Honesty
Though I always tell it if I can,
of the brutal truth, I’m not a fan.
(It’s the brutal part that bothers me,
and not the actual honesty.)
In fact, let’s institute a pact
to exercise the utmost tact.
When telling others just what “is,”
be gentle, be they Sir or Ms;
for though it’s not right to be truthless,
there’s no excuse for being ruthless.
The Writer’s Workshop prompt for Aug 22 that I chose wa the word ‘Honest.” Image by Steve Sharp on
Discernment
Borne, then born.
Clothed, fed, shorn.
Housed and cuddled,
brain filled and muddled.
Schooled, polished, allowed to roam,
to make the world into a home.
Later settled, now sedate.
Content to let my life abate.
Find worlds inside and there abide,
to let what happens be my guide.
To try to live with less precision.
To fear less the world’s derision.
Why so hard to be oneself?
Easier when on the shelf.
Now here I pull my world around me,
memories and dreams surround me.
My solitude a crystal jar
that lets me ponder from afar
the current of my life, its tide,
to reach without and pull inside
the things that help me try to see
just where my life has taken me.
I contemplate and sometimes share
the truths that I’ve discovered there.
I’ve come to read, to judge and learn.
I’ve finally learned how to discern!
The MVB Prompt today is Discernment.
Junkyard
It is a graveyard for lost toys
abandoned by their girls and boys—
objects of fun once ordinary,
spurned by children who are wary
of things on which to soar and slide,
of toys that draw a kid outside.
Once solely meant for entertainment,
they’re now fenced in for their containment
away from children set aside,
away from things to climb or ride
with other kids bare-faced, unmasked.
Now all are differently tasked.
Now housebound children stare at screens
or sit leafing through magazines.
Monkey bars, it is official,
turned into things more beneficial:
fences, barricades or bars
marking parking spots for cars.
But teeter-totters, slides and swings—
a community of cast-off things—
lie here abandoned in a place
that’s never seen a child’s face.
It is a junkyard overgrown
of pleasures that now go unknown.
The raucous crew for which they’re cast
has become a memory of the past.
Hordes of kids on jungle gyms
pursuing their communal whims
are things that they barely remember.
Leaf piles jumped on in September
neatly raked up in their heaps
are safe from children’s messy leaps.
Every child kept in their room,
the world outside would seal their doom.
So, junkyards filled with these diversions
are museums for today’s aversions.
One by one, the kids grow older
never getting one bit bolder.
Contained inside their separate lives,
Single cells replace their hives.
While hidden from this lonely crew
are all the things we used to do.
Remember when the school bell rang?
Kit and caboodle, the whole gang
would rush to see who got the swings.
What nostalgia their memory brings.
I remember them so well,
but especially the carousel.
Parting Words
Before Rhett Butler went on the lam,
“Frankly my dear, I don’t give a damn!”
was his parting imprecation
before he he left on his vacation.
For My Vivid Blog the prompt is Profanity.
My Shoes
My shoes go out without me. They do it all the time,
and do the things I never do. They jog. They hike. They climb.
When I wake up I find them strewn throughout the house—
one flip flop on the counter. High heels beneath my blouse
that’s flung across the table where I don’t remember putting it.
I bet they’ve been out dancing—two-stepping and high-footing it.
When my cowboy boots go riding, I’d like to go along.
I’m pretty sure, however, they think things would go wrong.
Perhaps the horse would throw me or I’d wind up getting lost.
I’m sorry that I bought them, considering the cost!
Other people are the boss of all their clothes and shoes,
but when my shoes and I face off, I am the one to lose.
I could take to going barefoot. This would work while at the beach.
Then when all my shoes are out far beyond my reach,
into the surf I’ll wade and then wander out again,
trapping sand between my toes everywhere I’ve been.
So when my shoes get home at night, they’ll be completely clueless
that I’ve left them out as well by venturing out shoeless!
For What Do You See?
Night Terrors
Beings leap from my memory, calling my name,
sharing the heartaches for which I’m to blame.
Remembered particles falling like rain,
breathe all their stories over again.
They hold out their arms, inviting me in,
promising bliss in what seems to be sin.
I reach out to touch them, but thunder’s loud peal
delivers me back to a world that is real.
Bad dreams and night terrors release their hold.
No more do I have to do what I’m told.
I come back to that place where I have the might
to determine my actions and do what is right.
For the Sunday Whirl the word prompts today are: bliss leaping memory particles arms breath story pieces heartache beings thunder called
Off the Path
I’ve always been a wanderer with no course firmly set.
The purpose of my journey is not established yet.
When my meandering’s over, perhaps it will be clear.
I cannot tell where I’ll be then. For now I’m merely here.
For dVerse Poets
See other poems for this prompt HERE. Image from dVerse Poets
Mismatched
When a certain fella has had a drink
or two or three, he’s bound to wink
at the little lady dressed in pink.
Her drink’s cubes give a subtle clink
as she decides what she might think.
Is he a stud or just a fink?
His clothes are sort of rinky-dink,
yet her long lashes, swathed in ink,
flutter in a come-on blink.
One fingernail is seen to sink
into her glass. He’s at the brink
of coming over to seal the link.
She checks her breath. It doesn’t stink.
She reaches down and dons her mink.
But then he stops and seems to shrink.
In this sure deal there seems a chink.
It’s clear that when she deigned to flirt,
she missed the writing on his shirt.
This is the message that went unread:
“Be kind to animals,” it said.
The SOCS prompt is shirt. Image by Marco Lastella
Cleaning Up
Toothbrushes remove gristle from
the area we whistle from
while brooms are used to clean and prep
those surfaces whereon we step.
And lest the reader balk and bristle
o’er its lack in this epistle,
I will not overlook the mop—
that device with which we slop
water on spills of the day
we feel the need to wash away.
You may deride my need to gush
over the likes of mop, broom, brush,
but still I choose to raise a cup
to laud those things that clean me up!
The prompt words for the Three Things Challenge M786 are: bristle, broom, brush.
Spotless
They say he was a bastion of the community.
Of what their youth should aim for, the exact epitome.
Mothers named their kids for him and he was so discreet,
his name labelled a shopping center and a city street.
Asked to speak at graduation, his words were most succinct.
Not one old lady fell asleep. Nobody even blinked!
Moral, staunch and upright, he was everyone’s ideal.
He always used the crosswalk. He didn’t cuss or steal.
No forensic laboratory ever had a label
or test tube or fingerprint of his upon their table.
In short, his reputation was one without besmirch.
He went to each town meeting, every Sunday, went to church.
He did not exceed the speed limit, use liquor or smoke pot.
Every single vice on earth was something he was not.
His genes were the best of genes. His relatives all lasted
at least until one hundred, and he dieted and fasted.
Ate kale and probiotics, whole grains and leafy greens.
He sponsored many charities and lived within his means.
So when he died it wasn’t from alcohol or drugs.
He did not die from violence—his own or that of thugs.
He did not perish from obesity or accident or whoredom.
In the end, they say that he simply died of boredom!
Thanks to Martha Kennedy. and ForgottenMan for contributing this cartoon.
For the My Vivid Blog prompt, Reputation
lifelessons - a blog by Judy Dykstra-Brown 