Delayed Warning
A bout of indigestion can make a guy a grouch
and leave him prone to lying grumbling on the couch
while his wife stands listening, chuckling in the hall,
remembering how she had warned him not to eat it all.
Yet he had ingested it, as usual, in a hurry
before she could warn him that he was eating curry!
For the Three Things Challenge the words are: CHUCKLE GROUCH INDIGESTION
Image by towfiqu-barbhuiya- on Unsplash
No Stone Unturned
Turning over stones can be overly unpleasant
due to all the denizens likely to be present.
Yet I profess it’s cowardly to just let them lie,
I’m sure you’ll prove your manliness and flip them by and by!
For Pensitivity’s Three Things Challenge, the words are: STONE UNPLEASANT COWARDLY.
Full-length Mirror
Mirror, mirror on the wall,
I’m addicted to y’all.
I can’t resist casting an eye
at my reflection passing by.
I’m so enamored of my face,
I cannot keep up my pace.
I must stop so I can see
the spectacular whole of me!
For the dVerse Poets Quadrille prompt: Mirror
Ineligible
Your temper is an irritation
leading to much perturbation.
Solving every little trifle
with your fists or with a rifle,
in short, makes it debatable
whether you are dateable.
I fear your image has gone to pot
and eligible? You are not!
For Pensivity’s Three Things Challenge the words are: IRRITATION, TRIFLE and IMAGE
Roadmap
I’m held captive by your wrinkles, dear, enraptured by your ripples.
I love your freckles and your moles and all of nature’s stipples.
They are sacred landmarks. When I find one that is new,
I must give thanks to nature for adding more of you.
Sometimes with the darkness around us rich and deep,
my mind goes on a walkabout as you lie asleep.
The roadmap of your body is the terrain that I pace—
the ravines and the gullies and your face’s fragile lace.
Some bemoan the changes that nature brings about,
and they bring a different beauty. It’s true, without a doubt.
But as I trace each special feature of your body and your face,
I’m reassured that nature’s carving instills a deeper grace.
For dVerse Poets Pub, the prompt was to write a quadrille about maps. This is definitely not a quadrille. It is a poem from my just-published adult coloring book: When Old Dames Get Together . Available on Amazon.
Putting Words in Our Mouths
I do not choose and do not opt
that any of your prompts be cropped,
I know that your third word is crop
(whose past tense I have put up top,
knowing that it wouldn’t do
to alter any words that you
picked to give us as a test,
because I know that you know best.)
So know that I did not intend
to add that “ped” and thus offend.
I wrote it in addition to
the “crop” word provided by you.
The words for the Three Things Challenge are choose, opt and crop.
Scorpion in the Sacristy
Minuscule but powerful, it causes us to shake.
The most masculine among us have been known to quake
and to seek protection whenever one is seen,
for it is rumored that their punch is wicked mean.
They inspire colorful language from the subjects of their strikes,
because it’s understatement to simply scream out “Yikes!”
when stricken by a scorpion. The occasion calls for more,
and that is why the village priest was pardoned when he swore
as he removed the host veil and was stung upon the hand,
for though the Holy Father issued a reprimand
for the sin of taking the name of Christ in vain,
since the priest was still in shock and reeling in his pain,
not one of his parishioners, it’s said, has censored him,
for each and every one of them thanked God it wasn’t them!
Prompt words today are colorful, minuscule, punch, quake, protection and seen.
Spring Picnic
That first tidbit of food
swallowed—
that morsel of potato salad
or that sip of lemonade—
activates what April picnics
are fated to attract
as surely as ants—
afternoon rains,
predicted as a slight chance
for this vicinity,
but now diluvial
in their force.
For dVerse Poets Open Link. Night and also making use of these six prompts from different sites: food, vicinity, diluvial, tidbit, activate and afternoon.
(Hover over the photo for a second to read the caption.)
On the Edge
One on my lap and one by my side,
Queen-sized or king-sized, no matter how wide,
I’m always pushed out to the edge of the bed.
though I’d rather be in the middle, instead.
The tinier dog snuggles close as she’s able,
leaving me hanging out touching the table,
while the little-bit-larger dog curls on my lap
and no matter how much I wiggle or tap,
she will not budge to allow me to shift.
I know she considers her presence a gift.
One burrows closer under my arm,
as though by her presence she’s warding off harm,
but it makes typing hard with my arm in the air,
lest I disturb one of this bed-hogging pair.
Not fiction!!!!!! 5 a.m., weighted down and on the edge!!!!!
This is one of three guitars I decorated for the “Guitar Gallery” in Ajijic. It was covered in mirrors and silver ornamentation. It was purchased by a gallery in Montana. If you ever see it, please let me know where its new home is.
If Only I Could Play Guitar
At times when now I only hum,
I’d pull out my guitar and strum;
and by the time that I’d be done,
completing my last pluck and run,
perhaps whoever sees and hears
would be reduced to sobs and tears
by every perfect tone and note,
the sentiments that I emote,
and tender lyrics that they knew
because of course I wrote them, too.
But I would be so humble still,
(my hubris would be less than nil)
that when they laud me at the Grammys,
I’ll be home curled up in my jammies—
still unaffected by my fame,
astonished at my new acclaim!
And when Bob Dylan asks me if
I’d like to come and share a riff,
of course I will not turn him down.
In spite of all my new renown,
I’ll take the time to show him some
new ways I’ve found to pick and strum.
Mick Jagger would hang out with me
(and Leo Kottke, probably.)
We’d get together to talk and jam.
The whole world would know who I am!
My fame would spread to presidents
and queens and Knob Hill residents.
I’d be so busy that I fear
my writing would fall in arrears.
I might forget to feed my dog,
forsake my friends, neglect my blog.
So all things taken to account,
as negatives begin to mount,
and though I know that I’d go far
should I decide to play guitar,
I’ve penned a note unto myself,
“Put that guitar back on the shelf!!!”
The dVerse Poets prompt is to write a poem about music. I admit that this is actually a poem I wrote nine years ago so I am guessing few who now read my blog have seen it before.
To read more poems on this subject go HERE.
lifelessons - a blog by Judy Dykstra-Brown 