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Some Thoughts Upon Viewing a Blue-Footed Booby


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 dVerse Poets “Blue Tuesday” poem

On Being a Mom, Momma, Mammadukes, Ma, Momochka

This is such a special and expansive mother’s day tribute from Momshieb’s blog that I have to share it with you. Thank you for it, Karen. It is very special that you include those of us teachers, aunts and stepmoms who may not have carried children in our wombs but have carried them in our hearts.

Empty Nest, Full Life

Happy Mother’s day. Happy, joyful mother’s day to every woman who has carried a brand new tiny life inside of her own body. To every woman who has felt that first movement, sobbed over those painful rib-busting kicks, celebrated the rolling motion that assured her that her baby was alive.

Happy Mother’s day to every woman who has pushed a being the size of a grapefruit out of an orifice the size of lemon. And to every woman who has endured the surgery, the stitches, the aching pain of a C-Section.

Wishing Mother’s Day love to every single woman on earth who has opened her heart and her arms to a baby through adoption, and who has made the deliberate and thoughtful choice to embrace and love that child forever.

Love and Happy Mother’s Day to every Aunt who has been there to talk, to listen, to advise and to…

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Directional Confusion

Photo by Daniel Giannone on Unsplash

Directional Confusion

The part of my brain that is least to my pleasing,
(most limited and therefore fodder for teasing,)
is my sense of direction, which isn’t the best.
I simply don’t know which way’s east, which way’s west.

Thus, between friends it is frequently spoken
that I am geographically broken.
When it comes to driving, I have the dexterity.

It’s just a matter of lacking temerity.

Such things as location and proper direction
just seem to be out of my reign of detection.
Expeditions to L.A. end up in Long Beach—
my talent for getting there just out of reach.

It’s not that I’m dumb, but it seems that the section
of brain that determines location election
just didn’t develop in the usual manner.
I lack other people’s inbuilt radar scanner.

I don’t mind the driving if you’ll man the maps.
From the start to the finish, just fill in the gaps.
I’ll turn when you say to. I’ll exit with ease.
Just do not demand that I navigate, please!

Photo by Joshua Coleman on Unsplash

(Unfortunately, although hyperbole, this one is not fiction.)

Prompts for today are expedition, dexterity, teasing, fodder andsection. Photos from Unsplash used with permission.

 

What the —-? Palinode for dVerse Poets.

The Invitation

“You are invited to a party at our house, Saturday at 7.
Please bring a dish to share and what you want to drink.”

 

The Reply

Pot Luck?
What the F—?

If I’m to bring a dish to share and also what I drink,
just who’s throwing the party? It sounds like me, I think.
If I’m going to cook a dish and also buy the wine,
I think I’ll just stay home instead, where all of it is mine!
The purpose for a party is for entertaining friends—
Not the other way around. This said, my poem ends!

Plum Pit, Apple Core

ecologyeco

Plum Pit, Apple Core

Never saw an apple tree, never saw a plum
that I didn’t want to reach out and get me some.
Bite into the fleshy fruit. Chew around the pit.
Spit it out into my hand to get rid of it.
Dig a hole to bury it. Smooth it with my heel
to grow another fruit tree for a future meal.

Such a simple motion in a world grown gross—
most folks isolated, fearfully morose
about  nature’s rebellion against humankind.
Reaching deep within her and taking what we find
without giving back again—everybody keen
on scraping out her riches with some grand machine.

For manifold acts of mankind, dangerous and mean,
nature has not found an adequate vaccine.
But, by giving back again, we signify devotion

to start to rectify our sins with a simple motion.
Let’s help her out by simply remaining aware
that each and every one of us needs to start to care.

By every single action, let’s demonstrate our wills
to rectify our heedlessness, atone for all our ills.
For everything that we take out, putting something back.
To therein change our dangerous course and take another tack.
Just a simple gesture, signifying more.
Building back our world pit after pit, core after core.

We talk about solutions, never coming close—
spewing words not actions, maddeningly verbose.
But if every person just took their life in hand,
polluting less, enriching their surrounding land,
perhaps we’d shift the balance, tree by tree by tree,
restoring our world to what it’s meant to be.

Prompt words today are plum, motion,  vaccine, verbose and never

May/December Marriage

May/December Marriage

She rises up from her repose,
kohls her eyes, contours her nose,
puts on the diamond and the gold
for which her liberty was sold.

Dons her linen, silk and fur.
Puts on fresh perfume to obscure
with bergamot and rose and myrrh
those memories now but a blur.

This will be her life hereafter:
less spontaneity and laughter.
All her beauty and her charms
cradled in an old man’s arms.

Prompt words today are repose, gold, laughter, fresh and blur. Image by Bibek Thakuri on Unsplash, used with permission.