I can’t resist reblogging this blog that I wrote 11 years ago and because I liked the comments as much as the blog, I’m reblogging them, too. This reblog is published for Esther’s Writing Prompts because this week’s prompt is ‘Signs.” If you want to publish your own response to her prompt, a link to it is given at the end of this post. Thanks, Esther.
For Esther’s Writing Prompts, the prompt word is “Sign.”
Image by Toa Heftiba on Unsplash
For Fibbing Friday, the theme this week is What The H?
1. What is halitosis? A laughing streak brought on by eating too much durian.
2. What is an hallucination? Visions brought on by oxygen deprivation brought on by excessive laughter.
3. What is hell? A condition brought on by too many people voting for the wrong presidential candidate.
4. What is a hurricane? A walking aid that makes it possible for women to walk faster.
5. What is ham fisted? A baby feeding itself its Easter meal.
6. What is the hokey cokey? Doing the hokey pokey while under the influence of blow.
7. What is hoosegow? What one asks when one discovers a gow lying on the floor at a party.
8. What is a higgler? Someone on a cocaine-induced laughing spree.
9. What is a hogger? Someone who eats more than their share of Easter ham.
10. What is a hodge? A podge’s first name.
(Really? You want to see these family photos in more detail
and to read captions? Okay–then click on them.)
“To Be Perfectly Honest––”
(What I Really Wanted to Say)
3 Quadrilles
*As much as I enjoyed your first hundred family photos,
could we perhaps switch to conversation of a less familial theme?
*No I’m not ill. I’ve spent two years starving and a fortune
on appetite suppressants. Couldn’t you just tell me I look fabulous?
*I believe my husband has seen enough of your cleavage
for one evening. Could you cage them?
*Your poem’s triteness is equaled only by its misspellings.
*I am curious. Have you ever wondered why only beautiful women
want you to ask them to dance?
*Be honest now. Would you ever have thought
to eat raw fish if it weren’t all the rage?
*Sorry, but Walmart art doesn’t count as a collection.
*When people back away from you, it’s likely
they don’t want you to advance on them again.
The dVerse Poets link today is “Honest.” Instead of one quadrille, I did three. Don’t complain. You’re lucky I didn’t do five!
Ask First!
I don’t drink milk and don’t drink tea.
Water and coffee do for me.
When it comes to booze, I’m picky.
Tequila’s fine but Scotch is icky.
Pineapple juice or orange is fine,
but tomato’s out of line,
so bloody Marys aren’t the thing
that I’d like for you to bring
to wet my tongue and slake my thirst.
I request you ask me first.
For SOCS, the prompt word is “drink.”
Some Thoughts Upon Viewing a Blue-Footed Booby
A chameleon can change his color by cue,
but what’s a blue-footed booby to do?
You can’t take off a foot like you’d take off a shoe.
And when blue is the only color you view
as you walk down the beach for a mile or two,
you might fancy a color a little bit new.
Yet, step after step, his feet remain blue!
It’s the color of ink and the color of goo—
a color that any mom would eschew
if she had a choice and a chance to imbue
her fledgling’s feet with a more subtle hue.
Instead, they’re this color that both of them rue.
Amazing to witness and lovely to view,
but admit it! You wouldn’t want blue feet, would you?
For the Weekly Prompts Color Challenge: Blue
Full Volume
I hear my neighbor’s fighting cocks crow into the night,
expressing their readiness for tomorrow’s fight.
There are always noises cutting through the dark.
I hear the donkey’s braying and the dog’s loud bark.
Some neighborhood weekend party goes on ’til four or five,
expressing at great volume that they’re glad to be alive.
The singing and the music and the fireworks exploding
that sometimes make me feel as though my head may be imploding.
The church bells in the village every quarter hour declaring,
trucks advancing street by street, loudspeakers rudely blaring.
One truck selling vegetables, another selling gas,
shouting out their wares to everyone they pass.
Others selling water or cooking oil or soap,
scrub brushes or sponges, plastic buckets or rope—
Motorcycles without mufflers roaring down the street
revving up their motors for every friend they meet.
Bandas in the plaza play at a decibel
that I swear could raise the bats straight up out of Hell.
Mexico isn’t subtle. It’s bright and bold and proud.
That’s why for everything in Mexico, the volume’s turned up LOUD!!!!
The Word of the Day is “Volume.”
Okay, this was the photo I used for “Tell Me A Story” this week.
And this is my story that went along with it:
This was Forgottenman when I first met him 13 years ago. I thought I’d met the perfect man until I noticed how distractible he was. He kept shifting his focus and looking to the left and right and even behind him when we were in public… until I had the flash of genius to put handles on him! Then, after seeing this photo, I thought better of it, took him in hand, shaved off the hair and made a handsome devil out of him. And this is what he looked like after my makeover: 
Oh, um, no. wrong photo. See the new and improved Forgottenman below:
Well, better groomed to be sure, but oops, that’s not him, either. Let’s try this one:
Um, nope…I’ll be back in a minute……
Okay, here’s that handsome devil in a less reflective mood with no sidehandles!!!
And here he is at his best…in a totally inargumentative state!!!
So that’s my story and I’m sticking to it. If you have a different story to tell, please tell it below in comments.
(If you want to check out his blog, you can do so HERE.)
Tianguis*
When I strolled down to the market to buy a piece of fish,
I had no other shopping list. I had no further wish.
Except for some cilantro to stuff into its cavity,
I suffered from no other acquisitional depravity.
But on my way to aisles that simply dealt in fishes,
I stumbled upon vendors selling other tempting dishes.
I bought some chanterelles and then some green tomatoes,
some Michoacan peaches and fingerling potatoes.
I could not resist a table covered with such things
as necklaces and bracelets and pretty silver rings.
I tried on clogs and three-inch heels, then bought their matching purses.
I purchased four used mysteries and then a book of verses.
Baby diapers by the dozen, though I have no kids.
A set of second-hand cookery minus all their lids.
Thank God I found a shopping cart for sale just half way through
or how I would have managed, I have not the slightest clue.
I mounded up my bounty, then turned down the next aisle,
my eyes seeking out treasures, mile after mile.
So by the time I found the fish, my cart was out of room
unless I hung my salmon from the handle of the broom
that stuck way out in front of me like a chivalric lance
wedged in between my brand new Spanx and bras and underpants.
I bought two whole red salmon and suspended them out front,
then turned my shopping cart around to puff and pant and grunt
wheeling it uphill this time now that I had decided
that it was time to take my bounty to where I resided.
An hour later, out of breath, I’d slowed my former pace,
a small parade of alley cats preceding me in space.
Eying my bag of salmon, they leapt onto my cart.
I shooed them off my underwear. I fended off each dart.
I avoided their advances. I matched their yowls and hisses,
grabbed up the broom and battled those felines for my fishes.
While with the other hand I dialed animal control,
I fear my cart got out of hand and it commenced to roll
down the hill that I’d just climbed, shedding pans and Spanx
while cats made off with both my fish, not bothering with thanks.
The rest of all my bounty was lost in its descent.
I do not have a single clue where all my treasures went.
The broom, a silver ring and a new hat upon my head
were all I made it home with. The rest was forfeited.
The cart has a new owner who fills it full of cans.
My Spanx no doubt are holding in other chubby fans.
Those cats are lying somewhere, dozing and replete
from all that lovely salmon that I did not get to eat.
And I have learned my lesson. The next time I need fish
or any other foodstuffs to complete another dish,
I’ll simply dial the grocery store to have it all delivered.
When it comes to the tianguis, I’m freshly lily-livered!
*A tianguis is an open-air market or bazaar selling new and used goods as well as fresh produce, meat and fish that is traditionally held on certain market days in a town or city neighborhood in Mexico and Central America.
The RDP prompt is “wedge.”
Can you furnish a story to go with this picture? Please give a link to you story in the comments section below. If you don’t have a blog, you can just tell the story in comments. HERE is a link to this blog.
The dVerse Poets prompt is to write a poem in response to the Picasso painting above.
Beach Memoirs
That good old salty sea air combined with grainy sand
defined my beach vacation and went great with being tanned.
Felt great under my bare feet and squished between each toe.
And left footprints behind me, wherever I chose to go.
It crusted up my toenails and powdered all my floors.
Seeped into my keyboard and creaked up all my doors.
It maintained a constand presence once I got back home.
It sneaked into my ear canals and caked up brush and comb.
In spite of all the nuisance of the sand within my bed,
good memories of beach life still swirl within my head.
Yet I needn’t wax nostalgic, for I find behind each knee,
in pockets, luggage and the floor—the beach came home with me!
lifelessons - a blog by Judy Dykstra-Brown 