Category Archives: Poem

“Immortality” for The Three Things Challenge

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Immortality

In no way am I ready for meeting the Grim Reaper.
If it were up to me, I’d rather he be a Grim Creeper.
In all ways, I repel the thought that he’s advancing fast,
for when it comes to living, I wish that it would last.
In short, I’m not in readiness but rather in denial,
for I’m simply not in shape to walk that final mile.
I’ve dug my heels in. I’m not ready for that journey in the sky.
I’m going to go on living. I’m not ever going to die!!!

For the Three Things Challenge the prompt words were: REPEL READINESS REAPER

(When we had my sister’s grave marker made, they offered us a “deal” so my other sister and I had our own markers made at the same time. I did not realize that they’d actually install the stones in our family plot!  So, as you can see above…my eternal resting place awaits me. Strangely enough, one childhood friend has told me he mows around it monthly and another sent me this photo of flowers he’d placed on it for memorial day. As you can see, there is no reason for me to actually give up the ghost as I’m getting enough attention without doing the actual deed.)

A Walk up the Mountain With My Dogs During Wildflower Season, Oct 3, 2021

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Pulled by my dogs, I ventured off the gravel road onto the tire tracks that forged a path up the mountain.  Lifting the hatch to a metal gate that granted access to the sloping meadows behind the high fence that otherwise would impede our progress, we ventured off the tire tracks onto a path worn only by previous feet. The heavy rains this year had created wildflowers so high that they formed an arch over our heads, belying the fact that the rains, long over, have left the hills so dry, so dense the underbrush, that where I pushed my way the giant hush was changed to soft explosion. The dogs, however, venturing farther into the great banks of flowers, found greener grass that they grazed upon like sheep, impeding my progress as I gave into their needs and let them determine our pace.

for dVerse Poets, we were to write a prosery piece of just 144 words, ithat included the line of poetry from a poem by Yver Winters that I have put in italics.

Below is a video I took during that walk!           

     HERE  is the dVerse prompt and the entire poem by Yver Winters.

Jellybelly Saturday Night

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Jellybelly Saturday Night

The only right place to put jelly
is on toast and then into your belly..
Then when you are sated
and fully elated,
 go sit it in front of the telly!

for the Limerick Challenge, the prompt was Jelly

“Capitol Hill” for The Sunday Whirl

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Capitol Hill

He tolls the bell, this liar son
saying that the war he’s won.
He casts his spell, pretending that
the tricks he pulls out of his hat
are gospel truth as he finds fault
with saner men who try to halt
his lies and tricks and machinations
with news reports and protestations
that find him guilty of heinous acts
while he hits back with money’s power
as all around him succumb and cower
fearing their own loss of station,
fortune, job, or reputation.
“It’s fine,” they sigh, “and meant to be
so long as it advances me!”

For The Sunday Whirl #760 the prompt words are:
tolls spell inclined mind find sigh hit guilty fine fault liar 

“Something Old” for dVerse Poets

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                                                                                                                              jdb photo

Something Old

Love is a narcotic that makes us think we’re wise-—
nature’s slick conspiracy for matching girls and guys.
It hangs around in barrooms, obscured in eyes and talk,
and before you know it, it makes you walk the walk
down rose-petaled aisles on your way to say “I do,”
in something new or borrowed and something old and blue.

Then love becomes a train wreck, beginning with the pastor
and continuing through daily life until the last disaster
when “I do” becomes “I won’t,” and all love’s vows once-spoken
wind up in love’s dump heap—abandoned, crushed and broken.
Blame it all on Cupid, that chubby little liar,
who never warns us that new love is likely to expire.

For dVerse Poets “Something old. .  .” Prompt

Darn. I took so long trying to find an illustration for the “Something Old, Something New”. . .’ prompt that the Mr. Linky link lapsed, so here it is. for Open Link Night.

“Guardians” For The Sunday Whirl

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Guardians

I spin the stick to kindle fire to dispel the chill,
risking the displeasure of that ghost who’s silent ’til
It feels the differing temperature with the waning cold
and moves down from the window ledge, wanting to behold
this human who alone would risk the ire of a ghost
without protection of a cross or a holy host.
I  softly hum a tune that the spirit doesn’t know,
then dig my fingers in the ground in an attempt to sow
new life within that sterile earth–softly dropping seed
to see what vegetative wonders earthly hands can breed.
I feel the spirit hovering and sense his threatening stare
until warm currents lift him up into the cooler air
above the room, above the town, to where more spirits dwell
who have been patiently waiting to send him back to Hell.

For The Sunday Whirl. This week’s given words are – kindle risk dig until differing chill spin waning ghost softly alone know.

Making An Impression, for SOCS

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Making An Impression

 

 

Making An Impression

I  think the time has come for me to render this confession.
I simply am no good at all at making an impression.
My hair is light, my skin is pale, I’m hard to see at all.
The only slight impressions I make are when I fall!

 

 

For SOCS, the prompt word is “impress.

“Transmogrified” for dVerse Poets

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Many hats worn during a lifetime!!

Transmogrified!!

Let them peel away my layers to see what is inside.
By the time they’ve finally done it, I, I will be transmogrified.
For one year I was one thing and another year another––
not just the girl created by my father and my mother.

If I were all the things I was in my former years,
my observers would get whiplash as they watched me shifting gears.
I’d be a waitress or a film-maker, a teacher or a writer.
A traveler, a publicist and a poetry citer.

A lover, wife and stepmother, an auntie, sister, friend.
A granddaughter, a daughter–my titles never end.
In each guise, what was needed–a lover or a coach,
sometimes one to blame,  at other times above reproach

I’ve lived in boats and houses, in motorhomes and more–
in huts formed  out of cow dung with swept dirt for a floor.
So if you want to find a person who can be all she can be,
you can give up all your searching, for I’m saying, “Please, choose me!”

 

To transmogrify means to transform or change completely, especially into a different, grotesque, or humorous shape or form.

For dVerse Poets, the prompt is “Let Them.”

Nightmares and Dreams for The Sunday Whirl

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Nightmares and Dreams

Sighs like sirens in the night come knocking on my dreams,
centered in those lost places that slip between my screams.
Curses from the gods, perhaps, that seep in beneath doors
to still true thoughts of peacefulness  and fill our dreams with roars
of lions and of cougars and other preying things
and all those fears of danger that each daily newscast brings.
Let our dreams instead be filled with thoughtful acts of friends,
that fill our lives with loving thoughts until this trial ends.
Our votes might end the terror, but what else is there to do
until true national sanity is restored anew. 

 

For the Sunday Whirl Wordle, the prompt words are: sighs siren knocking still centered lost slip doors true screams beneath curse

Benediction for SOCS

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Benediction

May your life be a pleasure from morning to night.
May your  talents be many and your drawbacks be slight.
When you’re sharing a donut may you have the last bite,
without finding out later that your dress is too tight.
May all of your children be a delight.
May they not stutter or blunder or fight.
May they always be tidy, unwrinkled and right.
May they be clever and of adequate height.
May your fame be unblemished and your burdens be light,
so when your husband is high as a kite,
he will have the wisdom to stay out of sight.

 

As you may have guessed, the SOCS  prompt is “may your…”