent on ruining my day, but when I turn the key
and open wide my front wall gate, there’s no one there but me!

I roar in my frustration. The whole town must hear my wails.
I throw that damn umbrella. Over the wall it sails.
I stalk back to my room and pull the covers over my head,
praying for more silence, but what I get instead

is the steady rat-tat-tatting that now upon reflection
seems to emanate from a different direction.
I draw aside my bedroom drapes and wonder, “What the heck?”
sweeping my sight across my yard, I finally crane my neck

and see it far up in a palm—an industrious woodpecker
whose ruthless drilling is the thing that’s been my sleep-in wrecker!
I cannot throw a shoe at him for I can’t throw that far.
If I tried to knock a golf ball up, I’d be far over par.

At last I view with humor this ridiculous affair,
and so I pull on Levis and smooth my ruffled hair.
I shuffle off to feed the dogs, the kittens and the cat
and just accept as music this rat-a-tat-tat-tat.

 

The prompt today is casual.

Best for Last

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Best for Last

Just as I’m ready to ingest
the morsel I consider best
and so picked out from all the rest
to be my last bite, savored with zest—
last memory of this gourmet fest—
from north and south and east and west,
descends each winged little pest,
radared in on diabolical quest
as though invited at my behest.
They put my appetite to the test,
settling as though to the nest,
their hairy feet intimately pressed
upon that morsel that I loved best.
I wave my hand over them, lest
they eat too much, then I confess
I guiltily consume the rest.

 

The prompt today is pest.

Green Tea and Me

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Green Tea and Me

The taste of green tea is a taste to which I do not cotton.
Instead of tasting fresh and green, to me it just tastes rotten.
Although it is a liquid that I must daily swallow,
it clearly is a flavor in which I don’t choose to wallow.

Health drives us to those foods and liquids we would never choose.
Makes us eat our kale and fish oil, takes away our booze.
If we want to keep our blood pressure from simply soaring,
we’ll be giving up our salt for flavors much more boring.

So nature takes our simple pleasures from us one by one.
Things like buttered popcorn become a smoking gun.
If we want our  bodies to cooperate and function,
we’ll gobble less for pleasure and nibble more for unction.

The prompt today was tea.

Pick a Pickled Pepper

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Pick a Pickled Pepper

Some girls lick on lollipops, but I never will.
I prefer the piquant taste of vinegar and dill.
Pickle up some peppers  and shove them in a jar.
Put a label on it to show them who you are.
If a cute boy eats one, he will pucker up,
and perhaps you’ll plant a kiss where he deigned to sup.

Pick a cherry pepper, press it to your lips,
and that spicy boy might want to steal some sips.
Do not tell your mother. Do not tell your dad,
or that might be the only pepper that you ever had.
Lollipops are sweet but just a little coy.
Pickles work much better for picking out your boy.

 

The prompt today was lollipop. Strangely enough, the song “Lollipop, Lollipop” has been going through my mind for the past few days.  I even made up different lyrics to the tune of it to sing to Annie, my 15-year-old ill cat,  as I drove her (meowing all the way) home from the vet the other day. The men who stand in the road to wave people into the fish restaurants near San Juan Cosala must have wondered at me as I hollered out the strange song at the top of my lungs, just like my dad used to do to startle a howling baby into silence.  Ah well.  We get odder as we get older but have more of an excuse for it!

Also, for the Ragtag prompt: https://ragtagcommunity.wordpress.com/2018/06/08/rdp-9-pickle/

Do it Yourself

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Do it Yourself

The ending was disastrous though it started out just fine.
I don’t have anyone to blame. The fault was purely mine.
I thought I knew the way to do it but was surely wrong.
I should have heeded the advice my friends gave all along.

But my father was a Dutchman. I inherited his genes.
To figure out most everything, I think I have the means.
I made and hung the kitchen shelf.
I installed my towel bars by myself.
I patched the wall
and then, y’all,
fast as a wink,
unplugged the sink.

As you can see, I’m competent. Sufficiently sufficient.
In household matters A to Z I’m startlingly efficient.
But—
I guess I should have asked for help with my last operation,
for now I have to stay at home and feign I’m on vacation
lest every friend who sees me delivers an oration
about how I should read instructions,
not depend on pure deductions,
ask for help, request advice.
I heeded not, now pay the price.

The instructions that I never heeded
were probably the ones I needed.
The hair dye warning I failed to see
is in fact what ruined me.
For though I am really fond
of hair a lovely hue of blonde,
I fear I’m unfit to be seen
now that my hair’s a vivid green!

So for a few months I’ll be heard
by Skype or telephone or word,
but no one will ever see me
until repeated shampoos free me.
You do not have to say a word.
I know my actions were absurd.
I might have had lovely blonde locks
if only I had read the box!!!

The prompt today was disastrous. Image from the internet. Thanks, “Psycho!”

Savoring Flavoring

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Remember Dagwood making those midnight trips to the fridge, piling his “Dagwood sandwich” high with most things edible that came into his vision?  Or slumber parties where you tried to do the same and everyone ended up ill, to you mother’s great chagrin?  We crave the memories almost as much as the tastes, and perhaps this is what continues to drive us out into the night from our warm beds—exploring the hidden depths of our refrigerators for something special to savor. 

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Midnight Light

I wear darkness like a second skin.
It is the cloak that hides my midnight sin
as I make my way, barefooted, through my house.
Silent, lest I wake my dogs or spouse.

This way I know most well and so I bridge
in seconds that long gap between my bed and fridge.
Pull open that snug door and hear the plop
first of the rubber gasket, then the top

of the carton that has been my goal.
Spoon out its richness without benefit of bowl.
This darkness both of me and of the night
something the fridge dispenses with its light

as tears of joy and guilt and pleasure stream
down cheeks distended with this chocolate dream.
For minutes, I stand caught up in the hold
of this trio of pleasures: chocolate, creaminess and cold.

Until some motion jolts me from their grip.
I feel its pressure at my shoulder and my hip.
My spouse rolls over, shattering my dream
of midnight tryst with frozen cream.

Its chocolate savor is one that I try to keep
as I roll over once again to seek my sleep.
Whatever course my next dream serves, I’ll try it.
For I’ve already been one long day on this diet!

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The prompt today was savor. (Yes, you have perhaps read this poem before.  I wrote it three years ago.) The photos were harvested from the Internet.

Sleight of Knees

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IMG_7755doll by Louie Gann, jdbphoto

Sleight of Knees

When the circus clown was lauded,
marveled at, praised and applauded
for hanging from the high trapeze
for 24 hours by his knees,
though he was admired for his moxie,
it turns out it was just epoxy!

 

The prompt today was moxie.