Elbowing
One thing about your elbow,
in fact it’s true of each,
Is that by extending them,
you improve your reach.
In fact it’s true of elbows
that each one you entrust
to be fully unfurled
is bound to up your thrust!
Words for the Three Things Challenge are: EACH ELBOW ENTRUST
“The Stuff of Dreams”
The crisp day turns to creamy night that cushions us in sleep
and seeds our dreams with fertile thoughts that later we will reap
as poems or scripts or lyrics that will shimmer in the light
that’s been kindled to crush out the dimness of the night.
Sleep dusts our petty cares away and whispers in our ear
brisk new tales and sonnets that the whole world needs to hear.
For The Sunday Whirl, the prompt words are:crush crisp creamy script brisk dreams dust seeds dim night whisper shimmer (Illustration created with AI.)
Spoilage of Rain
Glistening raindrop diamonds settle on the fur
of the chairbound sleeping cat, but it does not stir.
Pies upon the window ledge grow soggy in the mist
of that travesty of moisture with which they have been kissed.
My stationery soggy, I find my words won’t stay,
so I give up on this poetry fast fading away.
The Thursday Story Challenge is:
Can you tell a story in 57 words using the following words in it somewhere: (I did a 57 word poem instead of a story.)
Image created with the aid of AI.
Wish List
Of course I have my limits, still I wish for something more,
and so I post a list on my refrigerator door.
But those key things I still want in life spill out upon the floor
from the future’s bill of lading where they don’t fit anymore.
Smoke rings from the fires of my dreams gone up in flame
fade into the distance of that future I won’t name.
Still silky thoughts caress my dreams of love and passion past,
and I give thanks for bygone lovers and memories that last.
For the Sunday Whirl Wordle 754 the prompt words are:
limits list still bill smoke ring distant wish silky spill fit key
Image created aided by AI.
He is the handsomest of men.
Were I to rank him, I’d give him “ten.”
His hair is white, his face is tan.
He’s the epitome of “man.”
No toy soldier formed of tin,
locked up in a storage bin,
he still makes memories by the ton.
His active life is not yet done.
He gardens and then ventures out––
Jackie along, without a doubt,
to drive down lanes and have a look,
then returns home to read a book.
Then sup on Jackie’s find cuisine––
a roast or curry or terrine
And then they’ll sip, to coin a pun,
on wine from bottles, not a tun.
The prompt for SOCS is: tan/ten/tin/ton/tun. I’ve written about Derrick Knight, whose blog I’ve read for years. You can find today’s blog, which inspired this poem, HERE.
Heaven Scent
I rifle through my pocketbook, looking for perfume,
needing that hypnotic spell delivered by its spume.
I love its steamy radiance hissing against my skin,
and I’m swaying with the flush of the admirers I’ll win.
A beetle flies up from the grass to brush against my cheek,
but it’s not exactly the admirer I seek.
Then my lover drifts into the room from where he went,
drawn back , I am certain, by my heavenly scent.
Prompts for the Sunday Whirl 752 are: rifle grass flush steam radiance beetle perfume drifted swaying hypnotic hiss skin
Ode to Sugar
Hey, Sugar Sugar, you’re the one for me.
I enjoy each calorie.
Smooth or frozen with chocolate on top,
washed down with a glass of pop.
Pile on the sprinkles and roll in nuts.
You’re the best, no ands or buts.
My little Sugar is smooth and dreamy.
My little Sugar chewy, creamy.
Shortbread, brownies, chocolate chip––
in my coffee, I like to dip.
But cheesecake, pie––other forms of sin––
I put on the table and dive right in.
Swim to the middle with my teeth,
see what there can be beneath
the icing or cream or chocolate sauce.
When dessert arrives, Sugar’s the boss.
Hey Sugar, Sugar, you’re the one
in snow or rain or blistering sun.
I don’t care if you’re hot or cold.
Baked Alaska is great, I’m told,
but I also like a big old cone
just piled with ice cream, all alone.
Don’t touch my Sugar, don’t you dare!!!
When it comes to Sugar, I don’t share!!!
The prompt for Ragtag Daily Prompt is “Calorie.”
African Love Story
In this day and age
Almost everyone has a tropical love story.
Show of hands–
How many here?
There was a war. Danger.
And there were disapproving fathers
And careers.
And yes, I know that some
Love stories survive them all.
But ours didn’t.
And he didn’t.
So just for a year and a few months
We were in love in a warm climate.
A torn love story with a sad ending
With me as its only living remnant.
Imagine yourself
In that story
Full of hormones and atmosphere
It is a meditation remembering
Sand and moonlight under the Southern Cross.
Or cocks crowing before you fell asleep
Long rolling nights in a village
Where almost no one spoke your language.
Perhaps you were a prisoner of love
As I was years ago.
Non-protesting, dizzy and dumb for passion.
Would I have stayed for love if I’d known
It was the whole business of love I’d leave behind,
And not just my beloved?
Would you?
The dVerse prompt is ‘Where Does Love Go?”
Star-Gazing
Eyes stalk the skies for lucky stars, hoping to harness their good fortune, and although those heavenly objects pepper the skies like jewels cast across a black velvet blanket, ribbons of clouds start to obscure their glow. Then, splashed in layers like fresh paint over a graffiti-riddled fence, the faces of clouds completely obscure their light. We must set our minds to other hopes. The light has gone out on today’s.
For The Sunday Whirl Wordle,752, the prompt words are: stalk sky luck harness pepper jewel ribbon splash layers set light face
Avoidance
I’m tired of enlightenment, bored with my muse.
I give up on all topics that spur and enthuse.
I think I’ll be lazy for the rest of my life,
avoiding all effort and dodging all strife.
For what do I worry and ponder and seethe?
What care I for clean water and air we can breathe?
Let fools be our guides. Let them rule us all.
Let other fools follow them until they fall.
Let scientists fuss over theory and fractal.
I’ll deal with endeavors more sensual and tactile.
I’ll plot games of solitaire, fiddle with flowers,
play video games for hours and hours.
I’ll torment the cat and worry the dog,
lie in the hammock, my mind in a fog.
Let other folks solve all the world’s ills.
I’ll keep myself busy with vodka and pills.
Use avoidance to overcome all of my worries.
Let torpor eradicate all of my hurries.
I’m overlooking the problems in which the world’s mired.
If I need an excuse, It’s that I am retired.
The Sunday Poser question is “What do you always try to avoid?”
lifelessons - a blog by Judy Dykstra-Brown 